#or offer some casual snark

[smolcrow465]

yippee! old summer dreams drawing I had stashed somewhere <3

this is one of my favorite silly parts of the au-- Matt's dad ends up partnered with Wizardmon, who eventually does revive & reuinite with everyone :] bringing him to the radio tower ends up with many shenanigans <3

[glasvera]

Stoicism and Gratuity

Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader x The Punisher

Description: You're always healing them so that they can let loose on the battlefield. Now it's your turn to let them do the work.

Warnings/Disclaimers: SMUT (18+ only, Minors DNI!!!!), cursing, clothed sex, minor mentions of alcohol, Bucky's arm tentacles, choking, spanking, rough sex, threesome, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, light bondage??? if you count the tentacles?, Frank's kind of an ass but means well, one (1) terrible pun

A/N: Fulfilling a request for Bucky or Frank wasn't something I ever thought I'd do, but my interest was piqued and I decided to give it a shot. And then it turned into a light novel. Also... gods it feels SO weird calling him Frank.

Word Count: 5k

When Frank and Bucky invited you over, you thought it was just a casual meet up between colleagues, no, friends to enjoy what little downtime you had between missions. Order some take out, maybe drink a few beers… you know the drill. 

Even so, you couldn't help taking the chance to dress up a little bit. It was so rare that you got out (outside of work, at least) so you tended to go a little over the top when the opportunities presented themselves. Surely you couldn't go wrong with a cute dress and tights. 

Plus, who doesn't want to look this good in front of two absolutely gorgeous men?

It was hard enough that you were attracted to both of them. Flirting with one felt like some unspoken betrayal to the other, so you usually just tried to push those feelings down. But you weren't blind; unlike their more practical clothing and tactical gear, your hero suit hugged you in all the right places, and you had caught them both staring multiple times. You'd even teased them on more than one occasion about finding better partners if they were going to keep getting distracted on the job.

So why not throw caution to the wind while you can and give them a little more to look at?

Despite your original confidence, when you rap your knuckles on the door to Frank's apartment, you couldn't help the flutter of butterflies that burst forth in your stomach. What if your neckline plunged too low? What if they got the wrong (right?) idea about you from the fishnets that hug your hips just as tightly as the skirt of your dress?

You're unable to dwell on those thoughts for long before the door opens, and you're face to face with Bucky in a wife beater and joggers. His calm and collected demeanor slips for just a second, and his eyes are devouring your figure before he realizes what he's doing. He clears his throat and presses his lips shut into a thin line.

“Y/N. Good. You made it.” He blinks, scratching the back of his head with his organic arm, and steps back to allow you inside. “You… You look good,” he adds with a curt nod.

“Close the damn door. Air conditioning isn’t cheap, you know,” you hear Frank’s gruff voice call out from further in.

“I’m offering good company for free. Think that’ll cover it?” you retort with a cheeky smile as you round the corner into the living room, your heels clacking on the wooden floors.

To his credit, Frank doesn’t even try to hide the once-over he gives you. All you get in return is an amused snort. He looks good, you think, in a simple t-shirt and jeans. The denim has a few oil stains and the shirt is probably a size too small, but it suits him. You certainly can't complain about being able to see his strong physique on full display. Honestly, the two of them just look the same as they usually do minus all the extra equipment. Now you really feel overdressed. 

“You heading out to the club after this or something?” Frank quips while gesturing to your outfit.

Before you get the chance to be terribly embarrassed or even defend yourself, Bucky returns the Punisher's snark. “She can dress how she wants, old-timer. And don't think I missed the way you looked at her.”

You flash Bucky a smile of thanks. Frank grumbles something about being called “old-timer” by the guy who's older than him, but otherwise drops it. Bucky disappears into the kitchen for a minute, followed soon after by the sounds of bottles clinking in the opened fridge. 

Frank pats the seat next to him. Once you oblige, sinking into the poor, abused couch that threatens to swallow you whole in its cushions, he heaves a big sigh.

“You do look good. Just had to tease you,” he explains himself before Bucky reappears behind you with three beers in hand. “But Winter Princess over here had to get his panties in a knot over it,” he adds with a pointed smirk.

“If this weren't your place, I might smash this bottle over your head,” Bucky taunts back even as he hands him one.

He vaults over the back of the couch, throwing himself back into the cushions without much grace and landing next to you with an audible oomph. It launches you up a little in your seat. That, coupled with their banter, draws a lilting giggle from your lips. Bucky shoots you the softest of smiles. Ah… you were wondering when the butterflies in your stomach were coming back. 

He hands you the last beer, and you see the metal plates of his arm open and shift about before a tentacle reaches out and pops the cap off for you.

“Nice Swiss Arm-y Tool you got there,” you can't help but say with a shit-eating grin as you catch the cap in your other hand. Frank snorts again and Bucky sighs, losing his smile immediately and shutting his eyes.

“I will take yours back,” he threatens half-heartedly.

The tentacle that slithered about after opening the bottle lingers for a moment, and you pull back with a start when the cold appendage brushes against your wrist. Bucky's eyes widen and he quickly withdraws, metal clanking and shrieking against itself as he returns his arm to its usual state.

“Sorry. They have a mind of their own sometimes. Been meaning to see Shuri about that,” he explains apologetically. He can’t seem to look you in the eye.

“I-It’s okay,” you manage to eke out, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where it had touched you. You knew about them, fighting with him as you so often did, but that was the first time you'd felt them. It was so alien, and you shudder at the thought of what they could have been if Hydra had their way.

“And I thought I was a buzzkill,” Frank finally chimes in as he starts flicking through channels with the TV remote. It earns him a glare from Bucky, but he ignores it. He settles on some random sci-fi movie for background noise before setting the remote onto the arm of the couch. That'll probably get lost between the cushions later.

Despite his intent, you find yourself trying to focus on what's on the screen instead of the awkward silence building between you three. You hadn’t seen Fifth Element in ages. Trying (and failing) to ease your nerves, you lean back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as you take a swig of beer. Eugh. Frank definitely wasn't breaking the bank for this brand.

After a little while, you all settle into what is at least a slightly more comfortable silence. Fifth Element just has a way of bringing people together, you suppose. Bucky props a foot up on one knee, and you don't miss the way he rests his mechanical arm on the back of the couch behind you. Frank leans forward and leans his elbows on his thighs, and his repositioning leaves his leg pressing against yours. The scratchy denim catches a bit on your fishnets, and even through the thick fabric you can feel the heat of his skin.

It continues like that for several minutes. Your eyes, as discreetly as you can manage, keep finding their way to the men on either side of you. You notice the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest, the way his shoulder muscles twitch every once in a while when he adjusts his metallic arm. You see Frank's fingers tense a bit around the neck of the bottle he holds, and suddenly a part of you wonders how those fingers would feel around your own neck…

Korben Dallas and Leeloo just aren't capturing your attention anymore.

“Met Bruce Willis once. Weird guy,” Frank suddenly pipes up. It takes you by surprise and you actually jump in your seat, granting you raised eyebrows from both of them.

“You okay, Y/N?” Bucky asks as he turns his body to face you better.

Warmth rushes to your face. “I-I'm fine! I don't know why that startled me. Guess I was just lost in the movie,” you lie as you run a nervous hand through your hair.

Frank places a hand on your bare shoulder and squeezes a bit. His palm is searing, no, branding on your skin, the ghost of it lingering even when he pulls away.

“You're tense, doll face. Somethin’ the matter?” he asks.

“Probably working too hard. Come to think of it, this is the first time I've seen Y/N outside of work,” Bucky comments with a hint of genuine concern. His metal hand finds the back of your neck and massages it gently, and you feel your face flush even more at the sudden contact. “You can loosen up, you know,” he teases.

It does feel nice, you can't deny that.

“Yeah… loosen up…” you murmur, trying to sound thoughtful. Your head bobs a bit as Bucky continues, and you see a slight smile return to his face.

You can also feel the tension in the room shift… but you don’t see the way Bucky and Frank look at each other as your eyes flutter close. A wordless exchange occurs between them unbeknownst to you, and they both nod in agreement.

It was something they’d discussed before, after all.

“You’re always taking care of us, you know. And I don’t just mean on the battlefield,” Bucky mutters in your ear. When had he gotten that close? “You’re always checking up on us, calling or texting us to see if we’re doing okay…”

“We invited you over to let loose, sweetheart. And you’re not doing a very good job of it yet,” Frank adds gruffly.

“I… I’m sorry?” you finally respond with a slight laugh in your voice. You’re not sure if you should apologize or not, really. 

“Maybe you should be,” Frank grunts as his hand rests on your knee.

Bucky chuckles. “Don’t be sorry.” He’s practically leaning into you now, and you can feel his breath on your ear. It sends shivers across your skin. “Just let us take care of you… if you want us to, of course,” he adds.

“What is…?” You want to say “happening,” but words seem to fail you when Frank cups your jaw and forces him to look at you.

“I said you looked good. But I think you’d look even better without that get-up,” he almost growls. His eyes are dark with something you’ve never seen in him before, and a shuddered breath slips from your lips.

“O-Oh…”

It’s all you can muster.

But that’s all it takes.

You don’t have to wonder what Frank’s fingers feel like on your neck anymore as he grabs the back of your head and tugs you into a possessive, devouring kiss. His lips are rough, a bit chapped, but that doesn’t matter when his tongue delves eagerly into your mouth. The hand on your knee grips you harder.

“Should have known you’d be the impatient one,” Bucky chides before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the crook of your neck. The stubble on his chin scratches against your skin in the best way. A broken moan gurgles in your throat.

Well. This was not how you were expecting the night to go at all.

You hear metallic tings and clangs behind you, and that’s all the warning you have before tentacles are slithering down your back and sides. It’s a little cold and it certainly catches you by surprise, but the way they slip under your dress is undeniably erotic. Bucky freezes. Ah, so he hadn’t meant to do that.

Breathing heavily, you break the kiss with Castle to face Bucky with lust-darkened eyes. “N-No… it’s okay,” you breathe. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head, but once his eyes flicker down to your panting and kiss-bruised lips, desire wins over. He nods, dumbfounded, before claiming his own turn at kissing you.

Frank, a bit perturbed at having his make out session interrupted, takes out his frustrations on the opposite side of your neck. Where Bucky was passionate and intense, Frank is angry, biting hard and sucking dark hickies into your skin. If you were standing, you know your knees would be wobbling. His hand travels higher, roughly massaging your inner thigh with callused fingers.

Tentacles squirm down the front of your dress, curling underneath your breasts and squeezing them. You gasp into Bucky’s mouth and he bites your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth. Even more tendrils travel lower, cold shocking your feverish skin, and you feel them toying with the elastic band of your panties. Bucky’s hair tickles your nose when he presses his forehead to yours, panting slightly.

“Been wanting to do that for a while… you sure you’re okay with this?” Bucky asks even as his body is clearly trembling with unsatiated lust.

When you open your mouth to answer, Frank bites down hard on your neck, and you’re seeing stars as he draws a cry from your throat. You can feel him smiling against your skin. 

“Twenty bucks says she’s soaked through. You’re enjoying it just fine, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“I-I…” you start, but only a low groan follows when he nibbles on your earlobe. Their lips occupied everything from your neck up while tentacles lavished you with attention beneath your dress. Frank was right: you could feel the wetness pooling between your legs already. His hand teasing at your inner thigh and dipping beneath the hem of your skirt certainly wasn't helping. 

“She can't even think straight. I think it's working,” Frank snickers. He palms your breast roughly through your dress, finding the hardening nipple and tugging on it through the fabric.

“F-fuck…” you stammer breathlessly. You're still facing Bucky, and he's drinking in every delicious expression of desire that crosses your face. He adjusts himself in his pants, but the tent forming there is obvious. Your mouth waters when you catch a glimpse of it. 

Bucky’s hand finds itself on your opposite thigh, spreading your legs apart as tentacles dip lower. Your breathing stops in anticipation. Part of you wonders if he can feel everything that they feel. The groan he utters when he swipes a tendril up your clothed slit answers that question, and you answer him in kind with a throaty whine. 

“She's drenched, Castle,” he growls before kissing you again.

“And we're only just getting started,” Frank adds as his hand yanks down the front of your dress. You let out a soft gasp as those rough fingers grope at your bare skin. His teeth and tongue work their way down your chest. When his lips close around your nipple and his tongue flicks back and forth rapidly across the bud, your legs try desperately to clamp themselves shut. But their hands wouldn't allow that. In fact, Frank slaps the tentacle out of the way before cupping your sex to feel just how wet you are. His approval hums through his lips, and the small vibrations of it against your sensitive flesh have you bucking into his hand. 

Speaking of hands, you've been at a loss at what to do with yours this entire time. It was difficult to focus on any one thing. Your palms smooth along their biceps, or you feel your fingers clutching desperately onto their shirts and wrinkling the fabric. Every ounce of your concentration is spent processing each source of pleasure and simulation they give you. 

Bucky's lips leave yours to travel lower, nipping at your collarbone. He gazes up at you with no small amount of anticipation, practically begging you to continue moaning for the two of them. Your head falls back against the couch as you gasp for air. 

“Fuck, you look so pretty like this,” Bucky praises as he massages your thigh. 

“Mm… I… it feels… fuck…” you groan, your fingers finding the back of Frank's head and holding him to your chest. Your legs are quivering as he continues pleasuring you through your panties. 

“Feel even better when you've got our cocks stretching you out,” Frank adds bluntly as his breath ghosts over your nipple.

You feel like a whore when you moan at those dirty words. The idea makes you impossibly wetter, and you feel your walls clench around nothing. Bucky seems affected by it too, because now he's the impatient one trying to free himself from his pants.

You barely catch a glimpse of it before you feel his tentacles wrapping securely around you and lifting you up, settling you on his lap. Those same tentacles rip open your fishnets and tug your underwear to the side. A surprised gasp escapes you at the sound of torn netting, but you don't have time to be offended. He's hovering your slick wetness over his achingly hard cock, grinding it up against you while his free hand grips your ass and guides you back and forth. 

“Oh fuck… Bucky,” you whimper. They weren't kidding about taking care of you. You didn't move a muscle as those cold tendrils held you aloft.

“Who's the impatient one, now?” Frank accuses with no small amount of annoyance. He's standing up behind you now, lifting your dress up around your hips and groping your ass. In his frustration, he gives it a hard smack, but that sting only drives you crazier and you let out a staggered keen.

“Like that, do ya?” he asks with a malicious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He gives you a few more smacks, enjoying the sounds they pull from your lips. “We talked about taking turns, but maybe what you really need is to be stuffed completely. Want us to use you like our doll, doll face?”

You can see the flicker of worry in Bucky’s eyes, thinking that maybe this was going too far, but you're practically gushing at the idea. You nod with a pleading whimper.

“Fuck, yes. Please. Ruin me,” you respond. Despite his hesitation, your words cause Bucky to twitch against you. You want so badly to guide his cock into you and start bouncing on it, but those tendrils wrap around your wrists and keep your arms in place behind your back.

Bucky's breathing grows ragged, and he gives you a warning look. “Keep saying shit like that, and you're gonna drive me crazy.”

“Why don't you shut your mouth and keep putting those tentacles of yours to good use? Stand and hold her up so we can both fuck her,” Frank commands with a snarl. You hear the clink of his belt buckle and the growl of a zipper soon follows, and even before Bucky has complied you feel a thick, hard cock pressed against your ass.

Bucky gives the other man an indignant huff, wanting nothing more than to fuck you right here on the comfort of the couch. Not to mention that using his tentacles like this was completely uncharted territory; they seemed affected by his desires and impulses, but even he doesn’t trust those all of the time.

Unfortunately for him, those sweet lips of yours pout irresistibly at him. And when it comes to you, his resolve crumbles in an instant.

“You want this?” Bucky starts, standing upright as his arm tentacles lift you higher. Your arms are above your head now, and a tentacle slithers down further until it teases at your neck. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me if you get overwhelmed,” he tells you as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His lip curls ever so slightly, almost disgusted at himself for giving in so easily. But even he couldn’t deny just how wet and ready you seemed to be. And the way your hooded eyes look at him, the way your pupils swallow your irises completely, draws a soft growl from his throat.

Your only response is to lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, tugging him closer, smirking and daring him to continue. Tentacles meet those quickly, binding your ankles together and pinning you to his body.

“Nice try, sweetheart. But we’re in control here,” he mutters as his lips brush against yours. You try to meet them properly, but he holds you in place by your chin as he pulls away. A low whine chokes from you, and he shakes his head. “You signed up for this.”

While your heated exchange continues, Frank strokes his cock behind you, readying himself with lubricant. Bucky would have the easier job of it, but that doesn’t bother him. He’s not called the Punisher for nothing. Since he doesn’t have to worry about holding you up (though, he most certainly could), he rips your panties off of your body with one hand while the other presses two slick fingers against your anus. You yelp at the sudden intrusion, completely ignoring the second aggression performed against your clothing for the night. No, you can only focus on how thick his fingers are as they press against the tense muscle. You’re breathing heavily as he eases the first digit inside.

Bucky finally releases your chin, instead taking his own length in hand and teasing it up and down your slit. He spreads your wetness over the tip, watching your face carefully as your lips part into an “o” shape. You were being teased from both sides, never fully getting what you wanted, and it leaves you a whimpering mess. Frank chuckles from behind as he inserts a second finger.

“Yes… more! Oh gods, please…” you beg as you buck against them.

“Like a bitch in heat,” he grunts while scissoring the digits inside you.

A breathy chortle of agreement drags out of Bucky’s lips. The tentacle that teased at your neck before now wraps around it fully, constricting slightly. Your eyes go wide at the sensation, but Bucky doesn’t miss the way your thighs clamp around his waist. The end of the tendril brushes tenderly at your lips like it’s trying to map them out by touch alone. The tip of Bucky’s dick finally pushes inside you, slipping through easily as he slides inch after inch into your beckoning heat. His head falls forward with a groan, his brows knitting together as he waits for you to acclimate to the stretch of him. Strangled curses force their way from your throat, words of praise bubbling at your lips as your velvety walls suck him in. You already feel so full, and if they continue, then that means…

“So… tight,” Bucky manages as sweat beads on his forehead. “Dunno how she’s gonna-”

“She’ll be fine,” Frank interrupts, speaking for you as he withdraws his fingers. He grunts in amusement at the small squeak you let out. You don’t even have time to mourn the loss before the head of his cock pushes insistently against your prepared hole. “Relax, doll face. Breathe.”

Well, that’s easier said than done when you’re being gently choked by an eldritch tentacle.

Thankfully, the appendage relents, and just as you take in a deep breath of sweet, sweet oxygen, Frank shoves the entire tip into you with one push. Your breath catches in your throat. He thrusts that little bit in and out, sinking further and further each time. It rocks you against Bucky. He’s having a hard time keeping himself restrained from moving as is, and those little bounces are testing his resolve. His hand grips your waist almost painfully.

And then, without pomp or ceremony, Frank sheathes himself to the hilt. You cry out loudly, tossing your head back, but he’s done waiting. You’re lucky he took the time to stretch you out a bit in the first place, he thinks. His cock pistons in and out of your ass rapidly, his broad arm wrapping around your front to paw at your breasts as they bounce with his movements.

Bucky can feel the other man’s cock through that thin wall of skin, making you impossibly tighter. It’s an effort when he begins thrusting. Once he’s able to match Frank’s rhythm, they alternate, never leaving you empty. Your eyes roll back into your head and your jaw hangs slack as moans pour from your lips.

“Atta girl,” Frank grunts before he starts biting and sucking at your neck. He’s fucking you aggressively, possessively, wrecking you completely as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your nails dig into the tentacles that hold you aloft, and Bucky hisses. You feel yourself being choked again in retaliation. He wasn’t expecting you to tighten around him when he did that, though.

Gods, you really were the perfect little fuck doll, weren’t you?

Bucky doesn’t know where to focus his gaze. Frank’s hand squeezes one tit while the other bounces with their thrusts. Your neck looks so beautiful with his tentacle wrapped around it. Your lips part so sweetly as you desperately gasp out your sounds of pleasure. He looks down to where your hips meet, and you’ve already ruined the front of his pants where they sit beneath his cock. Fuck. He reaches down, pressing his palm against your stomach as his thumb flicks circles on your clit.

Your mind is going blank. You don’t even form actual words anymore, simply babbling incomprehensible sounds as your mascara runs in lines down your cheeks. Pressure builds in your core, amplified by your lack of oxygen, and your thighs tremble around the Winter Soldier. Frank pauses in his thrusts, and before either of you can question why, he’s timing his thrusts with Bucky.

You feel full to bursting. Your moans are sobs now, and your body hangs limply in the tentacles’ grasp as they fuck you in tandem. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, and a tendril presses against it before snaking between your lips. In your fucked-out state, it only feels natural to suck on it.

“Sh-shit…” Bucky curses as that causes his thrusts to falter for a second. “How do you keep getting sexier?”

Frank sucks mark after mark into your skin, angling his thrusts to the side slightly so he can spank your ass with his free hand. You scream around the tentacle in your mouth. So much pressure, so much euphoria. You’re going insane, absolutely cock-drunk. It builds in you, with electrical currents zapping straight to your core with every thrust, every bite, every slap. Your walls flutter around them, and Bucky redoubles his efforts at playing with your clit. So close. So close.

They’re not faring much better than you. You’re a feast for the eyes from the front and the back, and those gargled moans and strangled cries you keep making only spur them on more. Their pace quickens, muscles straining as they fuck you into utter oblivion. Bucky’s eyes close and he grits his teeth. Frank only gets even more aggressive with his affection, nearly bruising your breasts with his squeezing and making sure your ass has a permanent sting.

“Take it, doll face. Fuck,” Frank curses. You can feel him swelling inside you with his impending release.

“Y… mmhh… yeth, oh f…fuck,” you stammer around the tentacle in your mouth. 

And then Bucky angles his thrusts just a little bit to the side. You gasp with a shrill cry.

Bingo.

He hammers into that spot, never relenting on your clit. The tentacle around your neck squeezes tighter, and for a moment you wonder if you might black out. But it’s all too good, too intense, and you feel it rising, rising--

Your walls spasm around them and Bucky releases the tentacle around your throat in the same instant. A hoarse cry pours from your lips as you experience an earth-shattering orgasm, oxygen rushing to your head and your entire body convulsing in the tentacles’ hold. Wave after wave of gooey warmth washes over you. Both men watch you in awe as you let go completely, falling limp, and fuck you even faster to chase their own release. You fade in and out of consciousness as your orgasm fades, but you’re brought back to reality when Frank grunts and growls animalistically before stilling, pumping load after load into your ass. His softening cock slides out of you as he steps back and falls against the couch. 

Bucky is gasping, his muscular frame glistening with sweat as he takes over, his tentacles retracting back into his metal arm as he catches you. You yelp in surprise as your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself. His eyes bore straight into yours with an undeniable ferocity, and then he’s kissing you hungrily. Your fingers thread into his brown locks, and he continues fucking you as he holds you aloft in his arms. He groans into your lips as his hips pick up the pace and you feel yourself moaning along with him. He lets out a long, drawn out growl when he finally stiffens, thrusting a few more times as you feel his seed paint your walls. When he breaks the kiss, he’s panting, and he too falls back against the couch. He’s still holding you, and you let out a giggling yelp as you fall onto his lap.

It takes some effort to control your trembling limbs, but you manage to extract yourself, returning to your original seat between them. All three of you are a mess, panting, sweaty, and half-dressed.

When you happen to glance over to the TV, you’re surprised to see that they’re still playing Fifth Element. These commercial breaks are getting ridiculous. Frank absentmindedly looks for the remote, looking to turn down the volume, but can’t seem to find it and gives up. Probably between the couch cushions, but he’s a bit too lazy to look that hard right now.

Bucky’s arm finds its way behind you again, but this time it rests on your opposite shoulder. “So… feeling good, Y/N?”

You hum, lolling your head back and forth to look at both of them. “Mm… I think I can’t feel my legs,” you joke with a chortle. “And… I definitely think we should do this more often.”

[sturnswiftie]

cruel summer — c.s.

pairing ⟶ fratboy!chris x fem!reader word count ⟶ 4.7k

contains ⟶ explicit content, porn with plot, unprotected sex, angst, gaslighting.

you met chris on a humid thursday in late may, the kind of evening where the air stuck to your skin and the sky never truly got dark. he was leaning against the railing of the frat house porch, laughing too loud and holding a beer like it was a natural extension of his arm. he wasn’t trying to pull attention unlike most of his friends; he just did.

you weren’t supposed to be there—your roommate had dragged you out, promising it was just a casual hangout, a chill night. “not even a party, really.” but the music was already vibrating through the floorboards, and half the campus seemed to have crawled out of the woodwork to drink under cheap string lights and questionable beer.

you were beginning to weigh your options: go back to your dorm with an armful of snacks and one of your favorite movies, or be a good friend and wait this whole thing out? a daze fell over you as you grappled with the situation—that is, until the answer to your question came.

out of the corner of your eye, pulling you from your trance was chris, who was hard to miss. he wore a white t-shirt with a simple silver chain glinting at his collarbone, a backward cap, and that lazy confidence that made him look like he didn’t have to try. girls orbited around him like he had his own gravitational pull, and even from across the yard, you could feel it tugging at you, too.

it was almost like you were so mesmerized by this invisible tether that you didn’t even realize the way he’d been eyeing you at the same time. the realization had a warm burn creeping up your neck, the embarrassment of being caught staring seeping into your cheeks with the help of the sticky, humid air around you. from the porch, chris’s brow furrowed imperceptibly, blue eyes drinking you in before he turned his head to the frat brother he’d been talking to and saying something that you couldn’t possibly catch from your spot on the front lawn.

you watched as a few quiet words were exchanged between the two before, to your surprise, the brother offered some sort of handshake, and then left. your lips parted in quiet surprise, your gaze following the broad back of the fraternity member before a subtle movement from the corner of your eye gained your attention again—chris. he was looking at you with amusement twinkling in dark blue eyes, and when he realized he had your attention once again, he tilted his head to the side in one quick, subtle action—come here. despite the way your heart suddenly began to thud in your chest, your actions spoke for you in the way your feet carried you toward him, even when you spotted the subtle twitch of the corner of his mouth, and even when you felt that sinking feeling that you were feeding right into that gravitational pull you’d taken note of earlier—sucked right into a black hole.

your fingers twitched by your sides as you stood in front of chris, unsure of what to say. you were just about to mumble a quiet “hi,” when he suddenly broke the ice himself.

“don’t think i’ve seen you before,” he said in lieu of a greeting, gaze raking over you in a way that nearly made you bristle—calculating. suddenly, the way he looked at you made you feel defensive, like you needed to protect yourself.

you raised a brow, hoping to come off unimpressed. “maybe you don’t get out as much as you think you do.”

you thought your snark would deter him. that it would prompt him to release you from the magnetic pull he seemed to have wrapped around you, clutched tight.

it didn’t.

instead, he grinned like you’d just confirmed something for him, like you’d just handed him a challenge. “nah,” he said slowly, shaking his head, “i think i’d remember you.”

you weren’t sure if it was the beer or the heat, but something about the way he looked at you made your skin prickle, like he could already tell you’d eventually give in.

you told yourself it was harmless—a conversation, a little bit of flirting. nothing real. you’d heard the stories just like everyone else had, after all. chris was the kind of guy who could talk his way into your bed and disappear before your alarm could go off. he was nothing but complete trouble, but in the kind of packaging that made girls second-guess their instincts. the most dangerous of his kind.

but something about him pulled at you anyway. maybe it was the way he teased without being cruel, or maybe how he never looked bored when you spoke, like most guys did. whatever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from going back for more, and it thrilled you as much as it terrified you.

it started slow. that first meeting lead to a shared drink on the porch, a laugh exchanged in the kitchen. then a text the next day—you left your sunglasses, princess. guess you’ll have to come back and get ‘em.

you shouldn’t have gone back.

but you did.

and from there, it involved into a thing. a secret, sticky summer thing. you didn’t label it, and there was no talking about it. you just showed up, and he let you. always at night. always behind closed doors. you weren’t dating. you weren’t even friends, really. you just... existed in each other’s orbit, drawn back together again and again like gravity, pretending not to notice how it hurt when he acted like none of it meant anything.

and maybe it didn’t.

but sometimes, in the quiet moments—when he’d trace your spine with lazy fingers or tuck your hair behind your ear like he actually cared—it felt like it could have.

maybe that was the worst part.

it was the fourth time that week.

you told yourself you wouldn’t answer when he texted this time, that you’d seen him flirting with some blonde in cutoff shorts in the library earlier and that you were officially over it. he only had so many times to disrespect you, so many times to do whatever the hell he wanted with no regard for your feelings. you were nobody’s toy and certainly not some frat boy’s entertainment for the summer.

but then the message came through:

[11:04 pm]

you up?

just two words. nothing that made you feel like he cared, at least not beyond your body and what it had to offer him. and still, in some sick, twisted way, it made you feel wanted.

twenty minutes later, you were standing outside the back door of the frat house, chewing on your bottom lip, your arms folded like that could protect you from what you were about to do—again.

chris opened the door without a word, his silhouette backlit by the soft glow of kitchen lights. his hair was damp, like he’d just showered, and he was shirtless, basketball shorts slung low on his hips. that dark, nagging voice in the back of your mind questioned whether or not he was cleaning up after hanging out with another girl, and it made you feel sick to your stomach with envy.

“hey,” he greeted you, voice low and unreadable.

you stepped inside despite every inch of your body telling you not to, brushing past him casually like your heart wasn’t racing in your chest. “hey.”

chris didn’t say anything else, but you could feel his eyes on you as he followed you upstairs. his room was the same as always—messy in a careless kind of way, like he never stayed still long enough to really settle. a few posters clung to his walls, his playstation blinking in sleep mode. one window was left cracked open to let in the thick summer air, and yet a chill creeped down your spine.

you sat on the edge of his unmade bed, picking at a loose thread in your shorts. you could feel the weight of his stare before even looking up.

“you okay?” he asked, surprisingly soft.

you blinked up at him. “why wouldn’t i be?”

chris shrugged and moved closer, crouching in front of you. “y’got that look on your face.”

“what look?”

“the one that makes me think i pissed you off and didn’t even notice.”

you laughed under your breath, bitter and tired. there was so much you wanted to say, yet it sat burning on the tip of your tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your hurt, your feelings. deep down, you knew he didn’t care, and it was embarrassing.

the brunette studied you for a second too long, eyes flicking across your face like he was trying to read something between the lines. and then, slowly, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it anyway, he asked:

“why do you keep coming back?”

you stared at him. your heart pounded in your chest, heavy and unrelenting, your mouth pressed into a firm line. immediately, answers flooded your brain: because he was a walking contradiction. because he made you feel like the center of the universe in the dark, but left you stranded in daylight. because he was reckless and stupid and impossibly addicting.

but all that left your mouth was a lie.

“because it’s easy.”

chris didn’t even flinch. instead, he leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush against your cheek. “easy?” he murmured.

you didn’t trust yourself enough to answer him without your voice shaking, but it didn’t matter. before you even had the chance to form a response, he was kissing you—hard and desperate—like he wanted to silence everything unsaid between you. you kissed him back because you didn’t know how to stop, not when he touched you like that, like he knew every nerve ending by name.

it wasn’t love. it was never going to be love.

but in that moment, with his hands tangled in your hair and his mouth on your throat, it almost felt like something dangerously close.

chris’s mouth found yours again, slower this time—like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. it left you confused as you were used to him kissing like he had something to prove, like every touch was a promise he wasn’t going to keep. and it scared you how much you kind of liked it.

your fingers pressed into his back, blunt nails creating soft indents in his skin, and he made a sound low in his throat, hands gripping your thighs as he moved to sit on the bed, pulling you into his lap as he went. you moved together like you’d done this a hundred times before—and you had—but it never felt the same. this time felt more dangerous. more fragile.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered against your skin, lips dragging down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “showin’ up here looking like that and with a fuckin’ attitude.”

a breathless laugh fell from your lips, your head tilted back to give him more room for his mouth to nip and suck at your sensitive skin while you ground down against his growing bulge. “you texted me,” you remind him, teeth digging into your lower lip to suppress a soft moan when his tongue brushes over your pulse point.

“’cause i knew you’d come.” his hands pushed under your tank top, calloused fingers spreading wide over your ribs like he wanted to memorize the shape of you. “always do.”

you weren’t sure why, but something about hearing him throwing it out there so casually made you feel sick to your stomach. it was like he was finally recognizing the power he held over your head, and you hated that it wasn’t even a lie.

but then his hands slid lower, and your thoughts scattered like ashes in the heat. clothes were tugged away in pieces—your top over your head, his shorts pushed down to the floor—and soon, you were laid out on his bed, the dim light from the hallway slicing across the room in golden slats where he hadn’t fully shut his door.

chris hovered over you, that cocky smirk flickering—fading—for something that almost looked like reverence. his eyes searched your face like he was trying to find something he’d lost a long time ago, and suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe when you’d never seen him like that before.

“tell me you want this,” he murmured, voice low and rough, and thick with something that made your insides coil.

you should’ve said no. you should’ve walked out and never looked back.

but you pulled him down to you instead, fingers pressing into the back of his neck and the short, dark curls there. “i want this.”

immediately, his mouth met yours again, messy and hungry and full of all the things he wouldn’t dare say to you or to anyone else for that matter. he kissed you like he wanted to forget the world, and it left your emotions swimming with both hope and doubt. so many times would there be a crack in his façade, a glimmer of something more than what he showed everyone else, and yet as soon as you tried to brush past those layers, he drew the curtains closed. every time.

a soft noise left your mouth when you felt the head of his cock press into your soaked folds, chris’s hand guiding himself up your slit and then down again. you were wet enough to leave the tip of him glistening, these lewd noises being one of the few sounds in the quiet of his bedroom as he collected your excitement with his dick.

“chris, please,” you murmured, a desperate edge to your voice in hopes of making him realize just how bad you needed this despite the way your entire being screamed at you to stop.

he only glanced up at you briefly, taking note of the plea behind your pretty eyes, before he decided to take pity on you. it never failed to amaze you how you moved together in sync, like muscle memory, like you knew each other’s bodies better than you should have. and when he finally sank into you, when your hands found his and your breaths tangled, it didn’t feel like just a hookup.

it felt like heartbreak waiting to happen.

chris pressed his forehead to yours as he moved inside you, breathing hard, his chain brushing your chest with every roll of his hips. “you feel so fuckin’ good,” he rasped, hot breath brushing over your face. “always do.”

you shut your eyes tight, nails digging into his back. you didn’t want to hear that. didn’t want to want him. but your body didn’t care. your heart, traitorous and bruised, thudded loud in your chest as he rocked into you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

chris moved in deep, punishing thrusts that had the headboard knocking against the wall, and your back arching off the sheets. if you hadn’t been so lost in the pleasure coursing through your veins, you would have been scared of one of his fraternity brothers waking up to the sounds, but you were too far gone. you could focus on nothing but the way he fucked into you, the sounds of your bodies filling the room: skin, breath, and quiet curses muttered into your ear. it drove you insane.

“you like it like this?” he rasped, voice low and rough. you could tell that earlier softness was fading with each rock of his hips into yours, and you both loved and despised it. “like being fuckin’ used by me, huh?”

you clawed at his back, a whimper caught in your throat. it hurt—just a little. and you liked it. that rawness, the way he took you apart like it was second nature. it made you hate yourself, made you want to get back at him.

“i hate you,” you whispered, and it wasn’t true—but it wasn’t not true, either.

chris just smiled against you, his words hot and heavy against your slick skin. “no, baby,” he cooed to you, shaking his head. his dark curls tickled your face, and you swallowed hard. “you don’t.”

he drove into you harder, faster, while one hand traveled from your right breast, down your stomach, and then to your clit where he began to trace the nub with his thumb, adding a certain amount of pressure here and there that had your hips squirming with need. you could feel that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach, that tight rope beginning to snap, and just as your thighs began to shake on either side of him, your pussy spasming around every inch of his cock, that white-hot orgasm hit, completely overwhelming you. you cried out, fingers twisting in the sheets, but he didn’t let up. he just kept going, chasing his own release.

“where—fuck, where do you want it?” he panted, lips brushing your ear.

you were still dazed, barely able to answer, but chris either didn’t notice or didn’t care. he just pulled out of you and finished across your stomach, jaw clenched, and eyes shut tight as he let go with a deep, shuddering breath, his fist working overtime on his shaft to ensure he got every last drop of cum dripping out onto your soft, pretty skin.

silence settled heavy in the room afterward, thick as the heat. you stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, already regretting everything. it felt like this every time, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. you hated him, but nowhere near as much as you hated yourself for allowing it to happen.

chris disappeared into the bathroom for a towel, returning a minute later to wipe you clean. he didn’t speak—just moved quietly, almost gently, like maybe he felt it too. the regret. whatever this whole thing was.

you dressed without looking at him. there was no goodbye, no kiss—just the door creaking open, the hallway light slicing across his floor, and then nothing.

you were gone, once again.

in the following days, you tried to ignore the dull ache in your chest, tried to go back to normal. you hated the way chris always plagued your brain after the fact, that he had such an effect on you that even your friends took notice. it was always embarrassing to see the pity on their faces when they invited you out, it being so obvious they were trying to offer you an escape from reality.

you didn’t plan on going. not really. you told yourself you were tired, that you had a paper to finish, laundry to do—anything to keep yourself home and far away from the mess that always came with seeing chris in public because you just knew you would. but your friends were relentless, and the walls of your dorm were starting to feel too tight, too quiet. so, despite your better judgment, you said yes. you got dressed, even curled your hair, and told yourself it was just drinks, just a night out.

but you felt it the second you walked into the bar—that pull, that shift in your chest like your heart already knew he was there.

and he was. he always seemed to be.

chris was standing near the pool table, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. he looked good—too good, in that casual, careless way that he always did. a fitted shirt clung to his chest, his hat pulled low, and the same chain glinting under the dim bar lights. the only thing that was different was the stupid grin on his face as he leaned in to whisper something to the girl beside him.

you watched as she laughed, touched his arm. lingered.

you were frozen mid-step, your friends already drifting toward the bar while you stood there, caught in the crossfire of something unspoken and brutal. you weren’t his girlfriend, and you never had been. but your throat still burned with betrayal.

you tried to play it cool despite the nasty feeling that clawed at your chest. you ordered a drink, smiled when someone from class said hi, and even danced a little when your friends dragged you out onto the floor. but your eyes kept drifting—back to him. back to her. watching the way his hand grazed her lower back when she walked away, watching the way he didn’t even look for you.

it was stupid, and you knew it. because that was the deal, wasn’t it? no expectations, no labels. no mess.

but it was messy, and it had been from the start. and tonight, with music pounding and people laughing around you, it finally hit you: he was never going to choose you.

the realization left you feeling lightheaded, your chest heavy with the truth. your gaze shifted around the room like you were looking for someone or something to help—maybe your friends—but immediately paused when you found the shots waiting on the bar for you and the rest of your group.

and so you got drunk.

not sloppy, falling-over drunk, but just enough to blur the ache. just enough to be brave. enough to feel like someone who might actually walk away this time.

when the uber pulled up later that night, you slid into the back seat with your heart unraveling and your hands shaking. you were grateful for your ability to hold it together until you were out of sight of anyone else—of chris—and gave yourself the reward of crying quiet, angry tears against the window, pretending you were fine when your friend turned around to check on you.

you were anything but fine.

you didn’t sleep.

by mid-morning, you were pacing your room with last night’s eyeliner still smudged under your eyes and a knot in your chest so tight it made breathing hard. you’d woken up to a text from him, and for a moment, you thought maybe this was it. that whatever lay beyond that notification would mend you, would make breathing come a little bit easier.

instead, you emptied the contents of your stomach into the nearest trashcan when you read his “wyd” text.

you didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore. the thought of chris and everything you let him do to you made you physically ill. you found yourself replaying the night you met him, wishing you’d gone home like you’d wanted to do in the first place.

but somewhere, in the depths of your mind, you knew crossing paths with him was inevitable. that he would have gotten to you somehow, some way, regardless. and the only thing left to do was end it yourself, or let it destroy you.

“are you home?”

he replied within minutes.

“yeah. come through.”

your fingers tightened around your phone, jaw clenched at how easy it still was—how quickly he let you come back. it almost made you explode right then and there, send him paragraphs he would never read about how hurt you were and how awful he was for what he’d done to you.

but you needed to do this in person.

he opened the door wearing that same look he always did when you showed up at his place: smug, knowing, like he was already in control of whatever was about to happen. and usually he was right.

“you good?” he asked, stepping back.

you slammed the door behind you so hard the cheap frame rattled. chris’s eyes widened only a fraction as he glanced from you to the door and then back again, brows furrowing in both confusion and a little bit of irritation at your sudden outburst. the fact that he stood there, shirtless and his hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed without a care in the world, only further angered you.

“damn,” he muttered, that previous hint of irritation melting into a smirk—like it was funny. “didn’t think you were that mad i didn’t say hi last night.”

you felt your blood run cold. it was his way of letting you know that he was aware of your presence, that he knew what he was doing right in front of you. and that you’d taken it just like always.

you stood there, keys still in your hand, your pulse thudding like war drums in your ears. the tequila hadn’t fully left your system yet, and the three hours of sleep you’d gotten only sharpened the edge of your anger.

“that girl,” you finally said, voice flat. “at the bar. who was she?”

chris leaned back against the counter like he was settling in for a show, something to entertain him, completely unbothered. “just some girl.”

you blinked, feeling that red-hot anger begin to boil in the pit of your stomach. “like i’m ‘just some girl?’”

he raised a brow, but his smirk dropped just a fraction. “did i say that?”

you stared at him, bewildered. “well, that’s how you make it feel, chris. i walk into that bar, and you don’t even look at me. you’ve got your hands all over someone else, and then you text me at 3 a.m. like i’m your closer of the night. your second choice if the first option doesn’t work out because you know i’m always there,” you snap, willing your voice not to break at the end. you can feel hot tears of embarrassment beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, and at the sight, chris’s jaw flexes.

“what the fuck are we talkin’ about here, kid? you knew what this was.”

“yeah. i did,” you quip, taking a step closer despite the desire to stay far, far away from him. “i knew you didn’t want anything serious. i knew you weren’t going to parade me around campus. but you know what else i knew?” you ask, staring at him incredulously.

when he doesn’t answer, you continue. “that i was sleeping with you and only you. that i was losing sleep over you. that i let you in, and i thought maybe you would do the same—that maybe it meant something to you, too.”

the brunette scoffed in your face, turning his head slightly like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “’m not fuckin’ responsible for your delusions.”

“don’t play dumb,” you seethed. “you didn’t have to say it out loud. you showed up. you touched me like i mattered. you held me after. you let me fall, and you never fucking stopped me.”

silence.

he didn’t deny it.

didn’t say sorry, either.

you felt your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down. no tears. not here, not now. not in front of him.

“i cried last night, chris,” you said, maybe just in a desperate attempt to see if he cared at all. “in the back of a car, drunk and humiliated, because the guy i’ve been seeing for months wouldn’t even look at me in public.”

his face finally shifted—something cracking beneath the surface—but you didn’t care. it was too late.

“i lied to my friends. lied to myself. i stayed your secret, and i let you make me feel like that was all i was worth. and you know what the was part is?”

you took another step forward, close enough to smell the mint on his breath. close enough to see the faint panic blooming behind his carefully neutral expression.

“the worst part is, i still wanted you. even after all of it. even after last night.”

his jaw tensed, but he still didn’t move. still didn’t reach for you. still didn’t fight.

“i’m done,” you whispered. “done sneaking around. done pretending this is something it’ll never be. that it doesn’t fucking hurt.”

chris blinked, frozen. for a split second, you thought he was going to say something. his mandible shifted like he was going to speak, but then you watched as his mouth pressed into a firm, hard line. remaining shut.

slowly, you nodded once, like you understood. you backed away, step by step, like peeling yourself off a bruise.

he didn’t follow, and he didn’t say anything else.

just watched you walk out the door for the last time—no fight, no apology, no anything. and that told you everything you needed to know.

you slammed the door behind you again, knowing this time it would stay shut.

 

a/n. ngl, i actually hate this LMAO. but i'm just attempting to challenge myself at some longer-form writing to hopefully get better at it in the future. sorry for anyone reading this lmfao <3

©sturnswiftie

dividers by; @bloodibambiidoll, @strangergraphics, and @kodaswrld.

[yesimwriting]

Armand being meaner to bestie the prettier she is. Wow very on brand for the gremlin.

Imagine Armand witnessing bestie being complimented by a stranger and he’s pissed at how casually she accepts affection.

Bestie: 🤭

Armand: 😠😖😖😣😣😖😖😖😤😠😫😩🙁😟😟

Oh the only thing that triggers Armand more than being overwhelmed by bestie's appearance is feeling like his affection will never mean as much to her as her affection means to him because of how accessible that kind of care has always been to her

----

The notion that the same inescapable force responsible for the direction of the universe is willing to spare enough of its focus to personally target him is one that the passage of time has allowed him to release. However, the way that the bar's fast-paced music fades into something much more tranquil feels terribly pointed.

Armand frowns. You've been sitting at the bar, speaking to the stranger who purchased the drink you're still nursing for a long enough period of time for the interaction to count as more than casual. At least, that's what the stranger that can't stop staring at you like you're something for him to consume seems to believe.

The stranger's thoughts are encouraged by your compliance and the polite smile playing at your lips. His mind latches onto what you're offering, his confidence allowing him to transform your actions into something greater.

"You know, I was kind of nervous to start talking to you." The line is so transparent, Armand has no choice but to roll his eyes.

"Why?" The question is as expected as it is genuine. For someone so perceptive and knowing, you never seem to pick up on the intentions of others when it matters most...especially after a drink or two.

The stranger leans towards you, as if preparing to reveal some completely surprising secret. "Because, you're like really hot."

Armand's not sure if he's more repulsed by the stranger's gall or the simplicity of the compliment. Your appearance is much too consuming a thing to be described in a single syllable. Still, you beam, grinning at the man as you accept the sentiment.

An uneasy feeling roots itself inside Armand's chest. There's an effortlessness, a simplicity in the way that you absorb affection. You've never had to work for it, have never had a reason to doubt it.

"I don't know about really hot, but thanks." Your gaze shifts away from the man and onto the nearly empty glass by your side. Something akin to wariness pulses through you. "It's been fun talking to you, but I um--I should catch up with my friends."

The stranger's smile falls, his disappointment so palpable Armand doesn't have to put any effort into sensing it. "I don't think they'd mind."

"Well you don't know them as well as I do." There's some snark pressed into the syllables, but for the most part, you're simply stating what you're thinking. "And I--I don't want them to feel like I'm ditching them."

The man hesitates, his thoughts breaking down potential reactions. He doesn't want you to leave, to disappear before he can get anything out of the time he's invested in you. Armand tenses.

The stranger studies you for another moment, taking in your wide eyed stare. He decides to cut his losses. "Okay, um--see you around."

"Yeah," you agree with another easy smile, "See you." With that, you push yourself away from the bar.

The suddenness of the shift seems to briefly leave you without direction. You frown, eyebrows drawing together as you try to scan the crowd surrounding the bar. Another moment of confusion, and then you're turning your head enough to finally see him.

His familiarity immediately embeds itself into the center of your thoughts. You ease slightly, eyes brightening in a way that makes him question the validity of his existence before your recognition.

You begin to walk forward, making your way through the clusters of strangers until you're within reach.

"Hi," you begin, the syllable more of a laugh than a structured word. You take a few more steps towards him, only stopping once you're close enough for him to note the discolored skin directly beneath your lips. You've managed to smudge your lip gloss. "Sorry about that."

"Bichette," Armand keeps his expression as neutral as he can manage. "Don't apologize." You frown, eyebrows drawing together as you try to make sense of his patronizing tone. If he was in a more patient mood, the genuineness of your uncertainty might have meant something to him.

He takes a step forward. You don't seem to know what to do with his newfound proximity. Before he can force himself to think through his actions any further, he lifts an arm, his fingers coming to rest beneath your jaw, his thumb pressing into your chin. "You're not to blame for that pretty face of yours."

An unsettling warmth begins to drags its way up your neck. The heat of it, of your skin, is nearly scalding, but any instincts meant to encourage his survival feel so distant. Armand remains still for another moment, reveling in your wide eyed discomfort before finally dragging his thumb beneath your bottom lip.

You don't understand the shift, but neither your mind nor your body make any attempt at stopping him. In some ways, the awareness of what you're willing to accept from him is more satisfying than the fragility of your uncertainty.

Armand releases you slowly, pulling his hand away from your chin. He turns his wrist, revealing the gloss residue now staining the side of his thumb. That seems to provide you some clarity.

You nod once, the movement stiff in a way that doesn't suit your current state. "Thanks."

"Louis is waiting outside," he begins, voice more measured than it needs to be, "We should go now." Despite his own words, Armand makes no attempt at moving away from you.

After a second, you nod again, this time the motion a little more steady. You take a step forward, angling yourself away from him. Before moving any further, you pause, turning your head to better face him. Your hand reaches for his without a second thought, your fingers bending around his.

You pull on his arm in a weak attempt at tugging him forward.

[pokesturns]

STURNIOLO FANFIC ⇢ UNSPOKEN LOVE

sum. chris, secretly in love with childhood friend y/n, learns from his mom that she’s moving to london. devastated, he confesses his feelings over a late-night call

feat. chris sturniolo

cw. angst, heartbreak, unrequited love, childhood friends

wc. 1.491 words

the dining room was alive with the clatter of plates and the warmth of home: marylou’s lasagna sat heavy on the table, steam curling up in the soft glow of the chandelier that had watched chris grow up. boston’s autumn chill slipped through the window, carrying the scent of damp leaves and nostalgia.

twenty-one now, the triplets back from los angeles for a fleeting visit, sat around the table with their parents, laughter bouncing off the walls as matt recounted a dumb prank from their high school days. it was the kind of night that felt like slipping into an old sweater, comfortable and worn, a reminder of who they were before the world got so big.

chris tried to stay in the moment, to laugh at nick’s snark or nod at james’s stories about the neighborhood, but his mind kept drifting, as it always did, to y/n. she wasn’t here tonight, though her absence felt like a shadow in the room. they’d grown up together, their parents’ friendship stitching their lives so tightly that chris couldn’t untangle his memories from her; the sleepovers at six, stealing cookies from the jar, bike races at twelve, her screaming with joy when she beat him, late nights at seventeen, her head on his shoulder as they watched the stars, her voice soft as she talked about dreams he secretly hoped included him.

he’d loved her for years, though he’d never let himself name it. it was too much—too fragile. love meant opening himself up to rejection, to the chance she’d laugh it off or, worse, pull away forever. he’d seen what girls could do, how they’d toyed with his heart in high school, leaving him raw and doubting himself. y/n was different, but what if she wasn’t? what if he confessed and lost her, the one person who made the world make sense? so he kept it locked away, buried under jokes and late-night texts, under the lie that he didn’t ache every time she smiled at him.

until tonight.

marylou’s voice cut through the chatter, casual but sharp enough to slice through chris’s thoughts. “oh, did you boys hear about y/n? her mom told me she’s moving abroad. london, i think. got some big job offer.”

james nodded, sipping his wine. “yeah, her parents are so proud. it’s a huge deal. she leaves in a couple weeks.”

the words hit chris like a fist to the chest, knocking the air out of him. his fork froze halfway to his mouth, his heart stuttering. moving abroad. london. a couple weeks. y/n—his y/n—was leaving, and she hadn’t even told him. the room kept moving with nick asking questions, matt joking about fish and chips, but chris was stuck, drowning in the sudden, suffocating weight of it. she was slipping away, and he’d never said a word.

he forced a smile, mumbled something about how cool it was, but his hands were shaking under the table. the rest of dinner was a blur, his mind screaming while he nodded along, playing the part of the carefree brother, but inside, he was unraveling, the truth clawing its way out: he loved her, and she was leaving, and he’d lose her forever.

when dinner ended, he slipped upstairs to his old bedroom, the one still plastered with faded posters and memories of a simpler life. he shut the door, the silence swallowing him whole, and sank onto the bed, his breath ragged while panic surged, hot and relentless, memories flooding him like a cruel tide: y/n at eight, chasing fireflies with him in the backyard; at fifteen, laughing so hard she cried when he tripped into a puddle; at nineteen, hugging him so tight when he left for LA that he thought she’d never let go. and now she was letting go. she was leaving, and he’d never told her how her smile was the only thing that kept him steady.

his phone was in his hand before he could stop himself, his thumb trembling over her name. what could he say? what did you say to the person you loved when they were about to vanish from your life? he was terrified, terrified she’d brush him off, terrified she’d pity him, terrified she’d confirm what he’d always feared: that he’d never been enough. but the thought of staying silent, of letting her go without a fight, was worse.

he pressed call.

it rang three times, each one an eternity, before her voice came through, soft and sleepy. “chris? it’s late. you okay?”

he closed his eyes, her voice a knife and a lifeline all at once. “y/n,” he said, and it came out broken, raw. “i… i heard you’re leaving. london. is it true?”

a pause, then a sigh. “yeah. i was gonna tell you, i swear. it just… it happened so fast. i got the offer last week, and i’m moving in two weeks.”

two weeks. the words were a death knell, echoing in his skull. he stood, pacing the room, his free hand tugging at his hair. “why didn’t you tell me? y/n, you’re… you’re leaving, and i had to hear it from my mom?”

“i’m sorry,” she said, and he could hear the guilt in her voice, the weight of it. “i didn’t know how to say it. i’m still figuring it out myself.”

he laughed, but it was bitter, jagged. “figuring it out? y/n, you’re leaving the country. you’re leaving me.” the last word slipped out, too honest, and he froze, his heart pounding.

“chris…” her voice was soft, uncertain. “what’s going on? why are you so upset?”

he couldn’t hold it back anymore. the dam broke, and the words spilled out, desperate and unfiltered. “because i love you, y/n. i’ve loved you for years, and i was too fucking scared to say it. scared you’d laugh, or run, or break me like the others did. but you’re different—you’re everything. every memory, every moment, it’s you. and now you’re leaving, and i can’t… i can’t look at you knowing we’ll never be what i dreamed we could be. not the stupid fairy tale we read as kids, not the ending where you stay.”

silence. it stretched on, heavy and suffocating, and he thought he might choke on it. then, her voice, small and trembling. “chris… you love me?”

“how could i not?” he said, his voice cracking. “you’re my best friend, my home, the only person who sees me and doesn’t expect me to be anything else. i was a coward, y/n. i should’ve told you years ago, but i was so fucking scared of losing you. and now i’m losing you anyway, and it’s killing me. i can’t stop thinking about you, about us. something like this… it doesn’t just disappear.”

he heard her breath hitch, a soft sob breaking through the line. “chris, i… i don’t know what to say. you’re my best friend, too. you’re… god, you’re so much more. but this job, it’s my chance. i have to go. i have to try.”

her words were a blade, cutting deeper than he thought possible. he wanted to beg her to stay, to choose him, but he heard the pain in her voice, the way her dream pulled her just as fiercely as his heart pulled him. he sank back onto the bed, his eyes burning with tears he refused to let fall.

“then why does it feel like we’re dying?” he whispered, his voice barely there. “why does it hurt so much to let you go?”

“because it’s real,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “because what we have… it’s not something you just leave behind. but i can’t stay, chris. and you can’t follow. not this time.”

he pressed the phone tighter to his ear, like he could hold onto her through the line. “just… don’t forget me, okay?” he said, his voice breaking. “don’t forget the kid who loved you before he even knew what love was.”

“never,” she whispered, and he could hear her crying now, soft and steady. “i’ll call you when i land. i promise.”

the call ended, and chris sat there, staring at the wall, the silence louder than his heartbeat. she was leaving, and he’d bared his soul too late. the love he’d carried for years, the one he’d buried under fear and excuses, was out now, but it wasn’t enough to keep her here.

he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, memories of her flickering like a dying film reel. they’d sworn they’d always be together, that they’d make it to the end, but this wasn’t the end they’d promised, no, this was a wound, raw and open, one that would scar but never fully heal.

she’d be gone in two weeks, and chris would be left with a heart full of regrets and a life that felt empty without her.

©pokesturns any and all forms of modifications, reposts, and translation of my work are prohibited.

[pukefactory]

ˏ-ˋ✷ PUNT-ABLE PURPLE RABBIT ✷ˎ-ˊ

✸ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Jax X Reader

✸ Character(s): Jax (The Amazing Digital Circus)

✸ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

✸ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✸ Image Credits: @seraphmaws

˗ˏˋ If Jax really likes you, you’re doomed. He’s relentless with his teasing—expect sarcastic remarks, pranks, and just enough genuine compliments to keep you from outright decking him. He’ll casually slip in a “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad” after messing with you, just to see your face go red.

˗ˏˋ Jax does not do sappy. At least, not in a way that’s obvious. But if you pay attention? You’ll catch him standing a little closer when you’re uncomfortable, tossing a spare key your way “just in case” (even though he has keys to everything), or mysteriously shoving an extra pillow onto your bed without explanation.

˗ˏˋ Jax won’t say he’s worried about you, but if someone or something so much as looks at you wrong? Oh, he’s having fun with this. Way too much fun. “Ohhh, you poor thing,” he mocks the thing threatening you—right before utterly wrecking it with a little too much enthusiasm. “Oops. Looks like I overdid it. My bad.” He grins. He is not sorry.

˗ˏˋ He hates the idea of being jealous. Despises it. So instead of, y’know, processing his emotions, he’ll just be extra annoying if he sees someone getting too close. Suddenly, he’s all over you—slinging an arm around your shoulders, whispering something just loud enough for the other person to hear: “Y’know, we have a thing, right, sweetheart?” And he’s smirking. Because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

˗ˏˋ Jax will not outright admit to liking physical affection, but he’s weirdly good at slipping it in under the guise of something else. He’ll lean against you because he’s “bored,” ruffle your hair just to mess it up, flick something off your face and call it a “favor.” If you catch him getting comfortable and call him out on it? His ears flick back and he scoffs, “Ew, don’t make it weird.”

˗ˏˋ There are moments—rare, fleeting moments—where Jax isn’t being a menace. Like when it’s just the two of you, sitting in some quiet corner of the Digital Circus, the usual snark dialed down to a murmur. He doesn’t go into detail about himself, but he listens when you talk. He won’t even joke about it—just nods, hums, maybe offers an occasional dry “Yeah, that sucks.” The next day, he pretends like it never happened.

˗ˏˋ “Hey, I have an idea.” Six words you should never trust. Jax loves dragging you into his schemes, whether it’s pranking the others or messing with Caine. And when it inevitably backfires? He’s somehow never the one getting caught. “Wow, you really got yourself into a mess, huh?” He smirks as you glare at him. But before you can suffer any consequences—poof. He’s already unlocked a way out. “C’mon, let’s bail before they get really mad.”

˗ˏˋ One day, you find a centipede in your room. The next, it’s an old radio playing distorted circus music. Jax has way too much fun leaving you random “gifts,” just to mess with you. But every now and then? You’ll find something actually nice—like a candy bar, your favorite snack, or a blanket mysteriously appearing when you’re cold. He will never admit to it.

˗ˏˋ Most people bore Jax, but you? You keep him on his toes. Whether it’s because you can banter back, or because you’re just so easy to fluster, he never gets tired of messing with you. He laughs for real around you—sharp, delighted, genuine. And if anyone else notices? “Nah,” he scoffs, waving it off. “They’re just really easy to entertain.”

˗ˏˋ Jax doesn’t do sentimental, but if you ever start breaking down? If you start slipping toward abstraction? He’s there in an instant, dropping the smug act like a stone. “Oh, no. Nope. We’re not doing that.” He grabs your wrist—firm, grounding, real. “Hey. Eyes on me.” And he stays until you come back. No jokes. No teasing. Just Jax, refusing to lose you.

[love-and-war-on-cybertron]

Since you mentioned dead dove request. 👉👈 Could it be possible to request Synthetic Energon!Ratchet? I feel like that mech would do unspeakable things when horny.

Maybe he has a crush on reader who is a mechanic helping him out, and he gets jealous when he sees reader bond with Knock Out now that he doesn't have the medbay and you to himself. Reader could casually offer to buff/polish Knock and that pushes Ratchet over the edge and just yanks you and takes you to his quarters after giving you the silent treatment all day. Highly doubt that mech would show any restrains.

"How's it Hummin'" Will forever be HOT. Like goddamn sleazy but HOT. Sorry It's being split into a two-parter XP

cw: Heavy Dub-con. Reader wants it, but maybe not quite like that.

It had been innocent. Or so you thought. Ratchet had been moody, especially ever since he tried that synthetic crap. Ignoring you all day, even when you came directly to him, asking if you could help with anything. The huff you received in return was enough to know you didn't want to deal with whatever he was upset about.

Knockout was better company today anyways.

The formerly Decepticon Medic had warmed up to you despite being human. You knew your stuff and didn't joke or distrust him for being a turn coat. You could even share a few laughs and talk about Movies. He offered to let you ride with him to see one at the drive in.

Ratchet mumbled something. You assumed it was annoyance at what ever project he was working on. After some chitchat, you and Knock Out get to work, snarking back and forth. It was a project you had been working on for awhile. Something Ratchet said you didn't need his help on.

A couple hours in, you're taking a break, sitting next to Knock out. He holds up an arm, sighing at a scuff.

"I miss Breakdown. He could get this out and polish it away like it never happened." He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

Knowing what happened to his friend, you felt a little bad, "Well maybe I can Buff that out for you later?" Ratchet drops a tool but you pay it no mind, "I got some tool in my truck if you're okay with human tools. I could-" You stop, seeing Knockout's face.

He isn't looking at you, but past you, Optics wide. Heavy footsteps rapidly approach and knockout backs away, servos held up. He speaks in Cybertronian. There is a sharp response behind you before you are snatched up.

The grip is a bight tight, but nothing damaging. You try to struggle out of it but you're brought up quickly to meet green Optics. "Quiet."

It's Ratchet. What was up his aft? You try to speak again, but he growls at you. The sound and vibration sending a shiver down your spine. He stomps through the base all the way to his quarters. Far in the back. He liked the quiet. You are none-too-gently dumped onto the slap of rock he made into a berth. The room is dark, save for the glow of his eyes. The green makes you uneasy. As does the way he leans close, servos flat on either side of you.

"What's up Ratchet?" You sit up on your elbows, heart racing, trying to keep your voice steady.

The Medic glares down at you, silent. Servos dragging off of the slab as he stands straight. Glowering down at you, he looked even more massive.

"Getting real fragging close to that Con." He spits the last word out.

"He's not a decepticon anymore. You know tha-'

A massive metal fist slams down beside you, his face close. You're bathed in that sick green light. Vision drowned in his optics. His voice, a tense whisper.

"Getting. Real. close."

You start shaking, unable to look away as the mechanics of his optics shift and focus on you. Who was this, cause it sure as hell wasn't Ratchet. All this change started with...

"Ratchet. Come on. You-" you take a shaky breath, "You haven't been yourself. Lets just-"

"No." His voice is firm as he grabs your ankle and drags you to the edge of the berth, "I have never felt more myself. Stronger. Faster. Better. Can't you see it? Can't you see I'm better than everyone else? Especially that scrap excuse for a doctor?"

Trying to scoot away only made his hold on you tighten enough to earn a grunt.

"The frag do you see in him, when I'm right in front of you?"

You had always suspected something, Ratchet was a bit softer with you compared to the other humans. Always excluding you from his complaints about humans. Taking time to talk to you, teaching you about Cybertronian physiology. But this...

"Ratchet, that shit is making you act weird." You say, reaching out to touch the servo that grips you. The large Metal thumb running up and down your leg. It sent another shiver down your spine.

"No, I'ts making me act just right. I'm not holding back anymore." His thumb slides under your shirt.

[iwoulddieforher]

(told me ur new man don't make u- what?) That's A Damn Shame | Casey Novak × Alex Cabot

Alexandra Cabot, the Homicide Bureau Chief, comes to Casey Novak's office regularly, for idle chatter, for complaining. When she comes in dazed and having apparently just hooked up with her subordinate, she asks Casey for help understanding why the hell she did that- and Casey teaches her exactly how well she understands her. Warnings: Explicit sexual content (fingering, A receiving), extensive discussion around cheating/affairs and compulsive heterosexuality The title is from "ALL MINE", the song, but the song has literally nothing to do with how this fic ended up ?? This was initially supposed to be a lighthearted character study for Alex paired with Casey's sassiness but my beta reader is currently staring blankly at a wall .. Read below or alternatively on ao3, which you can find here

"Hey," Alex muttered, strolling her way into Casey's office without asking, throwing her bag on the floor next to the couch and proceeding to collapse down on it, "Are you working on anything confidential or would otherwise need me out?"

A bemused Casey Novak raised an eyebrow, setting her pen down from where she was sitting down at the desk and raising her eyes to examine the homicide bureau chief flopped gracefully on her couch. "No, not really. Can't catch a break?"

"I had sex with Jim Steele."

"Oh!"

"Why did I do that?" Alex raised her head and squinted in Casey's direction, and Casey realized not only was Alex missing her glasses, but her lipstick was also smudged, her mascara coating a millimeter of skin below her eyes, and her hair was tussled. Had she come directly here from... apparently having sex with her subordinate?

"..Uh," Casey offered blankly, trying vaguely not to conjure the image of a flushed Alexandra Cabot being pounded down by some man she had hardly met, and then doubly hard trying not to envision Alex naked at all from how that thought would stir the anatomy of her abdomen, "You tell me?"

"I'd love to tell you, if I knew." Cabot let herself go limp, chin resting on the wooden armrest of the couch so she could watch Casey pause from what she was doing to stand and come over to sit beside her.

"So... how are we feeling about that?" Casey prompted, slinging one leg over the other and leaning backward, stretching her arms out and letting her spine unfurl, small sounds of her joints cracking from hours of being hunched over a desk satisfying her enough to let out a long, contented sigh.

Casey, by now, was used to Alex showing up in her office. They had become fast friends since Alex had rejoined the pursuit of justice since leaving witness protection, now that Casey had dealt with one man who had threatened her and the other had died in prison. Alex inviting herself inside, occasionally bringing along Chinese as a bribe to persuade Casey into allowing her office be used as a lounge room for the blonde, was not by any means an uncommon occurrence.

Truth be told, Casey didn't even really remember how this whole arrangement had started, just that it would happen at least once a week- Alex would wander in, distract her for an hour or two with snark and humorous conversation, and then proceed to wander her way back out.

At first, Casey had been almost eager yet simultaneously tentative, because, well- the first time they had met they had gotten along so well that the night ended with Casey sprawled open, trying to catch her startled breath as Alex licked her lips and rose casually as if she hadn't just brought Casey to the most intense climax she had ever experienced. But she found that this apparently wasn't what the blonde Chief of Homicide was seeking, only companionship, because Alex never made a move and at some point mentioned a boyfriend, and Casey had shrugged to herself and decided to resign from that idea.

"I just- I don't even know how it happened!" Alex admonished, twisting and wriggling for a moment so she could slide her legs over Casey's lap. She was now effectively lying on her back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with very bewildered blue eyes, her knees elevated slightly as they rested on top of the leg Casey had crossed over the other of her own. Casey patted her raised knee with one hand sympathetically.

"He was- we were arguing, I guess maybe I was being unfair because- well, no, it's my job to get results and that's what I've been fucking trying to do- well, anyway," Alex huffed, her hands waving and gesturing into her air above her as a way for her to emphasize her utter confliction, a sight that only made Casey more amused, "And he insinuated I was fighting with him because Robert and I aren't doing well and then tried to walk away from me! The sheer nerve of this guy! So I grabbed his hand and he literally almost hit me as he waved me off and then-"

Her energetic recounting turned quietly the mild mortification and she covered her face with her hands, eyes squeezing shut as if disgusted, "and then all of a sudden he was kissing me and in literally less than a second he was ripping my cardigan apart- literally, one of the buttons broke, look-"

Casey did look, and yes, one of the buttons on Alex's cardigan was in fact missing.

"And then he pushed me up and on the table and used the hand not on my hips to shove all my papers off my desk and then I was being pushed backward and my cardigan wasn't on at all and he was on top of me and I was taking my glasses off and then he was shirtless? I think I helped him rip his shirt off? He literally ripped it off Casey he broke his undershirt-" a pretend-pained gasp, then, incredulously, "and he didn't even manage to get it all the way off it was just hanging like halfway on like a rag, Jesus. And then he was fumbling with his belt and it sprang out of his pants and-"

"Okay Cabot," Casey cut her off, "Good lord, that's enough detail for me," The younger woman said this hastily, swiping her hand impulsively to bat at the elder woman's face, and Alex groaned again loudly, rolling her head side to side as if trying to shake off the fact that had just happened or at the very least the recollection of it.

"Casey, why the hell did I do that?"

Casey snorted, tossing her head backward to stare at the ceiling alongside her friend who seemed utterly transfixed by it, a defined crease of bafflement between her eyes, as though the painted cream above them would have some profound answer to her question.

A bit selfishly, Casey thought she wouldn't have minded hearing Alex continue in her description, because her fumbling, flushed ramble sounded almost sexy in the frantic tone she was using and Casey really did like hearing Alex talk. Most of the time when Alex came into her office and proceeded to make herself comfortable, this is what they did- tell stories back and forth, exchange troubles and woes they knew only the other would be able to really understand. But if she had let Alex keep talking the next time she was alone and ovulating she knew that detailed recount would nag at her mind and that seemed wildly inappropriate since Alex clearly was not fond of it in hindsight, besides, the sexual memory she wanted to associate with Alex was the one they had shared, not that of Jim Steele with his undershirt half torn open half still clinging on to his frame humping like a dog into her. Alex was too physically glorious for that- Casey didn't want to be distracted by needing to cut his bumbling out of her imagination constantly.

Alex groaned again, loudly, thumping herself against the head with a knuckle and then fully arching her back to stretch out her shoulder and spinal muscles with the discomfort. "I'm about to be engaged, for God's sake, we're planning the fucking engagement party..."

Casey chuffed in the back of her throat, tilting in a way that made her faux blonde hair sway idly. "So, do you not want to be engaged? Did Steele dick do any good for you?"

"No, absolutely not." Alex retorted a bit too hastily, a bit too firmly, but it sounded like she was answering exclusively the first question, ignoring the second.

Casey jotted that down, mentally, to prod at that line of questioning later. Girl gossip, she supposed it was.

"My family would have my head on a platter if I... he hasn't asked me yet but I know he will soon, and I can't say no- Casey, why the fuck did I just do that? Why?"

She emphasized the 'y' in 'why' so long it sounded almost like a sighed whine that made Casey flex her eyebrows, another mildly entertained huff leaving her nose, and she patted Alex's knee again mock-patronizingly.

It was as if her brain was stuck in some sort of a looping track, able to diverge based on Casey's questions for a few moments until sheer bewilderment brought her straight back to a question neither could genuinely answer.

"Well- you said you and Robert were having problems, was this some kind of revenge sex action?"

"No," Alex sighed, "Although... I guess it wouldn't be wrong to say my issues with Stilton are... maybe it did add to it, actually, yeah."

"What kind of issues have you two been experiencing?" Casey sat upright, folding her hands self-importantly in her lap, deciding to play faux therapist, which made Alex roll her eyes and raise one leg to bump her shin against the side of Casey's face playfully- it missed, slightly, hitting the entire side of her body gently, pushing up against Casey's chest and cheek. Pretend outraged, Casey grabbed her leg and forced it back down. "That was not very ladylike, Miss Cabot, how dare you. Answer the question."

She didn't release Alex's leg, though, no, opting instead to smooth delicate little circles with her thumb at the side of Alex's knee, gazing half-focused at the blonde's long, lithe, frankly sexy as hell legs as they lay haphazardly over Casey's own.

Alex liked physical touch, she liked it a lot actually despite being so reserved with giving it, and Casey had grown accustomed to how casually Alex provided her with it- this position as an evident example, Cabot entirely content to lay sprawled over Novak and jest by pretending as though she were going to kick her, and Casey too had begun reciprocating in that right, leaving her hands in small motions on Alex's body in random places.

It could very easily pass for platonic, but Casey wasn't sure if that was the only thing she felt, although Alex apparently did not seem to care either way.

"I..." Alex turned her head, finally awkward, a bit of her composure returning after the initial shock faded and she began actually pondering the answer to her vital question. "It just... doesn't seem like we really know what we're doing, I guess. It's not like we argue. He gets home from work before I do and then I get home from work and he expects me to cook and I don't. I order something, and then I take my portion to eat in the study because I have more work to do with my volunteer associations and he thinks that's pointless and I don't, and then I do the dishes which is just two forks and two knives, and then we go to bed if neither one of us has more work to do, and we sort of just lay next to each other and..."

"Intimacy isn't going well?" Casey hummed, her fingers straying from just her knee, her index and middle being used to create a little man that walked down the length of Alex's tilted shin and then back up it. She liked the fact she could toy with Alex's body like this, that she could just enjoy the feeling of the pads of her fingertips along ridiculously expensive fabric while still listening intently. Truth be told, sometimes Casey didn't especially like making eye contact and needing to seem like she was paying full attention by scrutinizing her own body language- Alex had no such expectations, she trusted Casey was being attentive to her regardless.

"It's just not really happening." Alex muttered, "I mean, we do, at least once a week, but it could hardly be considered being intimate. It's- it feels like we think we're supposed to, at least, but it's so... quick, it feels like he's barely paying any mind to me. I do all the work, I'm on top of him and I try to make it seem like he's in control still, doing my best to be entertaining, and he doesn't really look at me that much. He just squeezes his eyes shut and moans. He doesn't even hold me."

With a jerk of her eyebrows, Alex opened her eyes, a soft scoff leaving her mouth. "That feels almost pathetic to say. I mean, maybe I'm just getting older-? It's not like I have the body I did in my twenties-"

Casey bopped her on the head for that comment with no hesitation, an incredulous chuckle leaving her throat. "Seriously, Alex? You know you're sexy as fuck, you aged like top-shelf wine does. Continue, but without the self-deprecations."

Alex raised a teasing eyebrow, flashing her an affectionate, broad smile, which Casey returned easily, equally as playful. It felt warm in her usually cold office with Alex semi-on-top of her, despite the fact Casey was frequently chiding Alex for her skin being cold to the touch, citing iron deficiency or low blood flow and trying to encourage her to eat more red meat. Perhaps Alex just made Casey feel warm herself.

"Alright, if you say so," Cabot conceded, "but it really feels like he doesn't think he has to be an active participant. And it's not like he's very active in any other aspect of life either outside of his conferences."

"What do you like about him, then? I know ambition is such a turn-on for you."

Alex snorted, but indulged the question, "I really like... this sounds self-centered, but how much he knows about me, I guess?"

"Oh?" Casey tilted her head again, shifting her gaze from her hand running along Alex's shin to the halo of blonde hair splayed out around the elder woman's head as she lay on the couch. Casey's previous comment about the other woman being beautiful was not forgotten about, to her at least, and now that she was indeed thinking about it she allowed herself to indulge in gentle admiring of Alex's features as she spoke.

Alex inhaled to respond, and Casey's eyes traced the delicate curve of her collarbones that stood out so deliciously from her skin, and when she parked her lips to speak Casey's jade eyes flickered to examine that motion, too.

"He notices things. I like that a lot about him. When I came out of protective custody everyone at the galas my family instructed me to attend wanted to talk about what had happened, hear how difficult, that sort of thing. A couple weeks in he struck up a conversation with me, and it was just... different."

Despite being very heinously attracted to her, Casey realized vaguely that she had little issue listening to Alex recount her love story with her soon-to-be fiance to her. She was the one Alex was laying on top of right now, at least, she was the one Alex came to bother at work when the blonde woman could easily be- well, not for this particular conversation, but for their previous ones- on the phone with her man instead. Little moments like this were enough to satiate her. She wouldn't be made upset by some false notion that Alex would for some reason be her's, and regardless, Alex showered her constantly with affection through their casual friendship- Casey never felt like she was or would have to be fighting for anything. It was comfortable.

"He knows my coffee order, and how I take my whiskey," Alex murmured, and Casey's eyes followed the gentle, perked slope of her nose as the blonde sighed softly along with those words.

London Fogs were her guilty pleasure, but she couldn't find many cafes that made them just the way she wanted them to. Otherwise, an Iced Americano was her usual order, or a Red Eye for those nights when work was particularly grueling. Alex took her whiskey with a splash of water if she was drinking something expensive and wanted to really savor the taste- she had said it brought out the flavor- but was also fond of Manhattans in a more casual setting.

Casey knew this, the information surfaced for her easily without contemplation. At some point or other, though source misattribution was certainly at play, Alex had divulged the information to her in some casual conversation and Casey's brain had scribbled it down as important.

Alex blinked, and Casey watched the batting of her eyelashes, the small shifts in the range of dilation of her eyes as Alex continued to stare upward- okay, maybe she was taking this fake therapy session seriously- the small refined details in the corners of her eyes that showed her wisdom, her years of ensuring the streets were that much safer for everyone else. Casey briefly compared the lines that showed tiredness below her eyes with that of the former moments in which she had paid close attention, but decided they weren't particularly worse or better, and she knew Alex struggled with insomnia on occasion normally, so bringing up her sleep schedule was unnecessary.

"What brands I wear," the cardigan Alex currently had on was St. John, but she often wore The Row or staples from Giorgio Armani, "the little things I do when I'm uncomfortable," toying with the third joint of her ring finger with the opposite hand was Alex's most obvious tell, "just.. stuff like that."

"You said he struck up a conversation with you- how did that happen?"

Alex shifted again, moving so she could extend one bent elbow up beside her head, a soft arch and small wriggling movement as she tilted the line of her torso and her hips against each other and then back the other way as she squinted to pull the recollect back together. Casey rolled her eyes with a small chuff- Alex's back must be hurting her from being dicked down on an unforgivable wooden table. If she was sitting up Casey would offer to smooth the coiled tension out of her vertebrae, but it didn't seem like Alex wanted to be upright at the moment, so she just saved the offer mentally to provide to her later.

Besides, Alex with her rear against Casey's thigh, moving slightly, allowed her to feel more of her- not sexually, not romantically, just... just the way Casey enjoyed having Alex near. Her eyes traced a line over Alex's cardigan, imagining the soft pale skin below it that she had been graced with once, admiring it without the need to have it physically before her once again.

In Alex's shifting, she had managed to trap some of the fabric of her top beneath herself, and thus the length of her cardigan in which a button had been ripped away stretched apart to reveal a thin sliver of her body beneath the fabric. Casey extended a hand to poke her gently where the button was intended to be and was rewarded as a muscle in Alex's leg jolted and her abdominal muscles contracted, a snort leaving the elder woman's throat as she swatted at Casey's wrist playfully.

"We had already known each other from high school, technically, although we had never talked much back then."

"Oh, so another acclaimed alumnus from your preparatory school?" Casey chuckled, and Alex flexed her eyebrows and closed to eyes in a nonverbal 'Yes, I know, I know' 'You've already made it clear you think it's hilarious I went to a private school'.

"Okay, Novak, alright, but yes. He just pulled me aside after some of my uncle's friends were scrutinizing what I managed to accomplish in witness protection and asked me if I still preferred the Viennese Waltz over the Cross-Step, and I remembered the only real conversation I had ever had with this guy is during one of the constant mandatory dance seminars. I said no, over the years I had grown more accustomed to the English Waltz, and he smiled this big, easy smile at me and said he did, too. And then he danced with me. It felt natural, like it was something we had done before. It felt right."

"Cute," Casey commented, trying to envision that but for the first time not able to follow because she had no clue about dancing. Her public school had, evidently, definitely not had a mandatory dance seminar, let alone multiple.

"You don't know what those are, do you?" Alex propped herself up on her elbows, then, straightened her neck to flash Casey a teasing look, and Casey rolled her eyes but shook her head.

"No clue, princess."

"I'll teach you sometime."

The idea of Alex swaying her along to some music she wouldn't be able to recognize, the soft, illustrious voice in her ear telling her where to step and when as one firm yet tantalizingly soft palm rested on the crook of her waist while the other encased her hand, was too much to deny. Casey shrugged instead of outright rejecting it, and Alex made a mental note to engage in this activity with her later.

"So, it started well, and then it just fizzled out?" Casey proceeded with the line of conversation, distracting Alex so she could continue fantasizing idly about dancing with her, and Alex took the bait.

"No, I don't think it fizzled out, I think we never really had it to begin with. He's charming, and in the formal events we go to he's so sweet, so affectionate, but it lasts as long as the people around us can see. Don't get me wrong- it's not like he's a bad person, or anything. I just think he doesn't know how to act around me when it's just me, and especially not when I try to let my hair down. It's awkward."

"Well, that's definitely not ideal," Casey said carefully, "One of the things I liked the most about being with Charlie is how at ease he made me. And you're certainly stiff enough as you are, let alone keeping the facade up at home, too."

Curious emotion swirled in the blue of Alex's eyes the same way it always did when Casey mentioned Charlie, which was very, very rarely. Olivia had inadvertently taught the ADA not to relinquish personal information about her life and especially not her sorrows to anyone who may ever grow frustrated by her, lest she wanted what had hurt her most in this life to be thrown back into her face with the intensity of a hailstorm, but Casey supposed she trusted Alex enough not to do that. Conflicted between elaborating on what she meant and then the devil's long tongue lapping at her heart and tainting it with soft panic, Casey swallowed nervously and averted her softening eyes from the blonde's.

Unconsciously Casey pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and sucked at it idly, which she stopped doing only when she felt cold yet comforting fingers encase the side of her face gently.

"I'm always worried you're going to break your skin like that," Alex hummed softly under her breath, and when Casey obediently let her lip free of her self-imposed agitation of it Alex ran her thumb along the length of it, smoothing over the reddened skin so carefully Casey became mildly amused by what she perceived as over-exaggerated concern. Regardless, she didn't mind Alex's hands on her wherever the blonde wanted them to be, and she tilted her head just barely into the feeling of the homicide chief's palm.

Alex was soft with her. She felt so safe here, her face cradled in Alex's lithe fingers, despite the thrum of her heart at her own mention of her ex-fiance.

She distracted herself by instead acknowledging the beauty in Alex's concerned features- the upwards tilt of her plucked, defined eyebrows, the small fold just below her bottom lip created by the little frown she sported. Around her shoulders, glittering like strands of something more valuable than gold, her blonde hair flowed as she drew her face closer to Casey's in order to inspect the fragile layer of skin on Casey's lips. Casey inhaled slowly, and she savored the smell of lavish perfume, vanilla, and the low tint of labdanum- below that, the faintest note of tobacco on Alex's breath from the cigarettes she snuck. Alex's hair smelled like eucalyptus, like violet leaf, and Casey didn't have to ponder that before attributing it- she already knew what it was. The woman's hair smelled like the shampoo Casey had gifted her.

"Is that why you slept with Steele?" Casey mumbled, running back to catch the last train of conversation because she wasn't sure she wanted to keep going on this one, and Alex resigned to accept back to the previous line. "He made you feel like you could let loose?"

"No," Alex sighed, flopping dramatically back down, and although in this position she couldn't keep her grasp on Casey's face she angled one side of her body so her fingertip could draw idle small spiral shapes on the faux blonde's hip.

"I didn't know what to do with my hands the whole time- it felt weird trying to touch him at all, not like it was taboo I just... didn't find myself wanting to." - Interesting, Casey mused, because Alex certainly had an affinity for touching Casey, - "So my arms were just awkward on the desk next to me and I didn't know how to rearrange my face, or anything like that, and the fact I noticed probably means I wasn't letting loose if I was concerned about it."

"How does he make you feel?"

Alexandra considered that for a long second, her body going still, hand dropping from where it played on Casey's waist, and her eyes returned thoughtfully to the hole they had bored into the plaster of the ceiling earlier.

"I... I suppose it felt like he was looking at me. Like really, looking at me. Sure, he's probably picturing some idealistic fantasy version of me who's definitely not who I actually am, and yeah his eyes were on my breast a lot more than my face, but... he kept his eyes on me the whole time. Some part of me, at least."

The faux blonde ADA found her gaze drift over to Alex's chest, something in her stomach whirring to life as she considered the soft flesh, remembered how it felt to see, to feel, to bite. To cup the anatomy in her palms and push gently, to roll the skin between her fingers. Alex had lovely breasts, that much was very obvious, but Casey couldn't imagine looking at them more than she looked at her face.

Because oh, how angelic Alex looked lying there. She was still stationary, her body lacking movement other than the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her face stuck in a look of tentative contemplation, her eyebrows a centimeter closer together than they should've been as she tried to untangle the knots that were her romantic or sexual relationships in her mind. The ridge of her eyebrows, the way her bone structure dipped so perfectly, how her cheekbones were so defined yet her face so round and soft, her jawline sharp enough Casey thought she could nick herself on it if she wasn't careful. Her lips were so perfect, her eyes even more so. Casey would be fully content to drown in her complexion.

"Okay, Cabot." Casey nodded firmly, a conclusion drawn with finality, her sharp mind still geared to be attentive and offer some sort of advice or conclusion despite the majority of her brain space being used for admiration.

"You're having an identity crisis. You slept with Jim Steele because you're having an identity crisis."

Alex snapped upward, a flash of indignation in her taken-aback eyes and expression that made Casey chuckle. She shook her head, adamantly, raising her hands as if threatened.

"No, absolutely not, where did you think to get that from?"

Casey studied how even faux outraged, Alex was still equally as beautiful as she was in thought, her eyes being drawn to the delicate column of her throat, emphasized by the bands of muscle in her neck that shifted as she moved, as she swallowed. It was impolite not to meet the eyes of someone talking to you but Casey couldn't help herself from letting her eyes flicker down.

Alex's mouth had rounded in a bewildered 'o' shape, her lips parting, her eyes fixing Casey with a sharp stare that made her chuckle only harder. Watching Alex be playful with her like this almost felt as though they had something that transcended simple female friendship- Casey could easily kiss her without hesitation now. She didn't.

"Also, forgive me for saying this, but it doesn't particularly seem like you love either of these people-?" Casey continued casually, having mastered her poker face that allowed her to simultaneously follow a conversation while her mind was somewhere entirely else, ignoring Alex's sheer flummox.

Alex kicked her again, with her knee this time, a bit more forceful than last time but still so gentle and slow Casey registered it and actively decided not to dodge. Alex held herself up in an awkward sitting position by stiffening her arms and putting the weight of her torso on her shoulders, staring and shaking her head with complete bafflement at Casey as though the faux blonde friend of her's had just told her she was growing roses from her ears.

"Casey," Alex barked, her voice sharp yet never losing the small taste of playful banter the two always shared and Casey had grown very, very fond of, "You will explain to me what you mean this instant. Talk."

"Listen," Casey patted her on the knee again, inhaling and composing her thoughts slightly, "You became entangled with Robert because he knows things about you, and because he already did know you before witness protection, didn't you? He had known who you were before. He referenced that in the first thing he had said to you."

"I, I suppose-?" Alex spoke quickly, hastily, her eyes flickering to the side as if trying to visualize her soon-to-be fiance.

"And Steele had a fantasy about you, and he wanted you so desperately he fucked up your designer clothes trying to get it, but you did it because he was looking. To some extent, you felt like he saw you, perhaps the more primal side you felt like you couldn't show Stilton."

Alex pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her legs and straightening a bit more so she didn't need to rest all her weight on her wrists anymore, but her leg lay still against Casey's torso, the peak of which rested near her sternum, and neither woman seemed to do anything about it.

"It's all about identity, no? In witsec, you had to be someone else. Robert knew who you were before and remembered the things you had to change about yourself in order for your own protection, and it must've been hard to return from that, trying to step back into your own shoes after pretending they weren't yours for so long. But Robert's validation of who you are only lasts so long as you're in crowded areas, and when he doesn't know what to do with you in quiet settings, you feel like you don't know what to do with yourself."

"Oh, Casey-" Her brow was furrowed now, the corners of her eyes shifting as she squinted.

"And then Steele's validating your power, the fact you're the chief of homicide, he's looking at you and knowing who you are and fantasying about a version of you that he made up because he's so enraptured in the person you are now that-"

"Now that I'm allowed to be myself again," Alex sighed despairing, shifting to press her forehead firmly into Casey's relaxed shoulder and curling into her side. "Oh, fuck, Casey, no wonder you're such a formidable prosecutor, you just read me like an open book."

As if something just occurred to her, she bolted straight, sliding one leg off of Casey's lap so she could push herself up, straddling the younger woman. "Oh hell, did I do that to you?"

Casey leaned her head into one of her own palms, offering a nonchalant shrug.

"Wasn't that the premise of us sleeping together? I was trying to build your confidence and help you get your sense of power back. You looked really satisfied with yourself when you got me squirming. I was trying to help foster your combative spark back."

"What?"

The blonde's voice was so startled, a note of genuine upset in her voice that it did actually manage to catch the ADA off guard, her eyes quickly flickering around Alex's widened, rounded blue ones, searching intently. Alex wasn't teasing her anymore, based on the emphasized crease between her brows.

"And you were okay with that? Casey, I- I assure you, when we slept together I wasn't thinking about me, I was thinking about how much I liked these."

To gesture to what she meant by that, Alex slid the pads of her fingertips beneath the fabric of Casey's untucked blouse, over the waistband of the slacks and gliding, pressing softly, against the relaxed yet defined muscles that formed her abs. Casey jerked, and Alex's eyes darted down the observe how the other woman's body tightened beneath her fingers, to admire the lines between the blocks of abdominal muscles that emphasized the extent to which Casey's core was built.

"Whoa Nelly, you don't need two affairs in one day, Alex-" Casey muttered quickly, suddenly breathless. As she said it, though, she registered in her brain she really wouldn't mind if Alex never stopped the gentle swipes of her thumb inside the dips between her muscles for the rest of her life.

"It wouldn't be an affair if it was with you," Alex shrugged, retrieving her hand from where she had let it explore and patting the hem of Casey's blouse above where it had just been to shift the fabric back down over. "Robert doesn't think homosexuality in women 'counts'."

"...What? Is he stupid?"

Casey's incredulousness at the attitude of Alex's soon-to-be fiance towards potential lesbianism did not deter the blonde, though, who as though lost in thought allowed her hands to move in the same idle patterns along the younger woman's torso, although above the fabric of her blouse this time.

"You know the function I was trying to convince you to come with me too?" She asked instead, averting her gaze from Casey's, her fingertips drawing lazy circles on one of the lower buttons of Casey's shirt.

Casey snorted, leaning back and spreading her shoulders out- if Alex wanted to play around with her shirt, she was welcome to do so, "Yeah, I remember I said I'd rather use a strand of Roger Kressler's over-greased hair to floss my teeth than show up to that."

"He barely even has any!" Alex laughed sharply. Casey felt the other woman's sudden reaction to her unexpected sassiness- the broad, amused smile- infect and catch up on her own face, too.

"Okay, well, I ended up bringing Olivia, and she met Robert there. Those two had a little too much to drink that night and then Liv made a comment about how the two of us had kissed before and if he wasn't careful she'd steal me back to have for herself again, and he said he didn't mind me with women because it wasn't the real thing."

Stilton's rejection of the conclusion a female partner could rival a heterosexual relationship was not unheard of to Casey. She had heard about such beliefs before, and considering Alex was a born member of the last traces of what one could consider noble society in America, the people she was surrounded by having traditional and utterly archaic understandings of homosexuality was not very surprising.

What she was more startled by was the reference to Benson. Olivia's jesting as such did not surprise her, the brunette was lively and humorous and Casey appreciated that about her, but the information that Alex and her former colleague had kissed before was previously undisclosed information, and now it felt odd. If Olivia and Alex had previously kissed- perhaps not coupled as they had, but if Olivia was joking about it, surely it had crossed the brunette detective's mind before ... Casey wondered, then, if Olivia had an enclosed office and not only her desk in the bullpen, if Alex would be choosing to spend her hours with her instead.

For the first time, Casey felt an inkling of jealousy. She did not feel the need to compete with men, for she was on a different level of connection to Alex than Stilton or even Steele, but she didn't like the idea that the 'friend' she borderline flirted with and basked in the presence of so comfortably could potentially have another version of the connection they shared with someone else.

But when she registered her vision again, Alex was staring intently down at Casey's stomach as if something fascinating was written on the impressions made by her muscles against the tight, tailored fabric, and with a soft scoff to herself she decided she hardly needing to be jealous- she did not have to compete with Olivia for Alex's attention, because evidently, Casey's lap was the one Alex was currently straddling.

Returning to the conversation and breaking out of her thoughts, though, Casey realized there might actually be an implication of something else on Alex's mind from the way she hadn't denied Casey's joke comment about a second affair. Alex was staring down at her with some sort of intensity, after all.

"Hmm, that's... well, we would know it's an affair, wouldn't we?" Casey kept her tone light, because, in all honesty, she wasn't entirely sure if Alex had been jesting or even meant to imply anything by what she had said, although Casey was certainly thinking about it now.

She entertained the thought of allowing Alex back under her shirt, perhaps to a greater extent, and she too entertained her eyes as they drifted back to observe the shade of lipgloss adorning Alex's lips. She could kiss her.

"Regardless of the whole sapphism-denial belief," Alex murmured, "I did just genuinely have extra-relational involvement, and if I'm honest, I don't know if I care."

So- the concept of them was on the table.

Casey sighed, tilting her head and allowing her body to shift slightly. Alex shifted off of her, returning to sit beside her simply on the couch, her body angled to Casey's stationary stature.

"Do you really want to engage him, then?" Casey questioned, although she was sure she knew the answer. "If you don't love him, and you don't feel guilty about sleeping with someone else?"

Alex shrugged. She, too, knew that Casey was already aware of what she would respond with, but Alex supposed if Casey was deciding the contribute to the conversation verbally she might as well proceed with the motion set.

"I'm turning forty, soon." She said this as though that was an adequate reason to get married. "My family expects it," Casey supposed that reason made at least a bit more sense, "I know we'd have a stable, uneventful life together," ever-planning, always eyes toward the future, Casey supposed Alex was, "and he likes me. I might not find anyone else who would marry me- I might not find anyone else who I'd accept to marry."

None of those were decent reasons to marry someone, Casey wanted to implore her, but from the vague and nearly blank tone in Alex's voice, it was obvious Alexandra Cabot was entirely aware she was signing up for a marriage of convenience. She did not love Robert Stilton.

Casey's mind was brought back to Charlie, to the way she had felt when she realized Charlie was planning on proposing to her, to the pounding feeling of life in her chest- god, she had been so young then, she had still been studying. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had genuinely believed she would find a life partner, and over the years she had accepted it. Accepted what Alex could not. Casey was content to live a life alone, failing the expectations of her parents, rather than marry without love so strong she'd be overcome by it, marry without total conviction. It didn't make Alex's action morally wrong to her, though, she understood the feeling completely. Casey had still a better relationship with her family than Alex did her's, and Casey could bear the weight of romantic failure. Alex was raised to be a woman of proper society, and if the term spinster still existed, Casey was sure it was never Alex's fate to become one.

Alex would have married some man, eventually, and despite her doubt, if it wasn't Stilton, it would be another. Alex's relationship had developed at an exponential rate, dating to the thought of marriage within months, and Casey was sure a woman like her with a plethora of potential suitors would find another to throw herself at if Alex did find a serious issue with Stilton. It would blossom just as rapidly. There was no doubt Alex would be married before forty.

And perhaps a potential other man would feel differently towards sapphism.

Selfishly, oh god, very selfishly, Casey realized she would not mind Alex marrying Stilton specifically if it meant she would not have to relinquish the faint traces of affection, the lingering touch of Alex that lasted too long to be entirely platonic. She had expected it to leave as Alex's relationship with her true partner developed, but tonight's conversation made it obvious Alex was not in love, and that meant whatever- whatever strange thing grew wings between the two women- Casey would not have to bid it farewell. Suspicion from Alex's husband would not have to be a fear for her, for he did not recognize the pounding of Casey's heart for his woman as anything real. It felt very real to Casey, though.

She realized she had gone utterly silent for too long, but then again, so had Alex, when her ears perked to the sound of church bells ringing through the streets, signaling summons to the faithful to recite the Lord's prayer. Casey focused on reciting it internally in her mind- Alex was not religious, if it was Stabler near her they would mutter it under their breath out loud,- and prayed that the Lord would forgive her for the thought she was having towards a blonde Chief of the Homicide department. Not forgive her for homosexuality, no, she knew God loved her regardless of that- she prayed to Him that he would not recognize Alex's marriage, the one that would surely be officiated and be proclaimed to be before Him, so Casey would not have to grapple with the idea of violating the holy sanctimony of Alex's future marriage.

A marriage of convenience was still marriage, and Casey would not dare offend her Father by violating that bond.

But it hadn't been formed yet, she justified, and perhaps something would occur soon to allow her the Lord's response that what she was doing was not...

"Oh, it's six already?" Came Alex's soft voice, broken out of her own independent internal monologue.

"Evidently." Casey nodded, tilting her head to angle it in the direction of Alex, breathing deeply until she caught the faintest hint of nicotine that she could normally only catch if Alex was inches from her face.

Icy blue eyes that contained the passion of a hot spring found eyes as stubborn as the shade of chrome tourmaline that matched them, and they stared wordlessly at each other. Alex's pupils began to dilate slowly and Casey was sure her own must be following suit.

She watched as Alex swallowed, and their eyes communed with each other for a long, long moment, before Alex shifted up and stood, breaking the extent of charged eye contact.

Alex left in this way often, looking at her and then beginning to drift her way off, exchanging goodbyes only when she was already in the doorway. Casey had noticed this about her-, when Alex no longer wanted to entertain conversation, it was like a switch flipped, and she would leave at the earliest availability. It wasn't something Casey took personally anymore, it was just something Alex seemed to do, and Casey had weeks ago resigned herself to accept whatever Alex found herself doing.

She did as Casey expected her to, traveling to the door in her languished, long gate, reaching the door, and resting her hand on the door handle, before she turned back, a flicker of complexity in her elegant face.

"...Casey?"

"Mhm?" Casey was still lying backward on the couch, her arms spread out over the sides of the backrest, but she folded herself into a more composed sitting position under Alex's attention.

"Would you care? If we- ..."

Casey, then, (god, finally) recognized the telltale signs of unadulterated lust in Alex's face- she felt silly for not realizing that earlier- and her own previous question sprang straight back to mind. The only thing Alex had not answered, the note Casey had made to pick the interrogation back up at a later time- this was a later time, and it was now again relevant- 'Did Steele dick do any good for you'.

Snapping out of her emotionally complex daze, Casey almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Oh, he didn't get you off, did he?", Casey realized out loud, and all of a sudden the deep unsettling feeling of yearning was replaced by sheer bafflement and wild amusement, her voice coming out in a snort when she asked, "Steele couldn't finish the job?"

Alex apparently found it irritating that Casey thought this was funny, because she crossed her arms at her and came as close as the illustrious Alexandra Cabot could come to pouting, her bottom lip forcing the teardrop formation above her top lip to distort slightly. Casey, too, thought this was amusing.

"..He thought he did," Alex tried to defend somehow, although Casey had no clue how that could ever be some sort of defense, and she broke open into an audible guffaw, covering the lower portion of her face with her hand.

Alex's subordinate had not managed to bring her to climax, and the sexual frustration was evidenced by how this conversation had gone- she had come here to satisfy it, somehow.

That notion soothed the strange boiling feeling in the base of Casey's heart- no, this was not some twisting and writhing tumultuous emotional affair, and if it was it was one-sided on Casey's part which she could easily put up with on her own, Alex was here simply because she was horny. That was what Casey could force herself to assume, anyway.

Because Casey could deal with that- and she could certainly deal with Alex, too.

"But now you're worked up and you know Robert won't be able to take care of you either?" She couldn't resist prodding further fun at Alex, her voice reclaiming the teasing note they always used with each other in the long hours they had been spending together over the past months.

It was easy, how fast she managed to flip back into this other side of her, the playful, almost youthfully energetic face she could wear around Alex.

Alex's grip on her crossed arms tightened and she tilted her head in mock outrage, just as she had done earlier- she, too, had suddenly snapped out of whatever shared emotional exertion she had been faced with while Casey dealt with her feelings and Catholic guilt.

They were friends.

They were friends, and they could banter, and Casey was not at odds with the concept of friends with benefits- she had done it before herself before and after Charlie, and she had no argument to participate in it again. She'd just ignore the fact Alex would soon become someone else's, it was an issue she could spend hours pondering later.

Alex had come to her because she was aroused and knew Casey could handle that, because they were friends and she trusted her nakedness and her pleasure to be in Casey’s hands, and there was nothing else at play. This was sexual entirely by nature, and nothing else. This is what Casey told herself like a grounding mantra.

It wasn't like she could expect Alex to reflect the depth of her emotion. Alex would not be able to comprehend how Casey felt about her. Friends with benefits, the benefit being the violation of Alex’s engagement, was what Alex would offer, and it's what Casey would lick off the plate same as she would with anything Alex provided.

"..well then, Cabot," she let her lips form a smug, easy smile, and she arched her back invitingly as she leaned back, "come sit on Daddy's lap."

"Please never refer to yourself like that again." Alex's voice was incredulous, but she flipped the lock on the door and yanked the lever for the blinds to snap shut, turning the overhead light off so the only light source was the dying sun outside casting molten gold on the side of Casey's office wall.

Alex's first step back towards her was so tentative it almost scared Casey out of it, but then her next was with a hasty recklessness that reassured her again.

The blonde stood before her, and leaned down, hand reaching for her throat with Casey craned up to allow her, and as Alex ran her long, slim fingers along the junction between Casey's jaw, neck, and ear, they rediscovered the same charged energy in lust-blown wide eyes.

And then Casey was kissing her, soft but without hesitation, and how Alex melted into it, like this was something that was supposed to happen, like it was natural.

It was not rushed, and although it was heady and exciting it was not needy, it was not impatient. Casey knew they were about to sleep together but there was no drive to forfeit any form of foreplay, and Alex's soft, composed movements seemed to suggest the same.

Alex's fingers, the ones on the hand not cupping the side of Casey’s face, for that palm was being used to tilt the faux blonde's face to the side so Alex could encourage her to tilt her head so she could kiss her deeply, reached down to begin undoing the buttons on her own cardigan, the knitted fabric spilling open to reveal her chest, the expanse of skin Casey had been previously fantasizing about, and it was simultaneously so exciting and yet familiar it felt like either the first time or the product of many, surely not the second.

The blonde pulled them apart as though gauging Casey’s reaction to the motion, a thin thread of saliva connecting their tongues as Alex leaned back, and when Casey did not violently tug her forward like she almost expected her to, Alex smiled softly and accepted Casey’s previous offer.

It took less than five seconds for Alex to undo the latch on her belt and let her designer pants drop uselessly to the floor, and then one long, lissom leg found purchase on the couch beside Casey's slightly parted thighs, followed smoothly by the other. Casey had to crane her neck upwards, now, to reach her head up to find Alex’s lips again, and god- fuck, no,- did it feel like coming home.

A gentle push-pull rhythm was developed, a soft turn exchange between whose tongue was exploring where, and Alex stiffened imperceptibly as if she expected Casey to take more or expect more than she was providing, but Casey did not. The elder relaxed, then, breathing contently through her nose, rewarding Casey with the feeling of air against the smooth skin of her face as Alex exhaled.

Alex did not settle down, though, and Casey supposed that much was implied, since in this position with Alex effectively upright on her knees, there was space between the elder woman’s lower extremities and Casey’s still-clothed legs.

From how the column of Alex’s throat pressed against Casey’s face, the younger woman could smell the faint traces that Steele must have left- a slight tinge of metallic saliva across Alex’s neck and the junction of her collar to her shoulder, which Casey was more than happy to quickly replace with her’s, lapping at the elder blonde’s skin. As much as she wanted to bite, to suckle, she would never dream of it, for in an hour Alex would go home to a boyfriend who could not know this happened. But still, she could assert superiority over Jim Steele. Alex moaned softly at the feeling of Casey's tongue soothing any last traces off of her, leaving only her own.

One of Casey’s hands found an easy hold on the curve of Alex's waist, supporting her, while the other began smoothing gently on the skin of her thighs, not near anything interesting, but enough that Alex let out an almost girlish whine. Both of Alex’s hands shifted to rest on Casey’s shoulders, and after a second, her elbows too, the blonde wrapping her arms around her, one hand tangling loosely in faux blonde locks.

“Casey, au, mmph-” Alex moaned into her ear softly as Casey's fingers crept up on her soft skin, echoing the moan again with increased vigor when Casey’s nail drew a small circle, and Casey snorted with a mild degree of amusement, before letting her go.

"...Alex, you don't expect me to genuinely believe that, do you?"

"Hm?" The blonde straightened with confusion, blinking down at Casey who looked at her with a very dead serious expression, piquing one eyebrow in an arch above her green eyes.

"You don't make sounds like that," Casey rasped, eyes flicking to Alex's face as the blonde pulled back hesitantly, Alex's hands coming to clasp around her jawline with that adorable nervous crease between her eyebrows, "And if I'm honest, your fake moans aren't going to get me anywhere."

Alex’s face flushed, the axis of her spine tilting backward as her eyebrows flexed together, not from the sex but from the embarrassment of being caught faking. Casey thought her surprised blush was rather cute.

The blonde was not a moaner, Casey had known that from the first time they slept together, from how as soon as Alex wasn't paying attention to her complexion anymore she fell silent and steady-faced. Anything she did in the earlier phases of relations was purely for the benefit of her partner, and she must be very used to performing in this way for Stilton and Steele, but it wasn't adding to Casey’s experience at all, no.

Alex’s form spoke more than her mouth did, from the way her muscles coiled beneath her skin like a jaguar's, from the way her hips twitched the slightest bit impatiently. She was clearly aroused, but the manifestation was not from her lips, and faux evidence was as pointless to Casey’s sex drive as it was to her in court.

"I'd rather you shut your pretty mouth,” Alex heard Casey coax, the blonde felt mildly disoriented, and she felt lithe fingers return and trace up, higher… She felt like she was supposed to whimper now, and for anyone else she would've made herself do so, but Casey was instructing her not to provide what wasn't genuine, so she didn't.

Casey’s voice was low, that honey-rusted thrum that Alex thought she may never get enough of, that Alex thought the real reason she kept coming into her office was just to hear her talk, even if it was to poke fun at her, even if it was a busier day and Casey couldn't spare absentminded time and instead just complained about what she was working on, was just to listen, to be intoxicated by the sound. She kept talking, but through the haze, Alex wasn't entirely sure if she managed to catch everything that was being said, filthy comments sliding from Casey’s mouth like diamonds dripping from the mouth of a dragon.

“And focus on the feeling of my hands,” Casey was saying, talking her through it as she prepared Alex to take her, “Feel them, Alex? How they're spreading you open?"

And yes, yes, that Alex did. Her fingers pushing the useless fabric covering her away, her middle finger sliding through the folds of her flesh while Casey's pointer and rings sprawled to the side, tugging her further exposed. Alex felt a muscle in her thigh jerk inadvertently. Casey was good at what she knew how to do, and Casey certainly knew how to use her hands.

She leaned forward again, nuzzling her nose into Casey’s hair and wrapping her arms gently around her head and neck. Casey’s body was warm, very warm, and she smelled like sandalwood and everything right with the world.

"And then I'm going to take this and.." The faux blonde was referring to the real evidence of her arousal, then, the warm liquid that pooled in the valley of her thighs, and Casey rolled the pad of her fingertip in a small, innocent circle to collect it there, before dragging it up and to the sensitive bundle of nerves just above.

The muscle in Alex’s thigh that Casey had been gauging her status off of pulsed, contracting, and releasing three times in quick succession, and she felt Alex swallow.

"Just like that, pretty one.” God, her voice- that same muscle stiffened at the sound and didn't let her go until Casey paused, and apparently this, too, was funny to the faux blonde, who scoffed softly, but to her credit concluded her statement, “Your body does all the talking for you and that's what gets me off."

A shaky exhale left Alex's lung and it stirred a strand of hair on Casey's head softly, and then her hips were moving with a greater need, the pad of Casey’s fingertips on her clit building the tense spring Steele had managed to create, to some degree, with his recklessness, but consuming it entirely making it so, so much worse. Her arousal was now entirely and exclusively Casey’s doing.

She didn't want Casey to restrain her or just hold her tightly, she took liberty in her ability to buck and squirm, and Casey did not even seem to consider holding her down or switching positions to make it easier for herself, seeming to be entranced by the simple fact she was making Alex writhe.

The muscles in her abdomen began to pound and contract, squeezing desperately around nothing as Casey continued gentle, firm circles, and Alex gritted her teeth. Casey was taking so long, too patient, teasing her- it was completely unlike sleeping with anyone else, the way Casey was building her up and relishing the way she was about to be brought back down with seemingly no impatience to get to that stage until Alex was hounding for it. The men in Alex’s life did nothing of the sort- she did all the work for Robert herself, to the extent she had to toy with herself beforehand to make sure the engine was even ready to go at all, and Steele just took what he wanted in a way that Alex was sure he thought metaphorically to be as a lion devouring gazelle but ended up more like a dog breeding without real intention, affection or even acknowledgment.

It seemed wildly silly to Alex that she had allowed him inside of her, a mere hour or so ago, just because it felt like she had his attention. Casey, now, was looking up at her with those unforgiving yet simultaneously ridiculously kind green eyes, narrowed and passionate and it made Alex feel guilty to even attempt to compare the two. Steele was a fine man but Casey might as well be heaven.

She was so aroused it began to feel as though it almost hurt, and Casey’s deliberately languished stimulation was not helping. Alex could feel her muscles keep trying to close down around fingers that weren't there.

Alex didn't understand why Casey was taking so damn long, despite her bucking, why wasn't Casey inside her already? It was obvious that's what she needed, why wasn't-

Oh, she realized, a coherent thought bursting through the dam, she’s waiting for me to tell her too.

It's what Alex needed and they both knew that, but Casey was waiting for Alex to tell her. Casey was letting Alex control her motions despite the fact Alex was in a position in which Casey could have her way with no argument.

Something about that made Alex feel disgusted with herself, perhaps the way that fact made her heart falter hopelessly. This was meaningless sex, wasn't it? It was intended to be. This was only because Steele couldn't force orgasm through her form, and if Alex hadn't been reckless earlier, they would not be here. But Casey was more attentive than Alex thought anyone had ever been to her before, and Alex hadn't even noticed that last time, because Alex had been the one more determinedly topping.

"Inside me, Casey," She muttered into her hair and tried to ignore the spillage of emotion inside the cavern of her chest, "Now."

"As you wish," Casey cooed, her voice still ridiculously smug, but without a second two of her long fingers were pushing right where Alex needed them to be, sinking in and filling her, thinner in diameter but so much more satisfying than Steele, and Casey's eyes were watching Alex's reddened lips part to form a breathless, wordless shape.

Alex didn't realize she was still anxious about not forcing reactions, not promoting herself to exhibit something to keep her partner enthused, until she heard Casey marvel, "You're so responsive," and Alex remembered how Casey could read between the lines of her skin. She closed her eyes and nestled her head on the top of Casey's, feeling her pant against her neck.

The heel of Casey’s palm stayed firmly against her clit, every movement of the faux blonde’s arms further building the tower of soft, intimate emotion swelling in Alex’s core, head, and heart, her fingers not so much dipping out of her as simply curling down and then springing back up, with Alex’s muscles contracting and gripping her digits tightly. God, it felt- On occasion, Alex would squeeze herself intentionally around the shaft of Robert, but this was most certainly not that, this was raw and unplanned, unthought of. Casey pulled reactions from her so seamlessly that Alex didn't know what exhibition of her lust she was displaying until Casey began praising her for it.

Men seemed to think the rougher, the more volatile their actions, the faster she’d be, but under Casey’s intent and smooth, lavished movements, deliberate and slow, Alex found herself warning her within minutes in a firm whisper, which sounded void of emotion, except Casey wasn't daft enough to not notice the way Alex had begun to tremble, "Casey- I'm getting close."

"I know."

And then Casey was faster and Alex’s eyes were squeezing shut with further vigor, and she didn't realize she was shivering with the pleasure until Casey’s free hand left the side of her thigh to the small of her back to keep her upright, not holding, not restraining, just supporting, and Alex sunk her hips down to meet the final, deep thrust of Casey’s fingers within her.

The spring snapped, and so did Alex.

Casey thought to herself vaguely that Alex’s climax might be the most ethereal thing she had seen in her life. Why would God allow her to see this, if it wasn't meant for her?

Elegant fingers and rounded fingernails clamped down around Casey’s shoulders, digging into the fabric of her blouse and the skin beneath it in a way that must hurt if it didn't feel so good.

Alex did not fold in on herself, but rather in a smooth, fluid motion each vertebrae stacked on top of each other, her muscles unfurling, her shoulder blades pushing back and spreading open as though she had wings- well, perhaps she did, Casey would not have been able to tell because that was not where she was looking.

Casey watched as Alex towered over her on her knees, her spine elongated, and her chest tilted backward in a way that caused the curves of her ribs to stand out against her skin, her pelvis tilting forward so she wouldn't be at risk of toppling backward.

Alex's eyes slid open, slowly, and she breathed through her mouth, and the younger ADA allowed her a long moment of utter silence while she looked up and admired.

Her cheeks showed evidence of blood racing through her veins, although Casey wouldn't consider it a blush. The dying light glittered and was reflected in the beads of sweat adorning her temples and chest. Her hair rippled easily around her throat and her collarbones, gold shining in the light of the last ember the sun managed to cough out before it, and the room too, sank into comfortable darkness. Her eyes were narrowed, pupils blown so wide the blue of her eyes was nonvisible. Her eyebrows, the ridge of which always carried such emotion, whether it be nonchalance or anguish, were entirely relaxed, and so too were her slightly parted lips and the lines on her cheeks that emphasized every expression she made. Alex wasn't pretending to be anything right now, she was just allowing her chest to heave with the effort of recovering from the perfervid orgasm Casey had given her.

She looked invincible, statuesque, all-powerful, and all-consuming.

Casey did not waste her time admiring by wondering if this could ever, in some other lifetime, really be hers.

"God-” the assistant district attorney breathed, Alex’s sheer beauty having spurred into verbal expression, but Alex shook her head in a small, breathless movement and the younger woman obediently shut up.

Alex stood up on her knees for a long moment, catching her breath, before she glanced down, contemplative, at the mess she had made of herself between her thighs. Removing one hand from Casey's shoulder, she moved to collect the fluid into the junction between two of her fingers, and then brought it back up to her friend’s face.

"Open your mouth, Casey- suck. Taste what you've done, and clean it off.”

With a soft scoff but a hast to comply which defeated Casey’s attempt to be nonchalant, she parted her lips and extended her tongue softly, allowing Alex to place her fingers down on it. Alex ignored the fact her hand was still quivering which was not helped when Casey closed down around it, nursing on her fingers softly, her tongue sliding between and around the columns of Alex’s fingers to taste what she had brought forth from her.

The look in Casey’s eyes as they half-lidded, staring vaguely at Alex’s wrist before traveling the length of her arm and finding her eyes, spurred Alex back on.

She slowly slid off of Casey's lap, hoisting her hips above the couch for a second to pull her mildly ruined panties back over her hips, before relaxing and eyeing Casey’s barely disheveled form attentively. Casey’s cheekbones and the top of her nose were tinted rose, and the look in her eyes displayed arousal.

Alex believed the natural continuation to be the soft request that left her mouth, "Can I care for you, now?", but Casey only sighed, lolling her head backward, the look of lust fleeting from her expression, although her eyes did not turn cold as it left. She regarded Alex kindly, softly. Too sympathetically for Alex to be comfortable with, but it was hard not to be comfortable around Casey.

"Shouldn't you be going home soon?” Casey murmured, “I'm not exactly sure, despite you saying he wouldn't consider this- this to be anything,” - what was it, she thought to herself, if not everything - “If I want an annoyed Robert Stilton showing up at my office impatient for you to go home and UberEats him dinner."

Alex’s eyes flickered down to her exposed chest, to her bare thighs, and registered that yes, he had said he did not believe sapphism to be anything deep enough to rival the heterosexuality that they shared, but it still probably would not be ideal for him to find her like this, or even for him to begin wondering. Besides, if he pondered why she was late, it might somehow be discovered she had slept before this with Jim Steele, and that would genuinely be an issue, which seemed entirely ironic. Alex was content to never feel him around her again, but she might drown if she didn't get to make time to stop by Casey’s office tomorrow.

She felt like she would drown right now, actually, at the thought of leaving.

"Can I stay here a little longer?"

Alex was worried, suddenly, that Casey might regret what they had just done. Perhaps Casey was nonchalantly trying to send her on her way, to tell her to go. Maybe Casey felt used, and Alex gritted her teeth at that thought because she had no clue how to make Casey not feel that way- if that was in fact what she felt- without returning the favor, and Casey apparently did not want her to.

But when she studied Casey’s eyes, they were warm, and she couldn't pick out the color as well in the near darkness but she would recognize the soft emotion in the younger woman’s eyes anywhere. Casey was content.

"You know I'd never say no to that,” Casey hummed, and the deliciously feminine rasp made Alex’s heart clench awkwardly. Casey had noticed Alex had grown concerned and was trying to reassure her. Casey was trying to reassure *her*.

The view Alex had of Casey’s face suddenly blurred and in the fact of her mind she was mildly concerned about her vision growing even worse still without her glasses, before she realized- no, this wasn't an issue of her optics, rather her eyes had glazed over with glassy, soft tears.

Casey’s eyebrows knit over her eyes with a spark of worry, leaning forward and grasping one of Alex’s hands between two of her own, inquiring in a gentle tone, "Are you okay?"

"You're my best friend, Casey."

She said that because she had absolutely no idea how to convey what she really wanted to. Alex didn't know how to make it coherent nor if she was even allowed to say it if she could. She wiped at her eyes with the base of her thumb, and the tears were gone quickly, but the impact they left did not fade just as fast.

Wasn't it so horrendous of her to do this to Casey? To plead out of the situation she had put herself in by pushing her issues and her problems to burden the shoulders of a woman who probably wouldn't see her again if Alex stopped showing up at her office? Casey had taken care of her bewilderment, of her sexual frustration, and now was trying to take care of her anxiety, too. And no one else who knew her would've even realized the blonde was grappling with emotions at all. Casey was just too giving, and it made a bitter taste fill her mouth.

In Casey’s mind, she was stuck somewhere between a daze induced by the imagery of post-orgasmic Alexandra Cabot standing like an angel above her- she was sure the sight of which was burned firmly behind her eyelids- and trying to figure out why Alex seemed like she was crying. Casey was the one who felt so much it made her heart twist uncomfortably, right? Alex was a free-spirited, illustrious woman who simply came down from the sky to grace Casey with her presence every now and again and allow Casey to please her with whatever means Alex so desired. Tonight it was sex, but it might not ever be again. Alexandra Cabot was probably not fond of Casey the way Casey was so enraptured by her. They were friends, as Alex had just said. Perhaps that was her intention to state that, perhaps she just wanted to hear out loud the verbalization that friends was all this was.

"That seems like a rather juvenile term.” Casey was trying to be lighthearted, hesitating, and hoping it didn't come off like she was denying Alex her friendship, but she couldn't accept the word completely, “We aren't exactly elementary students making friendship bracelets..."

Alex snorted, a smile flickering over her expression, and although it was forced genuine affection crept into it quickly and overtook the original intent. Casey returned her smile and Alex flopped down, her head on the side of Casey’s torso, right around her collarbone. How stupid was it that Casey could make her laugh even now?

"Confidant, then,” she bartered, “My consigliere."

She closed her eyes so her ears would encapsulate more of Casey’s small, casual chuckle, and then Alex felt herself tense slightly as she felt Casey’s hand creep below her cardigan on her back, tracing up and down the bones of her spine that stuck out from beneath her skin.

Alex groaned softly as she felt Casey's fingers begin to push against the knots she had formed in her spine. Of course, she hadn't realized how stiff and uncomfortable her back was until Casey was already acting on it, of course, Casey had been able to tell immediately. Alex wondered vaguely when Casey had gotten the idea to massage her because it seemed like it was planned, almost, for Casey did not explore, she moved as though she knew exactly how and what to do.

"... I suppose, so far as friends go,” Alex heard Casey’s voice falter, gently, “you're the best friend I've ever had, too."

The elder woman swallowed and curled more avidly against Casey’s body until she could feel the thrum of her heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as though it was Alex's own. Casey's hands became more insistent as she soothed out the traces of soreness Steele would've left on Alex's frame, if Alex had gone home before, if Alex had chosen to deal with her frustrations in solitude.

"I don't feel comfortable around him-” she was referring to Robert, the man she was supposed to soon leave to return home to, but then she added reference to Steele, too, “either of them- the way I feel so…” - she had no clue what to say, here, - “warm, when I'm around you."

Her blue eyes blinked open, and she knew Casey must see the age, the exhaustion her life had taken in them, they weren't as bright as robin’s eggshells the way they had appeared when she was still a child. Casey’s own paralleled this, the green chipped at the edges, like an emerald worn by time. They were old, they were too old to be acting like this. Like reckless teenagers in love, despite the fact that both women believed fully that the other did not love them.

‘I’m fond of you,’ Alex said with her eyes, with her breathing, ‘in a way that goes deeper than I think it should be.’ Casey studied her for a long moment, her breath catching, and in Alex's position, she could hear as her heart began to beat with a slight uptake in intensity.

A crease appeared between Alex’s eyebrows that conveyed ‘I don't know what to do about how I feel nor do I know exactly what I feel, I think the combination of what has happened to me and the things I’ve done to recover that inadvertently robbed me further of my control- I think it broke something-' and even though she wasn't rambling out loud Casey's slow blink dulled the race of her thoughts. Casey leaned forward, just slightly, a motion so small it might've not happened at all.

‘I’m here,’ she meant, ‘I don't care that you don't know. I don't care if you don't know who you are, because I know you. I might be in love with you and it doesn't hurt me. Don't be scared of me, Alex. Don't be scared that I know you. Maybe you only like me for the sake I see what you are, and that doesn't bother me.’ And Alex looked away, then, because she felt the tears she had refused to let fall prickle back in her eyes, and she would not cry in front of Casey. Her best friend. She put enough emotion on her best friend that she wouldn't let Casey need to help her cope with sobbing, too. Alex had not cried since witness protection and if she started now she may not stop. Robert was at home waiting for her. She could not allow herself to show up post-sex and post-tears, and she couldn't keep stalling for time, stalling for another few seconds being held by Casey Novak either.

Casey took pity on her. Their exchange was through exclusively body language and if Alex chose to ignore it happened, believe she had interpreted communication where there was none, that was her right.

"Maybe they also have your iron deficiency problem,” Casey joked because the words came easy to her, her facade was so strong the jest came off as so close to genuine to Alex, so casual and offhand it did really seem like they were nothing more than friends, and nothing had happened other than meaningless sex, “More red meat, I'm telling you."

"Should I get on that?” Alex scoffed, mirroring Casey’s nonchalance now, “Go home and order hamburgers or something?"

The return to normalcy was so fast, sliding porcelain masks back over warmed skin, that it hurt both of them to do so.

Casey turned to her. Internally she was scared that Alex would say goodbye and not come back. It didn't matter if the last time they exchanged anything intimate or kissed had just passed, but she wanted Alex to know she was welcome to return, that Casey hoped she would choose to do so.

"I won't force you out,” she said softly, “You wander in and wander out at your whim, Alex, and-” Alex raised her head to meet her eyes with a vague stare, which Casey was pleased by, “I'll be here."

"I think I should go home, then.” Alex whispered, “You're right, he's probably waiting."

Casey watched, unmoving and unreactive, as Alex stood, retrieved her garment from where it had been tossed on the floor, concealing the skin Casey had just fondled with quick work, the latch of the belt the only sound in the now silent, now still room. Alex picked her purse from the floor, and then turned, striding the same way towards the doorframe as she had just before they had engaged.

And just as before, she turned, because Alex couldn't resist catching a last glimpse, providing a last word.

"Casey-, quid pro quo?” In a soft, tentative voice she asked, “Can I return the favor tomorrow?"

A small thrill raced through Casey's blood and she provided a small, firm nod, tilting her head in a way that caused her faux blonde hair to spill effortlessly over and around her shoulders.

"Wander in and wander out at your will, Alex. You can have what you need from me.”

Alex was fully aware of why she slept with Casey when she left her office.

But she barely even left her office, no, because she couldn't make it more than a couple steps away with spinning on her heel, coming back in just as Casey had stood from the couch, wrapping her hands around the faux blonde’s collar and kissing her, quietly and quickly, hungrily, guilty, needy. Heady, fast, and soft.

As fast as the flash of blonde hair had reappeared in Casey's vision it was then gone again, and Alex verschwand quickly, lost in the wind, leaving Casey standing with her arms half-raised awkwardly, her lips in a started, kiss-swollen gape, the heart racing in her chest. That was certainly not friendly. That was the furthest thing from platonic.

Alex knew why she’d keep sleeping with Casey, too.

[chayawaxman]

omg yay commissions are open!! I'd love some johnny knoxville flirtatious angst 😂 I don't have any ideas beyond that, but maybe you can find inspiration from this pic

tysm chaya!!

୨୧ 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 ୨୧

sorry, i got a bit carried away with this concept, so that may not be 100% true to the original request, but!! welcome to the world where you and Johnny are ex-college sweethearts, reconnecting after years of absence and some really gnarly fight. enjoy! <33

It’s been a long time since you and Johnny had a chance to see each other, or even talk like civilized people. All of your recent interactions could be summarized in a small – but how entertaining! – collection of text messages, dating back to the day after *the accident*. Looking back at it, it was nothing serious, just a foolish, drunken debate, that made both of you go too far with heavy words. Again, nothing to write home about, just you two sharing the last drink of the night, recalling some silly memories from college days, when you two were… How exactly could one call it? You were definitely more than friends, a cluster of unspoken sentiments, heavy glances, a few after-party kisses. Just enough to make you two, almost ten years later, fight to death about the final questions. Why you two never worked it out? Who didn’t call? Who was the first to try to forget all about it? And there you were, supposed to cherish a quick moment of reunion due to his crew that just accidentally happened to film in your area. Who knew this would turn into a verbal wildfire, that none of you seemed too eager to put out?

Today, you woke up unusually late. Quick shower, quick breakfast, quick guilt trip about already wasting almost a half of your day. In the meantime, your phone screen started to glow with a notification. New text message, how convenient, sent from the man that only a few days ago wanted to forget about everything you shared together – even if it was just a young love fantasy, that none of you really wanted to let go. That specific kind of head rush, which can be caused only by something so idealized, because you two never had a chance to get bored with each other.

“can i take you out? i’m nearby and thinking about some things. i want to make it up to you. i promise ma’am, i’ll be more civil this time”

You sighed, letting your thoughts run wild, sprinkled with anxiety and confusion. Was this a good idea? Maybe it would be for the best if you two closed this unhinged chapter and just moved on with your respectable lives. Although, you said to yourself, what harm could it cause? Just one evening and everything will go back to the way it was before. You will both forgive and forget (ideally), him and his crew would leave the town, and you will finally get some well-deserved peace and quiet. 

“Only if you promise not to get sentimental.” – you could feel your palms shaking a little bit while pushing the send button. Maybe it wasn’t so casual after all?

“on my way”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

– Why have you brought us here? – you asked, looking with suspicion at an empty football pitch.

You tried to act all nonchalant, like you already forgot that back in the day it was your spot. Johnny used to sneak beers from his parent's house, you drank them like it was the olympian ambrosia, laughing, making unreal plans, while the evening glow showered everything in this nostalgic shade of blue. Until now, you had a chance to drink cooled martinis at the beach and cosmopolitans, carefully put together by your best friend, made to taste like a piece of heaven in a glass. Despite that, you were not able to forget this sweet aftertaste of flavored beers in a room temperature, shared with a man that you thought was your soulmate. Here he was, theatrically showing you the way to the empty bleachers, offering you an arm. He never lost his love for acting, even in the most foolish situations.

– And they say that chivalry is dead – you snarked playfully, accepting his offer after a moment of contemplation. 

– Never with me, ma’am – he replied, confidently walking to a pair of seats that already had a blanket put on them. – Yeah, I figured it might get cold in the evening.

– Oh, how thoughtful of you – you still did not want to drop the sarcastic act, not after everything that happened in the last few days. 

Johnny offered you a seat on the blanket-covered chair, a piece of weird luxury on an empty football pitch. Without saying a word, he took out two bottles of raspberry beer – how they could even fit in his pockets?

– A little something, treat it as an olive branch – his half-smile was *almost* remorseful.

– Olive branch? I’m afraid it’s gonna take a bit more than a bottle of beer – almost laughing, you took the bottle out of his hand nonetheless. 

– And yet you still decided to take it – Johnny noticed, his stupid smile becoming almost contagious.

– Jo, if I knew that it would give you such an ego boost, I’d turn down every drink on this planet.

How could you let that slip out of your mouth? Jo, his nickname that only you could use, just added to the tension that was building up between you two. So many memories running through your head like a messed up slideshow, fusing and merging, creating this emotionally loaded footage of everything that went wrong. Despite pushing off the thought, you couldn’t help but imagine… What if he never left the town? What if you had a second chance, a fresh start, what if… No, no, that ship has sailed a long time ago. The only thing you could do now is to sit down, enjoy the view, drink your beer and not get lost in his superstar smile.

– And I thought I was the sentimental one, bringing you here and all. But hey, Y/N, looks like I underestimated you!

– Leave it, Johnny. Don’t act like you didn’t hate me almost three days ago.

– Hate you? I could never! – Johnny noticed the side-eye that you gave him, making him finally get into a more serious tone. – Seriously, Y/N, I could never. And if I came off that way, then well… There’s nothing left for me but apologize. Sincerely. I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m sorry for…

– Johnny, stop, you don’t have to. Listen, today we’re here, the next day you and your friends would get back to your Hollywood’s hall of fame, or wherever is your current residence. We don’t have to do this, we don’t have to get into this weird, pushed conversation just for the sake of politeness. 

A moment of awkward silence hovered above your heads. He didn’t turn his eyes off of you, like – despite everything being said between you – he was afraid of losing another moment of admiring how beautiful you were. You could feel his remorse, nostalgia and genuine need to make things better, even if it lasted just for this night.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

– Y/N, again… I never wanted to hurt you. I know how I feel and deep down I can only hope that maybe you feel this too. Yeah, yeah, I know, it didn’t work out then… And it doesn’t have to work out now. I���m fine with both, as long as I can hang out with you today.

This caught you a little bit off guard. You expected a little more bickering, some stuck-up arguments about misremembered words and unfinished affairs that could haunt you like first-class victorian ghosts. Instead, he gently took your bottle out of your hand and opened it with his chipped pink lighter.

– Impressive, I know – his sarcastic, almost self-aware remark cleared the air a little, while you still didn’t know how to respond.

After all of it, why can’t you just enjoy the night? Even if it won’t last forever, like you used to believe it will.

– Maybe for a college kid – you picked up the playful act, maybe going with the flow won’t hurt anyone?

– Oh, Y/N, so cruel again! You know what? Watch this.

Johnny took a mini CD player from his pocket. Just like the one you used to replay your collection of Fleetwood Mac’s music on. And just like that, the first notes of Seven Wonders started to flow out of the slightly screeching speaker. 

– I hope you still like it, because if not, then well, I don’t have any kind of plan b – he said, sipping his beer slowly.

– You still have this old thing? – you almost gasped, surprised and maybe even impressed. 

– Yeah, I guess it’s hard to get rid of something that… Hey, did you see that? 

– What?

– A shooting star! Quickly, make a wish – he nudged you, still following some distant constellations with his gaze.

– Ah, alright, alright. I wish for… - you started, but Johnny quickly interrupted you,

– You can’t tell me, otherwise it won’t come true! Come on, Y/N, don’t you know the star-wishing rules? – his slight laughter lit up the atmosphere.

– If that’s the rule, then I wish for us to argue again, fight often, maybe even never seeing each other again – you let yourself get your guard down a little. It’s still a joke, right?

– Woah, that’s some great reverse psychology upon an astronomical body. You’ve got me here, miss Y/N.

Stevie Nicks in the background sung another song about dreamy, star-crossed lovers’ fate. You felt his arm around you, both of you still admiring the beauty of a night sky. Lingering aroma of his classic cologne filled the air between your bodies. However, the distance between you started to shrink. The night was young, bottles clinked between your hands, summer was in a full bloom. Just like back then, for a while, there was nothing to worry about. No chores, no relatives or coworkers to get back to. Just you, Johnny, and this sentimental reenactment of your very first kiss.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can I ask a request about Indra (ROR) has a crush his own s/o and needs to confess. But he didn’t realize s/o has affection on him too :>

Usually, Indra was very confident in himself.

He knew what his strengths were as both a god and a man, and he took pride in them. Some would even call him cocky (unless he was standing next to Shiva). But in his moment Indra felt a feeling he had never felt before: nervous.

“Why don’t you just go talk to them?” Rudra told him.

“Can’t.” Was all Indra offered in reply.

Rudra sighed. “I know it’s easier for you to use your fists, but sometimes you have to use your words.” His friend knew that a lot of his showboating of strength was to impress [Y/N]. Probably assuming that they would one day notice him and confess first, which would avoid this situation all together for Indra. Which would be totally accurate of Indra’s thinking.

“What if they say no?” Indra was usually very brave, but if [Y/N] shot him down he didn’t think he could recover from that.

“What’s going on?” Shiva asked. Arriving on the scene as casually as ever. “Oh. Indra still pining over [Y/N]?” The lightening god growled. “Well, if you’re not going to make a move on them, then I will. I could use a new wife.”

“You already have three.” Rudra reminded him.

“Yeah. But now I can have four.” Shiva snarked back.

Before he could move, Indra stood up and in front of Shiva with a glare. Or, at least it felt like he was glaring at the other god. It was hard to tell with his hair in his eyes.

He then walked over to [Y/N], there was a brief exchange between them, then [Y/N] beamed like the sun had come out after one of Rudra’s storms. “That was nice of you.”

“Eh,” Shiva said with a shrug, “that block head only knows competition and conflict. He was never gonna confess on his own. Almost feel sorry for [Y/N] being stuck with that idiot now. They would have made an excellent 4th wife.”

“Wait? You were serious about that?”

“I never joke about my wives.” Shiva told Rudra. “Which, if you’ll excuse me, I think I will go see and console myself. Tell Indra he’s welcome if he ever comes back over here.”

[danpuff-ao3]

SNARRY FOR BEGINNERS

Are you a bit Snarry curious, but also sorta wary and unsure where to start? Good news: I have some recs for you!

Snarry is a tricky ship for some folks. All of its most problematic themes are what draw me in personally, but that's not to say there aren't some safe places to start for a newcomer!

What I've chosen are:

Nothing too long, so you can get a little taste to see how you feel. So I'm looking at 50k or under.

Nothing "problematic" or as few "problematic" themes as I can get. No underage. No power imbalance. No consent issues. (...or at least nothing egregious haha.)

Works that also maintain some integrity to Harry and Severus' individual characters, and the tension between them. If I play it too safe it won't feel properly Snarry to me! Half the fun is the tension between them, so we must keep that!

So...If you wanna check some out, keep reading!

An Awkward Customer

by AnyaElizabeth. Rated: E. Words: 10,768. Postwar. EWE. Romance. Humor.

Snape can't figure out why Potter is hanging around his shop.

Why Read? A nice rom-com based on the prompt: "Harry makes a bet with someone that he could seduce anyone if he put his mind to it, and that someone selected for him is Snape, naturally." Severus owns an apothecary so we get some nice flirting at the workplace!

a scratch for every itch

by bleedcolor (@bleedcolor.) Rated: T. Words: 11,478. Fluff & humor. Magical maladies. Friends to idiots in love. Romance.

Severus Snape is an itch that Harry just can't scratch.

Why Read? Surely fluff is a safe place to start! And as a person who isn't often drawn to fluff, this is one I love, and is a comfort read of mine. Very sweet and silly and a great place to dip your toes in!

Dumbledore's Folly

by Dementordelta. Rated: M. Words: 47,446. Romance. Courtship. Oldie but a goodie!

Snape must court Harry according to wizarding traditions.

Why Read? I've reread this fic countless times over the years and it's still such a fun read. If you like arranged marriage/courtship fics, this is the one for you!

The Interrupted Kiss

by emynn. Rated: E. Words: 24,291. Postwar. Romance. Hurt/comfort. Mystery.

Once upon a time, Severus Snape shared a kiss with Harry Potter. Then Harry had disappeared after killing the Dark Lord, leaving Severus the reluctant darling of the Wizarding world. When Dumbledore insists on throwing a ball in Severus’s honour, Severus is convinced the world has gone completely mad. But when he comes across an ashy-faced young man whose half-answers about his identity haunt his every thought, Severus realizes that a ball might be the least of his worries.

Why Read? What safer place to start than a fairytale? If we ignore that most original fairytales are pretty effed up, actually. This is a Cinderella-inspired work. Severus is the Prince (naturally), and Harry is the wandmaker (cool career, right??) who attracts many cute animals! (He does not sing to them, though; what a shame!)

This Time of Ours

by emynn. Rated: E. Words: 35,442. Time travel. Hurt/comfort. Romance & drama.

Severus Snape wasn’t supposed to die. Neither was Harry Potter.

Why Read? Emynn has plenty of great Snarry fics, which is why you're getting 2 recs! We start with some fun snarking, move onto sweet bonding, and then...second chances! Very light, enjoyable read.

On the Deficencies of Translation Spells

by LilaDiurne (@liladiurne.) Rated: E. Words: 41,130. Getting together. Magical theory. Professor Potter & Professor Snape. Beaubatons. Pining. Light angst. Minor Harry/others.

Divorced, single, and free, Harry lives a completely unapologetic life in Paris. Between casual hook-ups and an easy, comfortable job, he likes to think he is as close to happiness as he'll ever be. And when he gets offered a teaching job at the prestigious Académie Beauxbâtons, he thinks he may have found exactly what was missing. But Harry is thoroughly unprepared for what he finds there - a familiar face that's been haunting his dreams for six years.

Why read? It's very Harry-centric. It's Harry's POV, and very about Harry and his journey as he moves to a new place, in a new phase of his life, and settles in. There's an existing connection and attraction between Harry and Severus, and one that unfolds so sensually and beautifully. Harry's very much an adult and mature and has lived a lot of life when he and Severus reunite.

Rapture

by mia_ugly (@mia-ugly.) Rated: E. Words: 48,123. Time travel. Romance.

Snape sees the man, for the first time, on his twenty-fifth birthday.

Why Read? It's a classic! It is very beloved in the community for good reason. Gorgeous writing. The relationship develops so naturally, and the pure emotion will knock your socks off. Potentially the best place to start for Snarry. I'm not a big fan of time travel, but I love this fic!

Revealed, Gently

by sarkysue. Rated: T. Words: 22,243. Postwar. Romance. Humor.

Snape isn’t dead, he’s back at Hogwarts and in need of an assistant. Coincidently, Harry is hanging around Hogwarts, reluctant to move on with his life. Cue sniping and snarking, tears and laughter and, possibly, love.

Why Read? It's fun. It's cute. It's a bit silly. It makes great use of how not easy it would be for these two, and having a blast with it! There is arguably a power imbalance what with Harry being Snape's teaching assistant, but it doesn't really feel like much of one. It's only a great opportunity to force these 2 to hang out long enough to fall in love!

The Sleeping Prince

by who_la_hoop. Rated: T. Words: 42,758. Postwar. Deaging. 8th year.

It's hard to ignore your past — and impossible to do so when you can't remember your future. But a meddlesome portrait, a dragon with an ancient grudge and true love's kiss teach an unlikely Prince that a regrettable past doesn't have to mean an unhappy ending.

Why Read? While probably the most questionable on the list, it's still fairly tame. Student Harry and his developing feelings for Student Severus, who is deaged postwar. It feels very much like a feel good teenage romance, wherein the characters very much act their age, awkwardness and all! The only caveat being things change a bit at the end, but there's no underage and it is rated Teen, to be fair!

The Beating of This Fragile Heart

by Writcraft (@writcraft.) Rated: E. Words: 33,146. Hurt/comfort. Fluff & angst. Serious Injury. Romance.

After the war, the last thing Severus Snape needs is the memory of a fleeting wartime kiss and a very persistent Harry Potter thwarting his plans to live a peaceful and solitary life. It’s only when Harry’s life is endangered that Severus is finally forced to confront his feelings head on.

Why Read? If you're coming from Drarry, you might be familiar with Writ's works! They've written plenty for drarry and some rare pair works, and they are a fantastic storyteller. This fic in particular is very romantic. Full of hesitancy and insecurity, and seeing how the relationship begins and how it unfolds and changes (for the better) when Severus is forced to deal with his issues. It's quite a journey but so full of love from start to finish and it's just so lovely and full of feels and one I return to again and again.

[pascalispretty]

Come Take It Out On Me

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2034

Warnings: enemies to lovers, snark, bondage, softly dominant Javi, oral sex (f receiving) (Javier Peña eats pussy like a champ), teasing

Summary: You and Javier may not know how to talk, but you certainly know how to fuck. (ao3)

Notes: Written for the lovely @survivingandenduring for the Space Sister's Valentines! The first fic I ever wrote on here was Javier Peña and enemies to lovers, and your prompt was such an inspiration to revisit that whole vibe. Also the song 'Good in Bed' by Dua Lipa was a major inspo. I hope you enjoy! (also unbeta'd because I cracked a bone in my foot, pls be gentle).

It’s late when you get back to your apartment. You had taken yourself out for a drink after work, dressing up in a tight black dress and a swipe of red lipstick. But the admiring looks and offers to buy you another drink irritated you more than they flattered you. Instead, you had made your way over to a payphone and punched in an all-too familiar number.

“Hey, Peña. You wanna come over and fuck?”

Not particularly subtle, but it got the message across.

Back home, you pour yourself a drink and settle in to wait. Your heels are pinching your toes, so you kick them off. You’re vaguely aware of the room becoming warmer, the heat clicking on as the temperature drops.

You’re topping up your wine when there’s a loud knock at the door. You nearly roll your eyes when you open it. Javier Peña has his arm braced against the doorframe, leaning into it like he’s posing for an advertisement for the tight Levi jeans he’s wearing.

“Hello, Javier. I was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten about me,” you tell him, lifting your wineglass to your lips. He takes it out of your hand in a smooth gesture, draining it and shoving it back into your hand as he walks into your apartment.

“I wish,” he mutters, pausing to light a cigarette and helping himself to a glass of scotch from your bar. “I was late at the embassy; a knot needed untangling that had ‘CIA’ written all over it. The Castaño brothers seem to think you’ll hand them the whole country.” You top up your wine, smirking at him over the rim of the glass.

“You have a very misguided perception of what we do, Agent Peña. It’s not all toppling governments and hobnobbing with dictators.” Sitting on the armchair across from him, you tip your glass in a mock toast.

He sits with his legs spread apart, the tight jeans hiding absolutely nothing as he watches you. The silver-blue haze of his cigarette smoke hangs in the air between you, giving his features a strangely soft edge.

“Well, if anyone could find common ground with a dictator it would be you.”

“And yet, you’re here. What does that say about you?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. It almost always starts this way. The two of you can’t seem to help needling at one another, determined not to let a jab go unanswered. He’s too holier-than-thou for your liking sometimes, pretending that the DEA’s hands are so much cleaner than that of the CIA.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, the two of you discovered that all that tension somehow translated into pretty phenomenal sex.

“It says that payday is at the end of the month, and I can’t afford my usual.” Peña says, his mouth curving into a smirk. “Besides, you buy the good stuff.” He drinks more of his drink, pulling the ashtray closer with his free hand. You appreciate that even though he doesn’t particularly like you, he draws the line at ruining your rug.

“What can I say, I appreciate quality.” You say nonchalantly. “Which is why you’re here right now, and not some random stranger who couldn’t find a clitoris with a map.”

“We all have our talents. Are you going to sit over there all night? Even I might have trouble finding it from that far away.” He says it casually, but you know him well enough by now to pick up on the undercurrent of need in his voice.  He’s not alone. That annoyingly familiar need had been making itself known in the pit of your stomach all night, that insistent itch that only Agent Javier Peña could really scratch.

You uncurl from the armchair, setting your wine down on the table. Javier looks up at you with those beautiful dark eyes as you settle into his lap. The seams of your dress strain to accommodate his body between your thighs, and you swear you hear a few stitches popping.

Up close, you can breathe the scent of him in. The leather of his jacket and the tobacco of his cigarettes mixes with something heady and masculine and him. You have no other word for it. You imagine that it would sell like crazy if somebody managed to bottle it as a cologne.

“Is this better?” You ask softly, looping your arms around his neck. He nods, eyes trailing down your body, lingering on the neckline of your dress.

“The view has improved.” He leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your breast where your dress leaves it exposed. His moustache prickles the sensitive skin, his lips quick to soothe the scratch.

Your fingers slide into his thick hair. He’s still holding his glass and his still-lit cigarette, so after a moment he pulls away.

“I’d rather not light your rug on fire,” he says, leaning around you to flick the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray. With his now-free hand, he cups one of your breasts, squeezing gently. “You should wear dresses like this more often.”

“I’m sure that’d go down really well at work,” you tease, sucking in your breath as he hooks his index finger into the neckline, tugging it down further. The lace of your bra peeks out, the red vivid against the black of your dress.

Peña ducks his head again, trailing more kisses across the newly-exposed skin. Every brush of his lips is only making you wetter, even if he’s not doing much to encourage it. Bastard.

Though it’s not wholly unfair. You can feel him starting to harden underneath you, and you can’t help rocking your hips against him in encouragement. He nips at the curve of your breast, before leaning back.

“Take your dress off.” He gives you a little nudge with his hand, as if he wants you off his lap.

“So bossy, Peña,” you sigh, letting your nails scratch his scalp. You feel the shudder that runs through him, but he’s persistent.

“You like it when I’m bossy. Get up, and take your dress off.” He’s right. He might not know how you like your coffee or when your birthday is. But if there’s one thing Javier Peña knows, it’s what you like in bed.

You slide off his lap reluctantly, standing in the small space between the couch and the coffee table. While he finishes the dregs of his drink, Javier runs his eyes over you. There’s something so hungry in that look, like he’s deciding where to begin with a delicious feast.

The dress zips in the back, and you have to twist awkwardly to catch at the tab. With another man, it might make you feel self-conscious. But with Javier, all you can see is the want in him. The fabric loosens around your shoulders as you undo the zip, and you shrug the dress off in one fluid motion.

Peña casts an appreciative eye over your lingerie, leaning forward in his seat. When he reaches to set his glass down on the coffee table, he shifts so close that his hair nearly tickles your abdomen. A soft, disappointed sound escapes you when he doesn’t touch you, when he doesn’t take the opportunity to haul you back into his lap. Instead he just looks up at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Gorgeous,” Javier murmurs, almost to himself. With one last lingering sweep down your body, he stands up. There’s barely an inch between you, your calves bumping against the edge of the coffee table as you shift back to accommodate him.

“Take me to bed?” You ask. Peña doesn’t say anything for a moment. One of his large hands comes up to cradle your jaw with a gentleness that never fails to surprise you. His fingers are warm on your skin, and you find yourself melting into his touch once more.

“Bed,” he agrees, his thumb gently sweeping over your lower lip before his hand drops back to his side. You lead him towards your bedroom, even though he knows the way by now. He’s been here more times than you can count.

At the threshold of your bedroom, Javier loops his arms around your waist. Your back moulds against his chest, his nose brushing your temple as he leans to whisper in your ear.

“Do you want the belt tonight?” He murmurs, and you nearly melt into a puddle at his feet. The belt is something Javier indulges you in occasionally. He’d drawn a hard line at bringing his handcuffs into the bedroom. The two of you had compromised with softer things; a silk scarf, his ties, a pair of stockings. And, of course, his belt.

“Yes please.” Your eyelashes flutter closed as Javier presses soft kisses down the line of your neck, humming contentedly against the skin. His clever fingers have your bra undone before you realise he’s moved his hands, and you let him slip it off you without complaint.

One of his hands moves to your waist, encouraging you to turn around. Every brush of his fingertips sends more warmth pooling in your core, the gentle brushes of his skin against yours making you shudder. Without him having to ask, you offer him your wrists.

Peña takes his belt off with one hand, a move that you’re almost certain he’s practised. It’s so attractive that you don’t even tease him about it. Instead, you find yourself taking a shaky breath as he loops the soft leather carefully around your wrists.

You could slip out with ease if you wanted to – it’s part of the reason Javier agreed to the belt as a compromise when you’d asked him to tie you up. You’re at a loss to explain why the buttery leather around your wrists makes you feel so good. Satisfied that it’s not too tight around your wrists, Javier gives you a small, but unmistakable, smile.

With a gentle push of his hand on your waist, Javier encourages you backwards until you’re lying on the bed, your arms stretched above your head.

“Que bonita,” he murmurs, settling himself between your legs. He’s still fully clothed, aside from his belt, and it makes you feel more exposed by comparison. One of his warm palms slides up your leg, squeezing the inside of your thigh before coming to rest agonisingly close to your core.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” One of his fingers brushes against your core, making you jump. “You’ve soaked your pretty panties.” The edge in his voice makes you whimper, your legs falling further apart for him. He slides your underwear off with ease, and before you can catch your breath, the warm heat of his mouth envelops your clit.

It’s nearly painful, how good it feels. His full lips wrap carefully around the bud of nerves, applying just enough pressure to make you wail. Your head is spinning with the pleasure of it, your world shrinking down to your body and Javier’s mouth. You clutch at the pillows above your head, moaning with abandon. Fuck your neighbours. If they knew Javier Peña, they’d understand.

He lets go of your clit and nuzzles against your slick folds, his tongue lapping hungrily at your flesh. The noises he’s making are obscene, muffled groans mixing in with the wet sounds of his mouth.

Then, as abruptly as he’d started eating you out, he stops. The loss of his mouth is devastating, and you’re about to wail at the unfairness when his hand slides up your body. His warm palm forms a loose necklace about your throat as he looks down at you, his chin wet with your slick.

“If I let you come while I eat your pussy, do you promise to let me make you come on my cock too?” He asks. He’s entirely serious; you’ve never met anyone who takes pleasure quite so seriously.

“God, yes. Knew I did the right thing by calling you,” you tell him, practically slurring your words. He gives you that smile again, a gleam in his eye as he trails kisses down your body.

“You can always call me, baby.”

[ballsandbabes]

Messing with you instead, when i should mess with you in bed feat. Midorima Shintaro

Authors Note: I think Shin is so underrated. Sure he's a bit strange, but he's always loyal, honest and very loyal and supportive. I like him more and more, so have fun <3

Summary: Slow-burn, romantic tension, light angst, fluff and humor I guess??

It had become something of a ritual. You and Midorima Shintarō, bickering like a clockwork, eyes sharp behind casual masks, always toeing the line between rivalry and something more. The rest of the Generation of Miracles had given up trying to intervene, not fully knowing why you were like this—Kise even started bringing popcorn to your interactions.

Academically, you two have been rivals since Teiko. You wouldn't let that stupid carrot head with a cold attitude steal your title as an academic weapon. He simply couldn't, no shouldn't, be good at it too. He was attractive, athletic, a basketball genius and smart too?? No!

It pisses you off how he didn't seem to care. Everything except basketball and school. You had the feeling he only spoke to you when the setting called for it. For example, if you were hanging around the college gym to watch the boys train.

You actually thought you would have gotten rid of him after middle school… but no. He also went to secondary school with you. And as if the universe didn't already hade you enough already, he also went to the same university as you. Fortunately, or rather miraculously, the rest of the miracle generation also attended TOU University.

“You two are exhausting...Can't we even have a normal afternoon?,” Murasakibara would mumble between bites.

"Just kiss already," Aomine had once said mid-yawn, earning a pen to the forehead from you and a textbook to the gut from Midorima. You both hated it, when people accused you of liking each other. You and the carrot head with a horoscope problem? Seriously? No way!

You were terrible. Always so perfect and friendly. All of your emotions were displayed on your face…and I really mean all of them. Midorima was really overwhelmed by it at times. That's why he didn't like to be around you. In addition, you always had a few points more than him in every test. And that, despite the fact that he spent hours and hours studying. Not to mention your flirty personality. It just annoyed him, you didn't take anything seriously and always had to push his patience to the limit. In short, he couldn't stand you.

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the time you corrected his astrology comment in class and he retaliated by giving you the wrong lucky item list “by accident.” Or when you once stole his notes and rewrote them in pink ink, just to prove a point.

But you’d never told him the truth—about how your heart tripped a little, every time he adjusted his glasses, how you read up on Oha Asa just to keep up with him ( I mean how else are you supposed to smart arse in front of him?), how behind every sarcastic jab was a kind of longing to talk normally with him, hear him say your name softly and get to know him on a deeper level.

And today? Today had ruined your week.

He was smiling—actually smiling—at some girl in your lecture class. Leaning in, speaking quietly, face relaxed. She giggled, twirled her hair around her finger, and touched his arm. And Shintarō didn’t move away. Normally he would always shy away from something like that. You had already tried that, to get on his nerves.

You didn’t realize your grip on your pen had made it snapped, until Kuroko calmly slid a new one onto your desk without looking away from the front.

“Thank you,” you said flatly.

“She’s not his type,” Kuroko offered.

“What? What would you know?”, you snarked back at him.

“We both know him long enough to know, that any type of dizzyness is not his type.”, Kuroko said turning back to the book in font of him.

You huffed, knowing Kuroko was right and that you had to accept it, but the sting in your chest was too loud to ignore. This Midorima was way too confident with this girl. Way too involved. And you had to give it to the girl…she was beautiful.

After class, you didn’t wait. You marched up to him as he was packing his bag, clearly getting ready to head to the gym for basketball practice. Shoving your hands in your hoodie to stop them from shaking.

“Midorima.”

He adjusted his glasses slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked up at you. “What is it now, y/n? Come to mock my handwriting again? Let it be! I'm having a good day today, don't get on my nerves.”

A good day?? Because a girl had finally spoken to this…admittedly attractive…loser? Pah.

You stared at him, jaw tight. “No, I’ve come to say I’m tired of this game.”

He blinked. “Game?”

"Are you coming Shin-chan?" Takao called from the hallway door. "We have to go or we'll be late again." So he walked past you without a word, wondering what you meant by "game". He was so oblivious… how else could this bickering have been going on for years?

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

"Shintaro, you're completely distracted! What's going on? We want to win the game here too!" Aomine shouted through the hall. "Maybe we should take a break," Riko suggested, clearly sensing that there would be an full blown argument, if she didn't intervene. "He's really weird," Kuroko said in Kagami's direction. "Hmm, he's always a little weird," Kagami said as if he didn't care. Which he really didnt.

The squeaking of shoes on the hall floor was a sound that you have always loved. It was associated with beautiful memories. Like the time you and Shintaro were accidentally locked in the Teiko gym.

You push open the door to the university gym, just in time to see everyone finishing cleaning up. The training was probably already over, good. You were so angry that Takao took away your chance to snap at Midorima. Then it happened, that Aomine had forgotten his jacket in the library. A perfect oppertunity to get revenge.

Midorima saw you standing there, when Kuroko whispered quietly but seriously, "I don't know what the two of you are, but talk to each other. It's starting to stop being funny and is ruining the mood."

And so he did.

"Y/n, what did you mean by "Game" this morning? I don't understand why you always have to bother me like that," he said seriously and coldly.

You stepped closer, feeling that bitter heat rise in your throat. “You dont understand? Are you stupid or something?? Flirting with random girls in lecture, when im trying to see what the professor writes on the board....you were blocking my sight. You act like I’m an annoying itch, and yet you never leave me alone.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” he said, confused. Kind of shocked that he picked up that aspect first “I was answering her question about the exam.”

“She touched your arm.”

“I can’t control what others do.”, he said getting more and more confused. Where you mad because you couldnt see what was written by the professor? Or because of something else??

"I don't understand…why are you angry now? Next time just sit further forward!" he said, now starting to become visibly angry. You couldn't tell him that you always sat behind him so you could look at him undisturbed. "Why are you messing with me so much?" he said angrily.

The team just stood there speechless and watched the drama unfold before their eyes. They had never seen Midorima so upset.

You were so close now, you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Anger rising to your head and fogging up your brain. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the words.

“I’m messing with you, because instead I should be messing with you in bed.”

Midorima froze. His gym bag leaving his hand, clattering to the floor.

The silence was brutal. Even Takao, eavesdropping from three feet away with a soda in his mouth, choked and had to turn away. Taiga and Kuroko were looking at each other in shock. Even Daiki, who was always up for something like that, was shocked. So that was the reason why the two were always arguing. Nobody saw that coming. The door on the side opened. "Did I miss something?" Murasakibara asked, surprised to see his friends like that.

You blinked, realizing what you’d just said, feeling heat raging to your cheeks. “I—That was supposed to be metaphorical,” you mumbled, backing up a step, suddenly flustered. “Like… emotionally. Obviously.”

Midorima’s face was a shade of red you didn’t think naturally occurred in nature. He picked up his bag, not meeting your eyes.

“You should not say things like that in public,” he muttered.

You swallowed hard. “Oh...So does that mean it’s okay in private?”, you teased him still somewhat mad, that he kept ignoring you.

He stared at you now—really stared—and for the first time, his voice didn’t carry sharpness, only honesty. “You drive me insane. Constantly. Irritatingly. And I think about you too much. Far too much. All the emotions, constantly feeling like I have to chase after you, that I am not good enough...”

You tilted your head, heartbeat stammering. “What??? Is that your new way of getting on my nerves by confessing strange things to me?”

He adjusted his glasses again, clearly flustered. “I actually meant what I said.”

You couldn’t help but be confused...realizing what he just said, a small smile spread across your face. “ I didnt know...I mean you always...And I always....And then you were flirting with that girl, who touched your arm. Why would you do that?? Shouldnt you flirt with me instead, so it makes sense what you just said???”

“I—I don’t flirt,” he said defensively.

“Hmmm, could’ve fooled me...than what do you call this”, you said, surprised by your own boldness.

From the back, Kise’s voice rang out, loud and dramatic: “FINALLY!”

You both turned. The entire GOM was standing nearby, pretending not to watch—failing miserably.

“I’m going to kill them,” Midorima muttered.

You laughed and tugged lightly at his shirt. “Later. First, you owe me a real conversation on a real date. Preferably in private.”

And this time, he didn’t argue.

He leaned forward, just enough so you could feel his breath on your ear, as he spoke. Pushed by the feeling that you had accepted his confession and feeling highly confident, he said "Preferably in private? So I, can mess with you in bed?"

You blushed madly. Leaving the others wondering what he had just said to you.

[pristine-rose]

I yet live! This frickin bakery job is so dang tiring! But sneaking cookies and getting free cheesecake makes it worth the pain!!

Hmm thoughts of odd match-ups for threesomes... heh, could go for two chronically very rough lovers, at least in my mind.

Kujou Sara is a dom who demands obedience, plain and simple, she isn't much a fan of keeping a brat in check, she wants you to be her good girl, and will take you over her knee as many times as it takes to ensure you become her good girl.

Rosaria on the other hand doesn't mind the idea of taming a little brat, but is often to tired to deal with the attitude, so she more often then not meets even the slightest beatty behavior with swift punishment so she can just relax with her little pet.

Together they can be vicious, normally they just enjoy basking with one another and their sweet little girlfriend tucked nice and comfy in between them. Soaking in one anothers warmth and just relaxing from a long day working soldiers through drills, avoiding attending church functions, and just being away from home.

However, when you are feeling a little more disobedient, like it just sounds like so much fun to push buttons, things change. It's not uncommon for Sara to come home first, check in on you immediately, and realize right away that you are being naughty. Whether she comes in to find you touching yourself without permission, maybe she asked you to clean a little and it still isn't done, or maybe you gave her some snark when she entered the room.

Silence is all she gives you, silence and a dead pan stare, offering you this one chance to apologize and be her good girl again. Of course you don't take it, cause you don't always make the best decisions in life. And you would swear its like lightning struck with how fast Sara crossed the room and had you pinned to a wall with her hand around your neck. Brows furrowed and eyes sharp as she leans in close to whisper how you should have just been obedient.

Hours later when your other girlfriend comes home, screaming echoes from the shared bedroom. Rosaria walks in to find you with her hands tied over your head, eagerly grinding against the very tip of Sara knee as she lashes a flogger over your ass, your thighs, anywhere it can reach, your hoarse and sore voice pleading and begging to please just be allowed to come just once, just one little orgasm. Your answer just being the next lash.

Its very easy for Rosaria to know what happened, and she knows better then to try and lessen the severity of your punishment. Instead opting to greet her other girlfriend, the two taking about their days as if you aren't even there, as if you aren't sobbing loudly not even feet away from them. Just as casually she will ask Sara what you did, no matter what the answer or how big or small your disobedience, Rosaria never tells her to be softer on you, no no no, she loves to see you like this just as much.

And its just a little bit too late for your brain to catch on that Rosaria is home before the searing hot feeling that burns all across your skin, is suddenly interrupted with the slow drag of icey cold fingers. Rosaria dragging her touch across your skin from your waist, up between your breasts, along the curve of your throat, and resting delicately over your cheek. Her voice husking in your ear as she practically purrs about how nice it is to see a bad girl being put in her place. Her cold fingers dragging back down, as she continues to prod at you with her words, teasing and cruel names pouring from her lips as her fingers just drag down lower and lower, resting at a stop just before reaching where you ache for her oh so badly.

And you can do your best to beg for forgiveness, though they will discuss with eachother about whether or not you deserve an orgasm at all, or just to be left denied the whole night, while the two of them enjoy as much as they want of everything that only good girls would get.

~🐁

OH MY GOD THERE IS RLY NOT MUCH I CAN ADD TO THIS, YOUVE DONE IT AGAIN

// not-sfw utc ~

i totally agree that this pair had too little patience for a brat. not to mention the fact that rosaria knows no forgiveness, and sara is familiar to only training—punishment is the only thing hanging by the tips of their fingers.

and by such fingers—to add onto previous punishments in which you detailed—are used to come crashing downwards in sets, right onto your red, battered ass along your cries. they’ve teased, they’ve overstimulated; but spanking is another thing these two love doing to you. it’s on particular moods, generally. it’s when they’ve r had a bay day, and their patience for you has run thinner then usual.

you’ll know the moment sara uses that grip of hers to pull you down, stomach sprawled over her legs, giving you no time to adjust before your pants are forcibly yanked down for her hand to come slapping down. and you’ll cry, you’ll wince, you’ll struggle to move, but she’s too strong.

rosaria is almost the same; but she’ll wear her metal rings just for you. even if she’s not wearing them that day, oh, don’t worry—she’ll put them on just for the occasion. she likes the way the intents of her metal make temporary marks on your skin, it leaves her little design there.

and on days they go at you at the same time? best to only imagine <3

AYO HAND OVER THE FREE CHEESECAKE 🤲

& similarly i get free cookies at my work, too !!

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 7 - Prompt: Beloved @jegulus-microfic

December Daily Series - 489 words.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Some people were content to observe the world as it circled around them, rather than engage with it. Regulus might be one of those people, but James wasn’t.

The longer he watched Regulus’s controlled, elegant choreography, the more he wanted to try it for himself. James wasn’t particularly graceful, but he was drawn to the rhythmic swish of Regulus’s hips to a beat that he couldn’t hear. When Sirius trailed off to the side of the rink, James redirected toward the centre.

He didn’t want to interrupt him, so he circled closer gradually until Regulus noticed. Once they made eye contact, James sped up and slipped in behind him. He followed Regulus’s lead and did his best to mimic the skater’s steps as they skated backwards in looping circles.

After a few turns, Regulus’s hips stiffened and his entire body tensed. James frowned, thrown off by the shift. He backed off to give the skater more room to move, but it didn’t seem to help.

Suddenly, Regulus skidded harshly on the ice. He swivelled around so fast that James didn’t have time to react and he crashed hard onto his bum. Staring up at the furious glare of Regulus Black made James feel rather small and bug-like.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

James offered an apologetic grin and held out his hand. “Trying your routine. It’s harder than it looks.”

Regulus scoffed, “You’re lucky I didn’t knock you flat for invading my path.”

“I mean, you kind of did.”

“That’s not my fault, you fell.”

James inhaled deeply and tried again. “Look, I’m sorry. I figured you could use a partner and-”

“Pardon?”

He scrunched his face when he heard how that came out. “I didn’t mean that you needed one, of course. Just that if you wanted one, I was available.”

“I skate alone.”

“Oh, alright.” James dropped his hand to his lap when it was clear that Regulus had no intention of helping him. “Got it.”

Regulus pulled his ear buds out and rolled them in his hand like dice. He still looked uncomfortable, and his voice was distinctly annoyed when he whispered, “Stand up. People are staring.”

“Yeah, right.”

James hauled himself upright and brushed off his bum. When he was steady on his skates again, he shoved his hands in his pockets and slid away as casually as possible.

“If you change your mind, I’m still available,” he tossed out with a half-hearted laugh.

The incredulous expression on Regulus’s face was answer enough. Any progress that he thought he’d made earlier was well and truly gone now. He was back at square one. Or, potentially negative one.

“Smooth. Really bloody smooth,” a girl snarked as she skated by, rolling her eyes.

James nodded and headed for the boards. Perhaps Regulus had the right idea after all. He would have been better off observing from afar instead of succumbing to his beloved zeal for action.

Next Part >>>

[ruthwritesalot]

What's My Age Again? Chapter 12

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Alex's POV

“You look excited,” Jamie said with a tone of sarcasm as we sat in the car. “Are you finally gonna ask Aaliyah out today?”

I didn’t love it, but at least casual snark was a step up from yelling. “Whatever,” I replied. “Just leave me alone.”

Jamie smirked. “I’m just wondering. Aren’t you worried she’s gonna meet someone else by the time you finally pull yourself together?”

I was a little worried about that, but I wasn’t gonna let Jamie know. “Okay, I am not taking dating advice from a fourteen-year-old,” I said, instead of answering.

“Hey, this fourteen-year-old has been in more relationships than you,” Jamie reminded me. I really wished he hadn’t.

After a few minutes of excruciating small talk with Jamie’s new friend’s mom (I commented on how nice her house was, and she said how it was nice of me to drop Jamie off), I parked across from a two-story house with a porch covered in flower pots. Aaliyah was sitting on it with two people who I assumed were her parents, and she quickly ran over when she saw me.

“Prepare yourself for a shit ton of small talk,” she warned me. “Blink twice if you need me to save you.”

I ended up only blinking a normal amount, because all they did was ask me what I was studying and offered me some of their homemade cookies. That was apparently already too much for Aaliyah, who dragged me away from them and apologized profusely as we went down the basement stairs.

“I don’t mind,” I assured her. “They seem really nice.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, right. You can be honest, you know.”

“I am being honest!” I protested, not entirely understanding what her problem was.

“Okay, whatever.” She clearly didn’t believe me.

I didn’t dwell on it once we got to her room, which was huge. “Wow, this is all yours?” I asked, almost incredulously. It looked like she had the entire basement to herself.

“Um, yeah,” she said uncomfortably, ducking into her walk-in-closet. I immediately felt like I’d said something wrong.

“It’s nice,” I said to make up for it. “Are these pictures of you?” I gestured to a row of photos of a little girl at various dance recitals, getting older as the pictures went on.

She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It’s all the recitals I’ve had since I started dance.”

“You’ve been there for a really long time.” She looked to be about five in the earliest pictures, taped on the wall over a small dresser in the corner.

“Yeah, I started in first grade. I only got serious about it around the time I started middle school, though.” She emerged from her closet triumphantly, holding a projector. “Can you help me stack these books? I don’t have a stand.”

We set up nine hardcovers in front of her bed and delicately placed the projector so it was facing her only bare wall.

“So when did you decide you wanted to teach?” I asked, sitting down on the corner of her bed.

“I don’t know exactly,” she admitted, expertly snaking the cord around the furniture. “Billie and I always talked about having our own studio, but it obviously wasn’t a serious plan when we were kids. Then it kind of just worked out, you know? Neither of us wanted to go to college, and then we realized how cool it would be to have a place in town that belonged to us. It’s not just about the studio, we want to have a kind of communal space. Like, the only queer spaces that exist in this town are bars, which sucked when I was underage.”

I frowned. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one. How old are you?” She eyed me curiously.

“Nineteen,” I admitted, my cheeks heating.

Aaliyah didn’t seem to think anything of it. “Well, I was a grade above Billie and Riley in school, so I’m the oldest,” she explained.

“Did you meet through dance, then?” I asked.

“Billie, yeah. I met Riley through her.” Finished with the projector, she sat down on the bed next to me, placing her hand so that our pinkies were just barely brushing against each other. She turned to face me and I pointedly looked over her shoulder at the wall, my heart pounding.

“Shouldn’t the others be here by now?” I asked nervously, trying to keep my voice level.

“No, they’re always at least twenty minutes late,” she explained. “We still have some time to ourselves.” She adjusted her pinky so it was resting on top of mine.

Was she saying what I thought she was saying? I forced myself to look at her and jerked a little in surprise when I realized she was close enough for me to count the sparkles she’d decorated her eyelids with today. Did she want me to kiss her? How would I even do that?

“Hey, how’s Jamie been getting along in class?” I asked, effectively breaking the moment.

She blinked in surprise, then pulled away and said in a voice that was much higher than usual, “Oh, he’s great!” She leaned back awkwardly, looking slightly embarrassed. The realization that I’d just sabotaged the only chance I was probably ever gonna get with her punched me in the gut. “Yeah, he’s already found his footing perfectly. I think he hit it off with Omar, they’ve been talking about hanging out.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s who’s house he’s at right now.”

“Really? That’s great,” she said, then an awkward silence fell over us.

I studied her bookshelf, painfully aware that she was watching me. There was an impressive amount of what looked to be theoretical texts, though I only recognized the name Marx. “Can I borrow this?” I asked, reaching for the thinnest book on the shelf. “I’ve always wanted to read it.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t seem as impressed as I’d envisioned, but at least she didn’t call my bluff. “Sure. Just be careful with it, it’s kind of falling apart.”

“Sure thing.” I carefully took Animal Farm by George Orwell off the shelf and placed it in my bag. We kept up the awkward small talk until Riley poked their head through the door, Billie right behind them. They’d both brought an abysmal amount of snacks that we started munching on straight away, only kind of making sure the crumbs didn’t get all over Aaliyah’s bed. I ended up squished between Aaliyah and Riley as the movie started.

I’d never given much thought to how I would die.

“Is that Anna Kendrick?” I asked when we got to the school scene. I was the only one who’d never seen it before.

“Yeah,” Billie said. “She looks like she’s being held hostage, doesn’t she?”

I thought all of the actors looked that way, but I didn’t say anything else until the Cullens were introduced. “Is that buff guy holding a sack of hard-boiled eggs?”

“Oh, there’s a backstory to that!” Billie said again, reaching over to pause the movie excitedly. “The eggs weren’t in the script. They were the actor’s actual lunch and Catherine Hardwicke thought it was so funny she made him carry them in the scene.”

I had to assume that Catherine Hardwicke was the director.

The rest of the movie went similarly, with Billie interrupting the most. “I just think it’s so dumb that they didn’t make Bella a half-vampire or something. They set it up with the her smelling blood thing, but instead she’s just a Mary Sue who has perfect vampire powers. It would have tied the whole series in such a perfect knot.”

“You know humans can smell blood though, right?” Riley pointed out. I’d been thinking the same thing.

“That’s not the point,” Billie said. “In the Twilight universe they can’t.”

Later she gave us gems like, “Did you know that Stephanie Meyer’s mother-in-law is named Victoria, and Jacob is one of her brothers? Because Jacob was only supposed to be like a little brother figure, but her editor said a love triangle would be better.”

And, “The Cullens are such white supremacist assholes. They settle on native land and refuse to leave, not giving a fuck that they’re traumatizing literal kids by making them turn into werewolves?”

“I didn’t know you were such a Twilight fan,” I said at one point, making Riley and Aaliyah share a look and Billie gear up for another speech.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a fan, exactly,” she explained. “I think it’s garbage, but it’s garbage in such a funny way. You know there’s a specific genre of fanfic that’s Twilight written by people who hate it, and it’s some of the best stuff ever written, because all the characters and the story have so much potential, Meyer just wasn’t a good enough writer to do her ideas justice.”

“Really? You’ll have to show me sometime.” I was genuinely curious. I’d rarely seen a person speak so passionately about a subject.

Billie beamed. “I can send you my favorite, it’s called The Movement of the Earth. I got it printed and bound as an actual book.”

Now that was commitment. I made a mental note to read the apparent masterpiece as thoroughly as I could.

Aaliyah moved a pile of snacks from her lap and said, “If you’re already pausing the movie, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

As soon as she was gone, I noticed a shift in the atmosphere as Riley and Billie both gave me the same amount of interest Billie had been giving the movie a few moments ago. They glanced at each other, then Billie cleared her throat and said in barely more than a whisper, “You know, you and Aaliyah have been spending a lot of time together.”

Now I understood what was going on. These people were dying for some gossip.

“Yeah, I guess,” was all I said.

“Is there anything like, going on?” Billie prodded.

I felt my face flush. “Why? Did she say something?”

They both groaned. “She won’t tell us anything,” Riley complained.

“But you think she likes me?” I asked. No matter how embarrassed I was, getting confirmation on the matter from her best friends couldn’t hurt.

Billie’s eyes gleamed. “So you do like her!”

“That’s not an answer,” I pointed out.

“Neither is yours,” Riley shot back, and Billie giggled.

“I mean, yeah. Everyone in a ten-mile radius can see that you like each other,” she informed me. “You should totally shoot your shot.”

I swallowed. “I don’t know. I think I might’ve messed things up a little earlier,” I admitted.

Billie raised her eyebrows. “Well-” she started, then stopped when we heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Aaliyah took her place beside me again, throwing her legs over mine. Eventually her head ended up tucked under my chin, which meant I spent the rest of the movie focused on the nice smell of her hair. What scent was her shampoo? Peach? Roses? Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Billie and Riley grinning at us, but I realized I didn’t mind as I absentmindedly traced along her arm, making her smile and look up at me from time to time.

When the movie was over, they both left suspiciously soon. Even Aaliyah seemed confused.

“Do you guys have something to do?” she asked as she hugged them goodbye.

“Yeah, we’re planning your birthday party,” Riley told her.

She accepted the obvious lie. As soon as they were gone, I got a text from Billie.

Billie: I don’t know what happened, but TRY AGAIN

I glanced at Aaliyah, who had her back turned to me as she put the rest of the books away.

Alex: How??? I’m not good at this stuff

I watched my phone anxiously as Billie typed, hoping she’d answer before Aaliyah noticed something was up.

Billie: Just ask her if she’s free whenever you’re free

“Hey, Aaliyah?” I asked.

“Yeah?” She didn’t turn around. It occurred to me that I could be helping her with the heavy books, but that seemed awkward now.

“Are you free on Friday?”

That got her attention. She looked at me. “Yeah, why?”

My heart pounded like I’d just chugged five Red Bulls, I said, “I thought maybe we could go out and do something.”

She smiled. “You mean like a date?”

“Yeah, like a date,” I confirmed.

“Sure.”

We stood there awkwardly until I decided it was time to leave. She hugged me goodbye in the basement, I suspected because she didn’t want to do it in front of her parents.

“Don’t tell me you actually did it,” Jamie said as he got in the car.

I didn’t indulge him. “Buckle your seatbelt.”

“Just tell me!” he insisted. “I want to know.”

After some consideration, I admitted, “Okay, maybe I did.”

He didn’t reply, his expression unreadable as he buckled his seatbelt after another pointed look from me. I pulled out of the parking spot.

 “How were things with Omar?” I asked, hoping to divert his attention to a different topic.

“Good,” he gushed, much to my surprise. “He’s really nice. So is his mom. She said she’d help me with my Spanish if I came over more often.”

“That’s nice of her.” Spanish was one of the many subjects Jamie was failing.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, disconnecting my phone from the car and to plug his in instead.

“Hey!” I said, not taking my eyes off the road.

“I only have 5 percent,” he argued. “I’ll put on our blended playlist, okay?”

I sighed. “Fine.”

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