#best lawyer near m

[karunasharma]

India has a well-developed law jurisdiction and justice system. We have an extensive service network of legal presenters and lawyers. Do you know there are 12 lakh registered lawyers in India? This significant figure collectively shows the number of lawyers in India. Whenever you search for an advocate near me or a lawyer near me, you can see several options on the web. For more information please read the pdf.

[lawfirm-elixir]

Elixir Public and Private mergers and acquisitions lawyers take care of drafting a confidentiality agreement and a letter of intent, followed by a due diligence process of analyzing whether the acquisition entails any significant legal risks. The lawyers at Elixir Legal Services then draft share or asset purchase agreements, after considering all the risks identified in the due diligence exercise. We also liaise with the notaries, negotiate, supervise closing and post-closing, and take care of other implementation work. We also advise board members and management on legal obligations and shareholder relations for the transaction. We facilitate asset and share transactions, listed and unlisted company takeovers, joint ventures, corporate reconstructions, leveraged buyouts, and management buyouts on a national and international scale.

[legalfirmindia]

Mergers And Acquisitions Legal Services: How to Choose Reliable Corporate Attorneys for M & A?

Mergers And Acquisitions Legal Services: How to Choose Reliable Corporate Attorneys for M & A?

How to find the Best Lawyers for Mergers and Acquisitions (M&A) Legal Advisory service? Who are Reliable and the best at Corporate Legal fields? It is important to understand the basics of the Corporate Legal field when you seek the Legal Support services of professional Advocates Firm in Chennai India. Contact Top Corporate Attorneys and Best Company Lawyers First. Choose and Meet Senior…

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

false god - m. murdock

a/n: sorry if this is bad i did my best because i have been thinking about him a lot warnings: cursing, smut, cunninglus (reader recieving), exhibition (kind of?) matt has an oral fixation, praise, premarital activites, reader is deaf and uses hearing aids but it's only mentioned once, if i missed any let me know! word count: 1.8k summary: the night before your wedding, you and matt are starving. you want to order room service, matt wants to eat out. pairing: matt x fem!reader now playing: false god - taylor swift "but we might just get away with it/religion's in your lips/even if it's a false god/we'd still worship/we might just get away with it/the altar is my hips"

When the devil finally proposed to you, he did it amongst flames and darkness.

…

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as dramatic as that.

Matt had proposed to you in the empty office of Nelson, Murdock & Page where you had met, with the lights turned down and candles lighting up the air around you. It was romantic, just as the two of you deserved.

Planning took a long time, too, with flowers, dresses and food taking over your every thought.

But now, all of that was done. There was nothing to be worried about anymore, as you and Matt specifically requested that if anything were to go wrong, Foggy and Karen would take care of it the best they could and not alarm the two of you unless someone was either dying or threatening to kill you.

So, in less than twenty-four hours, you would be Mrs. Matt Murdock, doomed to a life of lawyer jargon and patching up wounds, with no way out. The thought made you giddy.

The ceremony was going to be held at the church, but the pair of you had moved in with each other a long time ago, so it felt weird to try and avoid each other the night before the wedding and the morning in your own apartment. So, you and your future husband, as well as your small wedding party, had booked a few rooms in a hotel near the church.

You both had your respective ‘last hurrah’ a few weeks prior, so there was really nothing to do after the rehearsal dinner other than head to your room and relax, waiting for your alarm to go off to start getting ready.

You had decided to take it easy, enjoying a glass of wine after what you deemed to be an ‘everything’ shower, taking all the necessary precautions to feel like your best self on your wedding day. You had even bought yourself a nice silk pajama set, white, just like your rehearsal dress, and just like your wedding dress.

Your wedding dress hung freshly steamed in the closet of the hotel room, your shoes placed neatly beneath it. Your jewelry and accessories were laid out neatly on the dresser across from the bed. Your wedding ring sat in a box, inscribed with your husband’s name on it. He sat next to it, your name in braille on the inside of the ring.

In the morning, your mom, your sister, Karen, Marci and the woman who had been doing your hair and makeup for every major life event would be there, coffee in Karen’s hands, as your soon to be husband and his best friend got ready together, reminiscing on how they had landed themselves here.

Everything was perfectly set in place. Your job now was to just get married, and really, how hard could that be?

So, with your wine, you tuck yourself into bed with full intentions of getting a good night’s rest in your silky bridal pajamas.

Except, your job was almost done. There were no more seating arrangements to make, no one else to chase after for an RSVP, no more fittings, and no more menus to create to adhere to you and your soon to be husband’s particular tastes.

So, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t stressed at all.. Which left you with one conclusion:

You missed Matt.

You had seen him a few hours ago for the rehearsal dinner, but you were suddenly left with the conclusion that you were aching for the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

Before you realized what you were doing, you were calling him.

On the second ring, he answered.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Hi. Everything’s great.”

A pause.

“Okay, do you want to talk about anything..?”

“There’s nothing else to do, Matty!” You’re out of bed and pacing now. “I’m stress free, and I can’t even be with you!”

You hear his laugh from the other side of the line, and it makes your heart flutter.

“We have the rest of our lives to spend the night together, baby.” He must have had a drink or two like you, because ‘baby’ is his tipsy nickname for you.

“I know, but I miss you now. And I’m hungry.” You tell him.

“Do you want to come over, order room service, and make out?”  He grins. “You just have to leave before midnight, it’s bad luck to see the bride the day of the wedding.”

You’re putting on your slippers when you pause and consider this for a minute.

“Matt, You’re blind.”

“And you’re deaf, don’t forget your hearing aids, baby.”

“How drunk are you right now? How would I be talking to you if I didn’t have them in right now?” You question.

A pause.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” His voice is softer now, and before you know it, you’re out the door and walking down the hallway.

He opens the door before you can knock, because of all the men in New York, you’ve landed the one with heightened abilities.

“Hi.” You grin, but he doesn’t respond. He simply leans down and picks you up bridal style, much to your objection. He kicks the door behind him closed before he carries you to the bed. He lays you down on it, finding himself on top of you.

“Silk?” He asks gently, his hand on your side.

“Mhm. Bridal pajamas.” You giggle. He just grins and leans in to kiss you. He pulls away from the kiss only to move to your jaw, and then down your neck. “Matthew, I want to order room service, I’m starved!”

His hands find their way underneath your top, his fingers beginning to creep up your skin.

“Me too. Been planning so much, I’ve hardly had the chance to be with you.. To touch you like this.”

You hum softly, but then your stomach rumbles loudly. So, when He lands on his knees in front of you and pulls you forward so that his head is between your thighs, he takes a second to lean over, searching for the room service menu before handing it to you, as well as the phone.

“What looks good, baby?” He asks, leaning his cheek against your thigh. Your pajama bottoms are shorts, so his warm cheek is a sharp contrast to your skin.

“What are you up to, Murdock?” You ask suspiciously, sitting up to look at the menu.

“Nothing, what kind of desserts do they have on there?”

What a weird, secretive man your future husband is.

“Uh, they have a crème brulee, apple pie, angel cake with chocolate ganache frosting—”

“Oo, can you order me one of those?” he asks, starting to kiss your thighs. Your face flushes.

“Sure, But I’m also gonna order the chocolate covered strawberries and the brownie al a mode—”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He hums, “You just have to order it for me.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, but you go to dial the number for room service.

The woman on the other end of the phone is very nice.

As she begins to talk, Matt listens in, but mainly focuses on pulling down your shorts and panties, kissing along your thighs.

Your free hand goes to his hair to try and keep him from eating you out while you order room service, but he is a persistent man.

His lips meet your clit first, and he listens as you gasp, trying to finish the order that he had so kindly requested you to make. His tongue meets your folds, finally satiating the hunger he had for weeks leading up to this.

Your fingers grip his hair, only making him quicken his pace.

“Can I also get uhm—” You can barely think straight. “The uh, Fuck—” Matt’s nose rubs against your clit, his tongue moving at a devastating pace.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” The woman on the other line asks.

“Yeah, Sorry, stubbed my toe on the dresser,” You explain. Matt grins from his place between your thighs. His tongue drags up and down, as if he’s licking every inch of you, like maybe he’ll never be able to taste you again. “The angel cake, can we get two slices of that?” You ask, your fiancé’s pace increasing.

“Yeah, of course. Anything else?”

Matt takes only a moment to stop his assault on your pussy, to add, “The strawberries, baby,” before continuing to lap his tongue against your wet heat.

“The chocolate covered strawberries, and that’s it,” You finish.

“Alright, we have the brownie, the strawberries, and the cake..” She finishes. “What room?”

“Two twenty six,” You tell her. You roll your hips up to try and get more from Matt, but one hand leaves his grip on your thigh to hold your hips down. He knows you’re close, he always knows.

“Oh, are you the bride for tomorrow?” She asks.

This god damn wedding.

“Mhm,” You manage out, biting your lip to try and stop yourself from moaning.

“Congratulations!” She chirps, “Consider the room service complimentary, then,” She gifts.

“Thank you, very much.” You hum.

Matt stops his assault again.

“Ask her how long,” and then he’s back to tasting you, relentlessly.

“How long?” You ask, breathlessly.

“Should only be about ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, thank you,” You say again, your grip on Matt’s hair tightening as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“Of course! Have a very happy wedding day!” And with that, she hangs up, and you toss the phone in the general direction of the machine.

“I’m gonna kill you,” You tell Matt, who stops quickly.

“Do you want to kill me, or do you want me to make you cum?” He asks. He looks really pretty between your thighs.

“Please, Matty..” You give in, and he smirks.

“That’s my good girl.” And he continues to suck your clit, edging you closer and closer. His pace quickens, somehow even more. You let out a soft moan that sounds like absolute heaven to Matt’s ears.

Your thighs are starting to shake because you’re so damn close. Matt keeps his licks consistent, waiting for your release. Your fingers tug on his hair, as you moan, finally hitting your release. He lets you ride out your high, licking all your cum up, making sure to suck up every last drop.

“So sweet and so good for me..” he hums, planting a soft kiss to your clit before pulling away, licking his lips.

“You’re such a dick..” You giggle.

He laughs, kissing your thigh.

“Did so well for me, Sweetheart..” He hums, leaning up to give you a soft kiss. When he pulls away, he slips your shorts back on, and looks like he has a new idea. “Ten to fifteen minutes, huh?”

“Mhm..” You’re just looking at him with such adoration.

“We could probably put that pretty mouth to good use while we wait, right?”

[burrowbaddie]

Blue Eyes & Honey Sunrise

Joe Burrow x Female Reader

Series Summary: You, one of the top actresses in the world find yourself falling for the unbelievably attractive quarterback, Joe Burrow. But as Joe falls faster he finds that everything isn’t so golden about the world’s golden girl.

Acts: 3/?

Status: Ongoing

Please read the warning careful for this chapter. Proceed with caution; some content could be triggering!

Warnings: female!reader, smut, swearing, oral (m&f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, taking plan b, mentions of toxic past relationship, age gap between ex and reader, mentions of past abusive relationship,

Act 3 Summary: Joe learns more about you which only makes him fall deeper into the web of you.

Word Count: 6.7k

Series Masterlist

Eliza sits on the sidelines, watching you complete your scene. She can tell how stressed you've been since discovering Jackson was a producer. Eliza has been beating herself up for two weeks because she scoped out the project when you received it to ensure he was nowhere near it. How he slipped his name in there, you might never know, but then again, he is Jackson Taylor, Mr.Hollywood. The director yells cut and gives everyone a 5 min break except you. Before Eliza can run over, Jackson is looming over you. Eliza tries to make her way over, but Jackson's security stops her. You look over at your best friend/ assistant with pleading eyes.

"You're not focused and starting to piss the director off. And what's this? You don't shoot nude scenes."

"It's in my contract. I've never shot nude scenes before, so-"

"That's not happening. This scene calls for a nude scene. Take your clothes off."

"I don't-"

"Do you want to be replaced? I can make that happen. Forget the contract and go get ready to shoot the nude scene." Jackson walks away, leaving you stunned. Your make-up artist rushes over to do a touch-up, but you wave her off.

"Get my sunshine ready for the nude scenes," Jackson calls out to the staff. After another 30 mins of prep, you sit in your dressing room in only a robe.

"We can leave. He can't force you to do this scene. I can have your manager speak with the director."

"They're childhood friends, so it doesn't matter. My manager has never protected me from that monster, so why would she do it now." You sniffle, wiping your eyes, and hop down from your chair. Eliza grabs your hand.

"Put your clothes on, and let me handle it. If you have to be called a Diva, so be it, but you put your clothes on. We're leaving." She whispers. You nod your head and get dressed. Eliza walks out to the staff and tells them you've come down with a fever. Jackson rolls his eyes.

"Let me speak with her."

"You've done enough. Leave her alone." Eliza glares at him. Jackson walks away, and Eliza returns to the dressing room. Everyone on set tells you to get well soon. The director tells you to take all the time you need; from the corner of your eye, you can see Jackson glaring at you.

"We're already behind on schedule, and she is going to put us further behind because of a fucking fever. Come on." Jackson complains to the director.

"My star is sick. Let her head home and get properly rested. She will be back in a few days." The director walks away. You sit in your van and rest your head on the window. Eliza became your assistant after everything with Jackson ended, and she's been your best friend since, so you were finally happy to have someone in your corner.

"Joe called me yesterday." She whispers. You turn to her with a look of despair.

"Why were you talking to Joe?"

"He wants to help. His sister-in-law is an outstanding lawyer, and maybe she can look over the contract and-"

"I can't. Please just leave it alone. Stop talking to Joe."

"He cares about you. If you knew the things he said about you, you wouldn't brush him off. He's nothing like Jackson."

"Jackson was nothing like Jackson when we met, and look where I am now. Do your job as my assistant and find me roles not linked to Jackson, and stop interfering with my relationships!" You shout. Eliza moves away from you and starts looking through your schedule.

"I've cleared your schedule for the rest of the day. The driver will take you home." Eliza says, climbing out of the van. You try to call for her, but she slams the door closed. You go back and forth at home between unblocking Joe or letting him stay blocked. You look down at your glass of red wine and sigh. You decide to call Eliza and apologize.

"I'm trying to move things around for your schedule, so if you have anything you need to add-"

"Eliza, I'm sorry about earlier. With Jackson breathing down my neck, I'm on edge. I miss Joe, and I'm feeling low overall. It's not an excuse to take my anger out on you." You apologize and wait for her reply.

"I know it must be hard, but you're not in this alone. I will help you if you let me. And Joe….he really cares about you."

"I can't bring Joe into this. I'm sorry."

"Can I send the contract to him to look at with the lawyer, at least?" Eliza asks. You think about it and give her the okay. Two days later, Eliza meets up with Joe in NY while he's there for the Today show. She hands him a copy of the contract. Joe takes a seat and reads it over. His face twists and turns as he reads every detail.

"It's pretty gross, right? The first time I read it, I almost threw up. We've had outstanding lawyers review this; nothing will hold up in court. Even so, Jackson will do everything he can to ruin her career before it even got out." Eliza sits across Joe on the couch, shaking her head.

"He needs to die."

Eliza starts laughing but nods in agreement.

"He's a shitty person. How can you help?" She asks, hoping he has the answers.

"I'll show this to Janet when I get home. How is she?"

"She's doing the best she can right now. I hate leaving her in LA, but I had to come here to sign paperwork for her to do SNL. We took a day off, so she can't take any more breaks from shooting. Jackson made sure of it. Do you want me to call her?"

"Do you think she'll speak to me?" Joe stands and puts the contract on the table, watching Eliza call you.

"Hey, you've reached-" Eliza was ready to hang up, but Joe stopped her. He wanted to hear your voice, even if just your voicemail.

You hurry off set to your dressing room, locking the door to keep the devil away. You turn your phone on and notice a voicemail from Eliza; thinking nothing of it, you press play.

"It's me. I know. I know you told me to stop contacting you, but I can't. You can call me crazy later when we tell our grandkids how you blocked me on every platform, including email, but right now, just listen to me. I love you, baby. I'm going to fight for you and for us. I won't stop until I can tell the world how madly I am in love with you. You mean too much to me for me to let you go…to let you sit on the sidelines alone. I'm your Jack, and you're my Rose. I'd give up every door in this world if it meant you wouldn't drown…I love you. Uhhh, have a good time shooting your new movie. You're amazing. You got this." Joe ends the voicemail and hands the phone back to Eliza, who is full-on crying.

You stare at your phone, wiping the tears falling down your face. You feel at ease hearing Joe's words. You've never experienced this kind of love, which felt calming and warm. You put your phone down, thinking about your next action. Putting Joe at risk with Jackson wasn't something you could live with, so you ultimately choose not to reply. Your break is over, and you can't remember how many times you've listened to the voicemail, but something inside you ignite. Returning to the set, you get into character and complete each scene flawlessly. After a long night, you are ready to go home and soak in a hot bath until Jackson stops you.

"Have dinner with me?"

"Are you out of your mind? Go fuck yourself." You spit, trying to walk away, but he lightly grabs your elbow. You cringe and freeze under his touch.

"It's a dinner with the rest of the cast. That's all. Nothing more." He states. You look around the set seeing everyone chatting. Agreeing to dinner, you tell your driver to take you home first, but Jackson tells him to take the night off because his driver will chauffeur everyone. You try to sit in the back, furthest away from Jackson. And at dinner, you sit away from him, but somehow through the night, he makes his way right next to you. You laugh and join the conversations trying to keep your mind away from Jackson. It doesn't help when he places his hand on your knee. You push his hand off, but he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. You give a weak smile, unable to snatch your hand away as he locks his fingers with yours. Your costar gives you a thumbs up and a head nod. When dinner ends, Victoria, your costar, invites everyone to her home for drinks. You sit in the living room awkwardly sipping your wine, listening to everyone talk about the upcoming Oscars. You excuse yourself to get some water, and Jackson follows you.

"How long are you going to ignore me? Sunshine, it's me. I've changed. I want things to be different between us."

"If you think I would ever return to you, you are more insane than I thought. Stay away from me." You try to walk around him, but he blocks your path.

"Only Joey is good enough for you?" He whispers. You can smile at the whiskey on his breath and try to move your face.

"I'm not with Joe. So knock it off and leave people only." You grab his wrist, making him chuckle.

"If you're not with him, what does it matter that I want to mess with the kid a little?" He laughs, running his thumb across your lip.

"I don't want innocent people hurt because of me. If you want to ruin someone, then ruin me more than you already have." You grip his wrist tighter. He leans in and kisses you.

"Oh my! I knew something was up with you two!" Victoria shouts, running to tell the rest. You pull away, ready to slap Jackson, but he catches your wrist.

"Don't tempt me with a good time." He laughs, walking away, leaving you there disgusted. You rush to the bathroom to wash your lips. When you step back into the room, everyone whistles. You say your goodbyes and call your driver. At home, you spend a good amount of time in the shower breaking down. You get out of the shower and unblock Joe, calling him.

"H-Hello," Joe wipes his eyes, sitting up. You don't say anything and listen to him rustling in the sheets.

"You don't have to save anything. I'm glad you called me. I've been worried about you. Are you okay?" He asks, turning on the nightstand lamp. Your hands shake, and you close your eyes, letting his voice calm you.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. Press a button once for yes and twice for no. Are you okay?" He asks again. This time you press one twice.

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to come to see you?"

You press one button. Joe smiles.

"Okay. I'll look at flights right now. I missed you so much. I know it's only been a few weeks, but it's killing me. I looked at the contract. We're going to get through this. Did you miss me?"

You pause for a min that rolls into two mins leaving Joe in complete suspense. And finally, you press one giving him the relief he waited for. Joe smiles and lets out another sigh.

"It must be late there. Get some rest. I'll see you later today. I love you." Joe lingers on the phone a bit, hoping to hear your voice.

"Can you stay on the phone until I fall asleep?" You whisper. And there his heart goes filling with all the love he holds for you.

"Of course," Joe replies. Joe continues his morning routine while you lay down, listening to his shower, making a smoothie, and brushing his teeth. He also keeps you on the phone while he drives to the airport. When he arrives at the airport, he listens to your light snores for a few minutes before hanging up.

You wake up to a few texts from Joe letting you know he has a layover in Texas, but he should see you sometime tonight. But that's not the text that you respond to first. It's the text from your manager asking about Jackson. You dial her number and play with your fingers while listening to the ringer.

"Are you back together with Jackson? Victoria has already told half the staff you two were kissing last night. I need to know what you're doing. Now I have a shit ton of people messaging me about it. Well?" She sounds annoyed, and you take note of it.

"He kissed me. He was drunk."

"Right. I'll handle it like I always do. You need to be on set by 3:30. Eliza will meet you there." She hangs up without another word. You lay there trying your best to prepare yourself for work. You used to enjoy acting, but now it seems tiring and focused. And with Jackson breathing down your neck, you can catch a break. Maybe you should retire at 28 next year. You giggle at the thought. It's your dream, and you shouldn't give it up because of one prick. You get yourself out of bed and ready to eat lunch and get to set. Of course, when you get to set, everyone is asking you about Jackson. You deny the rumors and lock yourself in the dressing room. Until the devil himself knocks, and you open the door, not letting him enter.

"What do you want? That stunt you pulled yesterday, go fuck yourself. I'm never getting back with you. When you learn that, then you can move the fuck on."

Jackson chuckles. He leans against the door and then closer to you.

"And what will the media think? Look how far you got in your career and so quickly too. They will think you used me to get where you are. Do whatever you want, but I will bend the story to my needs. I don't think Mike Brown would be happy with his star player getting caught in a scandal. I can, and I will make that happen. Try me."

Once again, Jackson leaves you speechless. You return to your room, slamming the door in his face. He can't ruin Joe's career just because you don't want to be with him. You're stuck here in this never-ending Hell with him. After leaving him, he ensured you couldn't get deals for months. It wasn't until your manager begged that he released the hold a little. Eliza enters the room and hugs you. She's already heard the rumor from Karen, your manager. You try to explain what happened without breaking down. But you fail. Eliza holds you as you sob.

"He's going to do something to Joe. I can't get out of this thing."

"You can. Janet should be arriving. And she's already looked over what Joe sent her, so maybe-"

"He's not going to let me go. I'll never be happy again." You stand up, leaving Eliza in the room. During a break, you watch the staff and cast whisper and can't help but think it's aimed toward you.

"Like, why else would she get this role? Fucking Jackson Taylor gets you everything." A girl whispers. You keep staring ahead, trying not to let words get to you.

"Ladies, I don't think talking like that on set is very professional. If my sunshine wasn't so lovely, she would have you both fired and blacklisted. Get lost." He tells them, taking a seat next to you.

"This is how it starts. Now you either come to me and let me protect you, or I'll let this bury you and your career." He turns to you with a smile. You put your head down.

"I'll give you until the end of the week for my answer. And darling, I'm expecting the right answer. I have to fly to Paris, but I'll be back." He stands and kisses your head. You let his words play in your head all day. And when you get home, you find Joe sitting in your living room watching one of your movies. You become shy when he turns noticing you.

"Hey." He stands up as his sister-in-law comes around the corner. You run over and hug him. Joe holds you tight like he's afraid to let you go again.

"I've been looking over the contract. Let's sit down and talk." Janet says. You guys go to the dining room, and Eliza joins a little later.

"So I know this is an NDA, and you breaking it would result in a lawsuit. There really is nothing wrong with this on the surface, but if you are behind its words and intent, it's gross. I think we need something more. We need to know about the relationship in depth." Janet explains. You look at Joe, then Eliza. Eliza nods her head, telling you to speak. But you can't. The words you have to say won't come out. Your throat feels as if rose thorns have begun to grow there. Jackson stole your voice years ago, and he has the key. Joe holds your hand, encouraging you. Warm and tenderly, he strokes the back of your hand.

"Was he abusive?" Janet asks. You look down at the brown table and nod. Janet starts writing.

"Emotionally, Mentally, or….physically?" She asks.

"All." You whisper. Joe clenches his teeth but remains calm. He needs to be calm for you.

"It's hard to prove things that took place years ago. I'm in no way lowering your trauma, but that is what the court will argue." Janet reaches her hand across the table to hold yours.

"I can't prove anything. If I came out with these accusations, no one would believe me. It's another dead end." You shake your head in frustration. If you were to see this thing through, you would need proof. Unfortunately, this world doesn't take women's truth at face value especially dealing with powerful men.

"When do you need to be back to set?" Janet asks.

"Two days."

"You let me figure something out. I'll handle this. I need to rest, so I'll go to the guest room if that's okay." Janet stands up, and you let Joe take her to the room. Eliza holds your hand, apologizing for leaving you, but you tell her you are fine. A feeling has been knawing at you since you laid eyes on Joe again. When you two are alone, you convince him to join you for a bath. You didn't mean for things to become R rated quickly, but 10 mins into your bath, you find yourself riding Joe. The water splashes around the tub, some spilling on the floor as Joe bounces you up and down his shaft.

"Missed you so fucking much." He groans into the kiss. You missed him too, but the words never left your lips. But Joe knows you missed him; you don't have to say it. You throw your head back when Joe begins playing with your clit.

"I'm going to cum." You cry, shutting your eyes. Joe coaches you through your orgasm.

"So beautiful. That's it, baby, keep riding me. Ride it out. Such a good girl." He whispers against your collarbone. You look down at him and smile.

"Want you to cum inside me."

Joe chokes, and you feel him twitch inside you. He starts bouncing you faster on his cock. Using your body like a fuck doll.

"Feels so good. Fill me up." You shout. And Joe complies, holding you down on his lap as he empties himself into your sweet little cunt. He bites down on your shoulder, suppressing his loud grunts. You play with his hair and can't wipe the smile off your face. After a quick shower, you throw on shorts and a tank top, and Joe stays in his shorts. He can't keep his hands off you, and it's not like you want him to stop. In fact, you can't keep your lips off of him. You leave a big bruise on his neck, and kitten lick the red blotchy skin patch. Joe chuckles and slips his hand into your shorts, groping your ass in his large hands.

"Do you believe me?" You whisper, folding your hands under your chin and propping your chin on your hands. Joe is leaning on a pillow while you lay on your tummy on top of him. He looks down at you and licks his lips.

"I do. There's never been a doubt."

"Maybe I deserved-"

"Don't. Don't you ever say you deserved any of the abuse. He's a piece of shit. He took advantage of you."

"But I owe him so much. My career would be nothing if he didn't back me up. If he didn't get me the best acting coach or-"

"You are amazing because of you. Not because of anyone else."

"The first time it happened, I was shocked. You hear about domestic violence, but you think not me. It can't happen to me. But when it did, I thought I stressed him out, so it was my fault it won't happen again. I made excuses after that. It was empty threats for a while, but those empty threats….turned into real things. The third time is when I finally left. It's the reason I don't go to award shows anymore. After I won my third Oscar, we got into this huge argument on the way home….I-"

"You don't have to share this." Joe lightly cups your face.

"I want to. I want you to know why I can never love you." You sit up on his lap and take a deep breath. Joe nods, telling you to continue.

"He was upset with me for having more wins than him. Crazy when I think about it. He accused me of sleeping with the board or something. I was so upset because it was a big night for me, and he ruined it by making it about himself. He told me I was nothing without him. I didn't thank him in my speech, and that pissed him off even more. I've won best supporting actress twice already, so when my name was called for Best Actress, I blanked. It was everything I ever wanted. It's what I've been dreaming about since I was a little girl, and he ruined that night for me. He took away my special day and ruined it….ruined me. That night was the last night for us. It was the last day I would ever let him lay his hands on me or make me feel lower than dirt. I promised myself that I would only live for myself." You sniffle, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. Joe reaches up and wipes your tears.

"You're so strong. You know that?" Joe whispers, wiping your face.

"I'm not strong. I'm afraid of him. I'm worried everything will get taken away from me with the snap of his fingers. I hid for months after that win, and many people assumed I was on break, but I was hiding from him. He would call me and leave messages threatening me. I was so afraid he was going to-When I finally answered him, he brought up the contract. I had forgotten all about it until we sat down with his lawyer and my manager. He made me promise not to date for five years. At the time, dating was the last thing on my mind. I stopped taking projects with his name attached because I wanted to see if I could do it by myself. And I did…But I haven't won anything since then, and it's because-"

Joe sits up to pull you in his arms as you break down. Your body trembles, and you begin to sob uncontrollably. Joe's blood begins to boil, listening to your cries. There's no way Joe can be in the same room with Jackson without ripping his head off.

"I can't let myself fall in love with you because I'm afraid you'll turn out to be just like him. I've seen reports about football players, and I can't let myself fall into another situation like that. I'm scared to fall in love with you only to end up in the same situation I've been running from. I can't love you, Joe. I'm broken. I'm not this glamorous woman smiling for the cameras. I'm a scared girl who only wants to hide. I'm scarred, and being associated with me will only make you a target for Jackson. He's not going to stop until I come back to him. If I don't, he will make sure I will be alone and miserable for the rest of my life."

"I won't let him. He can do whatever the fuck he wants to my career, but I won't let him bully and belittle you. You mean too fucking much to me to sit aside and let you live in misery. I love you. I'm nothing like him, and I hope to prove that to you the more time we spend together. You don't have to fall in love with me. I want you to be in love with me." Joe kisses your forehead rubbing your back. You guys lay back down, letting sleep take over. The next morning you make everyone breakfast. Janet leaves to handle some things. Joe follows you around the house, helping you with random things. You both end up back in bed, kissing and wrapped in each other's company. Joe sighs against your lips, rubbing your back. His fingers tangle themselves in your hair as you kiss his neck again, leaving a twin mark to last night's love mark. You giggle, listening to Joe hum a song.

"What are you humming?"

"Fallin All In You by Shawn Mendes."

You raise your eyebrows, never hearing the song before you tell him to sing it. Joe's face turns red. He's not a great singer but he would do anything to make you smile. And, of course, impress you.

"Every time I see you, baby, I get lost. If I'm dreaming, baby, please don't wake me up. Every night that I'm with you, I fall more in love. Now, I'm lying by your side; everything feels right since you came along." Joe sings off-tone. You giggle and hold his face.

"You're so cute." You kiss his lips. Joe brushes his nose against your cheek.

"Stop laughing at me and sing me a song." He pouts, knowing you always give in to his pout. You clear your throat and sit up. Joe's ocean eyes stare back at you with so much admiration that you become shy under his gaze. You cover your face and start laughing.

"No fair." Joe pouts.

"You're making me nervous. How about we play I Spy." You smile, getting up from the bed and opening the curtains to let in light from your beautiful California landscape.

"What are we, 12?"

"I spy with my little eye something blue."

Joe gets up and stands next to you. He looks around and finally points to the pool.

"The pool." He says. You nod with a smile.

"I spy with my little eye something green."

"Grass. Joseph, that's too easy." You laugh, looking around the backyard.

"I spy something hot." You turn to him with a wink.

"You," Joe replies with no hesitation.

"That wins you no points, by the way."

"The sun. I spy something beautiful." Joe is staring down at you, making you shy again under his gaze. He leans down, kissing your lips once you point to yourself, answering his question. Before the kiss can get deeper, you get a call from Janet. You guys go downstairs to find Janet, Eliza, and an older woman.

"This is Alex. She wants to take your case if you want to proceed." Janet says, introducing you. You look at Joe, then Eliza.

"I don't want to take it to court. Is there a way we can handle it quietly? I just want Jackson to leave me alone." You whisper. Alex nods her head.

"I will draw up a contract with your terms, and we will present it to Mr.Taylor and his lawyer," Alex responds. You fiddle with your fingers wanting to say more but stop yourself.

"I would like you to, umm, what do you kids call it, soft launch? Yes, soft launch your relationship with Joe." Alex states. You immediately start shaking your head. Alex softly grabs your hand.

"My job is to protect you. I would never put you in danger without not having a plan. Can you trust me?" She asks. But you shake your head again.

"Jackson would-"

"React. That's what we want out of him. We need a reaction." Janet adds.

"You don't understand his reaction won't be anything small. He will take my career away. He'll…"

Alex pulls you into a hug.

"I've been where you are. I know how scared you are. You deserve to be happy and free of that monster. Think about it tonight. And in the morning if it's still too much for you…We will come up with something else." Alex whispers into your ear. She lets you go and follows Janet. Joe takes your hand and brings you to the pool. You, Joe, and Eliza swim around for a few hours, then order take-out before finally returning to your bedroom.

"I'm a coward." You stare at yourself in the mirror.

Joe stops drying his hair, putting the towel down to give you his full attention.

"You're not a coward. You are brave and strong. You left him." Joe pulls you into a hug. You spend the rest of the night lying on sheets on the floor, talking about mundane things. And when the is starting to rise, Joe makes love to you on a bed of sheets across the floor. Your soft moans fill him with bliss as he rocks into your shaking body. With every kiss, he whispers how much he loves you. And when you are both completely spent, you lay there drifting to sleep. Joe reaches over for his phone and takes a picture of you. You open your eyes, giggling, reaching for your own phone as Joe stands and slips on his shorts. You look at the angry red marks you left on his back and smile. Joe bends down and picks you up. You wrap your legs and arms around him as you watch the sun peek over the horizon. You take the photo of you and Joe in the reflection of the glass. Joe carries you to the bed kissing your neck.

"When does football start?"

"The fall, but I'll be heading back for practice and stuff. That doesn't mean I won't see you. I'll-"

"Do you want to meet my family?" You cut him off. Joe runs his thumb over your bottom lip.

"I would love to meet them." He replies. You log onto IG and post your morning photo with the caption, "Blue eyes and honey sunrise."

It takes 10 seconds for your IG to blow up and texts to come to your phone. Joe looks down at your phone, laughing. It takes 10 mins for blogs to post and try to pin you to any blue-eyed actor. You're happy they're looking in the wrong direction—Jackson's name flashes across your screen. Joe snatches the phone and tosses it before peppering your face with kisses. And when Sunday comes, Joe sits uncomfortably across from your father and three brothers. They were pretty intimidating.

"So the Bengals quarterback, huh? This goes against everything. I'm a Bills fan." Your dad slaps the table scaring Joe. You roll your eyes and wrap your arm around Joe's arm.

"Well, I guess now you will become a Bengals fan. I need to take this call." You say, getting up and going to answer a phone call.

"What do you want with our sister?" Your oldest brother asks.

"I--umm-Nothing. Love? I'm not sure about the question." Joe stutters. Your youngest brother can't help but laugh. You told him and you and Joe so long ago. He wondered why it took you so long to mention it to the rest of the family.

"Corey, shut up. You're the least intimidating person ever." Brian, your middle brother, says, laughing. Corey starts laughing, agreeing. Your father joins in.

"It's been a long time since we've seen her smile like that. We figured she must have dated some asswipe in Hollywood. She won't tell us, but seeing her happy again is good." Your dad holds his hand out, and Joe shakes it. You come back to the guys laughing and take your seat.

"Honey, dinner was good as always." Your dad starts clearing the table, but you take the plates.

"I'll clean you guys chat." You say, grabbing things.

"This is my house. You came to visit me last min; why would I make you clean up?" Your father stands and takes the plates. You shake your head and follow him to the kitchen. Joe gets comfortable with your brothers as they talk about sports and nonsense. Your dad watches you wash the dishes with a smile on his face.

"He's in love with you. That boy has not stopped staring at you since you first arrived."

"I know." You whisper, drying your hands.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not a feeling I want to talk about with you." You reply. Your dad looks at you feeling frustrated. You're his baby girl, his youngest child. The fact that you feel the need to keep him 6 feet away hurts him, but he agreed to give you space.

"Are you guys leaving? Maybe stay the night?"

"Joe has to get back to Ohio, and I must get home. I wanted to introduce you guys. Thank you for having us." You walk away to find the guys joking around. Your youngest brother, Aaron, pulls you into a hug. After saying your goodbyes, you and Joe fly back to LA. You lied to your dad about Joe going home, but it was better to keep your contact with your family to a min, especially with Jackson breathing down your neck.

"Right there?" Joe whispers against your sweaty forehead. You bite your lip and nod your head as Joe continues to bury his fingers deep in your cunt.

"One more for me. Right, baby?"

You nod and grab his wrist feeling your walls breaking down. Joe circles your clit with his thumb and smiles against your cheek as you cum onto his fingers. You lay there heaving, trying to relax your sensitive body.

"What time do you need to be on set?"

"I think 7 pm, which is in two hours. I need to get a shower and get dressed." You sit up, staring at Joe.

"He's going to be on set today?" He asks you.

"Probably."

"Janet and Alex are working on some things, so don't worry. Ignore whatever he says. I have to catch this flight; otherwise, I would go-"

"You're not allowed. We have to remain like this for some time." You pat his cheek. Saying goodbye to Joe, for now, was hard, but you knew you would have to face Jackson sooner or later. But to your surprise, Jackson wasn't on set.

Joe entered the meeting room with Ja'Marr and Sam, laughing about something Marr had said. His smile leaves his face as he sits staring at the head coach Zac, Duke Tobin, the general manager, and Jackson Taylor.

"I figured we should introduce everyone to Jackson Taylor. I'm sure everyone knows him, but he has made hefty donations to the team and is currently in negotiation to be co-owner of the Bengals. I have to say it's an honor to bring him aboard for our future endeavors." Duke says. The room cheers Jackson on as he steps forward.

"Growing up in Cincinnati, it's only fitting that I put some money back into the place that raised me," Jackson says with a big smile.

"Yo, this is so fucking dope. Greatest of all time!" Ja'Marr shouts, earning cheers and roars for Jackson from the team—everyone except Joe. Jackson's eyes glance over to Joe. And for a minute, they seem to be the only two people in the room. Zac goes through some upcoming training and practices. At the end of the meeting, the team takes photos with Jackson. Joe stands to the side, eyeing him the whole time. Finally, Jackson approaches him.

"Two Ohio boys reunited. This is going to be a great season." Jackson holds his hand out for Joe to shake, but Joe doesn't move. Joe smacks his hand away.

"Stay away from her."

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Listen, you piece of-"

"Joe. I'm glad to see you guys chatting it up. Actually, this is great. Jackson told me about the children's charity he runs, and I forwarded the info to your agent. It would be great if you guys collaborated on it." Duke says. Jackson takes Joe's hand, shaking it and smiling as someone takes a photo of them. Joe snatches away and walks off. He calls Janet informing her of the news.

"Fuck. He's going to be a tricky bastard to bring down. Joe, you have to keep your cool." Jante warns. Joe agrees but doesn't know how long he can keep his cool. Not with him knowing the kind of person Jackson really was. Around 4 am, Joe calls you up to see how your day went. You explain; it's been crazy. Everyone keeps asking who the mystery guy is, but you laugh it off. It was quite a risky photo, but everyone loved it for the most part. Your fans haven't stopped talking about it, reposting, and deep diving to discover who your lover is. It made you laugh at every tweet and comment. Over the next two weeks, Jackson doesn't come to set, which gives you relief. And just like that, the film is wrapped up, and you're free of him….or so you thought.

"I think it would be in your best interest to get back with Jackson." Karen, your manager says one day. You turn to her shaking your head.

"I'm dating someone so-"

"And your contract says you are not allowed to date anyone for the next five years. Three years now."

"It says I can't go public. We're not public. We-"

"Stop being dumb here. Do you want him to ruin your career? I'm trying to help you before you make this worse." Karen crosses her arms and storms away. You start playing with your hands and overthinking. Before you can drown any further, Joe's name on your phone pops up, pulling you back to safety.

Karen walks into Jackson's dressing room.

"Well, what did she say?" He asks, signing some papers.

"Jacks, just let her go. I'm not sure why you're so stuck on this one girl. She-"

"Do I fucking pay you to give me unsolicited advice? Do your fucking job and get her back to where she belongs, or I promise you will never have another fucking client in the entertainment business again." He slams his pen down. Karen glares at Jackson and walks away, slamming the door. Jackson leaves the room to find you on set receiving flowers from the staff. He walks over and kisses you smack on the lips.

"So proud of you, honey."

"I knew it! I knew you were dating!" Victoria squeals. You awkwardly pull away and give a nervous smile. Jackson kisses the top of your head.

"She's always been mine." He whispers. Victoria takes your flowers and pulls you away, gushing over the kiss. Eliza stands to the side, shocked and seething with anger. Everyone is smiling and congratulating Jackson, and she grabs the hot coffee on the stand and walks over, throwing it on him.

A/N: I forgot to make a tag list! But I will if you leave a comment here, I will start tagging you guys. thanks for all the love and comments. Sorry this got a little dark but as we know its not all sunshine in the limelight. And this stems from some personal aspects. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Love talking to you guys about my stories or anything!

[scremogirl]

☾✧꥟ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒꥟✧☀︎︎

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐬

!TWO-FACE/HARVEY DENT ADDITION!

this shit had me doing back flips. one of y’all need to help me figure out this link thingy before i quit. ٩(╬ʘ益ʘ╬)۶

Harvey Dent. A respectable businessman, lawyer, best friend of Bryce Waye, and millionaire playboy. After the chemical explosion, his life changed forever, something inside him trying to claw its way out. Or should I say someone? With his literal other half, he now wore the name Two-Face. Somewhat of a crime boss, not as established as BlackMask and not as sophisticated as the penguin; a very loose interpretation. One of the most dangerous rogues in Gotham, that’s for sure.

Walking down the hall to your destination, you press the button on the side of the metal door to request entry. This office is way bigger than you expected it to be. Compensation for who and what you’ll be having to deal with on an almost daily basis. Setting down your boxes on the large desk, you look around and take a deep breath. As the hour passes you decorate your room to your liking. You sit down in your swivel chair spinning around from time to time to ease your nerves about the arrival of a new patient. You’ve heard many things about Mr. Dent, but unfortunately, none of them are any good.

You hear a loud buzzing sound, signaling to you that someone is here. Hearing the jingling of chains and muffled voices, you see two guards use slight force to push Harvey through the door.

“Good Morning Ms. (L/N),” says the warden.

“Morning Brahms, How are you?” Whatever he says is lost because your eyes land on the man searing your skin with his gaze. You shift from one side of his face to the other, cautious to not stare at the more grotesque side in order to not make him uncomfortable. You’ve read in the files that Two-Face doesn’t appreciate eye contact very much. Understandable.

“Anyways,” says Brahms, snapping you back from reality.

“This one has a bit of an attitude this morning, if you want we could stay and make sure no funny business happens,” gesturing to the guard holding Harvey’s opposite arm.

“That’s alright, sessions are meant to hold some sort of privacy anyways,” From your peripheral you see Two-Face narrow his eyes at you, less hostile, but one shows skepticism and the other slightly appreciative. Creepy.

“Alright then, we’ll be right outside if you need us,” and with that, they walk Harvey to the bench on the opposite side of the room and leave. He stares at you unmoving, likely assessing you.

“So, Mr Dent, or should I call you Two-Face?” You wait for a reply but he stays silent, leading you to continue.

“I’m Dr. (L/N); your new therapist and/or psychiatrist depending on what they see from outer sessions, knowing this place they’ll make me do both,” you mumble that last part under your breath.

Again he doesn’t respond, so you continue on with your introduction. Tell him what you read in his files, what you expect out of your sessions, the works. As you're talking though, you somehow miss the ringing of the chains and handcuffs. Before you know it he’s made his way around your desk with a hand around your neck.

“You talk too much,” he says, lifting you off the ground and slamming you against the bookshelf behind you. You grasp at his wrist a little as you gasp for air.

“I could just end you right here, y’know that? What’s it to me?” He stares deep into your eyes, so much for not liking eye contact. He’s about to speak again when he feels a sharp jolt through his body. He drops you and flies back, crouching down on the floor. You reach up to your throat and cough up a little before speaking,

“I don’t mind a bit of choking, but nothing near as homicidal. Didn’t your mother teach you how to treat a lady?”

“What the- What the fuck was that?” He grumbles out slowly trying to stand back up.

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve myself, how’d you think I managed to stay here as long as I have?” He looks at you with curiosity and searing anger. His expression changes as both his eyes widen and lips slightly part as he watches the forming bruise on your neck slowly disappear.

“Don’t look so surprised Mr. Dent, you’ve probably seen more impressive things,” you straighten out your clothes, fix your hair, and push your glasses back into place. You slowly walk over to your seat and gesture at him to go back to the couch. He begrudgingly complies still in shock…literally.

“You’re a very hostile one Mr. Dent, want to tell me what that’s about?” He goes blank again, mumbling “You deal with this,” before a softer more weary expression manifests on the right side of his face.

“I’m sorry Dr. (Y/N), he’s never really liked any of the therapists here,”

“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Dent, as you said before I am your new doctor. I look forward to working with you,” you say with a soft smile.

“Now, I believe I asked you a question earlier,” he heaves a deep sigh, turning his gaze down to his feet and hands sliding down his face in exhaustion before continuing.

“He just- he just doesn’t like other people. He can barely tolerate me, always trying to fight his way past me,” you hum as an encouragement for him to continue.

The remaining session goes over pretty smoothly except for a couple of protests from Two-Face when Harvey picks out his flaws. They’re surprisingly calm, just has a bit of a temperament. You write the last note in your pad and close his final.

“Thank you, Mr. Dent; Two-Face. It’ll be quite the experience working with you two,” and with that, the timer signaling the end of your session rings. The guards walk him and take him away, but, before they can drag him all the way out, he glances back at you one last time with a slight smirk.

“Thanks for today Doc, I’ll be sure to use all that new information later,” he says, glancing down at your neck. The guards look at him, between each other, and then you. They give you a quizzical look as you just raise an eyebrow. As they walk out you sit there a little confused. You couldn’t seem to decipher which one of them was talking. That thought is pushed to the back of your mind as two different guards bring another patient in. Well, we’ll just have to see how the next session goes.

[universitypenguin]

Part V

The Princess & the Lawyer - Part Five

Summary: The morning after. Lloyd is called out by a friend. Princess learns of a disturbance last night in her apartment building.

Word Count: 3,758

Warnings: Mention of sexual activity including M/F/M dynamics, kink, and open relationships. Subtle hints of Lloyd’s traumatic childhood. Mention of harassment, stalking. Jokes making light of divorce, alimony, and speeding.

Author’s Note: A huge thank you to my beta reader, @nomadstucky for her help editing this chapter! You’re the best. Your feedback always keeps me motivated during the writing process. 

Masterlist 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An irritating beam of sunlight made Lloyd groan. He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow. A moment later he pulled back, scowling. 

This wasn’t his pillow. 

His pillow was denser than this one, which was offensively fluffy. He turned his head and flinched away from the brightness. Throwing up his arm to block out the light, he glared at the open drapes. 

The venetian blinds on the East window let in so much light that he’d installed black out curtains a day after moving in. He always closed them before bed. So why hadn’t he shut them last night? And why was he on the wrong side of the bed, with the fluffy pillow he hated? 

Then he saw the woman lying in his spot. 

You’d claimed his side of the bed, and his pillow. The blankets were a tangled mess, wound around you so that only your head peaked out. You were wrapped up like a mummy. You sighed, a breathy sound that assured him you were still asleep. Lloyd sat up and felt a chill in the air. He figured you’d stolen his covers when the air conditioning kicked on. The temperature, as much as the light, had woken him. 

He eased out of bed and shut the curtains so you wouldn’t be bothered. When he looked down, there was a scrap of lace on the floor beside his foot. 

Your panties. 

Lloyd picked them up, along with your skirt. He hung the skirt in the closet to let out the wrinkles. The rest of your clothes were strewn near the door. He put them in the wash and then showered in the guest bath. In the middle of drying his hair, he realized he hadn’t shut off his alarm. Shit. 

He fastened a towel around his hips and bolted for the bedroom. His phone was in the pocket of his trousers. Sure enough, he had set an alarm for seven-thirty. Lloyd disabled it and fired off a text in the group chat with Zach and the others, saying he wouldn’t make their nine a.m. tee time. He was brushing his teeth when a reply from Zach appeared. 

Pussy. You just don’t want Blue Marsh to fuck up your handicap. 

Lloyd tapped out a brief response. 

Fuck you. I hope you hit every sand trap on the course. 

He dried and styled his hair before switching your clothes to the dryer. On his way across the house, he collected a Gatorade and two ibuprofen. He sat the drink and pills next to you on his nightstand, stripped off his robe and crawled in beside you. 

You were curled up, an extra pillow tucked under your arm, in the middle of the bed. The blankets were tangled even tighter around you. Without the warmth of his robe, Lloyd realized how chilly the room was. He kept the house cool during the summer months because he couldn’t sleep if he was too hot. You looked as if you were freezing. 

He slid closer, trying not to disturb you. Within a minute, you were rooting for his warmth, pushing the blankets away and seeking out his skin. He drew the comforter up, adjusting it to cover your shoulder. You sighed into the pillow. 

Lloyd tucked an arm behind his head, reclining against the headboard, and enjoyed your embrace. You were already warming up. The restless squirming had stopped, and you clung to him, plastering your body against his. He tucked the corner of the blanket around his waist to draw you a little closer. Your forehead pressed into his shoulder and your hand curled around his bicep. 

There was a strong sense of disbelief that this was real. He wondered if he was dreaming, but knew his imagination wasn’t as vivid as this. Plus, he’d never have pegged you as a virgin. That detail was too much for his mind to have come up with, even in a dream. You tugged on him and shifted restlessly. Lloyd opened his arms and was thrilled when you curled into his chest. He felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. Sure, you were only using him for warmth, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You stretched, and groaned at the sting in your core the movement caused.

“Morning, Princess.” 

Lloyd’s gravelly voice made you slit your eyes. They struggled to focus, still blurry with sleep. He was lying beside you, a mug of coffee in hand, watching you. The room was filled with sunlight, the curtains parted, blinds open, light pouring in. You covered your eyes. 

“What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.” 

“Mmmhhh.”

Your eyes didn’t want to adjust to the light, and your head was pounding. Groaning, you rubbed your temples.

“I’m mildly hung over.” 

“Gatorade and ibuprofen are on the nightstand.” 

Sure enough, two pills and an orange bottle were perched on the end table. You swallowed them and drank half the bottle. 

“Thank you.”

“Come on, you need to soak in a hot bath.”

You felt okay, but a few internal muscles were screaming in protest. Lloyd tossed off the blankets, stealing them from you in the process. You gasped, left naked by the movement. Lloyd threw a terry cloth robe at you. 

“The bathtub in the guest room is big enough for two...” 

You perked up, remembering the gorgeous copper bathtub you’d seen before when you’d stayed over. His guest room bathtub was worthy of being photographed for magazines. You’d never been bold enough to use it, opting for the shower instead. There had only been a few times you’d stayed over at Lloyd’s house. The first was after drinking too much eggnog at the firm’s holiday party, and the second when you’d celebrated a trial victory with an excessive amount of margaritas. Lloyd had driven to Georgetown at 2 a.m. to collect you from the party when Andy called him on your behalf. 

You put in the robe and winced at the slight burn. The muscles at your entrance stung, and when you took a step, the deeper ones protested as well. It didn’t feel terrible, but there was discomfort. Lloyd had the bath running when you entered the room. He was stirring Epsom salts into the water and glanced over his shoulder when you shut the door. 

“Still bleeding?” 

“What?!”

The question took you off guard. You were shocked, then horrified. How did he know you’d bled, when you hadn’t even noticed? Lloyd put the Epsom salts on the counter and stepped into your space, grasping the robe’s lapels. You dropped your gaze to his chest. 

He chuckled, released the cloth he’d been about to strip off, and took you in his arms.

“Don’t feel embarrassed. If I’d been more restrained, you’d have been fine.” 

“I liked it.” 

His arms squeezed tight. 

“I enjoyed every minute of last night,” you said. 

“So did I. Except for finding blood on the washcloth.” 

You ducked into his chest. Lloyd patted your hip and reached for the belt of your robe. 

“Ready?”

You stepped back this time and allowed him to slip the garment off. He hung it on the back of the door and surprised you by kneeling. You gasped when he lifted your right leg over his shoulder. Then his fingertips probed at your sex with gentle pressure. The touch hurt, making you hiss, as he stroked his thumb over the lower edge of the opening. You gasped when he continued carefully exploring the spot. 

“Sorry, Princess. You’re not bleeding, and it only looks irritated.” 

Your cheeks were on fire. He sounded way too clinical for your comfort. 

“I’m fine, you can get up!”

Lloyd released your leg and stood. 

“Settle down, Princess. I spent a lot more time exploring down there than anyone else has.” 

“Can we stop talking about my vagina?” 

Lloyd followed you to the bath and climbed in behind you. He circled an arm around your waist and helped you into the basin. It was a huge, long claw-foot bathtub made of copper. The space was a little narrow, but there was plenty of length to stretch out in. Lloyd reclined and adjusted your position between his legs. You let him guide you to lie against his chest. His hands wandered over your breasts, and you groaned when he teased a nipple. 

“Sensitive?” 

“Sore. Certain places react when you do that.”

“Mmmhhh.” 

He backed off, moving his hands to your waist. 

“What do you usually do on Saturday mornings?”

“Sleep. You?”

“Breakfast with Zach and Jake, then golf. I canceled today. How does brunch sound?”

“Perfect. I’m starving.” 

You discussed restaurant options as Lloyd toyed with the ends of your hair and nuzzled your neck. It was amazing how affectionate he was in this setting. You found yourself jealous of his previous lovers. It was well known that he and Zach only dated recent divorcées, targeting the group least likely to seek out a long term relationship. If this was how Lloyd treated his one night stands, it was a miracle he didn’t have a waiting list. 

“Why are you so tense?” Lloyd asked. 

He rubbed your shoulders, thumbs digging into the tissue. You groaned. 

“That feels good. Keep going.” 

“Scoot forward.”

You did and were rewarded by his hands smoothing down your back and circling your shoulder blades, and then up to your neck. His clever hands found the knots and soreness and rubbed the muscles loose. You were aware of the hardness pressing at your back as you moaned in delight. You wanted him again. Before you could make a move, he pulled his hands away. 

“Alright, brunch. Why don’t I lend you a shirt? Your clothes are still in the dryer. I hung up your skirt so the wrinkles would fall out.” 

“Perfect.” 

You had no doubt the triactate fabric would be pristine by now. Sure enough, it was as neat as if you’d just ironed it. Lloyd’s white Oxford shirt, knotted at the waist to fit your frame, made for a cute outfit. You wished for flat shoes as you slid into your work pumps, but resigned yourself to getting Saturday brunch in heels. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Three hours later, Lloyd was wondering how you’d gotten him here. 

He was surrounded by lush greenery, staring at the blue tiled pool in the D.C Botanical Gardens conservatory. His arm was looped comfortably around your shoulders and you clasped his waist. You’d let him treat you to brunch, then dragged him to the mall for a pair of flat sandals, then to the national gallery of art to see their latest statue - a giant, blue rooster - and then, on to the gardens. Oddly enough, he was having fun. Even more so when you snuggled up to his side with a contented noise that made him want to purr. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Lloyd stiffened. He turned, already knowing who he’d find. 

Sure enough, Zach Hightower, Jake Jensen, and Landon McAnanny stood with their arms crossed, staring. 

“You two look cozy. How about some company?”

“Sure, have a seat,” you said, smiling at Zach. 

Lloyd didn’t want company. He would have preferred Zach and his loud Texas accent disappeared from the garden… No, he wished Zach would disappear from the city entirely. All three of them could vanish, in fact. His wish went unfulfilled. 

Instead, Landon dragged over a bistro table and two chairs. Zach dropped himself on the other end of the bench, right next to you. Landon and Jake sat down at the table. 

“How’s it going, sweetheart? Did you haul this sourpuss out for some fresh air and his weekly senior citizen activities?” Zach asked.

“Isn’t that supposed to be golfing with you?”

Jake laughed, responding before Zach could answer. “I’m only a couple years older than you.” 

Lloyd bristled at the speed of Jake’s comment. He’d been awfully quick to point out that he was closer to your age than the rest of them. 

You giggled. “Of course, they need a designated driver if they’re going to be out at night. Eyesight is the first thing to go.” 

Jake turned to Landon. “You’re the designated driver if we’re drinking though. That’s not a sacrifice I’m prepared to make.” 

Zach leaned towards you, lowering his voice. 

“We stopped him after two mimosas at breakfast and he still couldn’t keep it on the fairway.” 

“I heard that,” Jake said. 

Lloyd didn’t miss the way Jake’s eyes lingered on your calves as you crossed your legs. He liked the younger man, but wanted to blind him for the drool that was all but running down his chin. You mentioned a carnivorous plant on the other side of the greenhouse and Jake insisted you take him to see it. The pair of you got up and walked off, promising to be back in a moment. 

Zach clicked his tongue, eyes fastening on Lloyd as soon as you were out of sight. 

“So, you two finally got together. I owe Landon fifty bucks.” 

Lloyd raised an eyebrow at the lean man with a scar down the right side of his face. 

“Did he pay up yet?”

“Not until you confirm it,” Landon said.

“Well, then… no comment.” 

“I noticed your girl was walking funny. Is that from last night, or this morning?” A crooked grin lifted one corner of his mouth as Lloyd’s eyes narrowed.

Zach laughed. “Lube is an essential, buddy. That wince is unmistakable. Fourchette tearing is a bitch…” 

“How do you even know that?” Landon asked. 

Zach shrugged. “I almost went to medical school.” 

Lloyd was well aware the former Navy SEAL was more than just a good shot and a wall of muscle. It surprised him that Landon, a former teammate of Zach's, hadn’t known. 

“Dr. Hightower, OBGYN?” Landon teased. 

“Something like that. I thought you considered her off limits. What made you go for it?” Zach asked. 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “It was her move, not mine.”

In unison, the two ex-SEALs crowded with laughter. Landon slapped his knee and pointed at the blond man.

“That’s an extra twenty-five. Zach. Pay up.”

Lloyd held up his hand, palm open in a ‘stop’ gesture.

“But… I’m the one who sealed the deal. We agreed to an open ended arrangement.”

“Exclusive?”

Lloyd stiffened at the interest in Zach’s tone. 

Even Landon raised an eyebrow. He had no idea about Zach and Lloyd’s history of sharing women. There was no reason for him to know. Landon was happily engaged to an adorable English girl, a junior banking executive, who’d moved continents for their relationship. He wasn’t part of the games Zach and Lloyd had played, nor would they have invited him. Or Jake, for that matter. Jensen was a former Green Beret, and a tough bastard in his own right, but he was as vanilla as they came.

“Yeah. We’re exclusive.” 

Zach sighed and dug out his wallet to pay Landon seventy-five dollars.

Gravel crunched, and Lloyd looked up to see you walking alongside Jake, smiling up at him. The tall man was using his hands to illustrate a point as you listened intently. 

He hated how good you looked together.

“She’d chew him up and spit him out,” Zach murmured. 

Lloyd gave a curt nod and relaxed, because it was true. Landon shook his head. 

“A no strings attached affair. I can’t believe she agreed to that.”

“Jealous?” Lloyd quipped.

Landon’s eyebrows raised and drew together, into a classic expression of pity. The emotion only lasted a split second before he covered it. Lloyd ground his molars and pushed down a surge of fury. He reminded himself that Landon’s world view was miles away from his, ergo the flash of pity. Some people were built for domesticity. To him it was an alien state. He’d made it past forty without being ensnared by that particular trap, and you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks.

“I’d lock that down tight, if I were you. Jake’s panting after her, Zach all but asked for a piece of the action, and you’re content with an affair? She won’t stick around very long if that’s all you’re offering.” 

Lloyd sneered, and Landon raised his hands in surrender. 

“Hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em.” 

Lloyd arranged his face into a pleasant expression as you and Jake approached. When you sat down, he couldn’t help but draw you under his arm, away from Zach. Jake frowned, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, trying to make sense of the action. From the corner of his eye, Lloyd saw Landon smirk. 

Zach launched into a dramatic retelling of how he’d scored a birdie on the 11th hole. You were the only one paying any attention to his story. Lloyd waited until he felt Jake’s eyes again. When he was certain the ex-beret was watching, he lifted your hand and brushed his lips over the back of your knuckles. Jake’s shoulders slumped. 

The petty victory didn’t settle his nerves. Jealousy bubbled under the surface because he knew the claim he’d just made was futile. He was re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. Landon was right - your affair was going to be a short one. 

He had to make the most of it while he could. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You were tired as you climbed the stairs to your fourth floor apartment in the early evening. Lloyd had kissed you goodbye in the parking lot at work, where you’d collected your car and set out on an important errand. Birthday gift shopping for a one year old. 

Your nephew celebrated his first year of life next Friday. You were excited to see him rip apart the cake with his hands. Alissa, his older sister, had refused to touch her cake when she turned one. She’d looked around expectantly until your sister cut it into neat little pieces for her. You had high expectations for Sam. He got into everything and was constantly making a mess. You were counting on him to produce some camera roll worthy moments on Friday.

On the fourth floor, you stepped into the hall. Then you squealed and jumped backwards. Your quick reflexes spared you a collision that surely would have sent you to the ER.

“Damn it, Mrs. Thompson! You’ve got to keep that thing under twenty miles an hour in the hall!”

The white haired woman laughed, a raspy sound, evidence of her smoker’s cough. It tapered off into a hacking fit. She wheeled her electric scooter around to face you. It was a shiny ‘racing green’ color, and she’d had it custom built from a factory in Japan. The name of the scooter’s color seemed to have inspired her driving style. 

Her cough sounded worse than usual. 

“Are you okay? Did they bump your oxygen up?”

“Yeah. It’s six liters now,” she said, and coughed. “I’m fine, though. Doctor said so himself.”  

You shut the stairwell door and joined her for the walk to your respective apartments. Mrs. Thompson lived straight across the hall from you.

“How was your weekend?” you asked. 

“It ain’t over yet! Ask me on Monday!” 

“Fair enough.” 

“Young people. The world goes too fast when you’re in your twenties. Listen to an old lady - don’t waste a second. Particularly not on men, they’re trash.” 

You laughed. “How many divorces did it take you to come up with that?”

“Four. The last one was to prove the theory.” 

“You’re a dedicated scientist, Mrs. Thompson.” 

She grinned, flashing the gold incisor on the left side of her mouth. 

“I figured you needed a lecture after that gentleman caller spent almost all night hammering down your door, shouting for you to take him back. What did you do to the boy?”

“My door? You must be mistaken. I wasn’t even home last night.”

“I thought that might be the case. I yelled at him to take that nonsense elsewhere, before I called the police. He scampered off real quick after that, so I didn’t get a good look at him. My eyes are terrible these days.”

“More cataracts?”

“No, just old age. You call your list of gentlemen and tell them you don’t need riff raff at all hours of the night. Your neighbors need their beauty sleep.” 

“List of gentlemen?”

You were amused and flattered that she thought you had a list. It was a neat idea… 

“Of course. You’ve got to date a lot to know what kind of man you can live with.” 

“I thought men were trash.”

Mrs. Thompson leaned off her scooter and unlocked her door. 

“They are, but alimony is a great retirement plan. Set your boyfriend straight, Princess.” 

With a wink, she rolled inside and shut the door. 

You put your package on the counter and went to the closest for wrapping paper. Gentlemen callers. Lists of men to ask for a date. What kind of world had Mrs. Thompson lived in? You were a bit jealous of the idea of having a Rolodex of men to call up and have dinner with on a whim. 

The screaming man in the hall caused you some concern. He couldn’t have been here for you, though. You wracked your brain for an explanation. There was a woman who lived next door, but she’d just moved in. You couldn’t even think of her name. As you cut wrapping paper, your mind shifted to more pleasant thoughts. You smiled, tingling with residual excitement at the memory of your weekend with Lloyd. 

As you worked, you opened the radio app on your phone to play while you wrapped the birthday present. The 80’s rock station was a current favorite and soon, you were humming along to Blondie as you cut and taped. 

You had no idea that in a few weeks, you’d be re-telling the story Mrs. Thompson had shared with you to an officer at Metro. That wasn’t unusual. Victims never really know when this kind of crime begins. 

Only their stalker knows.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

One way, or another, I'm gonna find ya

I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya

One way, or another, I'm gonna win ya

I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya

One way, or another, I'm gonna see ya

I'm gonna meet ya, meet ya, meet ya, meet ya

One day, maybe next week

I'm gonna meet ya, I'm gonna meet ya, I'll meet ya

“One Way or Another,” Blondie (1978) 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Next - Part VI

Masterlist

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Tag List:

@denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @terry2227 @jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind

[nine-of-words]

Something Borrowed (Part Eleven)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG

Wordcount: 7437

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Brief Mention of Fantasy Catholicism

I’m not dead and here is another chapter! However this part ran way too long in the original plan, so I’ve decided to break it in two. It is somehow still more than 7k, so, whoops. Fittingly, we’re going with a baker’s dozen for this story rather than a dozen.

The anticipation is killing you.

You are in the back of a rented van, babysitting two comically large, magically chilled boxes full of partially constructed wedding cake. Your eyes are eagle sharp as you monitor it on the way to the venue.

It's something you've done hundreds, if not thousands of times before at this point, but it still makes you feel slightly queasy, watching the result of your hard work wobble and sway in its supported box with every little bump in the road.

But this time, you're an extra bit queasy for a different reason, as you hold your device out in front of you.

If you're going to call somebody, you need to have called them… at least twenty minutes ago, now.

Between working double time late into the night to remake this cake, and getting it ready for delivery today, you haven’t had time to make the call at a reasonable hour. 

Until now.

…Or so you tell yourself. 

You definitely waited until the last possible minute, at least partially out of fear.

You look down at the screen, the pixels composing the letters of Carlyle’s name starting to lose their meaning from staring at them for so long.

You suppose the second best time to call is now. 

You finally swallow down the dread and start to mentally count down from ten. 

Ten, Nine, Eight-

Ugh, what are you even doing? You’re just going to make a fool of yourself!

Seven, Six, Five…

What if he doesn’t pick up? What then? It’s the middle of the day on a work day! He's a lawyer, he's probably on a courtroom right now-

Four… Three… Two…

And what if he does pick up? You should’ve rehearsed what you were going to say better-

One.

You force yourself to hit the button before you can hesitate again. The sound of ringing on the other end is like a series of white hot pokers in your chest. Your eyes are screwed closed in anticipation.

It rings once. 

You consider wrenching open the sliding door of the van and tossing your voci out onto the highway speeding by.

It rings twice…

“Hello?”

Even with just the single word, he sounds absolutely incredulous. You can clearly imagine the way his eyebrows arch up when he hears something particularly egregious.

“... Hi,” You finally manage to force the word out on a forceful exhale, but then immediately stall, the ghost of your next sentence leaving you in a near-silent rattle.

“...Hello. Are you… okay?”

“Yes- Well, no. Maybe?” You laugh nervously. “It really depends on what your answer to my next question is…”

“Hah, well- I’m listening, whenever you're ready.”

You take a deep breath of air, fist nervously clenching your apron hem, then swallow it down with your remaining pride.

“I know this is last minute and I know I don’t really have the footing to ask you a favor right now, but… I really need you,” You say, mouth already dry and your voice beginning to shake, the words harder to excavate the more you scrape out. “Do you think that you could… would you be my date to this wedding?”

“Of course. I’ll be there.” Carlyle’s response is more nonchalant and so much lighter in tone than you expected; relieved, even. You hear fabric rustling and what sounds like the subtle grinding of stone on the other end. “Send me the address. And the dress code- I'm assuming there is one.”

“R-Really?” You say in disbelief; you expected rejection, or at least much more pushback. You expected to have to beg for forgiveness. “Just like that?”

“Yes?” He lets out a soft, barely audible laugh. “Were you expecting me to turn you down?”

He has a point. What were you expecting, exactly? Bitter resentment? But no, of course he’s behaving in a kind and supportive manner- He’s never given you a reason to think he’d act any differently. You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

“I… suppose I was. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Just so we're on the same page here,” The rustling of movement on Carlyle’s end of the line continues. “I’m going as your date, but is this a date? I'll still join you in a platonic capacity, of course, so there's no pressure, but I would like things to be transparent from the start.”

“A date!” You blurt out, but quickly clarify; “A, uh, not platonic one. A romantic one, I mean. I-If that's what you want.”

“You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

“Sorry- I think I might know. Just a tick-” You’re overjoyed and devastated at the same time, struggling to blink back the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. You don’t have to apologize.”

You try to convince yourself to get off the line, but it’s just so good to hear his voice again, you’re desperate to wring as much of it as you can out of this short interaction- to save it up in case things go south again. But you’ll need to unload this cake soon, and understandably, Carlyle can't stay on the call for much longer either, given the sudden need to pack and commute. So, after giving him the information he needs, you’re forced to cut it short.

You finally say goodbye and end the call, left sitting in the back of the van with the cake, the anxiety weighing on you laced with a bit of pleasant anticipation, now.

One look at the place when you get out of the back of the van, and you’re already intimidated. They certainly didn’t spare any cost, from the look of it. You push the feeling down and remind yourself you have a reason to be here- you’re here for work primarily, no matter what the self-critical voice in the back of your mind is trying to tell you.

The building is an old Elven palace nestled in sprawling gardens, situated on the northern edge of the city and repurposed into an event venue. The exterior is all tall, windy spires and iridescent panes of stained glass, with sprawling plant life tracing cracks where they’ve found purchase. Even from here, you can see that a massive tree growing from the same craggy base of the hill the palace is perched on has started to grow into a hole in the building’s stone facade who knows how long ago- now kept artfully pruned now as a feature, rather than a signal of disrepair, you have to assume.

You walk into the reception venue’s service door from the parking area, somehow even more intimidated by the inside. Fittingly, it’s the palace’s ballroom. Branches of the tree have slowly crept their way in here over the years, twisting through the stone and dotting the cracks with the occasional vine or flower. Long hanging pennants of silky cloth hang down between marble columns and the same rosy stained glass panels from the outside, the backdrop to meticulously set dining tables with live floral centerpieces, evoking what it likely looked like in the past. The high ceiling has some sort of eerie gloss to it, with multiple finely dressed banquet workers in the room seemingly running tests as the lights flicker and twinkle a different color occasionally- you can only imagine what this room will look like with the lighting fully set later.

In your line of work, you’ve seen a lot of wedding ceremonies, or at least the set up preceding them. Elven weddings tend to be showy and overdone, ostentatious in their presentation, and this one is no exception. Everything about the venue you’ve seen so far screams “I paid a lot of gold for this”, which given Trevor’s parents likely foot the bill for it, you’re unsurprised.

As usual when you arrive, your first order of business is to locate the wedding planner, to confirm where to put the end product of your hours of effort. This time, it's a stern looking elven woman in a flowy black and gold jumpsuit and sporting a tight bun atop her head- someone you instantly recognize and find yourself hit with a wave of dread, realizing you have to have this conversation, of all things, right now.

“Ooh, hello!” She says your name, but all you hear is being called up to the gallows. “What a nice surprise it is to see you here!”

This is the wedding planner you were talking to when you had begun to plan your own wedding, when you and Trevor were still engaged. You feel a little bad that you don’t remember her name- you could probably find her card somewhere in your files from the times you’d worked on the same wedding before you hired her, but so much of that time period is such a blur to you now. It feels like a whole different lifetime.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, fingernails already digging into the strap of your bag of supplies. You force yourself to unclench your fingers. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has! We haven’t worked on the same event for more than… well, more than a year now, wouldn’t it be?” Her nails tap the datapad in her hands as she types away.

You can hear the question she’s being too polite to ask: It was when we were planning this wedding when it was going to be yours, wasn’t it?

“I changed location, so that might be why.” You offer an explanation.

“When Ms. Devinthal said she had a backup in mind when the groom’s first choice bakery fell through, I had no idea it was going to be you! I didn’t recognize the business name at all!”

Backup? First choice…? What’s that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, well, I changed my shop’s name too, so I imagine there just hasn’t been a lot of overlap in customers lately, hahah.”

“True…” She lowers her data pad and purses her lips, barely bothering to conceal her pity. It seems she’s able to piece together the reason as to why pretty easily. “If I can be purely honest with you? I thought you’d have quit the business. Spirits know I wouldn’t be able to keep working in this business after… well, all of that heartbreak transpired. I hope things have improved for you in that regard, dear.”

You can feel your eyes glaze over a bit as you vividly recall the day you had called this woman in barely-withheld tears to cancel her service; how you barely were able to explain through your weak voice, hoarse from crying, that there wasn’t going to be a wedding to plan anymore.

“Oh, they have.” You say, trying to keep your teeth from gritting, with a drawn on customer-service smile.

“Ohoh! Well, I should let you get to work! That cake isn’t going to stack itself, is it? However, if things keep going well, you’ll have to keep me in mind when you hear wedding bells ringing again, hmm? They say the second time's the charm!”

“Of course I will!” You lie through your teeth. “Thanks.”

Mercifully, you have your job to turn your attention to.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you let out a long, withering breath, and resteel yourself. You’re not going to have a breakdown. It’s too early in all of this.

One by one, you bring the chilled boxes into the reception venue, fingers locked tightly, but not tight enough to damage the cake inside. You’ve never dropped a cake at the venue- yet- but given your luck lately, you’re not taking any chances.

Once all the necessary pieces are inside, you begin the work of extracting the cake tiers from their boxes and moving them to the obnoxiously broad cake stand. The cake will be set on a small table all on its own, pride of place of the banquet area of the ballroom.

Every tier you place as if you’re disarming a bomb; your life and the life of everyone in the building depends on it being undamaged. Dowel rods and cardboard circles are strategically placed as needed for structural integrity, each tier of cake perfectly centered in the middle of the one below.

Finally, you gingerly slide the last, petite tier on top of the whole thing.

…It’s secure. That’s most of the battle won. You let out the breath you were holding. Putting on the final aesthetic touches won’t be nearly as mortally terrifying as the potential of the cake crashing onto the floor into a heap of sweet mush due to an accidental slip of the hand.

You begin the process of touching up the sides and the seams of the tiers, dolloping buttercream from your container to hide any cracks like you're spackling a wall. Time both flies by and is somehow agonizing in how long it drags on. All the way through laying down the final buttercream decorations, up until you've meticulously placed the last sugary rose you spent so much time sculpting, there's only one thing on your mind, and it’s not the cake.

All that’s left is to seek out the wedding planner once again for final approval. To your relief, she's thrilled with your work and gives you the go ahead to clean up as she uses the datapad in her hand to send the rest of your payment to your account. It's always easier when there's no new demands or fabricated issues brought up at the very end. The tightly wound muscles in your upper back ease, just a little bit.

And with that- it's done, finished, out of your hands. The cake is delivered safely, and you feel lighter already knowing it's not your problem anymore.

… As long as it makes it through the night without exploding, that is.

You swallow dryly at the thought. Kirby enthusiastically assured you that there was basically no chance of it happening again so soon- that it happening to the first version of this cake was a blessing in disguise, since that explosion took place in your shop and not the venue, and there wouldn't be enough time for negative energy to accumulate again by now. You can't help but still feel the twinge of apprehension, despite you trusting their judgement.

The last of your supplies get neatly packed away just in time, as you're starting to see more elves dressed in their best formal wear filtering through by the passing minute. 

Casting one last lingering look at the cake, you leave the grandiose ballroom for your hotel room to get ready. By nature of attending a wedding you've also delivered the cake to, the time you have to prepare is somewhat more scant than you’d like, so you’ve got to get moving. 

After a walk down a particularly gilded hallway, you enter the frankly ostentatious lobby of the hotel portion of the palace. The high vaulted, ribboned ceilings are almost dizzying, and all of the small details on the architecture being gilded or inlaid with some other precious material is making it hard to look at anything for too long.

A bellhop takes your bags, leaving you less to fiddle with in your anxiety. So instead, you compulsively check your voci every few moments while you wait for the front desk agent to do her thing. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice how sweaty your hands are with nerves when you take the set of keycards from her. You want to get up there and get ready as soon as possible. You don’t want to hog the bathroom if Carlyle still needs to finish getting ready, too…

Since the guest rooms themselves are in the various high towers of the palace, the elevator ride takes what feels like forever. You’re left to look at your many reflections, scrutinizing the imperfections of your face amplified in the glass and regretting most of your life decisions up to this point.

When you finally get there, the hotel room itself is even a bit intimidating in how expensive and ornate it looks. You’re aware you likely got one of the most standard of rooms, as a low priority guest. You don’t even want to think about what the bigger suites must look like… And certainly not the bridal suite, which the front desk agent was happy to chirp about being at the very top of the highest spire.

Despite being what’s considered a standard room, it’s still more lavish than anything you’d ever buy yourself for the night by far, all gilded and crystal surfaces and the finest fabrics. 

Of the most note is an incredibly tall window pane that reaches from the floor all the way up to the ceiling- at least double and a half of your height. The view overlooks the swathe of greenery and pastel color of blooming flowers below, and then eventual transition to the blocks of Windrise City proper in the far distance, past the gardens. 

You may be in a time crunch, but the view from the window is so entrancing you find yourself opening the light curtains a little wider and staring out in awe for just a few moments. If you had time, you’d probably be out on the balcony right now.

Your delivered bags sit on the golden luggage stand in one corner, looking very out of place in their mundanity.

Hastily, you pick out the one suit you own from the top of your luggage, where it’s neatly folded on the hanger. You shake it out a bit before hanging it on the bar in the hallway closet.

Carlyle hasn’t shown up yet, which is both a relief and terrifying. What if he got stuck in gridlock traffic and he can’t get here in time? You’ll be here on your own anyway, after all of that. Somehow it’d make the whole situation even more embarrassing, seeing familiar faces while you stew in shame, left to endure pitying looks that cover up deep disdain for your presence…

But.. no. He’d definitely call back if he was running late.

You peel yourself out of your slightly sugar-crusted apron and hop into a hurried shower, starting the rush through your grooming routine.

Once you’ve bathed, you immediately move on to shaving; going through the motion of working a lather of soap onto your face. Thanks to your mother being an elf, you don’t have to shave that often, but she is a snow elf, so the stubble will still get out of hand if you let it.

The preening gives you a sense of comfort- a calmness that you’ve been sorely lacking lately.

You can at least handle this. You are fully capable of looking presentable. It’s part of your job.

While the momentary refuge from your dread is a comfortable diversion, reality quickly sets back in when you hear a knock at the door.

You look up and freeze, the razor still in your hand hanging inert by your jaw.

A bolt of terror courses through you, despite bubbling with joy. You want to see him, if the urge to run to the door and immediately throw it open means anything. But it’s going to be so awkward… What do you even say now?

Maybe it’s just room service, even though you didn’t order it. A maid with extra pillows, even though you didn’t ask for them? A maintenance worker coming to fix something, even though you didn’t report an issue?

You realize you’ve been standing here frozen for far too long, and scramble to get some semblance of covered, throwing open the closet and yanking one of the robes off the attached anti-theft hangers, then hurriedly putting your arms through the sleeves and tying a sloppy knot around your waist.

Finally at the door, nearly working up a sweat in your haste, your hands fumble with the chain lock and the door handle, but manage to open the door.

Carlyle is on the other side, of course, and not the random hospitality worker you were conjuring in your head. He has an overnight bag slung over one shoulder, and a smaller one held at his side in his opposite hand.

He looks as handsome as ever, clearly freshly groomed and put together himself; freshly pressed suit, dreadlocks neatly tied in a loose gather, and the warm, spiced scent of his cologne’s heart note. 

You imagine Carlyle must own more than a few suits, given his job and the fact you’ve rarely seen him in anything less formal, but if this isn’t his best suit, it’s probably close to it. The fabric of the lapels is a silky, resplendent black, shimmering just enough when the light hits it that it’s nearly impossible to resist the desire to run your fingers along them. The rosy blush paisley pattern on his chosen tie is strikingly familiar…

His free hand is hovering halfway between his tie and the door, like he’s contemplating knocking again after fussing with his focus in anticipation. He lowers it to straighten his tie, and his face breaks into a smitten, amused smile at the sight of you. 

“Good afternoon.” The way the corners of his eyes tighten and his voice has the slightest hint of wavering, you can tell he’s barely holding back laughter. “I’m truly flattered that you wanted to answer the door so quickly, but you didn’t have to rush.”

“H-Huh?”

He gestures to his face like he’s stroking a nonexistent beard. You move your own to mirror the movement, immediately regretting your choice when the fingertips find the shaving lather you still have on half of your face.

The accumulated tension is blown to smithereens.

You can feel your face heating up in embarrassment, running to answer the door like this. 

A momentary silence falls between you- with you too dazed to access your proper manners, and Carlyle too patient to suggest you move out of the doorway and let him through.

Both on one side of a threshold, but neither being quick to trespass.

It’s a foreign feeling, knowing how close you’ve gotten, yet having this invisible, manufactured barrier still standing between you.

That evening in the shop when he came by late and you were in much the same circumstances comes to mind. There’s no extinguished neon shop sign barring the way now, though, just your own awkward behavior.

“Um. Well,” You cringe at yourself, trying to relax your wooden posture. “Come in?”

As soon as Carlyle has slid past you and inside the room, you scoop up your main layers of clothes that you had laying out within reach.

“Right, um. I’ll just. Be out in a minute-” You manage to blurt out before unceremoniously locking yourself in the bathroom, only catching half of his affirmative words before the door shuts.

Finishing shaving and getting dressed doesn’t take nearly as long as you’d hope- not nearly enough to think up something meaningful to say to him. You find yourself gripping the edges of the sink, staring yourself down in the mirror, desperately trying to plan your approach.

What is even appropriate here? Should you thank him for coming? Should you apologize again?

Anything is better than this. You can’t hide in the bathroom forever torturing yourself. 

Right?

You close your eyes to splash your face with a bit of water, and take a long, drawn out, deep breath. Then you steel yourself and meekly emerge from your hiding spot. 

You stall in front of the hallway closet, eyes turned away, and pick up your tie from the neck of the nearby hanger with your blazer on it.

But before you can make much progress with your tie, you’re hit with a pleasantly familiar, slightly sweet, slightly malty smell that calls you out into the room proper, despite your best attempts to keep hiding from your date.

You glance around for the source, quickly finding that there’s a neutral white mug sitting on the grotesquely ornate lacquer tray next to the brewing machine.

“Tea?” You identify, forgetting your task and taking the still-warm mug into your hands.

“I made you a cup. I thought you might need it.”

Carlyle’s taken a seat in the embroidered club chair in the corner of the room. Even in a place like this, he manages to somehow not look out of place. He peers out at you, one leg folded over the other. His spaded tail lazily whips the empty space below him.

“Ah. T-Thanks.” You say, trying not to let your voice crack, before taking a long sip. 

Queen’s Breakfast Blend. He even put cream and sugar in it- a bit under what you would’ve, but that’s only to be expected from him. You’re sure to him, this was just as excessive as you’d like. It’s nothing like the authentic blend Devin brings you, but you’re touched that he remembered your preference.

“Can’t help but see the coffee’s untouched.” You sniff dryly and look into the beige, opaque liquid in your cup, extending a cursory bit of teasing. Testing the waters.

“Hah! Well. A man has to have some standards.” Carlyle quips in turn, clawtips drumming the fabric of the armrest.

Another long sip. You investigate the prepackaged coffees.

“...It’s the same store brand that I buy, though.” You snort. “You've been drinking it for months. Every time you turned up at the shop…”

“It’s different when you make it.” He shrugs with a knowing smile; a bolt through your chest. You can only huff out a laugh in response to prevent yourself from getting too flustered.

The mug clinks against the tray as you set it back down to focus on the fabric still hanging limp around your neck, waiting to be arranged.

You can feel Carlyle’s eyes on you as you fumble your attempts to tie it, but he’s not saying anything. Yet.

You try again. You fail again. 

Your hands are trembling the smallest bit, but it’s making it hard to complete the fine movements. You don’t know if it’s your nerves about the event in general, or maybe the fact that you know if you look up, you’ll catch Carlyle’s warm, dark brown eyes shamelessly fixated on your movements.

“B-Blast it-” You hiss under your breath as you fail to form the knot once more, but clearly not as quietly as you think, and you seem to have fully spurred your date to action.

“Here. You look like you could use some assistance.” Carlyle laughs a sift laugh as he gets to his feet and clears the short distance between you. Though, he does hesitate a moment before touching you, despite his hands already raising to do so; “If you’d like it.”

“Please.” Your voice comes out an exasperated groan, weakly throwing up your hands in defeat.

He moves in closer now that he has expressed permission, untwisting the mess of a tie and laying it flat against your flipped up collar. The room is so silent, you can hear the faint sound of the cotton brushing against this stoneskin.

“I know how to tie a tie,” You insist in your own defense, fighting no one but yourself- not angry, but more so particularly exasperated. Of course you’re failing this task while someone’s watching you do it. “I just. Don’t do it as often as you do, probably…”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable.” Carlyle says in a reassuring tone while his hands deftly maneuver with the finesse of someone who has absolutely done this way, way more often than you have. “Though, I’m not complaining about getting to do it myself.”

His movements are delicate but still firm, just like you remember.

His stone fingers brush the sides of your neck in the process. You simultaneously fight the urge to melt into his touch while your heart hammers in your chest so hard that you’re starting to feel it in your throat. 

…You’re fairly sure he’s dragging this out on purpose, but you, similarly, are not complaining- you’re too busy savoring the feeling.

“Is this okay?” He speaks barely above a whisper, and secures the tie at the base of your throat with a gentle tug. He’s asking about the tightness of the knot, surely, but with the way his hands linger, it’s also serving the purpose of re-confirming where your boundaries for physical closeness are, in your still undefined standing.

Your anxiety on the matter can't stand up to how badly you want him.

Your hand rises to gently touch the side of his jaw, but you hesitate, still unsure of yourself despite the clear look of invitation in Carlyle’s eyes. 

Then, there’s a slight pressure on your neck from your tie, still in Carlyle’s hands, as he gently pulls you closer by it. He does it slowly, almost agonizingly drawn out, giving you time to back out or stop it. But you don’t- you only lean in to close the gap, taking his lips in your own.

His kiss is warm and slightly rigid, just like you remember. You flinch, second guessing yourself- but his grip on your tie is still there, holding you firmly to him, clear that he has no intention of letting you go this time.

So, your hesitance melts away. Your other arm snakes around the yoke of his shoulders as you embrace him, the way you’ve been dying to do since you saw him standing at the threshold. You feel his tongue and the tips of his fangs, remapping the shape of them with your tongue. 

Your kisses grow more heated by the second, barely keeping from gnashing teeth, desperate to get more of this feeling; there’s a pit of lacking in your chest needing to be filled from the time you spent apart.

When he finally releases his hold on your tie, you pull back just enough to part your lips, you’re a glutton for air and blinking back the moisture rimming your eyelids. Overcome with emotion, you lay your head on his shoulder, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, but not ready to break your touch for the fear that you’ll wake up and it won’t have been real.

“I missed you.”

Your voice is barely audible as you speak into the padded surface of his suit shoulder.

“I missed you, too.” He responds in a breathy, almost half-laugh, stroking the back of your head with his claw points.

Several moments pass with you unmoving, entwined with your head resting on him. None of what was bothering you seems to matter much now. 

You could stay like this forever- if only there weren’t things you had to do…

As if on cue, you hear the rumble of Carlyle clearing his throat, sounding particularly hollow from your ear’s position on his chest.

“We should be going if you want to make it to the ceremony on time.” Carlyle finally says quietly, checking his watch behind your head, but doesn’t budge yet himself, either.

“Right...” You sigh wistfully, still basking in the heady feeling of having your arms around him and his lips on yours again. You manage to somehow pry yourself away and slip your blazer on, but it’s the most difficult thing you’ve done in days.

Carlyle watches in approval as you straighten the lapels, a warm smile on his face.

“I have to say, you look stunning this evening.”

“My, what did I do to deserve such flattery?”

“Well- you see me in a suit regularly, but this is the first time I’ve gotten the pleasure of seeing you in one. It feels like a rare treat I should savor while I can.”

“I’m sorry but you’ll need to wait to do much more savoring, I’m afraid.” You say, unable to resist touching his face one more time, gently running your finger over the smooth stone surface of his bottom lip.

He kisses the tip of your thumb in response, looking you straight in the eyes as he does so.

You feel your face heat up immediately, and quickly detach your hold on him and open the door to the hallway before you give into the temptation to miss the event entirely.

“Sitting through this wedding is going to be difficult enough already- for completely other reasons now.” You quip, your voice coming out a slight rasp as you pass through the threshold of the hotel room.

“Look at this way-” Carlyle follows closely behind you, pulling the door closed with a soft click. “It's an excellent incentive.”

You manage to make it into the ceremony space just in time to not stand out as rude, sliding into the carved wooden benches at the back row, amongst the hushed pre-ceremony conversation.

The ceremony venue itself is just as extravagant as the reception area you got acquainted with while setting up the cake. 

The tree is most present in this room. Huge branches reach in through the partially open roof of the area, clusters of blossoms covering the whole left side, suspended high over the altar and reaching past over the rows of wooden benches. 

If nothing else, the pictures will be fantastic…

A small band of classic Elven musicians are in one corner, playing the equivalent to faerie elevator music on their antique reed and string instruments, to fill the room while people file into their seats.

Every attendee seems to have pulled out their best gown or set of robes from their wardrobe for the occasion, desperate to win the coveted and definitely real title of ‘best dressed wedding guest’. Swathes of Aurelian fabrics dominate your vision- shimmering flowing silks and light, twinkly sheer voiles, some likely literally enchanted with magic to float or gently shift like an aurora. You do see a handful of suits, as well as several more numan-standard cocktail dresses, but they are far outnumbered by the sheer amount of Elven finery in the room. 

It’s suffocating.

You can already feel your back muscles tensing and your jaw setting, looking out at the gathering of rich people dressed in formal wear. Even knowing you’re well within the dress code, you can’t help but think you’re underdressed somehow.

Every time a set of new eyes glance over you with brief curiosity or hazy half-recognition, you’re hit with a new small wave of panic and disgust. You sure recognize many of them- all extended family members and acquaintances that you’ve encountered over the several years of large, overblown functions for every Elven holiday with Trevor’s family that you had to endure. 

You’re sure none of them recognize you in turn- after all, why would they bother to remember you? You were only present for eight years. You were only engaged to be married. Why bother to remember something as trivial as what you look like or what your name was? At the very least, if any of them do remember who you are, they don’t dare acknowledge it.

You weren’t enough before, why would you be now?

The only small mercy is that the people closest to Trevor are far at the front, without a clear view to the back where you’re seated…

“So, how many crystal chandeliers do you think that lovely lady’s gown is worth?” Carlyle leans to the side with his back straight, just enough for his words to be audible to you but not likely anyone else, nudging your knee slightly with his own to direct your line of sight. You can hear the smirk on his lips without even turning to seeing his face. “Or do you think perhaps she robbed the baron’s bank vault directly?”

“That would be a difficult heist.” You reply, barely keeping a straight face, somehow no longer able to dwell on the occasional, real or imagined scan of familiar eyes on you. “Three, maybe four.”

A few minutes pass with Carlyle pleasantly distracting you from the impending ceremony with silly chatter. It works marvelously, until you catch sight of Trevor, dressed in uncharacteristically formal elven robes, taking his place at the altar. He, as always, looks as bored as he could probably get away with looking, though he’s standing at attention with his hands joined in front of him, rather than leaning on something.

A particularly bitter thought- that he looks far too overdressed for his face to look like he’s waiting for the bus- crosses your mind. He can’t even muster the effort to look excited on his wedding day, of all days? Typical.

Bile rises in your throat. You could vomit, and being in a crowd of people might be the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You want to yank the circlet off his head and wing it like a frisbee across the room.

Your teeth grit, and it takes all you have not to scowl. He’s attractive, and it makes you angry how good he looks in his stupid robes. Of course you find him attractive, you dated him for eight years. But any sense of thinking he’s good looking now comes with the added footnote of him leaving you when you needed his support the most.

You don’t want him anymore. You’re well aware of that. But you still can’t let go of the fact he’ll never own up to the pain that he caused you, or the fact that closure from him will stay out of reach-

The fact that you weren’t good enough.

Before you can spiral too far, however, you feel the familiar sensation of a stoneskin palm gently slipping into yours.

Carlyle doesn’t say anything, clearly not wanting to be disruptive during a ceremony, but he looks over at you and gently squeezes your fingers in a firm grip when your eyes make contact.

You don’t really need him to speak, because you can hear the message loud and clear-

I’m here.

He doesn’t take his hand back, letting it rest on your leg indefinitely. The feeling of the weight is comfortable and reassuring. 

Warmth spreads in your chest. Maybe you can make it through this ceremony.

The music slows, then immediately shifts into a recognizable, though mellow composition of a wedding march. Heads all turn in expectation.

The bride finally appears at the end of the aisle, and despite your feelings around the wedding itself, you find yourself a bit stunned by the sight. Devin is pretty anyway, so it’s not surprising that she’s also pretty on her wedding day of all days. Even if her face wasn’t obfuscated by a shifting, translucent veil, she would still be almost unrecognizable in the sheer amount of layers of fabric in varying levels of opacity she’s clad in, between the veil, train, and the full body of the gown. The bodice is fitted, with slim sleeves that start at the elbow and go down all the way past her wrist into delicate closures on her middle fingers. But the rest of the gown is simply the most ornate sea of cloth you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s so foreign to anything you’ve ever seen her wear before, and you have to imagine it must be heavy, if the squadron of flower-clad elven children in white dress, barefoot and nymphlike, holding the train of her dress behind her are any indication.

It’s definitely still Devin under all that finery though, because she can’t hold the emotionless countenance of a demure elven bride at all- she’s too overjoyed, a permanent grin on her face as she tries to lock eyes with each and every person in the rows and give them a tiny, hurried wave from behind her bouquet- starting with you. You can’t help but smile sheepishly and return the quick wave. A small child abruptly and enthusiastically throws a fistful of flower petals at your row as soon as the bride passes by. A single petal clings to your blazer.

Trevor manages to smile in what looks like an almost genuine manner, but not after a moment of thought.

She finally reaches the altar, and the gaggle of blonde elven children are dismissed, seemingly barely restraining themselves from dashing back to their seats.

Devin is already visibly struggling to keep her composure, even through the veil, the sniffling audible in the gaps of the music.

Like most elven ceremonies, the wedding itself is elaborate and a bit drawn out. It involves multiple phases, the first of which involves both of the betrothed’s parents, even before any actual marriage vows are made between the couple. You of course are familiar with this, given the research you had started back when it was going to be you up there. This is the closest thing that an elven wedding ceremony has to a typical numan bridal party, instead focusing more on the couple themselves.

Trevor has always looked like a perfect mixture of his parents, almost like he was purposefully created in a lab, selected from their best features. They never quite warmed up to you, so you simply try to avoid making much eye contact with either of them. Devin, on the other hand, looks like a carbon copy of her mother, with her father having a more neutral complexion and dark brown hair- likely a grey elf, rather than a dawn one. As you let your eyes wander to avoid looking at Trevor and his parents too much, you follow Devin’s parents back to their row. Your eyes settle on a curiosity in the front row next to them; what certainly is the back of the head and shoulders of an orc, towering above the svelte people around them.

And of course, such a culturally important ceremony is completely performed in an archaic Aurelian dialect of Elvish. You struggle to follow along with the small amount of basic Elvish you learned from your mother, but it is a battle you’re slowly losing. Even Sunday mass for the Burning Lady doesn’t take nearly this long, and that might as well be a standard measure for what constitutes “too long” back home.

Several more observances go by, from what you can tell: A cleansing ritual with pastel colored clouds pouring from a small rose gold censer, Another chanting rite performed by the priestess for longevity and fertility, A spell performed to dissolve the bride’s veil with a sparkle of magic. Then, what you assume must be their vows, given that either of them speak following being prompted by the officiant. And after that, finally, is the actual handfasting.

A set of hazardously long ribbons are secured around their joined hands and the priestess says the last of their spiel. The music slowly starts to build back up.

Bride and groom kiss.

After all of the anticipation, you thought it would’ve felt worse- a twinge of jealousy, or even disgust. But you don’t really feel much at all, apart from a strange, deja-vu adjacent sensation that it might’ve been you up there, if things were different.

And finally, somewhere, in the back of your mind… there’s relief. 

You can’t say you mind that it isn’t you. Not anymore.

It’s not you. And that’s a wonderful thing.

You squeeze Carlyle’s hand.

Mercifully, after a one more short closing verse of Elvish, the new couple walks back up the aisle, fastened together, hand in hand.

If nothing else can be said- at least Devin looks happy. You can’t bring yourself to feel sour at the moment, regardless of how wary you are for her, given who the groom is.

“Well, that was enlightening.” Carlyle rises to his feet and moves to the end of the row, where he stands, straightening the buttons on his blazer. “Very… thorough.”

“Reminded me a bit of going to mass back home as a kid, to be honest.” You chuckle as you scooch to the end of the bench after him. “But much less kneeling.”

“Oh? We must’ve gone to different types of mass, then. I haven’t been since I was a child, but I clearly remember ours was always very succinct.” He holds out his hand to you with an amused smile, giving you a flash of fang. “If we ever find ourselves on the Queen’s Isle, maybe you can instruct me on the finer details.”

“I’d like that.” You grasp his hand and he helps you to your feet.

You don’t even need to plaster a smile on your face after that, and head to the reception area, hand in hand with your own date.

All that’s left now is to see the cake through to the cutting.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

[sitp-recs]

Dear Liv, first of all thank you for your contributions to his fandom, I’ve found and loved so many wonderful fics thanks to you!

After reading SG’s Turn, I’d love to read more epilogue compliant Drarry fics, preferably mature or explicit, but I don’t know where to start. I was wondering if you had any favorite epilogue compliant fics to rec? Sorry if you’ve already answered a similar ask. Tysm!!

Hi anon! I feel like I haven’t contributed much to fandom lately but thank you, that’s very sweet 😘 I’m a bit picky about epilogue-compliant bc I don’t really care for het ships or kid fics and many of them involve infidelity which is not my usual jam (but I’m willing make an exception for Frayach’s brilliant Breaking All the Rules).

I listed below some recs with divorced Drarry and would suggest checking this epilogue-compliant compilation by @gameofdrarry and maybe take a look at authors like Lomonaaeren and Gracerene, they’ve written a few epilogue-compliant stories. Enjoy!

A Song, Incomplete by RurouniHime (E, 11k)

Draco’s photograph took up the entire top half of the Prophet’s front page. Below the photo: DRACO MALFOY DEFENDS SON OF FORMER LOVER. As if that were breaking news.

The Weight of a Wanting Heart by Femme (E, 12k)

After nearly two decades hidden away in the Wiltshire countryside, Draco Malfoy’s surprised to see a familiar face come into his local.

Lost and Found by rillalicious (M, 16k)

Hermione is an auditor for the Ministry. When she comes across an intriguing case with a familiar name, she turns to her favorite Auror for help.

Written in the Stars by November Snowflake (M, 16k)

Draco watches as his son grows up--and maybe does a little growing up of his own.

Once Upon A Time, Yesterday by Femme (E, 22k)

"You've always been obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. That should probably tell you something."

Dating for Dads in Denial by @aibidil (T, 25k)

In which one wizard designs and another reluctantly patronises a magical matchmaking service, amidst the chaos of children and parenting.

Homecoming by November Snowflake (E, 27k)

Harry thinks spending two weeks as a guest lecturer at Hogwarts will offer the perfect chance to get away from his troubles. Then he meets his assigned faculty guide: Potions Master Draco Malfoy.

Time is a Construct series by @gracerene (E, 29k)

Draco's in a bit of a rut. He's nearing forty, divorced, and he still can't figure out how to make his Time Turner reconstruction work. He's bored, he can admit it, so he's not nearly as concerned as he should be when his pet project malfunctions and sends him twenty years into the past. That is, until he ends up relying on a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter for help and starts developing some very inconvenient—and possibly reciprocated—feelings.

Paper Rings by @lettersbyelise (E, 50k)

When Harry’s in need of a divorce lawyer, he has no choice but to turn to the best in the trade. Draco Malfoy’s reputation for discretion is flawless, and his track record for winning cases is close to perfect. But he’s also ruthless, passionate, and as infuriating as ever, and the brief relationship he and Harry had in Eighth Year still feels painfully fresh despite two decades spent apart.

2020, 2021 by newleaves (M, 64k)

Harry’s going through a divorce. It’s a love story, really.

When Times are Dire by @aibidil (E, 130k)

Magical Britain is screwed, and it's once again up to Harry to save it. This time, by marrying Draco Malfoy.

This Ain't the Garden of Eden by @romaine2424 (E, 131k)

In 2020, Hit Wizard Harry is starting to enjoy his life. He’s divorced, and no longer Head Auror. His biggest project these days is trying to remodel 12 Grimmauld Place for him and the kids. Draco Malfoy is recovering from his wife’s death. But is happy with his Ministry position as Temporary Head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances, and with his son who he adores. This all changes quickly when Minister Shacklebolt decides not to run for another term.

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x reader)

Words: 3765 (chapter 3)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case. Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that?

Find my other accounts on ao3 and wattpad under the same name <3  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1rSoldierSince2012

wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/1rsoldierSince2012

3. Start Of Something Better... or Worse?

Return to the office felt like the first day again.

Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz greeted you with the same coldness as it always did. You were used to it already. A couple of years of working here sort of hardened and turned you into another walking machine at this office.

Hogarth was your mentor from the beginning. She saw your potential and gave another chance, after you lost two cases at the beginning of your career. Then she gave another chance after you lost another two cases to Murdock. That rookie, as Hogarth called him. You felt respect toward all the lawyers you knew, but sometimes Hogarth's businesses made you question her sanity. And herself. But she was a good mentor, tough but good.

A pat on your shoulder brings you back into the office, where you find yourself standing in front of the open elevator. You turn and see no one other than Benowitz standing near you.

Often you saw Jessica Jones lurking around the firm, but never really questioned anyone about her business. Or her and Hogarth's business for that matter. Although you knew one thing - she was a private eye.

And a private eye was hired on your case.

Dots have finally connected inside your head, although a bit too late.

"Waiting for another, or?" He huffs a laugh, taking off his hand from your shoulder and gesturing for you to go inside.

"Oh, Mr Benowitz, a pleasure to see you again, after such a long time." You step inside and push the button "7", the door closes, and you go up.

"Yes, yes, pleasure's all mine, Miss Y/l/n, it's been a busy month to say the least, I'm sure yours too." He fixes his jacket, looking at you briefly. "Heard you won the case. So the streak is broken?"

"The streak of me losing against Murdock? Yeah, over." You force a laugh, feeling a bit awkward with technically your boss. Co-owner of the company, but still your boss.

"Glad to hear. It's good for the business. Can't let those small wannabes step on our heads." He lifts his chin up, a sign of authority.

"Although Nelson and Murdock is a smaller company, office even, they have lots of potential. Gotta say, Murdock is great in interrogation." You answer, feeling the need to defend your opponents. Blush colours your cheeks, and Benowitz raises an eyebrow, studying you for a moment.

"Yes, could be. Maybe. Never had a chance to go against him, but after such flattery from you, I'm sure he would be a worthy opponent. And a good one to destroy for that matter." He clears his throat loudly and fixes his tie, setting it so tight that his head pops out a little. The elevator stops and finally the doors open, saving you from further embarrassment.

Yes, he did follow you to the office. Yes, he felt guilty about it, but the curiosity got the best of him. Matt needed to know if you were going to do something about the case or just carried on with your life as if nothing happened. If the latter was your choice, he would have to help Darcy himself. In the mask. Matt leans on the wall and sits down, feeling weary from the last night's running and today's banter in the court. After all, you were a hard nut to crack.

You both step out, he goes into the direction of Hogarth's office, you - toward your own. "It was a pleasant meeting, Mr Benowitz." You call as he almost reaches the right turn, and waves his hand at your words.

"Dick." You say under your breath, and somewhere on the nearby rooftop, Matt Murdock huffs a laugh, feeling a lot at the same time - gratitude, anger and competition.

The ringing phone makes Matt jump a little, and he fumbles with it in his pocket and finally answers: "Yes?"

You unlock your office and drop the bag on the table, plopping on the chair and exhaling loudly. Turning on your computer, you go straight to the system and search for Jessica Jones. Minutes of scrolling result in nothing - Jessica's cases are private. Maybe you'll have to pay her a visit, but from the looks of her, she didn't like unexpected guests.

You debate on calling Murdock or Nelson, but as it was Matt's idea, you settle on calling him.

"If you still want to seek that justice, I wanna see all the documents from you and your client. Especially to know who was the P.I. that she hired." You simply state.

"Josie's at 8? Tonight?"

You sigh loudly, "this better not be a waste of time, Murdock."

"Don't worry, we'll entertain you, if that'll be needed." Matt smiles, propping his head back to the wall.

"You need anything about my client?" You ask, fumbling with the hem of your jacket.

"The dates of visits to the nursing home would be great. And probably the original will." He thinks for a moment.

"That all?"

"Yeah. So, see you tonight." Matt can't hide his smirk any more, although it would be weird if someone from the other building saw a guy chilling on a rooftop all smirking.

You say nothing, and awkwardly put away your phone. Since when is he so... Friendly?

Shaking your head for a moment, you get to work, collecting the documents and putting them in your briefcase. That's what you liked about working as a lawyer most - the briefcase. And, well, occasionally wearing a tie, just like today. Although now it began to feel suffocating.

Who knows what will happen tonight?

***

Exactly 5 minutes until 8, you enter the bar, hidden in the row of suspicious buildings and food stores, surprised by how crowded the small space already is.

Matt takes in a deep breath and smells your perfume. Trying to be discreet about his knowledge of your presence, he gently nudges Foggy, "what time is it?"

"Almost 8. What, can't wait for her to come?" Foggy, already two drinks into the evening, asks, smiling.

"Just checking if she didn't decide to bail." Matt lies, he knows you're now surfing through the crowded place, sniffing suddenly when a drunken man accidentally touches your hand.

"Well, even if she did, then I think this evening would not go to waste, right, Josie?" Foggy lifts his glass to the woman behind the bar, but she just raises her eyebrows as usual.

"Not really her style..." Matt begins, lost in thought for a second, when -

You almost aggressively tap both of their shoulders, "not whose style?" You look around a little and roll your eyes upon noticing that there is an empty seat. Next to Matt.

"Yours." Foggy blurts out.

"My style of... What?" You sit down, trying to get comfortable on the uncomfortable bar stool.

"You're never late. That's your style." Matt says, seeing as there is no other way out, only to answer.

"Precisely, Murdock, I'm even 3 minutes early." You check your rather expensive watch, which one would leave at home at this hour in Hell's Kitchen, but you didn't give too much thought about it, as there always was a switch-blade in your purse. Lesson learned long time ago.

"Care to start off with a drink?" Foggy suggests, somewhat ready to get drunk tonight.

"A Martini would be nice. If this place serves something like that." You say rather loudly, and Josie rolls her eyes.

"She doesn't like when someone's rude, just a heads-up." Matt leans closer and says in a hushed tone.

"Josie, put this on our tab!" Foggy leans to grab a tissue to clean up his glass.

"So, gentlemen, you still want to do that case? Or are we already celebrating my today's victory, Mr Nelson?" You smirk, tapping your briefcase impatiently.

"Whatever Matty here says, I don't think I'll be big help anyway." Foggy answers, glancing at his phone. "Honestly, I am already very much comfortable with the outcome."

"How's... Marci?" You suddenly ask, as if you don't know that they were both each other's casual hookups and now broke up. Or at least the public seems to think like that.

"Oh, no, right through the heart." Foggy abruptly stands up and disappears in the direction of the bathroom. Probably.

"C'mon, don't be mean, at least to Foggy." Matt grabs his drink, and you notice that he's sipping an Old-fashioned.

"So that means that I can be mean to you?" You nod to Josie when she pushes your Martini in your direction.

"As if you're not always like that. And to answer your previous question, yes, we're doing the case." He feels how the alcohol burns his throat. He can smell your perfume, the rather expensive mouthwash that you used just before leaving, and the overwhelming smell of the bar.

"Alright then. Although, when you mentioned the bar, I hoped for a calmer place." You take a sip of your drink, feeling rather surprised by the quality of it.

"What, can't focus?" He smirks, focusing on the steady pulse in your wrist, under the cold metal of your expensive watch.

"You wish. Now, tell me, who was the private investigator that your client had hired?" You put your elbows on the table, a very unlike-lady move, and lean on them, watching the reflection of dim lights and bar sign on Matt's red glasses. He hasn't shaved in a couple of days and looks quite weary, but a smile still appears on his face from time to time.

"I called Darcy today, and she told me that it was a guy from New York, then called him but he wouldn't give any answers." 

"The client data protection?"

"Yeah." Matt drinks again.

"And what about Darcy herself? She's supposed to tell you everything." You press further.

"Darcy now says that it was all a mistake."

"So we drop it-"

"No." Matt interrupts quickly and you raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, right, the thirst of justice cannot be drowned in one old-fashioned." You say in a theatrical manner and make Josie huff a laugh. Foggy returns, clutching his phone and looking slightly out of breath.

"I told you we had nothing." Foggy nudges Matt, the latter shakes his head.

"We have plenty... To uncover." Matt turns his head in your way, and for a moment you get the odd feeling that he actually has sight.

"Okay, okay, your Darcy is almost a saint. Now onto my sinner." You sigh dramatically, and open your briefcase, pulling out a couple of sheets of paper, shaking the previous thought out of your head. "I know it's hard for you to believe, but believe me when I say, poor guy really decided to get back the lost time with his father." You give the documents to Foggy and he skims over, then gives them back to you.

"She's not lying, Matt." Foggy finishes his drink and gestures for another.

"Slow down, pal, we still have things to do." Matt puts Foggy's hand down, but too late - Josie's already making another drink.

"Matt, I'm telling you - there's nothing wrong with the case. Guy's squeaky clean. And now helluva rich too."

"It would be wise to listen to your friend, Murdock." You smirk from behind the Martini glass.

"But what if we do the DNA test?" Matt doesn't give up.

"So? It changes nothing. Darcy was too late to declare herself as the lost Donovan. My client noticed how his father's health began declining almost drastically and then decided that he wants to spend his last moments with him."

"Well your client could share some money now that he knows that Darcy's his sister." Matt says ignoring your last sentence.

"Possibly his sister." You correct him.  "He doesn't care much about her existence as he had lived a pretty good life without her up till now. Remember, he has his own family to care about, as well as his mother."

"Y/n, do you ever feel compassion for other people?" Matt snaps, Foggy raises his eyebrows and quickly downs his drink.

"How is this now about me being compassionate for some money-thirsty chick?" You loudly put down your glass. "I see people like her everyday. I live among them, Murdock. It's hard to feel something for them other than despisal." You grab the edge of the table to keep youself in place.

"Wow, wow, guys, guys." Foggy stands up, putting a hand on yours and Matt's shoulders. "Relax, let's just drop the case and have a drink. Another round, Josie! You look amazing tonight!"

"My job doesn't let me put the compassion before the raw facts. You should know that after years in law school." You say now in a warmer tone, somewhat softer.

"Don't forget that were doing the same job." Matt whispers.

"How could I? You guys are the constant pain in my ass. Why do my clients' rivals always go to you, huh? What charm do you have?" You motion with your fingers at the two of them, who would look like they went out for shopping if they were not wearing the suits. You had changed your clothes to the more suitable for an evening in the city rather than putting a label all over yourself that you're a lawyer. Although the huge advertisement in Manhattan does little to protect you from being recognized in the streets.

"He has all the charm." Matt points to Foggy.

"And the moves! Don't you ever forget them." Foggy puts his hand on Matt's shoulder and squeezes a little. For a split second you wish you had a friend like that here with you now but Pug was all the way in Los Angeles, trying to get a good career.

"The moves, eh?" You sip your Martini again, lost in thought about this whole evening.

"Listen, guys, as much as it was fun, I have go to bye." Foggy grabs his jacket and melts in the crowd.

"Did he just say 'have go to'?" You ask, suddenly feeling sweaty in the place. Josie is working like a bee behind the bar, people are shouting something about last night's game.

"Yeah, he does that pretty often." Matt smiles briefly before his expression returns to serious one. "Listen, y/n, I'm sorry about what I said."

"You can keep it, I didn't ask for an apology. So, we're done with the case or not?" You reach to grab the papers scattered on the table and Matt does the same, which results in your hands grabbing his briefly. "I-I'll do it."

"Sorry, okay." Matt drops his hands and rests them on his thighs. "Yeah, I think we're done."

"We could've talked this over a phone call." You sigh, and put the briefcase out of your sight.

"You don't like my company?"

"No, it's lovely, especially when you're paying for my drinks." You smile and motion for Josie to make another one.

"Just this one time. Consider it a gift from Nelson and Murdock." Matt lifts up his glass and waits for you to do the same.

"To my victory," you clink your glass with his and watch Matt drink it.

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, when Matt decides to break it. "I've heard you're on the billboards now."

"Who told you that? Nelson?" You laugh a little but don't succeed in avoiding the question.

"Mahoney."

"Sergeant Mahoney?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, he, uh, said something along the lines of 'have you seen that huge billboard of those crickets from Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz?'" Matt tries to mimic Mahoney's voice.

"Ah, that's how it is." You sigh, spinning the glass in your hands.

"What's the slogan? He said something about it." Matt knits his eyebrows.

"Here for your truth. The team of the people." You mock, Matt breaks into a grin again.

"I'd say that's a pretty damn difficult job, being the team of the people."

"Yeah, yeah, don't you start too. My mom's been not shutting up about it as if I got paid to pose for that picture. I swear, we look like a bunch of morons."

"Oh, now it's really a pity that I'm blind." Matt pouts a little.

"God really saved you from that one." You finally say and get embarrassed immediately. "Sorry."

"No, don't worry, I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be." You say compassionately and drink again, after couple of glasses, you started to feel a little tipsy.

"Wow, was that you being compassionate?" Matt pretends to be shocked.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get used to it." You finish the drink and notice that another full glass awaits you. "Listen, Murdock, I'm going to smoke for a moment, keep an ear on my drink, will you?" You stand up, grabbing your purse and gently tap Matt's shoulders on your way out.

"Keep an ear?" He laughs out loud. "Never heard that one before."

"There's always first time for everything. Don't be too sad without me." You go outside through the backdoor near the bathroom and walk into the cool evening weather. Dim-lit alley and cold stone walls create and unpleasant effect and you shiver a little in your short-sleeved blouse. You light up your cigarette and notice that there are few people in the alley as well, two couples who can't get their hands off each other, and a guy who is currently having  a heated conversation on his phone.

Feeling rather uncomfortable, you don't allow yourself the pleasure of a slow smoking and inhale two puffs in a second, feeling rather overwhelmed by the nicotine and all the Martinis you've had. The guy finishes his phone call and looking rather pissed off, makes his way toward the entrance, just a couple of steps from where you stand. He stops briefly and looks you up and down, then closes the door that he had just opened a little. 

Matt senses how your heartbeat picked up almost immediately and how you radiate anxiety. He focuses on the guy now who just grinned like he saw a jackpot. But that jackpot was resting on your wrist.

"Hey there, princess. Got a cigarette for me?" He leans on the door, full weight, you grip the strap of your purse.

"No, sorry, bud, that was my last one." You bat your lashes at him, already plotting how you were going to kick him in the knee and grab the switchblade from your purse. 

"We can share, I don't mind. Especially when the company is so..." he licks his lips like a predator, "stunning."

"Listen, I think you should just go inside." You exhale a cloud of smoke and reach for the handle.

Matt stands up, grabbing his cane and starts walking towards the back door. 

"I don't care what you women think. But you know what I think?" The guy asks, taking a step closer to you. 

"No, but I'll ask out of respect. What do you think, big guy?" You grip the cigarette tightly.

"I think you would look amazing while gasping for air, choking on my huge cock." He touches your arm and you push the still hot remaining piece of the cigarette in his face and while he's distracted, try to kick him in the knee but just then the doors open widely and you see Matt walk out of the bar.

"Everything alright?" Matt asks, suddenly appearing next to you.

"Oh how nice, your saviour is blind. Real treasure you are." The guy gets ready to strike Matt first, but you quickly grab Matt's cane and stand in a fighting position.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" Matt whispers, his hand unconstiously reaching for you.

"Shut up, Matt." You launch on the guy and push the cane into his stomach with all the strength you have, he gets pushed into the wall. The two remaining lovebirds run away from the alley and suddenly it's just you three. 

Matt has to think fast. He can easily take out the guy but under no circumstances you can see him fight. He can't push you away because you would worry more about him as he is blind. There is no time for thinking when the guy pushes himself away from the wall and comes at you - just then, Matt jumps in front of his fist, getting a punch right to his face and falls on you. 

"Oh my god!" You exclaim, and almost manage to catch falling Matt. The guy stands there for a moment and upon noticing that he really hit a blind guy, suddenly disappears in the shadows of the alley, leaving you and Matt on the ground.

You, shocked about the whole thing, get on your knees on the rough ground and gently tap Matt's face.

"I'm alright, I'm alright." Matt groans and tries to stand up, but you stop him by gently cupping his face in your hands.

"No, you're bleeding. He just cut your lip." Your thumb circles on his chin, you feel like you shouldn't touch his lip, although you really want to clean the blood from it.

"Are you okay?" He sits up, grabbing your wrist, feeling how your heart is ramming under the soft skin.

"Yes, I'm good." You sigh and sit back on your heels. "That was so stupid of you. How did you know anyway?"

"It doesn't matter. Did you just kick him with my cane?" Matt turns the talk on you again, standing up.

"Not very helpful, was it?" You huff a laugh, suddenly feeling embrassed by the whole scene. 

"Well, it didn't stop him for long, eh?" Matt puts his hand out and you grasp it, getting up and cleaning your dirty knees a little. "I think you should really start smoking with a company."

"Yeah, right." You give him back the cane, and open the doors of the bar again. "I owe you one, Murdock."

"Oh, I wonder how would you ever repay it?"

"Probably with my face stopping a fist. Eye for an eye, that's what the Bible says, right?" You step inside, Matt following right behind you. "We should call it a night, right?" You laugh, although there was nothing funny in this whole situation.

"Yeah, you're probably right. You walked here?" Matt finishes his drink and leans on the bar.

"Unfortunatelly. Although it's just 20 minute walk." You grab your purse and push a 50 dollar banknote towards Josie, who smiles as if she just won the lottery. 

"Let me walk you. It's not safe to walk alone." Matt follows you out into the main street.

"I'll get a taxi. And you should get that cleaned, infections are a bitch." You gently touch his chin again, fingers brushing on his spiky stubble. "Goodnight, Murdock." You quickly walk away, already wawing to a nearby taxi driver who has just dropped his cigarette on the ground.

"Goodnight, y/n." Matt sighs and upon hearing you drive away, he folds his cane and starts running in the direction of his home. The devil has some unfinished business tonight.

[karunasharma]

India has a well-developed law jurisdiction and justice system. We have an extensive service network of legal presenters and lawyers. Do you know there are 12 lakh registered lawyers in India? This significant figure collectively shows the number of lawyers in India. Whenever you search for an advocate near me or a lawyer near me, you can see several options on the web. For more information please read the blog.

[ashandkatiewrite]

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL Chapter 17

FIC SYNOPSIS: Maggie Hastings meets her dream man after a flight into New York City— Bucky Barnes, a pilot who seems to be everything she’s looking for. Except that she already has a boyfriend who never has time for her. After a near-tryst with her dream pilot, Maggie runs, only to find out he later meets her best friend and they’re now crazy about each other. Among their group of best friends, between Chicago and New York, and four weddings and a funeral, Maggie and Bucky struggle to keep their fiery chemistry a secret so they don’t hurt the ones they love.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @scherbatskybish

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC

Rating: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

chapter preview…

“There you are,” Natasha grinned. “Pchela, this is Augustus Pugliese. He’s a lawyer with GLK&H.” 

The man offered Maggie his hand. “Most people just call me Pug,” he said with a thick accent. There was no doubting that this man was from New York. “It’s nice to meet you, Margaret. Natasha has said great things about you.” He smiled brightly at her. 

Maggie’s brows raised in question as she took Pug's hand, her eyes directed at Natasha. 

Natasha smirked at her in response. The woman had been on a mission to get more information out of Maggie about who she was seeing ever since their lunch — but there was no way she could tell her it was Bucky. 

Whenever the subject of who Maggie was currently sleeping with was brought up in conversation, she was always quick to try and change the subject — which only frustrated Natasha further. 

So now Natasha was resorting to setting Maggie up with every Tom, Dick and Harry to try and pressure her into revealing that she was seeing someone. 

Bucky looked suspiciously at this guy, Pug, as he followed after Maggie but broke away to head in his sister’s direction. She was talking to Maggie’s brother now, about Pietro, her hand to her heart. 

Bucky took a drink from his beer as his eyes wandered the room, over Maggie and the way she was…kind of interacting with Pug. She looked confused. Natasha looked as if she was doing this to needle Maggie for some reason.

“What’s goin’ on?” Chris asked, seeing Bucky’s attention was distracted. 

Now Rebecca was staring too. 

“Nat’s tryin’ to set Maggie up with some guy with a dog name. What is she thinking? That guy’s a total dweeb,” Bucky said before shaking his head.

TAGLIST: @ocappreciationtag • @julieelliewrites • @arrthurpendragon • @darkwolf76 • @cas-verse • @victoriapedrcttis • @cjand10 • @acabecca • @seb-soph • @eddysocs  • @darylandbethfanforever9 • @scarletwidoww • @sassysophiabush • @starcrossedjedis

[calliemontgomery]

CHARACTER INTRO:

NAME: Calliope "Callie" Victoria Montgomery

AGE: 36

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Female. She/her.

SEXUALITY/STATUS: Heterosexual. | Single.

OCCUPATION: District Attorney

BIRTHDAY: December 28th, 1987

HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, California.

NEIGHBORHOOD: Riverfoak Farms

FACECLAIM: Candice Patton

BACKGROUND:

TW: KIDNAPPING, DEATH, PREGNANCY.

Born via surrogate, along with her twin brother, Samuel.

Both parents are very successful. Her mother a model, and figurehead. Her father award wining surgeon.

Despite growing up in LA, Covintgon was like a second home to the twins, as that was where their grandparents lived.

Her mother wanted a mini-me for a daughter, one who would love the glitz and glam of Hollywood, instead, she got a girl who wanted to be be successful more like her father.

Only Callie hadn't realized that until a traumatic turn of events took place when she was 15. After a party with her best friend, Harper, they decided to walk home; but they would both be kidnapped.

They were missing for 4 days. Harper would end up killed, while Callie was rescued.

This was extremely traumatic for the young girl, yet, she seemed to bounce back a little too fast. Some would say she never truly dealt with that trauma. It would get worst when the man who kidnapped them would end up free, due to a mistrial.

This is the turning point in which Callie knew she wanted to go into law. Finishing high school, she'd go on to college and law school, topping her classes.

After law school, Callie would move to Covington for good, to be near her brother and his wife.

At 33, she would find herself landing the position of DA. For years she was all work, and very little play. So, it was a surprise that within the same year as her promotion, she'd find that she was pregnant.

in 2019, she gave birth to her daughter, who she named Harper, after her late friend, and Rose after her grandmother.

In 2021, she would adopt a mainecoone cat that she named Stormy.

Despite being married to her work, and a single mother, she manages to keep up both ends rather well. Of course with help of her brother, and his wife, and occasionally her parents. Which she is extremely grateful for.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

FRIENDS/FRIENDLY RELATIONSHIP: Despite being a work horse, she is still a rather cool person to hang around. With becoming a mom, on top of her job, it did shorten her free time even more. But her brother does try to get her to go out and have some kind of social life. Or at least, just give her a break. This could be coffee friends, work out friends, even mom friends.

ENEMIES/I DON’T REALLY LIKE YOU: Not everyone likes everyone.

EXES/FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS/HOOK UPS (M/NB): Despite really not having time for relationships, she somehow manages to have a long list of ex-lovers. Very few serious. Most hook ups, as she has needs, and she likes them met. She does have a handful of exes that was serious, and it could've ended badly on either side to be honest. Or well. She definitely dated more freely in college.

BABY DADDY: To be honest, I don't assume she actually knows who her daughter's dad is. In my head, she had slept with two different men around the time she got pregnant. Instead of really figuring out who it was, she kinda just told them both that the other one was the dad. And they went with it. She always knew she wanted to be a mom, and she always figured she'd do it on her own. This way just saved her a trip to the bank. (Even tho deep down, she would love nothing more then the whole fairy tale love story. But she is a realistic, and her career comes before a relationship.)

COWORKERS: Anyone who works in law, cops, lawyers, etc, would very likely know of Callie Montgomery. Rather it's friendly or not, is up for debate.

CLIENTS: Anyone who's been in legal trouble.

TRULY ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING, FOR REAL. I JUST WANNA LOVE ON Y’ALL AND BE LOVED. OK THANK YOU

ABOUT PAGE | PINTEREST | PLAYLIST | DISCORD is matileex

[curewhimsy]

I have an idea for an Ace Attorney fic-case-prompt thing… Crossover.

Because I DO have an OC who’s a lil deranged.

(Don’t ask how she eventually ended up like this in my mind.)

Also, yeah. Crossover.

Margot murders Taya…!

Margot was always jealous of Taya’s success, popularity. Margot is incredibly spiteful and jealous.

The previous day, she overheard Taya saying he wants to give up music because he will never be as good as Hatsune Miku, a musician he admires. Margot intervened, saying “How can you give up when you’re so gifted? Imagine being me! I’m nothing? I have no talent compared to you? Countless times I’ve dreamed about being you! Countless times I was the one who wanted to give up! You have no right to want to give up. You were blessed with unfair talent that you just want to throw away? Just because you’re not as good as that preposterous whore, Miku?”

Taya then accuses Margot of not being a good musician because she doesn’t try hard enough.

Margot is offended by these words. 

Meanwhile, Taya and his best friend Ritsu had recently made up from an argument that lasted about three days.

Intermittently, Taya tells Ritsu the conflict he had with Margot and that she was acting “difficult again.” Ritsu never liked Margot, he thinks she has “problems she needs to resolve.”

That night, Margot, who is in charge of stage lighting, decides to corner Taya backstage and… CHOP him to death with a BUTCHER KNIFE after his performance at a concert. 

She notices Ritsu near the scene of the crime, so she decides to make it seem like he did it.

If there’s one thing Margot is good at, it’s faking tears.

She turns on the waterworks and said she admired Taya and is in such a broken-hearted state to see a talented musician’s life end so tragically… Then when asked, she says she saw Ritsu holding, in Margot’s words, what was either a tiny axe or a large butcher knife. “But I’m not sure. And I’m not sure why Ritsu would have something like that.” She says. 

But then a lightbulb goes off in Margot’s brain. She disguises her eureka moment with more tears.

“But Ritsu and Taya have had a falling-out lately… I can’t imagine this would lead Ritsu to want to KILL Taya…”

This becomes a court case.

Teru Tendo (former lawyer from the Idolmaster Side M) is the attorney defending Ritsu’s case. He knows Ritsu is innocent.

The prosecutor defending Margot is… Haku Yowane!?

Kaoru Sakuraba (the former surgeon from Idolmaster Side M and friend of Teru’s) does the autopsy on Taya.

Margot was wearing gloves while “butchering Taya.” No fingerprints were left at the scene…

Why did Margot have a butcher knife in the first place?

(I will add more as I think of more)

[advocate-paresh-m-modi]

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As per Advocates Act 1961, lawyers cannot give assurance and guaranty or warranty of result and time in any form but we assured that our clients will get good legal services from specialized Criminal lawyers and Advocates. They will get good guidance, perfect legal remedies as well as result oriented efforts of our team and thus our intelligent Advocates may be able to negotiate a compromise with the prosecution for the benefit of our client, As an experienced lawyers, we can give you the best options for your Criminal case and defend you at trial Court, Session Court and High Court.

Frequently Asked Questions :

1. What is a negotiable instrument act and its types? Ans. A negotiable instrument is a legal document written and signed by one party to ensure it will pay or repay the required amount within a specific time range or on-demand. It is transferable, and an individual or entity has the liberty to decide whether they want to encash it or transfer it to consecutive payees.

2. Is there bail for cheque bounce case? Ans. Dear client, There is no anticipatory bail for offence under cheque dishonor. The offence is a bailable offence. The parameters to be considered is when was the cheque issued, when was it presented in the bank and the burden to prove the transaction lies with the complainant.

3. What is the time limit to file the cheque bounce case? Ans. As per Negotiable Instruments Act, legal notice must be sent within 30 days from the date of cheque bounce. Thereafter within 15+30=45 days from the date of sending the legal notice, case must be filed. In case the case is filed beyound that time then the same shall be time barred.

4. Who is the best Lawyer For Bounced Cheque in Ahmedabad? Ans. Advocate Paresh M Modi is the best lawyer in Ahmedabad for cheque bounce cases (Negotiable instrument act 1881).

5. As an Accused, to whom I have to consult for my NI Act cheque Bounce Case in Gujarat State? Ans. If really you want to defend your case as an Accused, you must hire the Advocate Paresh M Modi for your complicated criminal Case of NI Act section 138.

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Empowering Your Business Journey with Vishvas Law Offices

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