#which again this was not but it's that in between feeling where i'm just like hmm idk

[supernovae-explosion]

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮? 𝟙𝟠+

I. II. III. .·:¨ Dividers | Masterlist ¨:·. 🔞 MDNI 🔞

Hello! To pick a pile please clear your mind and focus on the images above, whichever one speaks to you the most or you feel the most drawn to, this one is for you! If more than one speaks to you, feel free to read both. Remember to take only what resonates with you 🌠 If you enjoyed this reading please like and reblog, it's very appreciated <3

PILE I.

In their eyes, you are a walking goddess, everything they ever dreamt of, their soulmate. They feel it very intensively which makes them willing to fight for you. You are what they were asking for the universe, and they finally found it, they for sure are not letting you go. I can feel this possessive energy coming from them. It’s like they fantasize about chanting under their breath “mine mine mine” while you guys enjoy each other. The way you walk and present yourself, the way you take care of yourself has a big effect on them it really turns them on. Your initial indifference and playing hard to get when you meet makes them very riled up, they want to fight for you, make you theirs. They want to explore you, not only your body, but your mind – all the secrets, every detail about you and how you think, it makes them excited. They have this dominating energy, but whenever you come up they get more submissive, I really feel like they would be into worshipping you and your body, pleasing you as much as they can. They are really into this, you are a prize in their eyes and winning you over is the most satisfying thing they can do, they can’t help themselves. They might want to spoil you with gifts, in their mind it would help a lot with winning you over, no matter how much things would cost I feel like they would go with it just to satisfy you.

Songs: Telepatía by Kali Uchis | Dark Red by Steve Lacy | National Anthem by Lana Del Rey

PILE II.

This may be a third party situation or a secret relationship type of beat. What I'm seeing for sure here is that being sneaky and keeping it a secret is really working on their excitement – I’m seeing a scenario where you two sneak out of the party to the bathroom to enjoy yourselves, the danger of being found out makes it thrilling, exciting, which turns them on even more. They might be into kissing your neck a lot, or even biting it, they like it rough. You really pushed this person to the edge, they see you as this never stopping, powerful individual. There’s this weird connection between the two of you, this may be a karmic relationship. On a lighter note, it seems like you are a light in the tunnel for them, they may feel alone and unappreciated in this current situation they are in but you bring this excitement and will for a new beginning into their life again. They really give off this capricorn energy, maybe they have some planets in it, or they are ruled by saturn? This will be a sign that this pile is for you. Your inner strength and determination makes them feel ways they didn’t feel before, it’s very dangerous and alluring and it makes them go crazy with want. They may have options around them, but you take all their attention, you have this magnetic pull on them and their instincts.

Songs: So High by Doja Cat | See You Again by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis | I Don’t Wanna Talk (I Just Wanna Dance) by Glass Animals

PILE III.

Your creativity, your strategical thinking, how easy it all is for you, how you to make friends without breaking a sweat. They see you as this wise advisor, someone who’s good at everything, who is willing to help and support them in each single endeavor. Someone who thinks before they act. They really admire you, they might have a gemini venus, this really screams at me that your intellect is turning them on, sapiosexual is the word I was looking for. The way you are so well put together, how you have things figured out, the amount of hard work you put in everything you do - this is really working wonders on them, they really admire you I’m so serious right now. They want to see you succeed and I think they might be even more proud about it than you haha! They might be more into traditional sex, full of affection and love, showing you how much and how strong they actually feel for you. If they were to try new things I think they might be into you dominating them. There’s a part in this connection where I feel like they might feel like they’re worse than you. I know the question was different but that’s what I’m seeing and I feel like it needs to be said, I wish you all the best.

Songs: Hot Sugar by Glass Animals | Peppers by Lana Del Rey | WUSYANAME by Tyler, The Creator

[witherby]

With Dick being so angry about Conner breaking in i could only imagine how chatic him actually meeting Conner would be, like having to keeo him in one of those kiddie keashes or he‘ll try to kill the guy 😭

A 17 year restrianing a whole adult man with one of those kid harnesses

Honestly? Yeah. Gimme some genuinely angry Nightwing every once in a while. Let that parentified man get some of that pent-up rage out!!!

The Littlest Wayne: Meet the Family

Masterlist is Here!

Conner opens his eyes and sits up when he hears you step into his room. He stares at you incredulously, then at the darkness and the way it seamlessly folds and bends to your will.

"You're invulnerable?" You ask him.

"Yes?" He responds, confused. It's just past eleven at night, and you've shown up out of nowhere to chat when the only other time you've spoken was when he came to your room three days ago. "A bullet bounces off me at point-blank range. Feels like somebody flicked me with their finger, at most."

"Okay," you say, looking nervous, "because my family found out you broke into the house to talk to me, and they're, like, super livid. I just came to give you fair warning because they might, uh, try to kill you."

Conner chuckles. Your face doesn't change. He stops chuckling.

"What, you're serious?"

"They're looking for their stashes of Kryptonite right now. I hid most of it, but they probably have more I don't know about. Just...be prepared. And don't kill any of them, or you'll have to hide from me, next."

The shadows in his room curl around you again. You step into them and allow darkness to envelop you completely.

"Bye, Conner."

"Um," he blurts, cheeks reddening, "same. I mean, bye. Goodbye to you, too."

He hears you snort in amusement before you're gone again. Conner is then left alone to process, 1, that you were concerned for his well-being enough to come warn him about your family, and 2, that he made you laugh.

He can't sleep the rest of the night, giddy with the swell of adoration he has for you.

--

The next time Luthor has him leave the facility to do his job as Superman, it's when the first Superman has to go off-world again over a month later. Conner stops a bank heist, saves some hostages, puts out a fire, and helps a child find her parents when she wanders too far off in the mall.

Then he meets your youngest sibling.

His moniker is Robin. The implanted information helps Conner identify him immediately, which helps him realize that Robin should not be in Metropolis, and especially not in full costume. Alarm bells are ringing in his head.

"I was warned you might show," Conner says, hovering in the air as he looks down at Robin.

"Then you know what you've done wrong," Robin calls back, unsheathing a sword from his back and pulling a batarang out of his pocket. "Come here and face the consequences."

"I'm fine where I'm at, thanks."

"It wasn't a request, Superboy."

"Superman," Conner frowns.

Robin sneers. "Not from what I see."

Conner feels a flare of anger surge within him. What was the big deal? He just needed to see you. He didn't hurt you — he would never dare — just stopped by your home to talk. And you did the same thing! Why some human with an eye mask and a sword feels like they can berate him for that, he doesn't know, but he's not going to take it lying down.

Faster than Robin can blink, Conner snatches the weapons from his hands and tosses them aside, then flips his cape over his head with a sneer.

"Go home, sidekick," Conner says. "I don't have time for this."

"I do."

Something hits Conner's back. It actually hurts, which is the surprising thing, and he yelps as a man in black and blue spandex descends upon him and starts beating him with a pair of escrima sticks. He falls to his knees, overwhelmed by a brand new sensory input he hasn't experienced before, then brings his arms up to shield his head and curls up further.

Nightwing, his brain registers between the blows. But according to his knowledge base, the man is usually not this violent. He always pulls back from an opponent when they duck down or hit the ground, and Conner is practically in fetal position. His sticks are glowing green, which is not a good sign. Conner feels sick.

"Oh, shit — hey, he's on the ground, pull it back!"

"This wasn't the plan, Nightwing, cool it —"

"I think he's doing great. Let him get a few more swings in."

"Robin you're not helping!"

"Seriously, get off him!"

Conner groans and gasps in pain. His whole body feels like it's on fire. There's sounds of a scuffle happening above him, but he picks up on someone else's shaky breathing a few yards away.

He cracks an eye open and spots a civilian half-hidden around the corner, filming everything happening.

The birds want to come to Metropolis and mess with him? Well, two can play at that game. They're about to be hated by the masses for touching the city's new golden boy.

Conner makes a panicked expression, lifts his arm and waves it in a sweeping motion, and starts shaking his head.

"R-run," he wheezes, "go, get away from here, get to safety!"

"What's he — shit! HEY, C'MERE!" Nightwing gasps, pointing at the civilian. The woman turns and darts into the building she was hiding by, fingers flying across her screen like lightning. "God dammit! Red Robin, can you —"

"I can't," the third figure standing by him says, sounding just as stressed. Conner recognizes both him and the Red Hood's silent figure, who had been physically holding Nightwing back from continuing to swing on him. Robin tsks and presses a few buttons on his gauntlet.

"We'll need to retreat and prepare to do damage control. The batmobile is coming, ETA 30 seconds. What do we do with him?" Robin kicks Conner's arm.

"We can't leave the kid. He's got Kryptonite poisoning and we dunno where his boss is to dump him for medical help," Red Robin says, crossing his arms and sighing. "We gotta take him with us and get the shards out."

"I say leave him anyway. It's just a couple pieces, and if he's as stupidly strong as the real Supes, he'll walk this off," Red Hood suggests.

"We wouldn't have to debate this if Nightwing had kept his cool," Robin grouches. Nightwing has the good graces to look chagrined and tucks his sticks away.

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking about...I'm sorry. C'mon, B will skin is alive if he finds out we left him for dead. Get him in the car."

They're about to abduct him, now, too? Conner almost laughs at the absurdity. All of this, just for paying you a visit? It's madness. But then he imagines some other stranger breaking into your room to talk to you, to touch you, to hurt you, and has to focus his energy to not start burning everything with his laser vision. It's not really absurd anymore. If he could draw a full breath without feeling like white-hot knives are slicing his vary atoms apart, Conner would attempt to explain himself. But he can't, so he doesn't.

He doesn't resist when two of them lift him and start loading his body into the back of a sleek, black vehicle. Metropolis' threats have been neutralized for today, so he technically doesn't need to stay in town. Instead, he closes his eyes and allows himself to drift.

They're taking him to Gotham, which is where you live. He has no qualms with that.

[lunammoon]

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook? Probably something that they can put in food. Like Basil or Rosemary. Just not mint because they already have Too Much in a way that anyone who has planted mint will understand. Harding still tries to give them mint. Again, for reasons anyone who has grown mint can understand.

Do they like Harding's cooking? Harding's Yam and Jam slams are not that bad, but Harding gets bonus points for the thoughtfulness of the gesture more than anything. During the first couple of months where Ezra is legitimately trying to figure out how to separate Lucanis and Spite after the first attempt, but before the second and last attempt (because if anyone could do it without hurting either of them they're sure that they could) in trying to express how fucked up what Zara did to them was on a purely metaphysical level says calls the Ossuary experiments "Facinating in the same way that what Harding does to potatoes is fascinating. "

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook? I'm torn between some kind of cat, and some kind of dog. If it's a dog, then it's specifically a grim.

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin? Ezra loves the fresh air and the sunshine and the way Arlathan feels alive. They also enjoy spending time with Davrin and Assan. Sometimes they'll invite him out instead of waiting for him to invite them.

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case? Things related to spirits but unrelated to the deceased. Particularly blood magic, which is used to bind spirits to objects. In like, an au where Ezra is Ezra and not Rook, and Neve was hired by Caterina to locate her grandson (maybe in a timeline where the Inquisitor and Varric successfully talk Solas down long before the 9:51) and she had picked up enough info to know what was happening down there, she would have asked Ezra to assist.

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish? No. While fish is the only meat they eat and they basically only eat if if they're out in the wilderness and it's the easiest food to access. They tried it once since they'd already been given to them by Neve and didn't particularly like them.

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen? They might join in if it intersects with something that they know about. Or if they're helping Bellara work out an issue. Otherwise, they just sit and listen. They like to listen to Bellara work through a problem.

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together? Yes. Ezra goes out of their way to find good ones for them to read with, as many containing happy endings as they can.

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks? I don't know what the exact dish is, but it's either some kind of stew or some kind of pastry stuffed with vegetables.

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market? An empty notebook small enough to fit in their coat pockets. They end up filling it entirely with information pertaining to helping him and Spite. It's a coincidence that it's the notebook Lucanis gave them mind you. They just need a separate notebook for it since the plan is that when they're done they give the notebook to Lucanis to either keep or burn instead of submitting the contents to the Mourn Watch as part of their research like they normally do.They don't want Lucanis to feel like a thesis project.

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best? The Vinsomer. They are correct.

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often? Yes absolutely. Ezra doesn't drink much, but Spirits like them and so they'll sit and talk with them for a while.

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte? They adore it.

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook? If Ezra is making themself tea, it's always mint. But I feel in my heart that if Emmrich is making it, then the answer is a strong black tea. Something so strong that they can taste it and nothing else.

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down? Davrin - When Ezra is reaching a point where it seems like they're going to lose it, Davrin will come up with some excuse why the three of them (Davrin, Rook, Assan) need to go to Arlathan forest so that they can Touch Grass.

Small Rook & Companion Questions:

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook?

Do they like Harding's cooking?

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook?

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin?

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case?

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish?

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen?

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together?

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks?

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market?

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best?

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often?

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte?

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook?

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down?

[pickingupmymercedes]

The Weight of Saudade - Lewis Hamilton

genre: fluff with hints of angst

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Brazilian!Reader!

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Axé inspired fic because I'm missing Brasil. If you want to check the song it's Nobre Vagabundo sung by Daniela Mercury.

a/n 2: Axé is in iorubá (african language), it means the light in every living being, and it's used in a few parts of Brasil as a greeting. But it's also a brazilian rhythm with some of the most angsty gorgeous lyrics on love, even with its upbeat feel (my favourite cup of tea tbh)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Time never asks if you’re ready as it goes on.

It just slips through your fingers, quiet and indifferent, moving forward whether you’ve had enough of the moment or not.

Ironically, I’ve spent quite a while thinking about that; how much of my life is spent watching the clock, counting down days until Lewis comes home, then counting down again until he has to leave.

It’s a cruel kind of math, measuring love in stretches of time apart instead of time together.

London is dull this time of year. Grey, drizzly, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again.

Lewis, though, is warmth is human form.

His weight is solid against me, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of my sweater where his head rests on my lap. His braids tickle my fingers as I absently trace circles at the nape of his neck, just over the tape covering his muscles, stiff from testing.

It’s been nearly a month of him in Maranello, and sure, I flew out when I could—weekends, stolen days between meetings—but it wasn’t the same.

I felt it every time I left, the cold settling each time I packed my bag to fly back. And now that he’s finally here, draped across me in the soft, lazy light of a London afternoon, I don’t want to move.

Outside, the rain taps soft against the soil. I watch it run down the glass, curling my toes under the blanket spread over us.

Without even thinking, I start humming, letting a familiar melody slip past my lips.

Lewis shifts slightly, one hand resting on my thigh as his phone buzzes against his palm. He doesn’t say anything at first, just listens, and I’m halfway through the chorus before I feel his fingers slide over mine.

“What’s that you’re singing?” His voice is thick with the sleepiness of finally being back in his own space after too long away.

Damn. I was not prepared for a pop quiz on my own nostalgia

“It’s, uh—” I clear my throat, buying time. How the hell am I supposed to translate this? It’s axé. You don’t explain axé; you feel it. “It’s a song,” I say, extremely helpfully.

Lewis laughs, turning his face slightly so I can see his smirk. “Yeah, babe, I figured that much.” His thumb is still sweeping over my hand, coaxing, patient.

I groan. “I mean, it’s—okay, hold on.” I take a breath. “It’s kind of about time. And love. And—” I make a vague gesture with my free hand— “you know. Life.”

He tilts his head up to look at me. “That’s vague as hell.”

“Because it is vague as hell,” I huff, but he just waits, smiling like he knows I’ll give in. Which, fine. I always do.

I hesitate for a second. Not because I don’t want to tell him, but because some things always sound different when you strip them down to another language.

More vulnerable.

And It’s funny—if I were talking to someone who knew the language, I wouldn’t even have to explain. They’d just get it. But here, with Lewis watching me so intently, I feel like I have to get it exactly right.

“Alright” I shake my head, but my fingers are still in his hair, softening the edges of my reluctance as search the song on my phone and let it play.

I start translating it as the song plays in the background. “How much time do I have… to kill this saudades?”

His brows draw together slightly. “Saudades” He rolls the word around his mouth like he’s tasting it again.

I nod. “My love, this jealousy—it’s just vanity. If you run away, time will soon bring anxiety. To breathe love, aspiring freedom.”

I peek at him, half expecting him to be confused, but he just nods, his expression open. So I go on, the words thick in my throat.

“I have a crazy life… and try to lead the world. I live from deep love. I perish in time. And I live for a second. Forgive me, my love, for being this noble vagabond.’”

Silence stretches between us for a moment, just the hum of the song, rain and the city outside.

And the quietness makes me feel absurdly self-conscious. I mean, I just translated a whole damn song in a overcast London afternoon to a man who knows about 5 words in Portuguese.

Lewis, as always, doesn’t let me sit in it too long. He squeezes my hand gently. “That’s beautiful” he murmurs.

I exhale, rolling my eyes a little, but he doesn’t let me dodge.

“It’s on wanting time to slow down” I say after a moment. “So you can actually be in it. So you don’t have to spend half of it missing what’s not even gone.”

Lewis watches me, his gaze steady in that way that makes me feel like he sees through my ribcage. “Yeah?”

I nod. “It’s one of the many meanings of saudades.”

His lips curve. “One of my favorite words I’ve learned from you.”

I smile, tilting my head. “Yeah, and what’s the second?”

His fingers tighten slightly over mine before answering in the most Rio de Janeiro accent you’ve heard in years. “Gostoso” (hot as in attractively hot)

And you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as he smirks “Oh, shut up.” I flick his forehead, but he just laughs, eyes crinkling.

His face then softens, and he nods like he gets it. Like it makes perfect sense. “It always gets me how y’all manage to fit the deepest feelings in two paragraphs.”

I laugh, breathy and real, shaking my head. “It’s a skill.”

Lewis’ gaze darkens, his thumb stroking along my skin. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I get the feeling.”

I glance down at him, not even letting the words settle before I say them “I’m already with saudades of the time I’ll have to be away from you.”

But as soon as I say it I can’t the sigh, shifting slightly underneath him. “It’s stupid, right? We’re here. You’re home. And I’m still thinking about the next time you’ll have to leave.”

Lewis turns fully onto his back now, looking up at me. “It’s not stupid.” His voice is quiet, firm. “I think about it too.”

I don’t say anything for a second, just run my nails lightly over his scalp. “Ferrari’s making you happy, though,” I say, because it’s true. He’s been buzzing about it for weeks, despite the grueling testing schedule, despite the stress. And I love that for him. I do.

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah. It’s been good. Crazy, but good. The car feels promising. And Maranello’s…” He trails off, exhaling. “It’s a dream, honestly.”

I smile, brushing a braid back from his forehead. “See? Worth it.”

His fingers find mine again. “Yeah. But still.” He lifts our joined hands slightly. “I always feel saudades of being away from you.” His smile tilts. “Did I use that right?”

A soft laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Almost.” I brush a finger on his cheek. “But the feeling is right.”

Lewis hums, pleased with himself. His other hand slides up, pressing against my ribs, a slow, absentminded caress. “So what do we do about it?”

I sigh theatrically. “Dunno. Run away to Brazil. Hide out somewhere warm.”

His grin is immediate. “Sold.”

I roll my eyes, but his fingers tighten at my side, tugging me down slightly. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, voice lower now, lips brushing just beneath my jaw. “Just me and you, yeah?”

My breath catches for half a second.

God, this man.

I tip my head, letting my nose brush the top of his ear. “Just me and you” I whisper.

Lewis hums in agreement, tracing lazy circles on my wrist with his thumb. Then, after a moment, he tilts his head back at me, smirking “You’re gonna have to translate funk to me one day.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah, not a change.”

I tilt my head, watching the way his lips twitch like he already knows where I’m going with this. “But I can show you.”

He lifts a brow, amused. “Yeah?”

I wink. “Yeah.”

His laugh rumbles against my skin as he sit up and looks at me like a kid who’s been told there’s candy.

The warmth of the moment muffles the biting cold, and for now, just for this moment, it’s more than enough.

_____________________________________________________________

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If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[paulyenvol6]

Perfect For You

Joel Miller x female!reader / No outbreak AU

You are Joel's affair and can't keep your hands off him during a garden party at his house which ends in a heated encounter in his bedroom... This is basically just filthy smut lol. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, rough oral sex (m receiving), crying, thigh riding, orgasm denial, dirty talk, dumbification, very degrading and objectifying, mean and dom Joel, soft!dom Joel in the end, begging, spitting, age gap, reader is in her 20s and Joel is in his 50s, daddy kink, cursing, Joel cheating on his wife with you

Wordcount: ~6.37k

Masterlist

Joel should've known.

He should've known from the second his wife had come up with this stupid idea that this wouldn't end well. But of course his mind had gone blank at the sound of your name, and perhaps the fear of saying anything that might reveal the nature of his relationship with you, so he had just nodded and dropped his eyes to his breakfast. No wonder Kate had been confused.

'You don't think it's a good idea to invite her? I think she's lovely and I thought that the two of you were going along well,' she had said and Joel had wanted to smack his head against the table.

'No, no, hon, I think it's a good idea. Sorry, I'm just a l'il tired.' Kate had smiled and kissed him on his cheek and then matter was finished. For her.

Joel on the other hand hadn't been able to stop thinking about the upcoming garden party and had felt torn between regretting his approval and his desire to see you on the weekend. The last couple of weeks had been stressful and there had barely been any time to see, let alone fuck you and his body was hungry for your touch.

But at the same time it was always risky when there were more people around, especially his wife. Joel simply couldn't control himself around you; he felt like a teenage boy that only had sex on his mind and as much as he enjoyed to feel that way about somebody again, he knew how dangerous it could possibly be. Kate couldn't find out about this and although he currently spent most of his free time thinking about you, he wouldn't risk his marriage.

But that was how Joel had ended up where he was right now. Sitting on a chair in the garden beneath the warm sun, his hand resting on his wife's thigh and his thoughts with you.

He just couldn't help it. You looked too pretty in that little flower dress that definitely revealed too much skin for his liking, especially considering that you had spent a suspiciously large amount of time chatting with another of Kate's co-workers, Ian. 'At least he's her age,' Joel thought bitterly and toyed with his fork.

"Honey?" a voice suddenly cut through the air and his head quickly turned around fearing that he had stared at you too obviously.

"Yes?" Joel asked gently squeezing Kate's thigh.

"I was just asking if you could hand me the water."

He nodded a little too fast but reached out to grab the bottle and of course his eyes fell on you again while doing so. He felt the urge to curse something or someone and first and foremost you because why did you have to look so sexy and cute today? Joel wanted to crash or kick something, anything to get rid of the accumulated tension in his body as his eyes automatically ran over your curves. He would give anything to be inside of you right now and he felt his pants painfully squeezing his cock at this very thought.

'This is not good,' the panicky voice in his head reminded him and he quickly tried to think of something else. Something disgusting perhaps but he couldn't help himself. All he could see in front of his eyes was you.

A week ago when he had fucked you on the couch during Kate's business trip. Your legs spread wide, your pussy on display for him and your little hands clutching his shirt in frustration because he had teased the shit out of you.

And then he saw how you had looked on your knees for him when you had visited him at work. After the two of you had hooked up for the first time and after he had been over his regrets and doubts realizing that not seeing you again wasn't an option, Joel had set clear rules such as not meeting you at his work place. But after he had realized how difficult it was to see each other without getting caught it had been a matter of days until he had allowed you to visit him. It was a quick fuck and definitely hadn't satisfied him entirely but it was better than nothing.

"Your mind really is elsewhere today, mhm?" his thoughts were interrupted once more but this time it was Tommy.

"Sorry. Did you say something?" Joel demanded to know and swiftly turned his attention back to the food on his plate.

"No. I was just noting that you seem absent. Everything alright?"

He prayed that Kate to his left wouldn't notice the bulge in his pants because it certainly would be hard to explain while he tried to come up with an answer.

"Yes I'm fine. Just thinkin' 'bout work."

"Oh Christ, Joel. You need to grant yourself some joy, okay? You can't always make everythin' perfect, you know that, right?" Tommy determindely looked in his eyes and Joel would have almost broken into a smile.

He did grant himself enough joy and that was the core of this whole problem. He should forget you, start treating you like what you were, his wife's co-worker, and be grateful to have such a caring and kind wife. Instead there he was daydreaming about a girl almost 30 years his junior like Kate didn't even exist. He really was an awful person but the worst part was that Joel didn't intend to change anything about it.

It got even worse because the longer he spent sitting by the table, you in a dangerous 5 meter radius of him, the clearer it became that he wouldn't be able to pass the day like this. He needed you the way he needed air and soon Joel would suffocate.

"Excuse me for a moment," Joel finally pressed, and given his friends' confused reactions, it had come out at a bad time.

"Alright, sure," Kate nevertheless smiled and patted his hand. At this point he didn't care about anything anymore but just rushed to the backdoor which probably looked odd. Joel had decided that it would be best to quickly jerk off in the bathroom and then return once he was feeling fine again because the way he acted right now only drew the attention to him.

Almost blind with lust he stumbled into the house and rushed to the kitchen to splash some cold water in his face which wasn't only helpful to get a clear head but was also very comfortable considering the hot weather.

He was just drying his face, starting to feel like a normal human being again when he heard a noise behind him. Joel abruptly turned around so the person behind him jolted but quickly collected herself to smile at him.

"Joel. Are you alright?"

Of course it was you and he cursed himself for feeling this instinctive tightness in his chest hinting at the fact that you were just the person he wanted to see right now. Which was so fucking wrong.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just go back to the party," he mumbled already turning around with the intention to leave the kitchen but you were quicker and held him back by placing a hand on his arm.

"Where are you going?"

He rolled his eyes feeling the familiar tightness in his pants again and just prayed that neither you or anyone else who might come to the kitchen now would notice it.

"To the bathroom. Go now, the others are probably waiting."

"Joel," you said quietly and a cease appeared between his eyebrows.

"What?" he spitted almost feeling a little bad for being so harsh with you but what else was he supposed to do? He needed a moment alone and, frankly, you were getting on his nerves.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Jesus…," he sighed and rubbed over the lower half of his face. "Yes I am. It's just the heat."

He gently and yet firmly removed your hand from his arm but you had a determined look on your face as you stepped in his way once more.

"But maybe I'm not."

Joel frowned resting his hands on his hips as he looked you up and down. "Y'look fine to me."

A little smile formed on your lips that looked so goddamn kissable right now that he had to shake his head to remind himself of the current circumstances.

"I need you. I need you so badly, Joel and I can't go back outside now. Please."

His heart sank into his legs at your words and he felt such an indescribable anger and desire at the same time. He wanted to shake you until he had reminded you of the consequences of what you had just said but he couldn't deny the way his body reacted to you. 'I need a clear head now,' he said to himself as he closed his eyes, then grabbed your upper arms and pushed you through the kitchen door in the floor so that any guests entering the house wouldn't see you.

"Have you lost your fuckin' mind?" he gritted his teeth and watched the way you squirmed with satisfaction. But you were yet to give in and instead pleaded him with your eyes.

"I'm gonna lose my mind if you don't do anything, Joel."

"You know how risky this is? My wife is in this fucking house. Collect yourself and then go outside, for god's sake."

He placed a hand on your back to push you towards the kitchen again but you stubborn little creature clung to his arms as if life depended on it and gave him these puppy eyes that never failed to make his knees wobbly.

"I don't care. We can go upstairs and then no one will hear."

He scoffed clasping a hand around your chin as he patronisingly lifted his eyebrows.

"How about you use your brains for once in your fucking life? Do you think nobody will notice us being away for so long?"

You let out something that sounded like a little desperate whine and as angry and frustrated he was with you right now there was also a part of him that was satisfied and smug about how needy you were for him. Joel was certain you were close to begging him on your knees and the animalistic side of him enjoyed this show so much that he wished you would refuse to leave just for a little bit longer.

"I don't care… fuck… You can't make me go back, please. It's aching and I… I just need you."

His grip on your chin tightened and his eyes spat fire at you remembering how risky and precarious everything about this was.

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up and get yourself together. Stop acting like a needy slut and behave yourself."

He had expected you to be intimidated by his powerful words but something shifted in your expression and you glared at him a lot more confident now.

"I know you want it too. You can't lie to me, Joel. What's the fucking problem? We both want it and we'll feel better afterwards."

"The problem is that my wife is a few feet away from us and I think even you are smart enough to understand what's gonna happen when she finds out."

You bit your lip unaware of what it did to Joel and stomped with your feet.

"She's not gonna find out. We'll be quick."

Suddenly he felt the urge to wrap a hand around your throat and choke you until you would finally shut up and he knew he really had to get you away from him now because he didn't know what he might do otherwise.

"Go. Now. I'm not gonna repeat myself."

"Then don't," you shrugged your shoulders and suddenly pulled away from him. You leaned against the wall licked over your lips and then slightly, just about an inch, lifted the hem of your already inappropriately short dress.

"Y/n, I swear to god…"

"You can have it," you interrupted him brushing with your thumb over your soft skin while looking right into his eyes. "You just need to take it. I'll be at your mercy doing anything you want me to."

All Joel was capable of hearing was his own heavy breathing and all he could see was those perfect legs that he wanted to bite and caress so badly. And then a switch in his brain flipped and every rational thought was replaced by the need to claim you.

Without saying a word, he grabbed your arm and dragged you along, not caring if he hurt you. For some reason he was still so goddamn pissed. He probably projected the anger directed at himself on you just to have someone to be mad at.

Joel took you upstairs and then shoved you into his bedroom immediately locking the door behind him and raised his hand as you intended to speak up.

"Shut it. I don't wanna hear any noise coming out of your mouth, have I made myself clear? I'm gonna fuck you and use you 'cause that's what you asked for 'n' if I hear any complaining I'll be out of here."

You nodded with big eyes but it was clear that you were beyond satisfied with the way things were going right now. "Yes."

"Good."

He took a big step towards you, pushed you to the wall and then his rough hands started to undress you by pulling the thin straps of your dress over your shoulders. When the fabric gathered around your waist and your bare chest was revealed he let out a growl and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for fuck's sake, you're kiddin' me… You're tellin' me you walked around here with no bra on? Have you gone fuckin' insane?"

You slightly arched your back to press yourself closer to him offering him free access to your upper body, but Joel wasn't done yet and refused to touch you.

"You can't do stuff like that, y/n. Is it that hard to understand? I know that you don't care but I have a fuckin' wife, okay? And if you continue to walk around my house in front of her eyes dressed like a cheap little whore and throw yourself against me she's gonna find out. 'Cause she might not be as pretty as you but she's a lot smarter than you."

He didn't know what kind of answer he expected but as he didn't get one Joel just sighed and then finally took a closer look at your body and instantly felt more blood rushing to his center. He quietly cursed to himself and then roughly grabbed your left breast while rubbing with his thumb over your right nipple.

"Oh fuck me," he grunted his mouth coming down to your temple to kiss your pulse point. "That's all you're fuckin' good for. Looking pretty f'me an' doing as you're told. And you enjoy it way too much, babygirl."

He felt how you buckled against his hands and craved to just slide into you and pound into you until you were so tired and exhausted that you would stay still already. But for now he enjoyed how your breasts felt against his hands and contently listened to your little whines and whimpers that sounded like the sweetest piece of music to his ears.

Soon his jeans felt so tight around him that it felt like they were about to burst so he decided to change something about it.

"Get on your knees," he commanded you who looked like you were waking up from a delicious dream when he stopped kneading your flesh but instantly obeyed and quite literally fell to your knees in front of him.

For the first time Joel chuckled quietly and almost lovingly caressed your hair.

"What a sweet 'n obedient little toy I've gotten myself. You're just so eager to please your daddy, mhm? You think s'good enough? You think daddy will be proud of you for dropping to your knees like some filthy slut?"

Your round eyes almost questioningly stared up to him and Joel couldn't help himself and yanked your head back further.

"You're doin' this for everyone, huh? Are you also fallin' to your knees for your co-workers? For… what was his name again… Ian?"

Your bottom lip trembled looking intimidated but yet so eager to finally get to work.

"N-No. I only do it for you, daddy."

Joel grinned with delight at his view and then started to undo his belt.

"I know. 'Cause these boys wouldn't know how to handle you. They wouldn't know what to do with all of this, ain't that right?"

"Yes, daddy. Only you can do it, please. Please I need your cock so badly."

You had grabbed his thighs and Joel once again wondered how he had gotten so lucky. Not just the fact that such a lovely and pretty girl like you enjoyed getting fucked by an old man like him but you were literally begging him to let you suck him off. He couldn't highlight it too often, he was old. Way too old to have you in this position for him right now and definitely too old to be worshipped like this. Maybe he just wasn't the only one of the two of you that was fucked in the head. Maybe you actually needed him to degrade you just as much as he needed to own and ruin you.

"Stick your tongue out," Joel said, the horniness clearly showing in his voice.

You obeyed and this image of you kneeling in front of him made him realize that he wouldn't last long. He gathered some spit in his mouth and then let it fall down on your flat tongue.

"Keep it there," were his next words and he observed you precisely while finally pulling down his jeans along with his boxers so his dick was freed and Joel let out a satisfied sigh.

You clearly expected him to tell you to swallow his spit now and were narrowing his eyes when he instead reached to a drawer next to him to search for something. When he had found what he was looking for he turned to you again and pulled the hair tie on his wrist. Joel towered over you, collecting all your hair and then tying it back into a ponytail so it wouldn't distract you while you were getting fucked in the mouth. When he was done he curiously glanced in your open mouth and raised his eyebrows noticing that it seemed like you had accidentally swallowed his spit.

"M'sorry," you breathed but were cut off as Joel slammed his cock into your mouth and you almost lost your balance gripping his thighs to support yourself. He heard a muffled cry but he prevented you from pissing him off further by silencing you with his cock and observed your struggling with relish.

"There you go… So fuckin' desperate to get that slutty mouth fucked."

To say your mouth felt good around him was an understatement. It was his own personal paradise. This was the best he had felt in a while and if he hadn‘t been so close to coming already he would've stayed here forever. Your lips wrapped tightly around his shaft while your throat welcomed you so wonderfully that he knew exactly how much you savoured this as well despite all this complaining and whimpering.

The only thing that he still craved right now was to see you choke on his thick cock and perhaps even coax a few tears out of you and so he went deeper although it felt like there wasn't any space left. You wriggled and jolted away but Joel's hand was firm around your ponytail holding you in place for him.

"This is what you fuckin' asked me for so you're gonna take all of it until I'm satisfied. Just let it all out. S'alright if it's messy, don't you worry about that. It's exactly what daddy wants. I wanna see you realize what you are. A plaything… a stupid fuckin' doll."

He was so deep inside you now that it felt almost unnatural, and for a moment he was genuinely worried that he had pushed you too far, but when he slightly backed out you coughed and squirmed in his grip so he knew you were just struggling a little. Joel remained like this getting off on the way your eyes squeezed in fear every time he went a little deeper before pulling back again and perhaps he was an awful person for doing it but humiliating you and toying with your emotions just turned him on.

He wanted your powerless beneath him. Utterly surrendered to him and fully submitted to his touch. He wanted you dependent on him even if it meant fucking you during a garden party in his bedroom because he was the only one who could satisfy you.

The moment that he saw how you were getting used to his little movements inside of your mouth and stopped twitching he decided to teach you another lesson and thrusted in you with so much force that you let out a cry that was way too loud but luckily muffled by his cock.

"Shut up. I swear to god, I'll kick you out if you can't control yourself."

He fucked your mouth at a punishing pace now hitting the back of your throat every time and in any other case he might have felt bad just a little bit but today his frustration and anger at you took over and made him come to the conclusion that you deserved every last bruise and hurt after having begged him like that in his kitchen.

The noises the two of you produced were filthy and obscene and as was the picture. Your gagging and retching, the wet slapping of his balls against your face, the sound of his cock sliding past your lips and the drool and spit running down your chin and neck. Everything about it was messy and counted as one of the things that were only meant to be seen in dubious videos on the internet and most certainly wasn't supposed to be witnessed by his wife.

When Joel felt that he was close he unwillingly stopped moving and came to a stop in your mouth. Thirty years ago he would have bursted in your mouth, made you swallow every last drop, then fisted himself a couple of seconds and fucked your brains out but in his age he knew he wouldn't be able to get hard again that quickly after an orgasm. It pained him to pull back, his cock feeling like it was about to explode but the thought of splitting you open for him overshadowed the disappointment.

Joel pulled you up by your hair until you stood in front of him his eyes coldly running over the messiness that was your face.

"You know what I'm gonna do to you now?" he whispered harshly his hand coming down to wrap around your already abused throat. He watched with happiness how you almost weren't able to look in his eyes, your bratiness and cockiness gone, replaced by submissiveness and the need to please.

"No," you shook your hand grabbing his shirt when he pushed you towards the bed.

"I'll make you take every fuckin' inch of my cock no matter if you can handle it or not. I'll ruin that l'il pussy of yours until you scream for me to stop. 'Cause you're mine. You're mine to throw around and bend the way I want to and I swear to god, if you ever think about letting some of your little colleagues touch what's mine you'll pay for it."

You gulped at the intensity and filthiness of his words and doe-eyed, like there wasn't a thought in your head let him mandhandle you on your back.

"I'll break you down, babygirl. Piece by piece until I have you bawling your eyes out. How does that make you feel, huh? Bein' my fuckin' pet."

He was on top of you now pressing you into the mattress his hand still around your neck to make you stay still.

"I want it. I want it, daddy, I wanna be your toy. I want you to use me, please, do anything you want," you cried tears spilling from your eyes from how tense and needy you were for him.

"You poor little thing," Joel cooed his right thumb tracing the delicate skin on your neck while his left painfully twisted your nipple.

"I've made her all needy and weak for daddy. It's pathetic really. Think you're supposed to be laying underneath a man old enough to be your father begging him to destroy your cunt? You think that's cute?"

He pinched your nipple with more force than would have been necessary but he felt so goddamn angry at you that he just wanted to punish and hurt you. Push your boundaries and drive you further.

"Daddy," you cried out and widened your eyes when Joel placed a hand on top of your mouth instantly silencing you.

"Jesus fuckin' christ… You really are a dumb little thing. This hand's gonna stay here now."

With these words he finally drew his attention to the lower part of your body regarding your dress that was ruffled around your hips. Joel lifted the dress a little only to laugh at the lacy black panties that you certainly hadn't picked out coincidentally.

"What a shame," he mumbled to himself and before you could think about what he meant by that you heard a ripping sound and then felt cold air brushing over your labia.

Joel smirked at the way you arched, your hands reproachfully pushing at his shoulders but the big hand on your mouth prevented you from complaining about his way of undressing you.

"You wore them for me and so I get to choose what happens to them," was all he said and then while you were still narrowing your eyes at him you suddenly felt his tip at your entrance and then within a few seconds his entire length had entered you and a loud moan escaped your mouth that made Joel feel thankful that he had shut you up.

He knew that it must be a lot for you because sure, you were more than well lubricated, but he was huge and thick and even though this obviously wasn't the first time he had fucked you, you usually needed a moment to adjust to him.

But today Joel simply didn't care about the sex being comfortable for you because he pounded into you with no regards to your poor pussy being exploited like this. He took what he wanted, savoured your tight walls taking you with so much force that you were pushed up the bed with each thrust. If you wanted to complain you didn't stand a chance because his hand didn't leave your mouth for a second and so you had no choice but to take what he gave you.

Joel moaned in your ear growling whenever he thrusted back in and soon placed your legs on his shoulders pushing your knees to your chest so he could reach even deeper. The cease between your eyebrows deepened and your sweaty hands searched for his that was wrapped around your knees.

When Joel saw fresh tears escaping the corner of your eyes he slightly loosened the grip of the hand on your mouth giving you some space to greedily inhale and at the same time giving himself the chance to take pleasure in your pretty crying face.

"D-Daddy," you whimpered your whole body trembling with the need to come and at this point you were so fucked out, he knew you would do anything he asked you to do.

Joel was close, his cock beginning to throb and his view getting white. Before he could have a second thought and perhaps help you to cross the bridge as well he had exploded inside of you filling you up to the brim.

His head dropped to his chest his hands coming down next to your head to steady himself and then his thrusts in you came to a stop only little growls escaping from his mouth every now and then. Joel was at calm now, his body captured in a peaceful post-orgasm dizziness but you were obviously far away from it.

You were craving a release as well but instead of vocalizing your needs you just rocked your center against his leg that was now positioned between your thighs again.

"D-Daddy. P-Please, I-I was g-good," you stuttered nervously pulling at his shirt while Joel let out a frustrated sigh. He wasn't even able to enjoy this moment of quietude and although he had given you just what you wanted you were asking him for more.

"You think you were good? Think you deserve to come?" he spoke leaning down to you and tracing the outlines of your mouth with his thumb.

"I need to. Please daddy, I really need it."

"That's not an answer to my fuckin' question. I said do you think you deserve to come?"

You remained silent your face crumbling again but Joel was sick and tired of you crying whenever you wanted something that you didn't get so his hand closed around your chin once more and his face came close to yours.

"Drop the attitude, babygirl. Fine. You can come but you're gonna work for it so you see that you can't always get what you want by blinking with your eyes a few times and expecting daddy to do everything. You can ride my thigh and if you do it well you'll get off that way."

He instantly saw how disappointed you were with his answer because your lips formed a pout and your forrowed your brow. "But –"

"It's this or nothing and I mean it. Tell me if you wanna do it and if not I'm gonna leave right now. You can be glad I haven't already 'cause I already gave you what you wanted, you ungrateful little brat."

You were officially sulking now but Joel didn't care. He observed you waiting for an answer and then you finally swallowed loudly turning your head to escape his gaze and mumbled a quiet "Fine."

"Louder," he demanded and yet another sound of frustration left your body before repeating the word louder this time.

"Fine. I wanna do it."

Joel nodded graciously, rolled off you and then took his place with his back against the headboard of the bed his legs parted so you had some space to straddle his lap.

"Come over here," he guided you and you clumsily rose to your knees to crawl to him.

Of course Joel was aware of how affected you were by this denial, not just physically but also mentally but he wanted to teach you a lesson after all and perhaps next time you would act more responsibly and not beg him to fuck you during a garden party. He had desired you as well, sure, but he had had the decency to merely think about it and perhaps jerk off to the thought but not actually act according to it.

You were on top of him now, his right leg between your thighs but it was obvious that you had no idea what you were supposed to do.

"Christ…," he sighed resting his head against the headboard because he really hadn't planned to guide and talk you through your orgasm now but it seemed like that was exactly what he was about to do.

"Can't do it yourself?" Joel asked with raised eyebrows and the slight shake of your head while looking down told him everything he needed to know.

"Fine," he sighed and slightly moved up on the bed. "Hands on my shoulders. You're gonna need it to steady yourself."

He placed his hands on your waist pressing you down until you felt his muscular thigh against your slit.

"Now rock yourself against me. You're gonna want to stimulate your clit so you're gonna move your hips. Just do what feels good 'n then fuckin' come."

Perhaps it was the way you frowned looking all concentrated and focused on pleasuring yourself. Or how you kept pushing your hair back because it was in your face. Or how after a few minutes you let out the first little sigh almost looking off guard by how good it actually felt. Or perhaps it was just his own post-orgasm peacefulness.

Whatever it was, Joel softened up at the sight of you.

All of a sudden he felt the urge to embrace and care for you and it was now that he regretted not having done it earlier. You poor thing had to do it all by yourself after having been such a good girl for him.

Joel decided to at least help you a little and put his hands on your hips to guide your movements and according to your expression you hadn't expected him to assist you. But now that he did, his fingers softly dug into your flesh his thumb drawing little circles over your skin while he helped you rolling your hips.

"You like that, babygirl?" he whispered clearly not unaffected by the scene either and your eyelids fluttered threatening to close.

"Yes, daddy. I'm gonna come soon, I promise."

Joel sighed while moving the hair out of your face realizing that he really had pushed you far today. He lifted his leg a little higher pressing it against your center to create even more friction for your clit, feeling the slickness connecting his thigh and your pussy every time you rubbed yourself against him.

"It's alright. Just concentrate on how it feels, okay?"

Well aware that what you enjoyed just as much as being degraded was being praised, Joel softly smiled at you while drawing patterns over your thigh.

"You've been such a good girl for me, hon. The best. You know why I'm rough with you sometimes, don't ya?"

Feeling all submissive and needy, of course you nodded and held on to his shirt that for some reason hadn't left his body yet.

"I know, daddy. And I'm sorry. I know that I was bad."

"But now I want you to come for daddy 'cause you deserve it. Want you to soak my thigh and let go. I will be there to catch you, sweetheart, promise," he gently soothed you his face softening at the way you tightly gripped his shoulders as you picked up the pace.

"There you go… Doin' so well."

Joel patiently whispered sweet nothings in your ear encouraging you to chase your orgasm and when it finally happened he talked you through it his hands firmly holding on to your waist so you wouldn't fall over while his other hand once again muffled the little cries leaving your mouth.

"That's right… I know it feels good, babygirl. Such a good girl…"

At this point you were too weak to hold yourself up and collapsed on top of him, your head resting against his chest and his hands running up and down your back.

"Shh, honey," he whispered over your loud panting as he combed through your hair, which could no longer be called a ponytail as your hair stood in all directions.

"You good?" he eventually asked with the urgent realization that the two of you had been gone for way too long now.

He really didn't want to throw you out and disturb you in your exhaustion but once the others would start searching for you, things certainly wouldn't end well.

Fortunately you nodded lifting your head from his chest and in this moment Joel couldn't act all grumpy and annoyed with you. He had a soft spot for you after all and when these pretty eyes of yours looked at him as though he was the best person you had ever met he couldn't stay strong and hide his affection.

His mouth twitched as he ran a thumb over your chin and then leaned down to kiss you. Suddenly it was him who would have preferred to stay here in the bedroom a little longer but when he heard loud laughter from outside he was reminded of the risk of what the two of you were doing.

"M'really sorry, sweetheart, but we need to get back to the party."

You let out a disapproving moan and buried your face in his chest but didn't fight when Joel sat you up on the bed and adjusted your dress that was still ruffled around your waist. Only then did he remember what he had done to your panties and widened his eyes in shock.

"Oh fuck me…," he groaned rubbing over his forehead.

You couldn't walk around the house without underwear, and Joel decided this not only for your own safety, but also for his own selfish reasons. He definitely wouldn't allow you to dance and twirl around Ian, who clearly had more than friendship in mind for you.

Therefore Joel approached Kate's wardrobe and although even he felt very bad while doing it pulled out one of his wife's panties which he handed you without a word.

"Joel…," you began but he shook his head. "Just put them on."

You followed his order and then once he had also fixed his jeans he kissed your forehead.

"You good?" he asked again still a little concerned about whether he had been too hard on you but you nodded again giving him a shy smile.

"Yes. More than good."

Almost longingly he caressed your cheek and then turned to the door as if it was the final boss.

"Ready?" he asked tilting his head at you and you pursed your lips.

"No. But let's go, I guess."

Joel squeezed your hand gently pulling you with him to the door and then opened it.

[universefcb]

make one which reader and Pedri are trying to have their alone moment, but the universe seems like to be against them, and everytime they try something they're interrupted

↬❥ The universe against us

Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

a/n: I THINK THIS IMAGINE IS WHAT I LOVED THINKING AND WRITING THE MOST KAKAKAKAK. And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

REQUESTED!

warnings: Hot kisses, stress, and comedy.

The sun was beginning to set in Barcelona, dyeing the sky with orange and pink hues. The city was alive, but inside Pedri's apartment, all that mattered was the comfortable silence between the two of you. He was there, sprawled on the couch, one hand resting on your thigh while the other absently played with a lock of your hair.

— It's been a while since we had a moment alone... — he murmured, his voice hoarse, his brown eyes fixed on hers.

You smiled, sliding your hand down his chest.

— That’s right. There’s always some event or games…

Pedri chuckled softly, leaning in to capture your lips with his. The kiss started softly, but soon intensified, his firm hand gripping your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies adjusted naturally, and the heat that formed between you was unmistakable.

That's when his phone started ringing. Loudly. Insistent.

Pedri groaned in frustration, throwing his head back.

"I don't believe."

He ignored the call and went back to kissing you, but seconds later, the phone rang again.

“Better answer it,” you said, laughing at the irritation on his face.

He picked up his cell phone and answered without even looking at the caller ID.

“What is it?” he grumbled.

It was Gavi.

“Bro, can you tell me where my black boots are? You borrowed them last week!”

Pedri closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“Gavi, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m calling. There’s training tomorrow.”

“It’s in the hall closet. Now stop calling me.”

He hung up before his friend could respond and threw the phone away.

“Okay, problem solved. Now, where were we again?”

You laughed and pulled him into another kiss, this time more intense, his hands sliding over your skin in a way that made your entire body shiver. He leaned over you, his knee gently pressing against your leg, and you were about to finally lose yourself in each other when…

TOC, TOC, TOC!

The two were startled by the knock on the door.

Pedri closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh.

“If it’s Gavi again, I’ll kill him.”

He stood up, clearly irritated, and went to open the door. It was his brother.

“Fer, this is not possible now!”

“Relax, bro. I just came to get my headphones that I left here yesterday.”

Pedri practically pushed his brother out of the apartment and slammed the door. When he returned to the couch, his gaze was determined.

“I do not accept that the universe wins.”

“Me neither,” you agreed, pulling him by the collar of his shirt.

This time, you decided not to give him any more chances to interrupt. He gently cupped your face and deepened the kiss, his hands exploring every inch of you. You fit perfectly against him, his skin feeling warm under your fingers, and everything finally seemed to be going in the right direction…

But then…

The loud sound of the doorbell made you both jump on the couch.

Pedri stared at the door, his eyes shining with fury.

“If it’s Gavi or Fer, I swear…”

He opened the door with a jerk, and you were both taken by surprise. It was a delivery man.

“Request for Pedro Gonzalez?”

Pedri frowned.

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

The delivery man looked at the name on the paper and then at him.

“Oh, it was your brother. It’s in his name, but this is your address.”

Pedri ran his hands over his face.

“I'm going to kill Fer.”

After taking the order and closing the door tightly, he walked back to you.

“Forget the universe. I don’t care anymore.”

You laughed and pulled him back, deciding that this time, nothing else could get in the way.

And finally, the universe gave up on being against you.

✦ tysm by request

[allertonhoe]

B13 with submissive rafe who’s loud asf in bed 🫦🫦🫦🫦 nsfw <3

ahh thanks for the request!!! i honestly haven’t written a lot of sub stuff, so i’m really sorry if this isn’t great/not super subby lol but i really hope you like it!!

prompts: "God, you feel so good!"

content warnings: 18+ MDNI - smut, original afab!reader, sub!rafe, use of petnames (baby, good boy lol), dirty talk, masturbation (f), unprotected p in v.

500 follower celebration! (CLOSED)

"Baby, please."

You could only laugh bitterly in response, his begging not having any effect in altering your disinterest. Your relationship with Rafe was... interesting, to say the least. It was only inevitable for you to become friends with benefits, the informal arrangement having gone on for a few years without too much contention.

You'd gone out with him and the rest of your mates tonight, which was nothing out of the ordinary. But after barely giving you attention the entire evening, here he was, once again, expecting you to be willing and eager when he couldn't find another girl to take home.

"I'm not used to you asking so nicely," you allude.

"Come on," he instigates, his fingers sweeping under the hem of your shirt.

"Sit down," you command him in a soft tone. "On the chair."

He gave you a reluctant look at the instruction, not catching onto what you had in mind. You stood in front of him, stripping off your clothes—starting with your bottoms, then shedding off your top. Taking a few steps forward so you were directly in front of him, shoving his hands away when he brought them up to grab your waist.

"No touching." You advise him, his features furrowing at your assertion.

You hovered over him confidently, tracing your pointer and middle fingers along his bottom lip. Feeling his tongue wrap around the digits when you stuck them in his mouth, his heated gaze locked on you. Retreating over to the bed and situating yourself to face him, noticing him peel his shirt off in anticipation of what was next.

You pushed your panties to the side, not wanting to give him a full view as you began rubbing the sensitive area. An exaggerated gasp leaving your throat as Rafe observed you with half-lidded eyes, pressing his palm to his crotch to alleviate some of his own discomfort.

"Rafe," you interrupt promptly, halting your movements. "I said no touching."

"You're kidding, right?" He retorts in disbelief.

"Do you want me to make you feel good?" You survey, raising your brow at him. "Then no touching. Be a good boy."

While he scoffed at the new nickname, he didn't challenge you further on it. A mixture of frustration and hunger painting his expression as he tried to concentrate on you instead of his own urges. Watching as you dipped into your slick and relieved some of the tension you were dangling over him.

"Fuck," he mumbles, clutching the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Please. I need something, baby."

"So impatient," you scold lightly.

You sauntered back over to where he was sitting, in no rush as you slipped his belt out of the loops. Popping open the button of his bottoms and tussling with the fly, brushing over his bulge in the process. Retreating once more as you turned your back to him, peeking over your shoulder as you took off your bra and panties.

You swayed your hips over his seductively, Rafe letting out a dramatic sigh at your continuous teasing. Swivelling back around, you reached for his waistband. Only pulling his pants down to his mid-thigh, restricting his legs from spreading too wide. Climbing onto his lap and placing your legs on either side of him.

"Please," he repeats hoarsely, glancing up at you like he couldn't take anymore.

You held him in your palm and dragged him between your folds. Already throbbing just from the display you put on, aching for any sort of relief. His demeanour the complete opposite from when he'd been ignoring you and scouring the dance floor for other potential conquests just an hour ago.

Finally giving in to his pleas, you sank down onto him. Rafe letting out an animalistic groan, shuddering at the tender sensation. You didn't move right away, soaking him in your wetness. Your hands landing on his chest as he tried taking over the reins, his muscles flexing at the contact.

"I need you, baby," he rambles.

"You need me?" You purred.

Your finger trailed down his bare torso, your other arm draping around his neck to hold your balance as you started grinding onto him. The pace much slower than you were used to with him, the two of you typically going for a more wild and greedy approach. Rafe throwing his head back as he reveled in his pleasure.

"Like that?" You whisper in his ear.

"Just like that. Fuck, baby," he muttered. "God, you feel so good."

You rolled your hips to meet his, feeling his cock twitch at every motion. Bringing your lips to his nape, peppering chaste kisses along the flesh. He couldn't keep his hands to himself any longer, squeezing your sides as curses fell from his mouth.

Your thighs were becoming sore from your unconventional position, refocusing on hitting your own climax instead of deliberately taunting him. Your tits bouncing in his face, giggling as he glanced up at you with blown-out pupils. Barely recognizing the disheveled figure underneath you that was yearning for your touch.

"I'm so fucking close," he grumbles, licking his lips as he panted.

"Not before me," you direct.

He wasted no time covering his fingers in spit, playing with your swollen clit and sending jolts through your body. His unoccupied arm enveloping around your waist to keep you near. His forehead resting against yours, your tough front easily crumbling as he broke you down.

"Oh my god," he grunts. "Come on, baby."

He rocked in rhythm with you, building you up with no difficulty. Desperate moans and the filthy, wet sounds of your endeavor echoing through the room. Sending you over the edge with a few more lively pumps, losing yourselves in the moment of pure bliss. His flow not impeding as he chased his release. 

His dick throbbed as he kept slamming into you, every thrust deeper and more feral. Digging your nails into his shoulders as the familiar flame burned in the pit of your stomach again. Not having to work hard to coax another orgasm out of you, reaching his own just moments later. Your walls fluttering as he filled you with his cum.

"Fuck," he shouts, never having gotten such a strong reaction from him.

Neither of you were in any hurry as you rode out your highs. Rafe lifting you up slightly to pull out of you, feeling empty from his sudden absence. He slumped back into the cushion, caressing up and down your bare spine as you both caught your breaths. Leaving a gentle peck on his chest as you cuddled into him, settling back to your usual dynamic.

And with an abrupt shift, he swept you up into his arms and threw you onto the bed playfully. His predatory stare returning, now laced with something else. Like another layer had been peeled back between you, and things wouldn't be going back to how they previously were. Crawling on top of you and caging you in beneath him.

"Good boy, huh?"

[traincat]

what's the unreleased uncanny avengers fic 👀 (I love when you do fic that's set at a very specific point in canon, I'm always dying for more of that in comics fandom)

So I have four different Uncanny Avengers fic in this folder, and upon investigation two of these I finished and posted:

Echoes, which takes place immediately post Uncanny Avengers #12, which is the end of its Hanktron plot.

He was having a time.

Keep the Fire Burning, which takes place after Uncanny Avengers #20, where the Red Skull mindcontrolled Johnny and Peter reacted. Strongly.

[Sunset Boulevard voice] We had comics, then.

The other two are also in the Uncanny Avengers #19-22 time frame, because there was just a lot going on. Under the cut! Johnny having a Bad Time, Generally.

Uncanny Avengers #19 fixit fic, based on the fact that the Red Skull makes Johnny hallucinate his family's return and then imagine himself burning them alive. We have fun here. This one was intended to be a get together, but then I think Uncanny Avengers #20 came out and I was like well I have other things to focus on.

***

“It’s that farkakteh team you’re on, running around, getting abducted by psychic Red Skull,” Peter said, pacing the floor in front of Johnny, waving his hands about. “Back in my day we settled for the regular model and we were happy about it.”

Johnny didn’t say anything. Peter sighed, stopping in front of him and dropping his hands to his sides.

“Torch,” he said. “Talk to me.”

Johnny shook his head, the briefest of motions. Peter dropped into the chair across from him, leaning forward a little, until their knees were almost brushing.

"Don't touch me."

It was the only Peter could get him to say, ever since he’d insisted they cut out on the clean-up. He’d swung them both to his apartments in the Baxter Building, Johnny silent and unresisting, clinging to Peter’s shoulders. Peter almost missed that – at least that was contact. Now Johnny sat on the sofa with his head in his hands and his shoulders all hunched up and said "don't touch me" every time Peter so much as thought about reaching out.

It was horrible. All Peter wanted to do was hold him.

“Johnny,” he said, his voice coaxing. He wanted to fix it – wanted to take Johnny out, somewhere high up. Wanted to wrap Johnny up in blankets and keep him indoors. All his attempts at affection always felt so clumsy where Johnny was involved, like it was never what Johnny really needed.

“Don’t touch me,” Johnny repeated.

“C’mon,” Peter said, aware his tone is getting a little tetchy. He knew wasn’t the world’s most patient man at the best of times, and besides, words were cheap, easy, a dime a dozen where he was concerned. He’d always communicated best with Johnny through touch. How could he help if Johnny wouldn’t let him smooth a hand over his back or throw an arm around his shoulders?

Johnny had never shied away from touch before, not once in the fifteen years Peter had known him.

“What’s a little mind control between friends, huh?” Peter joked, inching a little closer, on the edge of his own seat so he could sway a little into Johnny’s space. “We’ve been here before.”

Johnny shook his head slowly. Peter dipped his head, but he couldn’t see his expression. He sighed, restless.

“Hey, buddy, you gotta talk to me here. You’re scaring me a little…” he said, dropping a hand to Johnny’s knee.

He yanked it back before he could make real contact, spider-sense buzzing like he just tried to touch a hot stove. Johnny was blazing -- it wasn’t noticeable, except for a sheer scant inch from his body.

Peter had never really marveled over his control before. “Johnny?”

“You can’t,” Johnny said, voice hitching, “touch me, okay, Peter?”

“Johnny,” Peter said, gentling his voice again. He got up and moved to Johnny’s couch instead, leaving enough space between them that he couldn’t feel the heat Johnny’s putting out. “Hot stuff – literally. What’s going on?”

All he wanted to do was put his arms around Johnny, and Johnny wouldn’t let him.

Johnny just breathed for a few long moments, ragged. Peter had already tried to ply him with water, with coffee, with that one bottle of very old-looking scotch someone else must have put in his kitchen. Johnny didn’t seem to want anything.

“Pretty boy,” Peter cajoled, the old nickname that never failed to get him a pleased smile. “What’s so different about this time?”

“My family came back,” Johnny said, and Peter’s whole being lurched.

“What?” he said. It wasn’t possible – if the Fantastic Four were back, he’d know, surely. And if the Fantastic Four were back, why would Johnny be curled in on himself like this, hiding out on Peter’s couch?

“My family came back,” Johnny repeated, voice a little steadier. He pulled his hands away from his face – his fingers trembled – and slid them through his hair. His eyes were red. He was white as a sheet. “And I lost all control of my powers, and I burned them to death. My family.”

Peter worked his jaw for a minute, speechless. Johnny finally looked at him, eyes all damp. Peter couldn’t stop staring at the dark gold sweep of his lashes, his wet cheeks.

“That’s what the Red Skull made me see, anyway,” he said with a watery, fake smile. It was like a bucket of ice water down Peter’s back. The arm of his chair gave way under his fist, viciously, and Johnny almost jumped.

He reigned his own anger in for Johnny’s sake, buried it deep down where he kept every other injustice he couldn’t do anything about, all the unfair things. He breathed out, slow.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Johnny, still wide-eyed at Peter’s outburst, said, “I know.”

“It wasn’t real,” Peter pressed on, inching closer. His hand hovered above Johnny’s knee, but still there was that blazing heat. It hurt, that Johnny wouldn’t let him hold him. “It didn’t really happen.”

“I know,” Johnny repeated, miserably. Peter hadn’t thought his heart could break for him anymore than it already had.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter said, desperate to take Johnny’s hand in his own. Johnny would never forgive him if he burned himself on him. Peter would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. “It wasn’t real, Johnny.”

(...)

“Hey,” Peter said, inching closer. He can stand the heat, at least for a few minutes. “Lower the thermostat.”

“What?” Johnny said, looking up at him.

Peter made a loose hand motion, rolling his wrist. “An expression, Torch. Johnny, hot stuff – turn it down.”

Johnny shook his head, stubborn. He was tired, Peter could see that now. He needed rest, food – and he wasn’t letting himself have anything, because of something that had never even happened.

Peter knew that feeling.

“I promise you,” Peter said, “you want to turn down the body heat for this one. Johnny, trust me. You trust me, don’t you?”

After a second, Johnny nodded.

It wasn’t how he had wanted to do this. He’d wanted to wait, to do it right – take Johnny out someplace nice, someplace romantic. Let him catch on little by little. He’d wanted to kiss Johnny for the first time with the skyline at their backs, underneath the stars.

On his couch with all the blinds drawn and Johnny so miserable Peter felt like crying too was what it was going to have to be, though. Peter couldn’t think of anything else.

“You’re either going to love this, or I’ve been reading everything wrong,” Peter said, softly. He touched his fingertips beneath Johnny’s chin to hold him steady. “In which case you’re going to have the time of your life laughing at me.”

Johnny’s soft inhale was all the go-ahead Peter needed. The first brush of their lips was quick, testing – Johnny’s lips were soft and full. Peter wondered if he tasted slightly ashen all the time, or only after he’d spent most of the day flamed on. Maybe only when he was sad.

“Peter,” Johnny said, sliding one hand along Peter’s neck. His eyes were closed.

“Yeah?” Peter teased a little, lips just brushing Johnny’s.

“I’m not laughing,” Johnny said.

“Well,” Peter said. He hummed and kissed the highest point of Johnny’s cheek, nosed at him softly. “I guess I need to try harder.”

Johnny nodded, tilting his head. Peter kissed him again, and again, and again, until Johnny’s mouth opened under his and Peter was licking into it and Johnny was making soft little sounds that had nothing to do with being sad at all.

“Is this okay?” Peter asked when they broke apart. Johnny was breathing hard, looking a little dazed. Peter reached up very carefully to brush his hair back.

***

And the Uncanny Avengers post-#21-22 fic, which was established relationship:

Johnny was in his bed again, on his side facing away from the door. Peter sighed fondly, shoulder meeting the doorframe as he leaned in it for a long moment, tracing the way the moonlight illuminated Johnny’s form.

He hit the light and Johnny groaned, dragging a pillow over his head.

“You’re not naked,” he said, climbing onto the bed and palming Johnny’s hip, right over the yellow patch. “<i>Before</i> we got together, I got you naked.”

“You didn’t get me anything,” Johnny mumbled, voice thick. “I got myself naked and you screamed.”

“I didn’t scream, I yelled,” Peter corrected, rubbing little circles, stroking his way down Johnny’s thigh and back up again. He counted out the panels on the yellow patches, walking his fingers up and down. “It was extremely masculine and not a pitch only dogs could hear at all.”

Johnny snorted, grip on the pillow loosening. Peter gave him another moment before he rolled him over, bracing himself over him on one hand.

“Hey, hon,” he said, tracing the dried tear tracks on Johnny’s cheeks. His eyes were still a little red. “Rough day at the office?”

Johnny snorted, reaching up to fidget with Peter’s collar. “Something like that.”

“But everything’s peachy-keen now?” Peter asked. “All Red Skulls safely off the streets?”

Johnny nodded, face pensive. (...)

“The fist bump?” Peter said, sounding amused. “Really?”

“I was trying to play it cool,” Johnny said. “Casual, you know.”

“I have never,” Peter said, kissing Johnny once, twice, three times, “ever bumped your fist before. Not one time.”

"Liar."

[cecilyv]

New Fic: Bingo Card (9-1-1)

@queermccoy wrote a prompt. This… is probably not the response they were looking for, but I poked @liminalmemories21 about it and this is where we went.

Buck/Tommy with a warm, gooey center of Abby/Buck/Tommy, because why not?

Imagine it’s 2018 and it was Buck and Tommy on that roof after Buck stole the firetruck…and then Buck still meets Abby. Josh and Tommy become friends for… reasons. And Josh redeems himself (at least a little) for the ridiculous Glee speech, because just. No, y’all. No.

11.7k | explicit | buck/tommy, abby/tommy (past), abby/buck/tommy

[read on ao3]

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

A threesome with his ex-fiance was not on Tommy’s 2018 bingo card. Doesn't think there's a bingo card in existence that would have included that after the way he and Abby broke up. Ending it had gone about like he expected. Abby's not a yeller, but she'd yelled. He'd deserved it. He'd left, quietly. She'd opened the door again just so she could slam it behind him. He knows he hurt her. Betrayed her. Is definitely not expecting the text he gets a year later that says / I met a guy / Stares at it, no idea what she expects him to say in response to that. Good? I'm glad? While he's waiting he gets / he's really good in bed / Which, okay. Thanks for that. Their sex life had been... Well maybe the less said about it the better. But, he'd always made sure she came, even if he didn't. / I'd like you to meet him / And seriously, what the fuck?

Finally texts back / what? / / I think you'd like him / .... / he seems like your type / How would she even know? He barely knows what his type is. Also, why on earth would it matter?  Spends an hour cleaning his bathroom and debating whether or not he should respond. What he’d even say. Finally realizes he’s contemplating shining the bolts on his toilet and that even his Drill Sergeant in Basic would have thought that was a little extra and sends her / I’m not sure I want to know what that means /  Feels like asking her what she thinks his type is would be setting setting himself up to — well, be more of the asshole in Abby’s story than he already is.  And he is. He knows it. Fifteen minutes later he gets back / come for dinner and find out /  Should definitely tell her no. Never. It's a terrible idea.  He doesn't.  For some reason, he thinks about Evan; hasn't even seen him in six months. There were several people between him and now. But—  Kind of wishes he could have figured out how to have given that more of a shot.  How he could have been given more of a shot. Wishes he had a good reason to say no to Abby, but— He doesn’t, not really. And, curiosity may have killed the cat, but that never stopped the cat from walking across that hot tin roof.  

[iwoulddieforher]

Birds of a Feather | Casey Novak × Alex Cabot

I'm back posting fics! Did anyone miss me? Probs not. Anyway, here: Set during the falling out when Liv was having trouble adjusting to the lack of Stabler, and Casey's beginning to dwindle. Very Casey-centric.

Warnings: Canon-typical case-related violence, Casey being super burnt out, minor references to Charlie/Liv & Case have big argument

Summary: Casey's exhausted from the uphill climb of returning to her former position of respect after being suspended, and Liv's becoming increasingly adversarial due to Stabler's resignation. A case involving a schizophrenic exasperates the problems between the two- and Alex shows up in the middle of Liv & Casey's blowout argument. ~13k words.

alternatively on AO3, which you can find here

“No, Sir, I know-” Casey tried to interject, pacing back and forth in her cramped, tiny office- they hadn't allowed her her original space back, and she had realized that was yet another form of punishment- and trying not to lose her sanity on call with her father.

“I’m not getting any younger and I don't like that you're still playing these legal games,” Major Novak barked, his voice the dry, scratchy cough it always was, “Casey, couldn't you have just let it be? You got suspended once, we all see the toll that took on you, and it's not like you're getting any younger either-”

“Daddy,” Casey let her voice break, finally, but it had been nearly half an hour of this back and forth and she was done, she was tired, and tears were starting to prick at her eyes. “Daddy, I know. I’ll- I’ve already asked about my work contract, I’ll…”

She moved the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn't be able to hear her sniff, forcing herself to swallow back the frustrated tears, before taking a deep breath.

Her admittance hadn't been a lie, either. She had checked what the circumstances of resigning her position had been, but- it didn't look particularly good. With a reputation like her’s, she wouldn't be able to be hired on to any sort of alternate use for her legal prowess like this, and she was far away from being able to retire properly. But her father wasn't wrong, as much as she hated to admit it, her job was starting to eat away at whatever sanity she had left.

At her submission, though, her father finally relented his beration, the line going silent for a long moment. “Good, Casey. And you mustn't worry about money, because your mother does need a keeper, and your siblings give us a share every month for that- we could fire her nurse, and you could replace her. I’m sure your brothers would be happy to support you.”

Casey grimaced, swallowing again, but with a hollow voice replied, “Thank you, Sir. I’ll consider it, really.”

She would be reduced from the formidable rising star protege prosecutor she used to be, replaced instead by being her father's failure of a daughter, the sibling who was at first so far ahead and then fell so far behind, designated ultimately to being her ailing mother’s keeper, because there was nothing else she was worthy of doing.

As she hung up the call, the darker part of her mind chided in bitterly that at this rate they shouldn't trust her to look after Mom- she’d probably fuck that up, too.

She ran her fingers through her hair, nails digging into her scalp a little more forcefully than need be, and sighed, deeply, as though letting the carbon in her lungs would cleanse her of the overwhelming feeling of filth.

Failure, she bit at herself, but her self deprecation was halted as her pager went off- she was being summoned to the precinct, evidently.

On the way there, Casey contemplated what had gone wrong in her life.

She stood at the side of the street, flagging down a taxi, and with a depressed sigh she remembered how she felt when she was youthful and energetic, eager to prove herself and ambitious, taking her bike where she needed before she had caved to those who told her it gave off an odd impression.

The fact she was about to be filled in at the precinct on the current case wasn't wasted on her demons either- she longed to show up at crime scenes like the used too, process evidence and witnesses and suspects herself, watch through the windows as detectives interviewed, jumping on leads to hound down individuals herself in the pursuit of ensuring justice.

She toyed loosely with her faux blonde hair as she climbed into the cab, her mind lingering on when it had been short and she had worn it in fiery, fierce curls that framed her face when she was back in white collar- how when she transferred to SVU, it became harder to get up in the mornings, and she defaulted to straightening it instead. Now it was long, and dyed lighter to be more what the others expected.

That sentiment- to be what others expected- hurt the more she thought about it. Over the years she really had lost that fire that used to be so central to the way she operated, and she wasn't sure if it had been tamped down or if she had simply lost it herself.

Coming back from her suspension was especially difficult. Those three long years of working odd, vague applications for her knowledge without being able to use any sort of licence were grueling and yes she had made it through but it had drained her an immeasurable amount.

She hadn't realized how much she had considered the squad some form of support system, or at the very least provided her a sense of stability, until during her suspension it was gone. Stabler, especially- Elliot had looked out for her, offered her a shoulder she had never accepted, but she liked knowing he was there. Catholics from a similar background, and he reminded her a lot of her brothers.

Casey had left New York entirely, traveled to Rhode Island, tried to find something that would make the nauseating guilt seep away. But nothing could. She had screwed up- honestly, that year had been a slow build to the climax of the violation, with the investigation into the juvenile sex offender operation, Saul Picard, and finally Officer Chase- it had brought her to an emotional epitome she simply could not bring herself down from, left lingering on cases now officially deemed closed, formulating arguments and motions she could never use.

Elliot had called her, a few times, to check in. He had been the one to see how broken the sex addict's rape had made her, and he was perhaps the only one of the squad to notice that build up. She liked talking to him, states apart, and he’d catch her up on the latest cases and complain about Greylek and how much he’d rather have her back instead of the stone-faced, impersonal ADA replacement.

She remembered the big smile he had flashed her when she first arrived back, and how it had momentarily comforted her.

Now she was back, but Stabler was gone- he had earned retirement, though, she couldn't argue against that, but still-, everything was different. Olivia was so much more adversarial, and Casey knew she was simply grieving the loss of Elliot and throwing herself nose-first into the depth of human depravity to fill the void, but it didn't help her enough to accept the jabs the older brunette shot at her without letting them build onto her growing insecurities.

Rollins seemed sweet but Casey had never interacted with her- the squad didn't get together like they used to after cases, the warm nature she had first been a jealous intruder into before eventually being accepted back in her youth was now gone. Perhaps she was too old for it now, anyway. But still, she missed the cold beers and clustered tables of cop bars, and Olivia and Elliot stopping by to invite her there. Olivia spending the nights with her in her office, grabbing coffee and chatting about the developments of cases.

She really, really missed the friendship, the solidarity that used to exist- gone, all gone, like her sense of self.

Amaro was Amaro. He followed Olivia around like Stabler used to, but it was obvious he was still fresh meat, and Olivia would not be able to bond with him the way she was seemingly tied to Stabler.

The judges were wary of her, the defense was always pleased because no judge would give her leeway and they could jab and object at whim, and she was hanging onto the DA and her job on a fine line that she felt like she would fall off any second.

Even if she didn't directly mess up, even if she never made a mistake again, she knew it was because she was playing it overtly safe, and overtly safe was no way to remake her name and image. She could be fired simply for not being interesting, for not securing the overhauling victories she used to be capable of.

But pushing the line the way she used to, to regain that feisty nature that used to make the defense’s jaw clench when she stood, required others to trust her in a way they didn't. She had forfeited that right to trust, and she had no way to get it back.

Maybe her father was right. Maybe she was getting too old for this- maybe the suspension was a sign this work wasn't what she was cut out for, and she was simply too stubborn to accept it wasn't worth it.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when the taxi pulled over, and after providing payment and exchanging courtesy she exited and tried her best to stroll into the precinct, focusing on long strides, not looking stupid when she pulled her coat off and tossed it over her arm.

Casey had started holding her jacket over her arm like that whenever she was here, so she’d have something to do with her hands, so she’d have an excuse to hold her arms tight to her body.

“So, what’s on the plate tonight, Captain?” She tried to sound cheerful, but not overly so, rearranging her face in the half-way-to-smug smile she used to flash so easily.

Cragen rubbed his nose and nodded, his broad shoulders sloped inward the way they always were. He nodded at her, and then motioned with one large hand towards an interview room, where a young man was speaking with Detective Amaro.

Olivia and Rollins were watching from the outside, staring intently, and although Amanda turned to jerk her chin up with a slight smile that Casey returned- nothing more than acknowledgement, but Casey could appreciate it- while Benson stayed still, her brow furrowed as she stared lasers into the ongoing interrogation. She did not move to welcome Casey into the space, and Casey had not assumed that she would. Regardless, she found her place standing beside her.

“A young woman was raped and strangled to death in Central Park,” Cragen said with a small sigh, “Our first suspect was the roommate, because of some suspicious texts we found on her cell, but he showed up himself willingly and agreed to talk.”

“Alright. So, he looks good for it?” She questioned, eyes on Olivia- she wanted some sort of glance, something, but Olivia did not look at her.

“She was a grad student working on a psych report on the condition of mental illness in the homeless population,” Amanda said, turning from the window and crossing her arms, shifting her weight from her heel to her toe in thought. “This guy- the roommate- goody two-shoes. Originally we thought he was so clean he must be hiding something, and he was, but just possession of marijuana. He’s real nervous about it, though.”

The young man inside the boxed room did seem beyond anxious, his shoulders angled inward, face tilted down at the table while he looked at Amaro with squinted eyes, shifting back and forth slightly. He looked ridiculously guilty, but not violent or suspicious for the crime that actually mattered- it reminded Casey of a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, who didn't understand what type of punishment they were about to receive. He didn't seem like a good suspect for rape and murder.

“So he wants a deal? What he knows about her research and I’ll take the misdemeanor off the table?” Casey glanced once again into the interview room, and Cragen shrug-nodded.

Casey lifted her shoulders and then dropped them, tilting her head with a slight sigh. She had expected more, something to actually grow invested in, hopefully something to spark her competitive nature- but this was nothing dramatic. “Should be doable, I can make a call.”

“But he’s asking for immunity,” Olivia mused, still not looking up, “So whatever he knows, he thinks he could be prosecuted for it. I don't think we should offer him anything until we really know what's going on.”

“It doesn't look like he’s capable of much,” Casey remarked, but Olivia just huffed.

“Like you’d know, counselor.”

Casey pursed her lips and made blank eye contact with the wall for a moment, feeling the burn of Cragen and Rollin’s eyes and the icy feeling of the lack of Olivia’s, before accepting the disrespect, and trying her best to shake it off.

“Alright, but he’s a spooked college kid. He might just be asking for what he saw on TV without knowing if he actually needs it- we could advise him to get a lawyer, and then I can discuss a deal with them. Depending on the reaction I’d get it’d be easier to tell if it's anything worth looking into.”

Detectives hate lawyers, and Casey knew that, so when Olivia’s frown deepened and Rollins looked vaguely dissatisfied with the suggestion, she wasn't at all surprised.

“Does he need a lawyer for this? Can't you just go in and talk to him?” Rollins asked, “He doesn't seem to have the funds needed to get a lawyer, and it always takes forever to get one of the community ones down here-”

“Can you handle that, Casey? It's been years since you spoke one on one with a suspect,” Olivia interjected, and Casey grit her teeth. A direct challenge, now, then. Okay.

“I’m sure I’ll find my footing,” She replied calmly, forcing a smile as though she and Liv were simply friends bantering like they used to be, before turning to the Captain for permission. When he nodded, she inhaled deeply and swung the door open.

“You, out.” She barked at Amaro, deciding how she wanted to play this on the spot. She got a little of a thrill when Amaro’s eyebrows raised but he otherwise agreed wordlessly, standing and leaving the interrogation room. She claimed the seat he had just left and settled in, leaning her elbows on the table so she could inject herself forward.

“Alright, I heard you're looking to talk about your options, here? I’m Casey Novak on behalf of the Manhattan District Attorney.”

She forced her voice to be softer, lower, and offered him a half-smile. This was a skittish little college teen, and she thought he might be receptive to a more gentle approach. Seemingly he was, because the tension in his spine eased a little and he looked at her tentatively.

“I know it's a crime, but I- I just, it's the only thing that can get me to sleep, sometimes, so I-”

“I know, I know.” She leaned back, then, spreading her shoulders comfortably, “I remember those college days, long nights, sleep schedules gone to hell, anything to take the edge off, right?”

“Yes, exactly-” He leaned forward, now, eager under her carefully crafted nonchalance.

“But listen,” Casey raised a hand, “If you know anything about who did this to your roommate, you need to tell me. You seem like a good kid, and I don't want to nail you when I’ve got bigger fish to fry, okay? We’re looking for a rapist, and you're just what got caught in the net, so to say.”

He hesitated, hard, but Casey knew the look in her eyes was powerful when she tried to make it be, and right now she was giving her best altruistic stare. He relented, as she expected.

“Listen, I- I knew it was wrong, so please-”

“Just tell me what you know,” She interjected, clasping her fingers together, leaning forward and placing her elbows back down on the desk, and giving him her best imploring head tilt.

“She was bribing them,” he blurted out, finally, “in exchange for interviews and check-ins she was- she was giving them drugs, and with a few even blowies- I told her it was disgusting and I don't even know if people like that can consent, but-”

Oh, okay. Casey felt tension leave her shoulders- this wasn't really worth pursuing in court. But for the sake of the case she didn't allow her face to reflect that, instead, she remained harsh.

“Well, we’ll have to look into that.” She said sharply, “Can you provide names?”

“No, but- but I know her password for her school laptop, I know what her’s is. I’m sure she’ll have reports and things in there…”

“Alright, good,” She said soothingly, offering her a slight smile, which he seemed to relax under. “Then turn that over to the detectives and I’ll see what I can do about the possession charge, yeah?”

With that, she stood, and exited the room, flexing her eyebrows triumphantly when she made eye contact with Olivia- who gave her a begrudging nod, but a half-smile.

“Alright, the victim was offering blowjobs to mentally ill homeless men in exchange for some storytelling,” Amanda scorned, “How.. studious.”

“I’m sure she left that part out of her paper,” Casey nodded, “but it’ll make great fodder for the defense counsel.”

She turned her head from side to side, and realized something that made her heart sink into her stomach uncomfortably. Olivia and Amanda were exchanging glances, and Cragen was waiting for his detectives to begin engaging-

They wanted to discuss, but not with her.

Rejection stung, but at this point Casey was used to it, so after she cleared her throat awkwardly she glanced in the direction of the door and sighed. Her steps had felt lighter when she managed to actually be helpful for once- she secured this guy’s information, saving them time and effort- but it wasn't enough to win back the squad’s affection. The joy she felt at the minor victory was now tamped down, the bitter taste of the scorn she was trying desperately to adapt too heavy on her tongue.

“I’ll get a search warrant for the laptop, need anything else while I’m over at the courthouse?”

The resounding response was not yet, so she tugged her coat back on and focused on long strides towards the door, not the looming, overwhelming feeling of discontent.

She tried not to spit out the taste of bile that lay heavy on her tongue.

The rest of that day passed with little excitement. She had motions to file, court cases to research, and an uneventful arraignment. It felt like she was following steps laid out for her, stepping carefully on the paved floor, nothing at all like how she had used to race through the woods, chasing elk and laughter like a wolf no man could bring down. She missed feeling fearless, feeling free.

Casey was always one to fight until she was breathless, a smile on her face as her chest heaved with exertion. To throw herself into the mix, to face danger and pain and laugh at it, to take people into her arms herself and ensure it would turn out okay. She couldn't do that anymore, not with the axe hanging over her head.

She couldn't keep working this job with the other shoe dangling, lace seconds away from snapping. She couldn't keep herself looking up and wondering how long, how many more seconds she had to retain dignity, until it dropped and stole the trajectory of her life with it.

If she was younger, if she had spirit and confidence in her ability like she used to- if she had the support she used to have, the trust others used to bestow upon her- maybe she could find it in herself to keep fighting the good fight.

But she was disillusioned and tired, and no one believed in her anymore.

Not even her family, evidently. Three days later, she received a follow-up call from her younger brother, the elder of the two twins that had been born when she was starting elementary.

“Casey,” he started in a curt yet languished voice the way he always did, the slight accent he had picked up since moving to the south and marrying a Texan not lost in how he spoke, “How are you holding up?”

“Just fine,” she lied casually through her teeth.

“I don't buy that. Dad told me about your conversation the other day- about how he wants you to quit.”

Casey paused. She had been in the middle of prepping for a hearing, but with this she put her pen down in defeat. If her father told her brother, the rest of her siblings either already knew about the conversation or would soon. He had probably called to enquire if they’d do good on his proposal to support her if she retired early to care for Mom.

“...I don't know what you want me to say about that, he wants me to resign my position, but I think I’m doing well here. I’m back in my old position and everything is operating just as they used too,” - but they weren't, and if she did retire out of desperation soon she didn't want her lie to bite her in the ass, so she tried her best to cover herself - “and although I am considering it for the sake of Mom, I…”

“Casey,” he implored, “I'm your brother. I can tell when you're lying, and you've been miserable lately.”

Casey sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and stared aimlessly down at the motion she was writing a rebuttal against, watching the inked words turn into meaningless gibberish under her eyes. She stayed silent, and listened to him sigh.

“You don't have to be such a martyr,” he said softly, and it hurt.

“I’m not,” she tried to defend, but it fell flat.

“Listen, it's okay to just- to admit it's gone far enough,” he sighed, and she tried to interject, but he didn't let her.

“You were the rising star, I get it. But after the suspension, Casey, I mean- I read the news, right? When you're mentioned in the columns now it's only ever criticism, and you're not happy like you used to be at reunions, even Benny noticed-” - referring to his son, one of Casey’s many nephews, - “it’s just..”

“Daniel,” she murmured softly, trying to get him to understand that she knew, she was completely aware, she was grappling with the evidence already and he didn't need to remind her of how far she fell.

“I just want you to know that it's okay. You were always the toughie out of all of us, but… Case, you were also the one to bring home the stray kittens and build birdhouses. You’re strong, believe me, we know that, but I know how big your heart is, and this … I don't like seeing you unhappy.”

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the iron grip she used to have, trying not to start getting emotional over the phone. Her head bowed without her noticing, and one of her paralegals glanced into her office as they walked by- great, another person as witness to her weakness.

“None of us would think any less of you,” he tried to console her, coax her, “it's a bad situation. The legal system sucks, we all know that. And I’ve talked it over with Rachel, and we’d be okay supporting you if you need it. To nurse Mom, or to find something else to do. You don't have to keep being somewhere that makes you so unhappy.”

Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks before she could realize, large glistening drops landing on the paper in front of her, her shoulders beginning to shake. She sucked the self disgust pooling in her mouth and swallowed, trying to keep her voice calm and even.

“Thank you, Daniel. I’ll see you when you all come up, okay? We can talk about this more then,” She offered, and he hesitantly accepted that motion to postpone.

If he realized there was an undercurrent of a sob in her voice, he didn't comment on it. Daniel hung up the phone.

Casey began to cry in her earnest, elbows driving into her table so she could conceal her face in her hands, shoulders shaking under the burden.

It wasn't so simple. Yes, yes, she was unhappy. She knew she was unhappy, and they were all right, she could leave, and honestly she thought that maybe she should.

But it wasn't just pride, ambition or stubbornness that kept her in this chair, it was the overwhelming drive to help. To do something, anything, to help the people who couldn't help themselves. To shield little kids from the men who wove their nightmares, to show women with red marks around their throats there was a shot at a better tomorrow, to fight, because God- she did really love fighting.

When she felt like she had power in her step, she adored the heady rush of a good debate, the smug victory of smashing a defense’s proposed story to bits. It had made all the issues in her life worth it, that knowledge that what she was doing was shielding the innocent from the evil. The validation a ‘guilty’ verdict after a hard case gave her was simply unrivaled.

Suffering through grueling law school, sleeping for hours she could count without the full use of a hand so she could instead pour her time hunched over laptops and law books full of enough legal jargon to kill a middle age man with confusion, waiting tables and odd jobs despite the exhaustion that nipped at her mind had all been considered worth it to her. Yes it was draining but the feeling of finally being able to pace on the courthouse floor and demand that justice be served to those in dire need of it had been entirely worth it. Just the knowledge she was commanding attention, she had authority, respect, and she could use it to help- that was all she had wanted.

What would she do with her words, if they weren't being used for that? What purpose could she possibly have?

It wasn't like resigning would mean she could help society in other ways, no, not like this. She couldn't find a place of worth with a reputation tarnished by her failure. Maybe if she had gone straight from reobtaining her licence somewhere else, then it would've worked, but she had craved SVU. Branch was right; she had grown to want it.

The slap on the back from Stabler, the way Olivia touched her on the upper arm, the chatter with Cragen. The victims stuck with her, but after those first few months it had turned from terrifying her with the weight of her own sympathy to a relentless drive to succeed and save more potentials. After her suspension, though, it was neither. The faces blurred together, because dull victories were the only way she could hope to keep the position at all, so her level of emotional involvement- her level of involvement at all, really, could not be regained.

Perhaps, if she was lucky, she might be able to be a teacher- one who her students would inevitably find the truth about and then laugh at- or volunteer somewhere where her fight to be recognized as powerful would simply continue until she really actually hit rock bottom.

If only she wasn't so exhausted, if only someone believed in her, if only. She would love her job if she wasn't marked by warning signs. She had known she’d need to rebuild her image and the dignity of her office but she had expected the trust from the people she had previously held stature with, but- no, they had forsaken her, and she couldn't find it in her to be upset with them around it, so all daggers she could throw turned inward.

As all it always did, time took care of her sobs, and she calmed herself down physically.

Her mental wounds were still wide open, but as she dried her face and blew her nose, she knew she’d be able to recompose herself so no one else could tell.

She had to start re-writing the same motion, as her tears had fallen on the paper and botched the ink, but that was fine. At least she was still filing motions- what used to feel mundane compared to the thrill of the active cases was now a solace, because at least she could do *something*. Soon she’d be able to do, and internally would be, nothing.

Daniel was right- there was no real reason for her to keep doing this to herself.

She’d be replaced by someone younger and feisty like she had used to be, or by someone wiser with reputation. They’d fight for justice the same way she was trying to, only they’d be successful, and they’d be applauded for it. They’d go back to squads to share the victory with, and go home to families. They’d have people who loved them, who watched and applauded them from afar.

But still. She wanted it so, so badly.

Desperation drove her when she thought the exhaustion would burn her out. She wanted to be good so badly, too badly. It meant every step felt like it was on a tightrope. She needed to feel like her work meant something, like she was winning some kind of fight, like what she did mattered to someone.

Her career was coming to an end, at some point desperation would turn into depression and she’d drown, but while she had a spark still flickering in her heart she wanted to use it on this.

A last few victories, please. A last shot to be appreciated for her life’s passion.

It was a couple days later when she was called back to the precinct on a development in that case, and Casey’s mind was consumed with pondering if her concealer managed to hide the eye bags she carried as she stepped inside, green eyes scanning for movement. Rollins, Cragen and Amaro were standing in a little triangle around the center of the squadroom, arms crossed.

“You called?” She said to no one in particular, and no eyes raised to especially meet hers, so she just glanced from face to face and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She just had to do whatever they wanted her to do, and then she'd be allowed to leave again.

God, she didn't even want to try anymore. She didn't want to keep attempting to prove herself to people who’d never give her the opportunity or the benefit of the doubt to do that. She missed Stabler and Lake. She missed when being called to the precinct made her feel energetic, like she was being helpful, like someone actually wanted *her* there, not just… whichever ADA happened to be on SVU rotation.

“So, we found most of the names on the list that kid gave us,” Amaro started, and Casey tried not to think about how Stabler would've slapped her playfully on the shoulder as a thank-you for helping acquire that list, “and this guy- this one whose spazzing out right now-”

She motioned into an interrogation room, where a very heavily disheveled looking man was pacing back and forth, dirty fingers running through locks of hair so filthy Casey wasn't sure if he was greying or if that was just the level of particles in it. He seemed very clearly to be homeless, suffering from some demons the detectives seemed not to care about to any extent.

“He seems to be the only suspect from it. His name is Peter Devilin, and he has a record for simple battery- he punched a librarian- a couple years ago, before psychiatric intervention. Diagnosed with schizophrenia which got him out of any real repercussions.”

“We have him on CCTV near the crime scene,” Rollins followed up, “and we’re pretty sure he did it- he keeps rambling, talking to someone, and he mentioned the victim’s name multiple times. We talked to the psychiatrist who worked with him back when he had medical insurance and he gave us these-”

The young blonde motioned to a stack of papers and Casey was momentarily upset no one had needed to ask her for a subpoena to hand over said documents, but then was distracted by the information on the small stack of leather-bound journals instead.

She picked up the chain of custody documentation Rollins must have filled out, scanning over the brief notes momentarily. The psychiatrist’s name and the address of his work place was jotted down- ‘Marc Mercer'.

A small light in Casey’s mind blinked on, recognizing that name from somewhere. Where was it? It had to have been in some of the case documentation she had been reading- but it couldn't have been anything major, or surely one of the others would've flagged it already.

Novak’s mind pulled out the helpful answer that it must be the work of false attribution. She read hundreds of names a day in research or in motions, on witness counts or on old incident reports- if one of the detectives hadn't realized anything strange about that name, they would've already found whatever was related to it.

But still, that small defiant spark burned in her throat. She knew this name from somewhere and she could feel the fire spreading to her gut, marking that sensation as important.

While pondering on that, she picked up one of the leather-bound journals and began to skim through it.

“He wrote about what he wanted to do,” Rollins added, not necessarily helpfully as Casey was already reading but Casey had lost the spunk that would've previously rewarded the younger detective with a sly remark.

Olivia announced her arrival into the space with an elongated sigh, running her fingers through her brow hair and taking space between Cragen and Amaro, leaning against a desk.

“That was the parents, again.” She told her fellow detectives with a dejected, flat voice, her eyes fixating on a spot on the floor as she shook her head. “They're really messed up over this.”

Amaro grimaced, tilting his head almost helplessly. “They're parents. I’m a parent- imagining your kid growing up, hearing how they're so desperate to be something, to do something grand, and then… then they end up in the morgue.”

Casey bit her lip. She hadn't any children herself, nor had she ever had any sort of attachment to any youngster other than her little siblings, so adding into that conversation seemed forced. But still, she could empathize, and she did. All those ambitions, all those dreams… It was a tragedy in every sense of the word.

“They're upset we haven't done anything yet,” Olivia murmured in a hushed tone, her voice heavy with the expectations of the victim’s family and associates.

Casey’s heart grew heavy- she understood the weight Olivia must feel, the pressure to achieve any sort of semblance of closure for the grieving individuals. But she knew the only way she could help was to understand and affirm justice, so she simply stayed quiet and kept her focus on the pages unfurled in front of her.

Reading the journals, even just letting her eyes flit over them as she was doing, was very disturbing.

The majority of it were surprisingly intricately detailed drawings and diagrams of human anatomy- bones, joints, muscles, blood vessels, major nerves. Diagrams of how what could bend, what would hurt and what wouldn't as much.

It digressed later into detailed sketches of women in painful positions, noting the extent to which muscle and bone could be manipulated. Women with their faces contorted in obvious fear, women trying to shield themselves.

Around the drawings were furious, insane scribbled notes in barely legitimate handwriting. Some were simply notes correcting anatomical mistakes in the drawings- ‘this joint wouldn't bend like that, not really’, ‘this bone would be longer’, and other things along those lines. Other notes seemed to be wondering what the pain would feel like, comparing it against other things. Some notes were readable but Casey could not comprehend what they were supposed to mean, just random strung-together words that didn’t make much sense in that order, and others were written in such poor lettering she genuinely would have to spend time trying to decipher the words, which she did not want to do.

“...and these journals were made while he was medicated?” Casey muttered darkly, biting her lip.

This would be difficult to prosecute- the squad would of course urge her to convict based off of premeditated intent to commit crime using the journals and the notes as evidence, but the scenario in which this man went off of medication seemed to be not be his fault- if he lost his job and lost his insurance, then winding up unmedicated and at the hands of an overzealous and exploitative psychology student who ended up just a bit too close at a bad moment would easily be plead away by a half-decent defense attorney.

Plus, making graphic drawings wasn't a crime. People drew violence all the time, and she’d have to argue with the defense that this proved sexual intent- none of the drawings, horrible as they were, included penetration or overtly sexual imagery.

As if reading her thoughts, Amanda shook her head slowly. “According to the psychiatrist, he actively decided he didn't want to see him anymore, and didn't want to take anything. He had medical insurance via his work, but he got fired due to erratic behavior after his prescription ran out. So, he took initiative in the ending of his therapy, and thereby..”

“..the cessation of his medication and therapies was entirely his decision, and I could book him for this.” Casey finished, closing the leather-bound booklet in his palms and holding it for a long moment before setting it back down with the others.

“Why didn't the psychiatrist report this? If he knew his patient had prior convictions of violence, he shouldn't have let him make the decision to go off medication like that-” Casey began, but Cragen shrugged.

“The system is overcrowded already. People like that slip through the cracks, and no one knows what a danger they really possess until it really happens.”

“But this-” Casey motioned to the stack of journals, “This is more than just…”

“It's sick, but it's not like we don't see this all the time, Casey.” Olivia replied gruffly, crossing her arms- not defensively, just in her usual stance. “Maybe your time off let you forget.”

Her voice was wry and flat and nothing about it came off as overtly mean or mocking- but Casey knew better.

She really couldn't be in the 1-6 for longer than five minutes without some sort of jab that would haunt her for the rest of the week, huh? Olivia couldn't let her have just a little peace? Some semblance of respect? But fine, if she wanted to be like that, to hell with it. Casey would be leaving soon anyway, her reputation was already soiled completely and if snapping at detectives let her feel just a little bit less like a dog backed into a corner, then that's just what she'd do.

“I want you to look into the psychiatrist,” she countered- well, that wasn't even a real counter. “I remember his name- he came up in a legal case before, and before I indict anyone I want to know why.”

She had wanted to snap, but after the ‘you’re off’ comment she had made the other day she couldn't find anything else worth saying. She would’ve had them investigate the psychiatrist anyway. But she made sure to say it in a voice that showed she wasn't submissive to Olivia’s comment, and Benson's nostrils flared in response, so that was good enough for her.

In the back of her head, she fantasized what it would be like if it was the old squad. Stabler would be standing there with his hands on his sides, glaring down at the pages of the journals as if reading to beat the pages themselves up for being a threat to any women in his life- including her, Elliot had been protective of her, and although they never spoke about it Casey had really appreciated the feeling that someone was looking out for her safety- and if Stabler were there, Olivia wouldn't be being so mean. Instead of biting at her, Olivia would've pursed her lips and nodded along at the belief this kind of neglect was unjustifiable, and would've volunteered to make sure nothing sketchy was going on herself before Casey even asked. Stabler would swing on his coat and they’d wave her goodbye, promising to call with an update within the next couple hours.

She missed Stabler.

She missed the version of Olivia who wasn't glaring so harshly at her that she felt as though two holes were about to be layered through her face. The version of Olivia who got drinks with her occasionally after cases, who softened up eventually and opened up to her. Who confided in her, who let her confide back in turn.

Well, that hadn't worked out at all, actually. Casey’s biggest secret- Charlie- even before Stabler's absence had been abused by this woman, so she supposed maybe she had been played for the fool this entire time. Maybe she was just dumb, and that's why she didn't deserve her occupation.

What-fucking-ever. She was too tired to care.

“On it, boss.” Rollins smiled and did a small fake-salute in her southern accent, and Casey huffed softly with appreciation at the lighter gesture.

If she was as enthusiastic as the younger version of herself, she thought perhaps she and Rollins would get along. She seemed sweet. But Casey just couldn't find it in her to try to bond with the squad anymore, not with one foot out the door.

Olivia, though, remained steadfast. With her arms crossed and her eyes harsh, she was an adversary that chipped away at Casey’s fragile psyche second by second, until Casey genuinely considered stepping away.

“What good is it going to do?” Benson questioned, her voice flat. “You’re worried you won't be able to book the schizo, so you're redirecting to an overworked doctor instead? Don't do that, Casey.”

That comment was worse, and everyone in the room knew it.

The lines of Cragen’s face contorted slightly, his face turning from the floor to Olivia’s face, and Amaro and Rollins mirrored the reaction of mild shock. That wasn't just a small remark anymore, that was an outright challenge to Casey’s ability to prosecute- that was disrespect no one could dismiss.

“I don't think it's up to you to decide what I can or cannot do, detective.” Casey responded, trying to mirror Olivia’s cold demeanour, bristling and straightening her back to her full height. “I’d advise you to stay in your lane.”

“I don't think you can advise me to do anything, counselor, not until you man up and remember what we do here.”

“Excuse me?” Casey flashed, her eyes burning, but Olivia began stepping forward and Casey had to physically freeze herself to not start stepping back. Olivia’s broad arm extended and a small part of the faux blonde’s brain wondered if Olivia was genuinely going to strike here, right here in the middle of the squad room, but Olivia was only pointing at the schizophrenic mess of a person pacing and babbling in an interrogation cell. Olivia snatched up a crime scene photo of the mess left of the young college student’s body in her other hand, dangling the image forward into Casey's face as if threatening her with it.

“This man defiled, degraded and ripped a young woman’s brutalized body apart,” Olivia snapped, “I won't let you throw another case because you're too- … too shrouded by your own personal failures to do what needs to be done here!”

Casey’s mind raced and she did ultimately step backwards- if only to be able to make eye contact with Olivia around the photo pushed into her face- her heart beginning to pound in her chest.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve-!” She snapped, trying to surge forward with the intensity she used too, but although Benson growled in her throat she didn't back down.

Casey forced herself to take a deep breath, to calm the adrenaline surging through her bloodstream like fire.

“Listen, Olivia,” She barked, the concerned faces of the others fading in the background of her vision as she focused on the furious expression before her, “I just know the name of the psychiatrist and want to make sure we cover all possible bases- it's not like we have any concrete or forensic evidence, everything you’ve provided me with is substantial at best.”

“We have just short of a dozen notebooks filled with anatomical drawings of torture!” Olivia snarled with poorly concealed indignation, and Casey scrunched her brow in response.

“Some sketchbooks, a record they knew eachother and the fact he was in the general area are not enough to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he murdered and raped that girl.”

“Casey, look at him!” Olivia pointed again, jabbing her finger in his direction, and the room went silent for a couple seconds as they watched the man’s erratic pacing.

The way his eyes darted from side to side, recognizing shapes and patterns no one else could see, was all too familiar. The look in his eyes resembled Charlie’s to a significant degree, the wary pupils and the bags beneath them, rimmed with red and purple and poorly cared for skin. But Charlie’s eyes were a warm, sunrise-on-ocean-water blue, and this man’s were a more submerged brown color.

He was snarling under his breath, his face set in a heavy, paranoid glare. As Casey watched he glared so fiercely at the glass separating them she thought he was shooting a path directly into her soul- but it was a one-way mirror, and he must be looking only at himself, or at someone between them Casey and the others couldn't see.

“I- I know, Olivia.” Casey hated the way her voice faltered, the way she had grown quiet and stared longer than the others had- when she had forced herself to look away, the others were already looking at her expectantly.

“But I’m telling you,” she continued, trying her best to still be stubborn despite the way her heart was fluttering uncomfortably, “I’ll draft the indictment while you search, and if nothing else turns up, I’ll try him for it. I just want all possible bases covered. Something is up with this psychiatrist.”

Because even though she wanted to let her own perception collapse under Olivia’s harsh gaze, she stood for the law first and foremost, and everything she learned from all her effort was that there was something wrong, something was missing, and she wouldn't be able to argue anything with the ferocity she tried to allocate to each of her cases until she believed fully there was a reason to do so.

Olivia exhaled slowly, and Casey’s heart sank in her chest, because the fire in the brunette woman's eyes was turning instead straight to ice, and she already knew her heart wasn't prepared to hear what Olivia was going to say next. The sense of doom was bad enough that Amanda leaned backward slightly and Cragen extended a hand outward as if to pause the conflict he had tried to allow in order to drive the investigation forward, but Olivia couldn't be halted.

“It's depraved,” she started, “I get that. I get you don't want to believe it's his fault- you didn't want to believe it was *his* fault, either-” the others looked mildly confused and Casey was so, so mortified that Olivia was airing her dirty laundry publically, even if the others didn't know what she was referring to Casey being beaten and bruised by her own fiance, “but so help me, if you're too weak to prosecute a case as transparent as this, just do us all a favor and resign before I call the DA to do it for you.”

Cold shock enveloped Casey’s body, even though in the back of her mind she wasn't at all surprised. Still, she could feel the now-familiar weight of exhausted panic pressing against the inside of her face, and she couldn't figure out how to respond to that, because what could she possibly say-?

“You better watch your fucking mouth,” She tried, the only possible response she could come up with, trying to sound like she was seething and not about to cry. It was disrespectful and mean and it fell flat immediately, it wasn't intensely debative like the previous portion of the argument had been, it was just a stupid completely empty threat that did nothing but signal Olivia had successfully hit a nerve.

“You’re out of line.”

The voice was loud, flat, stern and commanding. Even though it wasn't at all spoken with the same erratic volume as Casey and Olivia’s voices had been, it had effectively had both of them stepping backwards in opposite directions- making space for the speaker to enter rather dramatically into the scene.

Alexandra Cabot strolled into the space as if she owned it, her hair flowing around her shoulders with a golden hue like a battle angel come straight down from the heavens, or alternatively like a kindergarten teacher come to set some rambunctious child straight.

Casey bit her cheek and looked away, fully tilting her head in the opposite direction and closing her eyes with an unfiltered grimace on her face. As if Benson’s very overt disapproval wasn't enough, now she was going to get scolded by her own colleague- the woman she supposedly was on par with, although Novak had never been able to elicit the same respect as the Cabot name.

Instead of telling Olivia to bite her tongue she should've been minding her own- she was about to pay the price for her disrespect in the way of humiliation in the most mortifying degree. Dragged off by Alex, come to defend her friend (who didn't at all need defending, Olivia hadn't even blinked), or being berated by her in front of the majority of the squad- Casey briefly debated which one would be worse.

The embers of fury gnawed on her heart, through, and bitterly she wanted to lash out at her. Fuck them all for putting her in this position- how could they not tell that she was already through? She wasn't trying to be difficult, she just wanted to chase justice the way she always had- fuck, the way they did too. Why couldn't anyone see that? All she wanted was to do her job well, and all she got in return was being reminded that she was sick and tired and alone-

God, Casey was so alone.

Green eyes opened, expecting to find the icy depth of blue staring straight into her soul like a dagger forced through a ribcage, only to find the back of blonde hair.

Alex was standing between her and Olivia, but not facing her- and as Casey watched the elder attorney cross her arms and stiffen her spine, elongating to the full potential of her height, she grew momentarily confused.

“Liv,” Alex snapped, “If someone else told me you said what I just heard from your mouth, I would've slapped them for tarnishing your name.”

Casey couldn't see Olivia very well at all, since Alex was literally directly between them, but she heard the audible pause, the half-step backward.

Alex wasn't yelling, she wasn't berating and she wasn't cruel. She reminded Casey rather like a benevolent judge- one of the younger judges, more inclined to ensuring respect and decency in the courtroom, who naively attempted to get the prosecution and the defense to be respectful. They didn't understand- just like how Alex didn't really understand- that they were trying to mix oil and water.

Casey had been putting up with Olivia’s occasional disregard for her for years. The girl in the icebox, the side comments, the unsaid yet constant comparison, the usage of the worst secret she had as an act of revenge. It was tolerable in the years prior to Casey's suspension- it was just Olivia dealing with the stress of the job, Casey had acknowledged and accepted that. She didn't think Olivia ever forgave her for her inability to prosecute Lake’s perpetrator, and she didn't think she ever would, just like how Olivia would never allow her to fully prove herself, no matter how hard she tried. From the day they met, Casey had known she'd never meet Olivia's standard. Olivia’s standard, though, was the woman using her own body as a blockade between the two.

“Alex, I-” She heard a softened voice speak, Benson suddenly turning complacent in the face of her trusted friend.

“I’m not finished,” Alex said, raising a finger in the air- not taunting Olivia with it in the slightest, rather simply indicating she held the floor right now just like she did in court and was not planning on relinquishing it.

“I know the dealing with victim’s families is emotionally taxing, difficult and strenuous, I just got finished with them myself-” (Oh, Casey thought, that's why they weren't asking her for subpoenas or search warrants, they must be bypassing her to get Alex instead, choosing to let her get close to investigations the way they chose to keep pushing her out) “but that's not excuse to question the integrity of the DA’s office by accusing a senior assistant district attorney,”

Casey felt herself swallow, her heart clenching at the way Alex said her full title with a note of reverence, with regard- but then, why shouldn't she? Alex, noble and respected as she was, was still an assistant district attorney, and technically Casey did outrank her in that regard, even though no one ever acted like it. Alex was acting like it now, though, and suddenly Casey felt like she was standing on solid ground again.

“of responding insufficiently.” Alex was still talking, still commanding the rapt attention of everyone in the room- even some of the background officers who milled about had frozen to watch her speak.

“You conduct investigations under the directions of your Captain, who I have not seen make any sort of inquiry against Novak’s handling or suggestions-” she nodded respectfully at Cragen who blinked and then chose not to respond, favoring instead to let her play this out, “and at the digression of the ADA herself, whether it be me, Hardwicke or her. To question her decision to direct further investigation is to imply the DA’s office and the body we compose as your working prosecutors lack authority and I will not allow you to employ such blatant disregard. Attempting to threaten an attorney into indicting solely at your whim is an affront to all of us- myself included.”

Alex then let her finger drop, because she knew it was unnecessary to keep holding it, Olivia wouldn't dare interject again when Alex was using her prowess the way she was. She had the circle of people entirely subdued into silence. Casey felt her chest loosen, and her ability to breathe came slightly easier.

“And that's all ignoring the disrespect towards information that was personally confided to you,” Alex said this in a lower voice, still stern and commanding but intentionally directed in a way only the circle of people could hear- again, Rollins and Amaro and even Cragen seemed rather perplexed, although despite the way they seemed confused when Olivia had brought up things unbeknownst to them, when Alex did they seemed to detach, trusting that it was simply not meant for them to be aware of.

“Which, frankly,” Alex shook her head slowly, “As your friend, I'm appalled by.”

Casey bit her lip, her hands twitching by her sides as she heard Alex inhale again, letting the momentary pause ring heavy in the air before making her version of a closing argument.

“Novak is a brilliant prosecutor and her decision to investigate any possible motive into who will most likely be your star character witness, as well as the person who gave you the only key evidence you have, is perfectly logical- I would've instructed you to do the same. I’m not entirely sure why you're so affronted, but your irreverence is palpable and I won't have that. You know better.”

Olivia audibly exhaled and Alex moved aside, glancing between the two for a half second.

No one took the floor for a long second, Benson staring at Casey with an air of discomfort and Casey staring back blankly, her mind reeling with the words that had come from Alex’s lips.

Someone was in her corner?

Someone was in her corner. Why?

Alexandra Cabot was in her corner, and Casey had no clue how the universe had granted her that solace, but Jesus Christ.

It wasn't miraculous, and it wasn't as though the weeks of exhaustion and slow deterioration were suddenly reversed. Casey was not suddenly a new, refreshed person. But the ember she had fostered, determined to keep alive until something happened- that ‘something happened’ had just unfolded.

Alex had granted her the respect, the acknowledgement she had so wearily accepted to deprivation of. Casey felt seen, as though a part of her had been invisible for months- years- was finally opaque and recognized. The ember she had tried so hard to shield flickered back and then became again a small flame, not the bonfire it used to be, but suddenly Casey felt as though she had the strength to bring it back to that level.

Alex trusted her- Casey wasn't sure how much of the conversation she had heard, how much evidence she knew about, but- enough that she assumed whatever Casey was demanding was for the best interest of the case. Alexandra Cabot, the golden girl of the squad, trusted that Casey was acting in the best interest of justice.

Olivia realized it, too. Casey was really just trying to cover all aspects of the case, not redirect or play her own agenda this time. It was as though she had had cold water splashed in her fevered, sleep-deprived addled face, woken up and made to see straight. Threatening Casey wasn't going to get her anywhere.

“...I’ll start pulling files,” Olivia said finally, her voice tinged with regret. “I didn't mean to … I didn't mean to cross a line. You're right, I’m getting tunnel vision.” (and I miss Elliot, Casey filled in mentally for her, I’m not doing well because I hate working without the stability and support my partner provided, and I just wanted to speed the case up so I can bury myself in a new shocking tragedy so I don't have time to think about him, because this case reminds me of how scared I was he would have to stop working because of Picard, and now he is genuinely gone, and I’m not coping well.) Casey accepted the partially verbal apology.

“Actually, I think Rollins and Amaro can work on that,” Cragen spoke finally. “Take some time and think about what you need to do to approach this case clear-headed, Olivia. See me in my office in an hour.”

Olivia bristled at the dismissal, but after being scolded so thoroughly by Alex- especially with the blonde still stationed so close- she didn't disobey. With a last glance at Casey- one with softened, apologetic eyes- she turned on her heel and left presumably to the cradle.

Amanda and Nick seemed to jump at the opportunity to awkwardly scramble off, impatient to begin working again and leave the very vocal confrontation between their senior detective colleague and not one but two of their ADAs.

“This was … something,” Casey murmured, after the silence stretched on for a longer moment, now exclusively between Cragen, Alexandra and her, “but I'm… I have work to do.”

“I’ll give you a lift, I need to return to the DA’s office as well.” Alex offered, and Casey thought it would be rude to refuse- especially because refusing would mean hailing a cab while Alex drove her own car, or hiding in the bathroom until Alex left, which seemed pointless and also moderately embarrassing.

“I’ll try to rein Liv in,” Cragen said as a final note, which both attorneys nodded too but otherwise let hang in the air.

Alex walked a couple inches closer to Casey than she would've entirely preferred, but didn't attempt to glance at her as the two ADAs exited the precinct, which she did appreciate.

“I’m sorry, Casey.” Alex said, her voice suddenly smooth and soft like a blanket Casey could wrap herself in, “I didn't mean to fight your fight for you. It was disrespectful for me to step in like that- it's just, I’m friends with Liv, and I hated hearing her berate you like that. She can get really carried away.”

“It’s fine,” Casey responded in what she hoped was a curt, indifferent voice. “Liv’s having a tough time without Elliot, I expected it.”

“That's no excuse for how she was addressing you, though.” Alex murmured, but in an observational, light, almost conversational tone instead of a pressing argumentative one. Casey could only shrug in response, tugging her coat back on as the two exited the precinct doors.

Obviously, Casey felt guilty for her inability to help carry the conversation. It wasn't in her interest to spend the drive back to the DA’s office in a prickling silence. But her hands were shaking just slightly near her sides, and she was consumed trying to calm her sympathetic nerve system to an extent to which she just really couldn't try to formulate the kind of precise, intentional words she’d want to be using with Alex. Making a fool in front of the elder, esteemed attorney by stumbling over exhausted, nervous words while trying to make sure Alex knew Casey wasn't actually upset at Olivia wasn't what she wanted to deal with right now.

Her heart was still beating uncomfortably, not particularly fast, but strong enough to register in her neck and ears. Casey’s lungs seemed just constricted enough to be a nuisance, and her mind was still whirling through a variety of observations, thoughts and topics. She wished she could scream at her anatomy to just stop, quit it, so she could take a deep breath and pause the cortisol flowing through her.

The faux blonde allowed Alex to lead her to where her car was parked, and they remained in a mildly tense silence throughout the brief journey. Alex seemed more inclined to allow Casey her retreat into introspection and Casey couldn't force herself to make words fall from her mouth if she tried- that is, if she tried, such she currently was not attempting to do.

Alex unlocked the car and circled around to the driver’s side, and Casey mechanically settled in on the front passenger’s seat, staring ahead rather blankly as she waited for Alex to begin driving- which she didn't do.

Once both car doors were closed, the blonde attorney turned to Casey, her expression unreadable.

“Casey, I’m going to hold your hand now.” Alex said in a soft, authoritative voice, before reaching over and clasping two hands around one of Casey’s. Her hands were soft and without discernible temperature, but they felt comforting in a way that mildly surprised her.

Casey blinked at Alex with furrowed brows, but she didn't move to shake the elder woman’s hands away, which Alex half-smile at encouragingly.

“If someone were to yell at me like that,” Alex continued gently, “I’d be all kinds of broken up about it. I can't stand loud sounds and erratic movements. And I’d want someone to sit me down, hold my hand, and listen so I could talk it through. Is that what you’d want to do?”

“No,” Casey said hoarsely, feeling a sob bubbling within her lungs. “I don't want to talk.”

Alex speaking to her with that tone, soothing, low and melodic, was simply too much for her right now. She wouldn't be able to recover if she lost her composure in front of her colleague, and if she tried to speak, tried to explain anything, she’d begin crying- she didn't realize how close she was to tears until just now.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” Alex hummed, and Casey again shook her head in denial. She felt guilty she was rejecting Alex with no type of explanation, but she couldn't explain herself, and Alex seemed to understand.

Then, so soft it was almost whispered, “..Do you want me to hold you?”

She said it so softly, with such a note of emotion, that Casey almost thought it sounded like that was what Alex really wanted to do herself.

Casey’s head met Alex’s shoulder before she realized she was moving, and despite what the overwhelming fear that sank into her mind said the second she did so, Alex was entirely receptive, her hands raising to cradle her skull softly.

She’s just back from international work in the Congo, Casey thought to herself miserably, I’m sure she’s used to cleaning up people’s breakdowns. I’m sure she’s exactly the type of good person I’m not.

Casey’s shoulders were shaking and she couldn't stop them, and her arms were numbly pawing around Alex's sides to bring the other woman closer. Alex tightened her grip, sliding one thigh across the divider in a way that must be uncomfortable and her other leg beneath her, so she could lean across and make the embrace all that much easier for the other woman.

The younger attorney could feel Alex exhaled against her scalp, and if Casey pictured it she could see Alex’s eyelids fall shut with empathy, her slim fingers laced around Casey’s shoulders like thread that held ripped fabric together.

But as much as Casey felt horrible about letting the woman comfort her, she couldn't bring herself to pull away. The allure of Alex’s warm, inviting figure, the solace being embraced brought, especially after the years of feeling so utterly alone, was too much to reject- it didn't stop her from feeling guilty about it, though. She didn't want to accept Alex's pity, but oh, how she did need it.

“It's okay,” Alex said the second Casey opened her mouth to apologize, “I’ve got you. It's hard, I know.”

That notion rang clear in Casey’s disoriented mind. Alex had referenced something specific in her verbal takedown she had no clue how the elder woman would be aware of.

“How did you know about him?” Casey said suddenly, raising her head and pulling back, staring at Alex with bleary eyes, “About Olivia telling Branch about-?”

Alex winced, then, her shoulders tilting inward just the slightest bit, her hands flexing as though she wanted to pull Casey back.

“...Liv told me,” She breathed finally, after a pause. Casey’s mind went momentarily blank, so stressed everything faded out to void, and she rested her forehead against Alex’s shoulder again, exhausted beyond measure. She'd resign next week, she internally decided, she’d recuse herself from all her active cases and leave. This was too much, all too much. But she didn't make any move to pull away from Alex, if anything, she shifted just the slightest bit closer. Alex was still talking, she realized faintly.

“She mentioned you during your suspension, when she thought- when she thought I was getting too involved.”

“What?” Casey murmured, her voice seemingly heavy and far-away. “You? You get too involved?”

Alex chuckled softly. “Haven't you heard about how I ordered an illegal search?”

It caught Casey off guard that Alex would offer up information like that. That she’d care about this conversation enough to divest vulnerability like that. Casey swallowed, once, and then when Alex’s hands flexed again, she lowered her face back to the blonde's shoulder. Alex’s slight anxiety seemed to soothe in that instant, her hands able to regain their purchase on the back of Casey’s head.

Casey thought that if she wasn't so emotionally pent up, she’d think Alex’s slight discomfort at not being able to hold her was cute.

“No, I haven't. Tell me about it,” Casey murmured, and Alex fully turned her torso in her direction, settling into a more comfortable position as she regarded the window thoughtfully, composing her words for the impromptu bout of storytelling. She wasn't particularly proud of this moment, but if it made Casey feel better, she’d divulge.

“This boy was the victim of a pedophile,” Alex started slowly, “and I knew- I knew something was wrong when he said he’d be going home, but I.. I watched him walk out of my office, and that night I got a call he’d try to kill himself, and it was horrible. He was hooked up to all those machines, and the mother was screaming at me- I had been decked by another victim of the same guy, and I thought I’d get it again from her.”

Casey nestled a bit closer, a small exhale against Alex’s neck that signalled she was listening. If Alex looked down, she'd see a rounded green eye attentively focused on her face, but she didn't. Alex was partially zoned out the way Casey always felt when she was recounting her own prior cases to herself.

“We knew from another victim, one who had grown up and been incarcerated, that the boy would have tapes of the crime in his room, and the judge denied my search warrant to go retrieve them. But I sent the detectives anyway. Liv asked me if I had a search warrant and I…” Alex shrugged slightly, Casey’s head following the motion from where it rested. “I tried to steamroll my way right through it. Still remember how…” Alex paused to search for a word she couldn't find, “how I felt after.”

It was hard for Casey to reconcile the woman before her as someone who had broken the law, but somehow the knowledge she was human like her stopped the churning of her stomach slightly.

“This seems stupid to say,” Casey murmured in her low rasp, “but I never realized you were… that you could make the kind of mistakes I do.”

Alex chuckled again sadly. “I’m far from perfect. I can be insensitive, harsh, I get tunnel vision. I put people in danger.”

Casey bit her lip, hesitantly raising her head again.

“And I call in favors,” Alex continued, “My uncle… I leaned on him a lot early in my career. On his connections with other judges. Petrovsky called me out on that before. I made a lot of publicity mistakes, too, once I didn't- I tried to navigate a case and let a boy off easy, and he ended up,” Alex swallowed, then, “murdered in the street.”

“Before I was suspended, I almost got an assault charge.” Casey admitted softly, trying to add into the conversation, not wanting Alex to be the only one bearing herself vulnerable. “I pushed a juvenile sex detention facility head against the wall after I found out that- that abuse was ongoing within the facility. After I sent… a boy there.”

“It’s tough.” Alex sighed as a response, and Casey nodded slowly. She raised her head back up, pushing her head instead against the headrest of the leather car seat, watching Alex watch her.

They sat together in silence, although unlike during the walk to the car, it wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't bursting with racing minds and words not said, rather the budding sense of familiarity and camaraderie. Casey understood how Alex felt, and Alex understood what Casey wasn't saying. They were fighting the same fight, after all. Who would better comprehend the struggle than one who was in the same shoes?

“It starts to get exhausting,” Casey said slowly, her green eyes flicking upwards to scan Alex’s face, seeking validation in solidarity, “the politics of it all. I just …”

“... want to help,” Alex finished for her, tilting her head and raising her shoulder before letting it drop. “Want to make a difference, want to… ensure justice for people who need it. Provide solace to someone.”

“You get it,” was all Casey could respond with, but Alex nodded.

“Did you really need to go back?” Alex murmured, using her hand to motion to the steering wheel she wasn't using, and Casey pursed her lips.

“No,” she answered honestly. “I just didn't want to be in the precinct anymore. Did you?”

“No,” Alex responded in turn, and then blue eyes flicked up, studying Casey’s face as her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. “I just … wanted the excuse to talk to you.”

Casey’s gaze slid around Alex’s features, taking in the softened gaze, the curve of her cheeks at her gentle smile, the tilt of her glasses, the slope of her hair. She noted how elegantly Alex always held her arms, but for once, she didn't try to compare herself against her colleague, rather just took in the fact a woman this gorgeous was trying to provide her with the solace she so desperately needed.

“Let's talk, then.” She murmured, and then in a rush of confidence, “It's been a while since someone tried to …”

She didn't know what she wanted to finish that sentence with. No one had stood up for her, no one had offered her a degree of companionship, no one had put in that much effort to engage with her. But that seemed utterly pathetic to divulge, so she bit her tongue. As always, as she was learning to understand through this brief interaction, Alex could tell what she meant without her needing to say it. It was comforting.

“Are we continuing this conversation in the parking lot, or am I driving you somewhere nicer, Ms. Novak?” Alex hummed, extending her arms to wrap around the steering wheel so she could lightly tap-tap-tap her fingers against it, and Casey chuckled.

“Somewhere nicer? What, are you asking me out?” Casey snorted, mirroring Alex’s turn to a proper sitting position and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“...Would you be more or less willing if it was?” Alex smirked, but it was obvious she was jesting.

Casey grinned, closed her eyes, and flexed her eyebrows with a bit of snark she found within herself she hadn't been sure still existed. “I’m not a cheap date, counselor.”

“Then we’ll get along, because I refuse to eat anywhere that doesn't have tablecloths and a separate wine menu.” The elder attorney shot her a small smile, turning on the car’s ignition and beginning to pull out of the parking space, apparently having decided on a place already.

“Never ask me to cook for you though,” she followed that up with, “I can afford a good cut of steak, but for the life of me I wouldn't be able to cook it.”

“Then you buy it, and I’ll cook. I’ve been told I know my way around searing steak.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alex chirped, removing one hand from the steering wheel to enclose the top of Casey’s hand, “I never did treat you to something after you saved my life. I wanted to.”

The teasing air morphed into something softer once more, warm and comfortable, as Casey’s eyes softened in Alex’s direction. The blonde was now focusing on the road, so she couldn't see the way Casey studied her features, which only created incentive for Casey to take her time doing so.

“Did you mean what you said?” She didn't like how timid her voice came out, but the words spilled from her lips before she could stop them. Alex shot her a brief glance, raising an eyebrow that signalled a nonverbal ‘about what?’.

“about … me being a decent prosecutor,” Casey pressed rather lamely, her voice not really full of conviction, because she didn't really know if she wanted the honest answer. She didn't want to hear Alex lie, and she didn't want to hear Alex struggle to justify it either.

To her surprise, Alex’s immediate response of “yes” was not hesitant or thoughtful. She said it as though it were an unarguable fact.

“I think you forget,” Alex added, “One of the people your legal prowess saved was me.”

That was before her suspension, Casey noted to herself with a sigh, back when prosecuting felt perhaps not as easy, but as natural as breathing. But maybe, possibly, with the knowledge at least one person wanted to put in the effort to support her, at least one person didn't struggle to decide if Casey was worthy of being an attorney- maybe that one person’s acknowledgement could satisfy her craving for validation. Maybe she really could climb her way back up again. Maybe it wasn't all lost.

But also, maybe that wasn't something she really had to decide ultimately in this particular moment. She could simply enjoy the company of another person who understood the intricacies of the life this job provided, chatter and storytell, and allow the drained battery to recharge. She didn't need to dedicate her life to SVU, and didn't need to start drafting her resignation forms either.

She could just choose on the simple decision of allowing Alex to take her for dinner, and worry about the rest when she could handle it, because it did now feel as though she would soon be able to handle it.

“You're really something, you know that?” She responded, turning back to face the road, and she could hear Alex smile in response.

“Just trying to repay the favor you did me,” Alex smoothed, “and… well, women like us, we should stick together.”

Casey nodded once in agreement, her lips curving into an easy smile as she replied, “that we should.”

[separatist-apologist]

I think the Mor being gay was handled so fucking disrespectfully it would have been better had she just not made her gay at all at this point. Just introduce new characters instead. Azmor was cute to me and I would have liked at least one of the main ships to be similarly aged but even if that never happened why would Mor ever need to hide it from the night court? Her friends and family of centuries!

All my thoughts are under the cut because I think some of this could be perceived as anti IC (ITS NOT) or anti Azriel (not on purpose)

I get kind of frustrated with the Mor reveal because that came wildly out of left field to me. ACOMAF is so clearly setting up some kind of love triangle between Mor/Cassian/Azriel and I think that continues to linger even in ACOWAR/SF with how Cassian is around Mor. SJM can say all she wants that its just brother/sister love but some of Mor/Cassian's behavior is very romance coded in an undeniable way (and an annoying way for Nesta imo).

I have been told that people were pressuring SJM to be more diverse which is always so weird to me because why would you look to SJM for representation? Her niche is aggressive heterosexuality, it's clearly where she's comfortable and the little representation we've ever gotten has not been handled well. I think she just doesn't know how to do it, there's no shame in that. We should be uplifting and supporting diverse authors telling authentic stories, you know?

Regardless, back to Mor- I do wonder if SJM ever considered the implications of that reveal. It makes sense that Mor wouldn't want her father to know, but Rhys? Cassian? Azriel? Her found family for 500 years, who uplifted her and protected her, often at their own expense? She doesn't feel safe telling them? Again, SJM is a teller, not a shower but sometimes she accidentally shows us the wrong thing when she's telling us something, and what I think she inadvertently showed us was that the IC is not as close as they first appear.

Which COULD be such an interesting story IF she was interested in exploring it at all. But she told us they're an unshakable family, and so they are, regardless of the subtext that suggest there are DEEP foundational cracks there. Like Mor is SCARED of Azriel, we don't want to delve into that? Or Mor is Rhys' second in command, but he actively makes a deal with Eris, who she is genuinely afraid of, and tells her to suck it up? Is that role ceremonial then? What sort of family/friendship is this?

And finally- I have always kind of assumed Mor is bisexual given she has relationships with men. There is something deeply uncomfortable and almost coercive about the thought of sleeping with other men to get Azriel to leave her alone. Like if what SJM is telling us is true and she doesn't enjoy these intimate moments with Helion, for example, and is only doing it because Azriel can't take a hint, thats....right? Like, I'm not the only person who just decides not to think about it too closely because the implications are terrifying and gross?

Cassian and Rhys KNOW (that shes not into Azriel, not that she's sleeping with Helion even though it repulses her, to get Azriel to leave her alone) this, and they choose to look the other way- how much do they even love her? It's giving "oh, he'd never hurt her" but then they all know she has no interest in him and rather than taking Azriel aside and being like, "my man its time to move on" they all just do nothing because its none of their business. I have siblings, and once when a man wouldn't take the hint with my sister, he took it up with me in the hallway at high school when I shoved him into a locker and started yelling at him.

Again, I think this kind of comes down to SJMs tendency to lean toward telling us everything, including how we should feel, but not showing us stuff. So she can say until she's blue in the face that the IC is an unshakable friendship group with a love that moves mountains but then the reality is that one of them has been tormenting the other for CENTURIES, refusing to take what I consider a very obvious no as an answer- to the point she feels like she has to perform heterosexuality so he'll back off- and no one does anything about it.

And I think thats rough.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

╔══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╗

buff guy

╚══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╝

ʚ Part 10 ɞ

❥ CW: chubby fem reader x buff guy, fluff, smut, shopping date, makeout session

❥ A/N: thank you for your patience my lovelies, i hope you enjoy 💕

"Can I take you somewhere this weekend?"

"Like where?" Mohammed smiles, taking a sip of his drink.

"I want to take you shopping."

You choke on your drink, coughing into your fist.

"Shopping? Where did that come from?"

"I like how you dress, I really do, but I want to give you some more clothes to wear. I want to dress you up with clothes I got for you."

"Like a doll?" you ask teasingly, and he looks away, embarrassed.

"I don't want you to feel like a toy, or like I own you."

"I don't." You reach out for his hand, smiling at him when he grabs it. "I would feel bad if you spent that kind of money on me. You've already gotten me jewelry and perfume that was way too expensive."

"I don't care about money." He brings your hand to his lips, kisses your knuckles. "I only care about you." You giggle, waving him off.

"Stop, you're gonna make me blush." He smiles, kissing your hand again.

"So? Is that a yes?"

You think for a moment, considering the pros and cons before you nod.

"Sure, I'll let you take me shopping." He does a fist bump and you laugh. "I will warn you though! There's not a lot of places that carry my size. I am a big girl, after all."

"I'll do some research. I'll find some places to take you, I promise."

"Break time's over!" your coworker calls.

"Time to go, handsome." He smiles at the compliment, standing up with you and opening his arms for a hug. You fall into him, arms wrapped around his torso as you snuggle into his chest. He kisses the crown of your head, smoothing his hands over your back.

"I'll pick you up at eleven on Saturday. Do you want to eat while we're out?" You hum in thought.

"Can we get takeout and bring it back to my place? And then we can watch a movie?"

"I'd love that." You get up on your tiptoes to kiss him before pulling away and waving.

"Bye, Guy." You wince, scrunching your face. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I'm just so used to calling you 'Guy'."

"It's okay," he waves you off. "I'm not worried about it. You can keep calling me 'Guy' if you want."

"Are you sure? I don't want to make it weird by calling you something else when I finally know your name."

"It's fine. I like it. It's my own special nickname." You giggle.

"Okay, alright. I'll alternate between the two."

"Sounds good."

"Hello? Break time is all done! Quit chit-chatting and get back over here before I get you fired!"

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!"

"You look cute," he says when you open the door, "as always."

"It's just leggings and a cropped sweater."

"Which is really cute. And sexy. Gives me a look at your hips."

You giggle, turning around and giving a pose.

"And a good look at my ass."

He nods, glancing over you before giving you a thumbs up.

"Nice butt."

You laugh, turning back around and grabbing his hand, going to his car.

He drives you to a shopping area, an expensive one that you've never ventured to because you knew it was out of your price range. You glance around while he parks, staying in the car while he gets out because you know he likes opening the door for you.

When he helps you out of the car, he pays the parking meter and grabs your hand, taking you along the sidewalk.

"You were right," he starts, "there's not a lot of places that have good clothes in your size, which is bullshit."

"I told you. Were you able to find anything?"

"Of course. There's a plus-size store for women down the road a little bit. We could try some other places too, if you want, but this store is specifically for plus-size women."

"Aw, look at you being all sweet and doing research on where I can get clothes. You're so romantic."

"This is just basic decency. Every guy should be treating you like this." He pauses, looking at you. "I take that back. Only I should be doing these things for you. But other guys should be doing this for their partners too."

You laugh, leaning into his arm as you walk.

"You're so cute I could die!"

"Don't do that. I want to spend a lot more time with you."

You arrive at the storefront, Mohammed opening the door for you. You enter the almost completely white interior, looking around at the array of clothing they had. Jeans and t-shirts, but also dresses, bags, and jewelry.

"Hi!" a sales clerk greets you, walking towards the two of you. "Welcome in! Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually—"

"Yes," Mohammed speaks up, stepping forward and gesturing towards you. "I'm looking for some clothes for my girlfriend."

"Oh! How exciting! What are you looking for?"

"Well—"

"I want some clothes that highlight her beauty." He motions his hands to outline your body. "I like her curves, and I would love some clothing that accentuates her curves. I also think she looks nice in florals and bright colors, but not so bright that she gets everyone's attention. Oh, and I would love to get some gold jewelry; I think she looks really nice in gold—"

"Mohammed!"

He stops, looking at you.

"What?"

"Can I speak to you?" you ask, an edge to your tone. He gulps, nodding, following you a few steps away from the sales clerk.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" you ask in a hushed voice. "What's wrong is you coming into the store and telling some girl how you want me to dress! Have you lost your damn mind?"

"I... I thought you wanted to go clothes shopping."

"I do, but I didn't come here for you to dictate what I should wear." You point your finger into his chest, giving him a serious look. "You don't get to tell me what to do. You don't get to tell me what to eat or where to go or what to wear. Got it?"

He swallows, nodding slow.

"I... I'm sorry. I've always done it this way in the past." You arch your brow.

"How many girls have you done this for?" He looks at the ground.

"Two."

You huff, crossing your arms.

"I have no right to be mad. We probably didn't even know each other when you did those things."

"We didn't. I wouldn't have done these things with other girls if I knew you were out there."

You sigh, glancing around the store.

"Just don't take charge of things like that when it should be my decision, okay? I'm the one who's going to be wearing the clothes, so I should be the one to choose them." He nods, still staring at the ground.

"You're right. I'm sorry." You tap your finger against your arm.

"Just don't do it again."

"I won't." He looks up at you like a sad puppy. "Are you mad at me?"

"...No. I just don't like being told what to do."

"I understand. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

You sigh, reaching up and pinching his cheek gently.

"Quit pouting. This was supposed to be fun. Just no more taking charge, okay?"

He nods, still looking sad as he leans into your hand, nuzzling your palm.

"Do you want a kiss?"

"Yes, please," he replies.

He leans down and you kiss him chastely, giving him several little pecks before pulling away and smiling.

"It's okay. Just learn from this experience."

"I will."

You grab his hand, pulling him back to the sales clerk who stops folding some clothes.

"I'm ready to shop now!"

The sales clerk is very kind to you, showing you around, recommending different outfits for you to try on. You pick and choose the outfits you'd like to try, now carrying a pile to the dressing rooms.

"Do you wanna see each one?" you ask Mohammed over your shoulder.

"If you don't mind."

You enter the dressing room, locking the door behind you. You start undressing, picking out your first outfit and putting it on. It's a pair of skinny jeans and a white blouse with puffy sleeves. You look yourself over in the mirror before leaving the dressing room, going to the sitting area where Mohammed was. He was leaning back against a couch, but he sits up when you walk out.

"What do you think?" you ask, doing a spin so he could look over all of you.

"You look nice."

"That's all? Just nice?" He shrugs, glancing away.

"Would you like me to say more?"

"Yes, please. Give me specifics or I'm just gonna put it back."

He looks you up and down, inhaling deep.

"You look like the innocent girl-next-door, the one who would bring me cookies and ask to drink a beer with me." You scrunch your face.

"I hate beer."

"I know. But that's what you look like to me." You twist your mouth in thought.

"That's definitely more detailed, but I'm not sold on the outfit. I feel like it makes my waist look big." He shrugs.

"Then put it back. Like you said, you should wear what you want, so if you don't like it, don't get it." You point at him.

"I like the support. Keep it up. And keep giving me those descriptions; they're cute to hear." He salutes you.

"Got it, boss."

You giggle, heading back to your dressing room, undressing and putting the outfit in the 'no' pile. You find another outfit, trying it on and going out to Mohammed.

"You look like the kind of girl that would flirt with me at the gym by asking to touch my muscles."

You try on another outfit.

"You look like a girl I would meet at the library who would be too shy to talk to me."

And another.

"You look like a girl who would try and sell me essential oils or herbal supplements."

His comments always made you laugh, but you didn't end up liking any of the outfits. They were all generic, boring, the kinds of clothes that didn't compliment your body, just tried to hide it. It was a shame, since Mohammed brought you all this way just to buy you clothes, and you weren't happy with anything.

You come out in your original outfit, looking glum.

"You didn't like any of them?"

"No," you mumble, shrugging. "I just didn't really enjoy anything. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he responds, standing up and walking towards you. "I wasn't too impressed with anything you wore either." He puts his hands on his hips, looking disappointed. "It sucks that the clothes weren't better suited toward you."

"Yeah."

The two of you stand there awkwardly.

"I feel like today was a bust," you say.

"It wasn't a total bust," he replies, taking your hand and squeezing it. "I got to see my girlfriend play dress-up which was pretty cute."

You scoff and roll your eyes.

"You're silly." He squeezes your hand again, making you look at him.

"Would you like some purses or jewelry? That stuff didn't look so bad." You glance around the store, twisting your mouth before nodding, smiling at him.

"Maybe just one purse, though. I don't need a million of them."

He smiles, leading you to the bags. You look around for a bit, picking up a bag and then opening it, turning it over before putting it back. You do this to a couple before you find one in your favorite color and a decent size. You hold it for a while, weighing it in your hands and deciding that yes, you would like this bag.

You turn to smile at Mohammed, but he's not next to you anymore. You frown, looking around the store before you see him standing over a table, looking at something. You walk over to him, glancing around his large form to see him holding a pair of lacy panties.

"Guy?"

He jolts, dropping the underwear and turning to you, covering the shelf of lingerie with his body.

"Y-You find what you want?" You arch your brow, smiling at him.

"Whatcha looking at?"

"N-Nothing."

"Ohhh, nothing, huh?" You take a step toward him, moving to the side to pick up the panties he was looking at. "This is nothing?"

He gulps, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I-I was just looking..." You hum, looking over the panties. They're white with little bows on the front and sides. You smirk at him.

"Were you thinking about me in this?" He can't look at you, glancing around the store.

"...Maybe."

"Hmm, interesting. And what exactly were you thinking about?"

"I just..." He runs a hand over his face. "I just think you would look really good in white."

"Cute and innocent, huh?" You swear you can see him blush. He nods slightly. You giggle. "Maybe I should get it, for when we finally do it."

He looks at you, eyes wide.

"I... I don't... you don't have—"

"It's fine." You nudge him with your elbow. "You're paying anyways. Think of it like a future present to yourself."

He follows you to the register, not able to look the sales clerk in the eye as he pays for your new purse and panties. You take the shopping bag from her, wishing her a good day before grabbing his hand and leading him out of the store.

"I'm so excited for this food!" you cheer as you unlock your apartment and open the door. "I haven't had Chinese food in so long."

"You like Chinese food?" Mohammed asks, following behind you into your apartment.

"Yeah, but I like all kinds of food, haha! I really like this place though because they give you so much fried tofu and it's so good."

"I see." He sets down the takeout bag on your coffee table as well as the bag from the store.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you ask, moving to the kitchen.

"What do you have?"

"Water, juice, diet soda." He hums.

"I'll take a soda."

"Okie dokie!"

You return with two cold sodas, joining him on the couch. He starts taking the food out of its bag while you turn on the TV and search for a movie to watch.

"What are you in the mood to see?" you ask him.

"Whatever you want to watch is fine."

"Well, if it's up to me, I'm gonna pick another rom-com."

"I like watching rom-coms with you," he says, pushing your food closer to you, grabbing some chopsticks and breaking them apart.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I like to imagine us in the same scenario." You giggle.

"You're a silly goose."

"Am I your silly goose?"

"Of course." He smiles.

"That's all I care about."

You choose a movie, letting it start as you grab your food. You got General Tso's tofu with vegetables and rice, and he got orange chicken with lo mein as a side. You sit in silence as you eat, watching the movie you had seen several times before. When the food is gone, you cuddle up together, his arm around your shoulders as you lean into his chest.

"Can I say something?" you ask, tilting your head to look up at him.

"Of course."

"You've got nice boobs." He barks out a laugh, snorting and covering his mouth with his opposite hand.

"What? Boobs? What are you talking about?"

"Your pecs!" You sit up, motioning towards his chest. "They're very soft and comfortable. They're like boobs, you know?"

He puts his hands on his chest, looking down at them.

"I mean, I guess they are soft. I've never really thought about it."

"Can I touch them?" He glances at you, then shrugs.

"If you want to."

You smile, inching closer before stopping.

"Would it freak you out if I sat on your lap?" He visibly swallows but shakes his head.

"No, you can. I won't mind."

You smile again, crawling over him so that you were straddling his thighs, facing him. You rub your hands together in anticipation before reaching out, placing your hands on his pectorals.

"They're so big," you whisper before squeezing them, feeling them give under your fingers. "I told you they were like boobs."

"You seem to like them a lot."

"I do." You squeeze them again, giving them a little shake, which makes him chuckle.

"You're silly."

"You like it."

You keep massaging his muscles, squeezing and releasing them, molding them in your hands. You give him a sly grin.

"Is this turning you on?" He huffs.

"I guess it could be seen as arousing."

"So you aren't aroused?"

"I mean... you do look really hot sitting on my lap." You smirk, leaning in close to him.

"You wanna make out?" He gulps and nods.

"Yes, please."

You close the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his hungrily. He moans at the contact, his hands finding your waist and squeezing, thumbs digging into your plush stomach. You keen, molding your lips with his before opening your mouth just a bit and gliding your tongue over his lips. He's receptive to your advance, opening his mouth, his tongue meeting yours. Your mouths widen and your heads tilt in opposite directions, doing everything you can to get closer to one another. Your tongues swirl around each other, your moans drowning in your connected mouths. He pulls away suddenly, leaning his head back against the couch cushion, eyelids hanging low as he looks at you.

"Would it be okay if I touched your ass?" he asks, blinking slow. You nod quickly, gasping when you feel his large hands slide down your hips and grab your ass, pulling you closer to him.

"You're so fucking pretty," he breathes, leaning back in to kiss you. You whine, your hips moving on their own and grinding against his, making him groan. He pulls back, but keeps his mouth close to yours. "And soft. How are you so soft?"

"Squeeze my ass," you plead, planting your lips against his again. He sighs into you, his big hands squeezing as much of your ass as he can grab, pulling your hips to meet his. He helps guide your hips to grind against his, the zipper of his jeans brushing your clothed pussy. You try to manipulate yourself so that you can grind your clit down against the hard material.

"Such a good girl," he sighs, moving his lips to your neck and pressing open mouthed kisses against you. You moan, finding the perfect spot to grind down on and focusing there, moving your hips faster. "You're my good girl, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," you whine, biting your lip as another moan slips out.

"Fuck, that's right. My sweet pretty girl. God, I love you, I love you so fucking much." You gasp, barely thinking before you reply.

"I love you too," you moan in his ear, hearing him inhale sharply. He pulls back to look at you, eyes glazed over.

"You mean it? You're not just saying it to make me feel better?" You shake your head.

"No. I mean it, Mohammed. I really do love you."

He sighs, lips crashing into yours once again. He grabs your hips, guiding them to grind down on his lap, making you moan. He's sucking on your tongue and meeting your hips with his, practically bucking up into you. Your hands glide from his cheeks to his neck and shoulders, squeezing along the way. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, moving your hips faster, humping his lap. He moans into you, mumbling praises in between kisses, but you can't make out what he's saying. Your hands plant themselves against his cheeks, holding him still so you can kiss him harder, more passionately. He moans, pulling you down against his lap, grinding you into him hard before he lets out a deep groan. You keep kissing him even as he whimpers and pushes your hips away.

"What's wrong?" you ask, pulling back to search his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, head tilted back against the couch, his chest heaving.

"I need to go," he says suddenly.

"What? Why? Are you just uncomfortable because we can stop if you want—"

"No, I just..." He runs his hands over his face, groaning in despair. "If I tell you, you're gonna laugh at me."

"What? What are you talking about? Whatever it is, I'm not gonna laugh at you, so just tell me."

He moves his fingers to peek at you with one eye. If he could blush, you imagine he'd be as red as a tomato right now.

"I'm just... really embarrassed."

"About what, honey?" He groans.

"This is the worst time to call me a pet name."

"Guy, just tell me what's going on. I'll be mad if you don't tell me."

He sighs deeply.

"I don't want you to be mad..."

"So then tell me what's going on."

He drops his hands to his sides, staring at the ceiling before glancing at you, then down at his lap. You follow his gaze to his jeans, searching before seeing a vague dark spot on his crotch.

"I... I'm sorry, I just... I got really excited and before I could do anything, it just..."

"Oh..." You hold your hands close to your chest, feeling your cheeks burn as you realize what happened. You swallow, clearing your throat. "I-It's okay! It's not your fault. These things happen."

"It's fucking embarrassing," he bemoans, turning his head to the side, staring out into the room. "I look like a fucking teenager right now."

"No you don't," you reassure, glancing back at him, seeing how upset he was. "I don't want you to be upset about this. These things happen."

"This is the first time I've lost control like this. I've never had this happen with a girl before."

"Ah... I see..." You fiddle with your hands, sitting up straight. "Well, then that just makes me feel really special! It means you like me so much that you can't even control those things around me." You wiggle off his lap, standing up in front of him. "Plus, you're not the only one who got excited. Here, look." You bend your leg and put your foot up on the couch beside him, tugging the crotch of your leggings to show the growing wet spot there. His eyes widen and he sits up, leaning forward to get a better look.

"This is because of me?"

"Of course it is. Who else could make me like this?"

His firm hand finds your thigh, rubbing your leg and sighing.

"You really don't think less of me because of it?"

"Of course not. It would be silly and mean to think that way. You're valid in how you feel and with what happened."

He nods, resting his temple against your knee, sighing.

"Now I'm gonna have to drive home with cum in my pants."

You snicker, touching his hand, making him look at you.

"We can wash them while we watch another movie. Come on. I have a pair of men's sweatpants that should fit you."

You go find your sweatpants and give them to Mohammed, letting him go to the bathroom to clean up and change. While he does so, you go to your bedroom and change your leggings and underwear, wiping yourself clean with a couple tissues. When you both return to the living room, you take both of your soiled clothes and go to the washer, throwing them in with some detergent and starting a quick cycle. You reconvene on the couch together, the movie finished at this point and the washer filling the room with noise.

"I'm really sorry," he says, hands folded in front of him.

"You have no reason to be. I enjoyed myself, and I'm glad you did too." He twiddles his thumbs, glancing at you.

"Do you really love me?" You huff, smiling.

"Yes, I do. I really love you, Mohammed."

He smiles softly, swaying his legs from side to side as he stares at his hands.

"That makes me really happy."

"I'm glad." You crawl over to him, leaning against his arm. "I like making you happy."

He turns his head to you. You stare at each other for a moment before you lean in for a kiss, soft and sweet. You pull away, smiling at him.

"Wanna watch another movie while your clothes wash?"

"Sure. You pick."

You roll your eyes, grabbing the remote.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating. caught in the act. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - U

U is for uh-oh, oops, and oh no. Even if it isn't Wally's fault, having become more and more unhinged as things between you and him unfold into something so perfect and permanent, Wally thinks he's died and gone to heaven.

He's caught with his head buried between your thighs, his chin and mouth shiny with your juices. He licks his lips, unbothered, raises a brow at Janet as she stands there wearing the ugliest scowl Wally has ever seen on her face, her body vibrating with unfettered rage. He sits back, naked and on display, lazily stroking his cock with pride in his eyes.

"Get out," He tells her calmly, and she closes door behind her because what the fuck else is she going to do? Watch? Wally slants his head toward you, smirking, crawling up your body to kiss you with unbridled passion, grinding his cock between your wet folds to coax you back into the right headspace. "Don't worry, baby," He coos, "She's gone." Since you can't see from under the blindfold, your wrists bound to his headboard.

You whimper, clearly unnerved by Janet's intrusion despite not having seen or heard her, the bitch wielding feline grace when it suits her. She isn't supposed to be at Wally's house, in his apartment above his family's garage. Janet was in the throes of organizing prom with the rest of the committee and wasn't due to meet him until tomorrow morning for another rundown of their court dance. Smile, wave, make a dumb speech thanking everyone for their votes. Blah blah blah, Wally doesn't care.

He's been on her shitlist since last week, anyway, so what's another nail in the coffin? He actually feels relieved that Janet discovered you and him. It gets him hotter, harder, more desperate for you, because now he isn't shackled to late nights and impromptu weekends alone. Wally can have you whenever he fucking wants. Which has steadily turned into always over the course of the year.

And, wow, has it really been that long?

He knows Janet hasn't left, doesn't hear her car pull out of the drive, so he greedily, selfishly, shamelessly eats your cunt like a Michelin Star meal. Tongue probing your pussy as he moans at how good you taste, his eyes rolling back in his head from it, and the whole time you're keening and crying out and begging him not to stop, oh fuck Wally, I'm so close, please please. Don't worry, baby, he loves this probably more than you do.

When you come, shouting his name for Janet to hear what she never had a chance in hell to get from him, Wally fucks you like reckoning. Paints your chest and belly like a Jackson Pollock before he releases your wrists and soothes you with affection. As you doze, he tucks you in, kisses your hair, vows to be back in five minutes. Dons a pair of low-slung sweats and a smug grin as he lopes out of the room, down the stairs, and meets Janet outside the door.

"Something I can do for you?" He asks, obviously unruffled which just drives Janet fucking nuts.

She wants an apology.

Wally laughs in her face, "For what? It's not like I'm really cheating on you."

She wants an explanation.

Wally snorts, "I don't owe you shit." He doesn't. Janet was never his girlfriend. She was never anything. A pest at most, an inconvenience at least.

"You don't get to have her." Janet seethes as if she has some kind of say in it.

Again, Wally laughs, shakes his head, tells her where to go as impolitely as he can. "She's already mine," He states, breezy, sucking the fingers he fucked you with to stress the point. Janet has a prima donna meltdown right there on his parents' lawn, stomps her foot and positions herself to slap him. He catches her wrist easily, stares her dead in the eyes, "You jealous, Janet?"

He fondles himself, pushes her arm away and grins, "Is this what you wanted?" Then he glances to his window, slides his gaze back to her, chuckling darkly, "Or is it her?" She doesn't answer, her face flaming, brows knitted, jaw clenched, "Is that why you wanted me to stay away from her? Because you wanted her all to yourself?"

"Shut the fuck up, Clark," Janet growls.

Wally knows it's not true; he's merely enjoying himself. He knows that Janet is actually just jealous of you, not because she wants to be with you but because she wants to be you. It's been obvious since Day One of their stupid arrangement. Everything Janet did was an underhanded plot to shrink you down as small as Janet feels.

"I'll show her the video." Janet threatens, voice full of umbrage. "She'll never look at you again."

In an instant, Wally's in her space, fire in his eyes, "I fucking dare you."

He hasn't exactly planned for this, but he's tired of worrying about it. If you walk away, you walk away—Wally's heart stutters—at least he has enough spank bank material to last decades. A blessing since he doesn't think he could get it up for anyone else ever. Thank Christ he saved every picture and video and voice note you've ever sent him.

"I'll make sure you lose Prom King," Janet sneers and, again, he snorts.

"I don't think I could care less," and, taking stock of himself, Wally finds that to be true. "It's just high school, Janet. Get a fucking hobby."

He hears the stairs creak, your honeyed voice from behind him wondering, "What's going on?" and he turns and saunters toward you without a second thought, bundles you into his arms, reveling at how you drown in his football jersey.

"You should go back inside, baby," He says even as he kisses you, soft, warm; hands groping your ass through the polyester. "Don't want my neighbors getting a peek at what's mine," he pecks the tip of your nose and gives you a humble smile that still feels a bit unnatural on his face.

It's then that Janet does the dumbest thing she could think of. She lunges at you while you're still in Wally's arms. A rapid badger fueled by envy. Wally pivots you to safety, blocks Janet's feeble attempts to get at you with his body. She loses steam pretty quickly when Wally doesn't budge.

Janet drives into the sunset with a promise to rat you out. To your mama first and then your dad. You look confused, "Why should I care?" You ask her retreating back, inviting her to go ahead because you've wanted everything out in the open since you and Wally started fucking that fateful afternoon after Janet's pool party.

Later, between dinner with his parents and Avengers: Infinity War on the projector in his apartment, Wally feels a weight lift off his shoulders. No more Janet. No more sneaking around. No more yearning and missed opportunities and bullshit. Just you. Just him. Together for real.

He combs his fingers through your hair as you lounge, draped along his front between his legs, head on his chest, breathing deep in sleep, and Wally realizes for the first time that, despite being free to do whatever he wants now, he still chooses you.

What the hell have you done to me, baby?

Still, his arms tighten around you and he doesn't let you go until it's time to get ready for school.

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

alphabetical navigation:

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

linear navigation:

B T K A F P V R M S D C I J H W N O E X G L Y U Q Z

[pkmndaisuki]

Here's some new guesses/hopes for Legends ZA following those new trailers in no particular order:

Inverse Battles return

Inverse Battles were battles where the entire type chart was reversed. Normal was Super-Effective against Ghost, Steel was weak to almost everything, it was so cool. But it was only available in one random house... right next to Terminus Cave. Where Zygarde was. (ORAS had them as well, but only in a specific place in Mauville.) They were such a unique gimmick, I would love to see at least one place where you can do them.

PokéDex can be completed single-player

Legends Arceus let the player finish the entire Dex without being forced to trade, so I get the feeling that's just gonna be a thing with Legends games going forward. Makes sense since there's only one version.

No multiplayer battles, but trading is allowed

Like the last point, Legends Arceus had no way to battle other players. Likely because of its battle system with the Strong and Agile Style moves. And now that we'll have full free movement in battle, I can see that being a logistical disaster between two human-controlled players. So the only major multiplayer thing will probably be trading.

Trainer Customization expands as the story progresses

Again, Legends Arceus did this with Anthe's store selection upgrading at certain milestones. So I could definitely see Boutique selections rotate as they did in X&Y, or just continually add more options. X&Y invented Boutiques and outfits and haircuts and all that, it would be criminal not to have extensive customization.

Chespin, Fennekin, and Froakie will be Wild Encounters from the start; Chikorita, Tepig, and Totodile will be Gifted and/or Wild Encounters post-credits

This was the case with the Sinnoh starters and the Hisui starters, so it wouldn't surprise me if they did the same with both sets of Kalos starters. Bonus guess: each of the original Kalos starters will be in a different Plaza. Bleu for Froakie, Vert for Chespin, and Rouge for Fennekin.

More areas underground

Paris has famous catacombs beneath the city. Zygarde is a Ground-type typically found underground. One of its signature moves is Land's Wrath. Something's gotta happen down there. (Plus, we went under the city in X&Y already: Lysandre Labs just beneath Lysandre Café between Rouge and Magenta Plazas.)

Prism Tower is more of a Battle Tower than Gym

That little teaser at the end of the trailer had a logo of Prism Tower. Since we're confined to Lumiose, we're not taking on the Gym Challenge, so it being a Gym wouldn't make as much narrative sense. Instead, I can see it being a different kind of battle facility, and I hope it's still run by Clemont.

Roller Skates return

Roller Skating was so fun in X&Y and used to illustrate the full 3D movement on the 3DS, and you learned most of the techniques in Lumiose. There was even a café just for skating enthusiasts! I really hope it comes back, skating around Lumiose was so fun.

Emma will return

We saw a brief glimpse of the Looker Bureau. By the end of Looker's postgame story, he leaves the Bureau to Emma. I really really hope we get to see her she's such a fascinating character please let it happen

A special Legendary will be available postgame

Enamorous was introduced in Legends Arceus' postgame, so it could be that's just gonna be a feature of Legends games. Not saying something brand new like her is gonna show up for sure, but maybe something else that hadn't be easily available. Like Volcanion maybe? It seems, design-wise, associated with part of the Kalos Power Plant, which is just Northwest of Lumiose. It was distribution-only back then, it would be neat to have it available to battle and capture.

Who knows if any of this will be right, but I'm looking forward to PLZA!

[thedreadvampy]

Sorry about your loss :( when youre feeling up to it, I'd love to hear some memories about Otis.

well as often happens in these situations one thing I'm finding is I didn't take enough pictures of him while I had the chance.

Otis, as my friend said in some distress when I told them last week that he was sick, was The People's Boy. Everybody loved him and he loved people, he was enthusiastically ready to meet strangers and greet friends. He was an exceptionally sweet and chill man and he actively enjoyed handling, so he converted several people who weren't sure of snakes at all into huge Otis fans.

He was an incredibly beautiful boy - he was very big and muscular before he got sick, and he had creamy white and dark brown patterning that made him look like tempered chocolate. His belly was this lovely graphic checkerboard and he had a face that always made me think of a rabbit's face - big brown eyes and a pinkish nose and a little moustache pattern that gave him :3 face.

He liked to climb all over you, and he particularly liked to climb long hair. he would reach himself out so far his whole body was trembling. but he wasn't ever really trying to get away, he was just enjoying exploring - the corn snake we had until 2020 was always gearing up for a dash, but Otis was a pootler, he liked to wander around and smell things.

we got Otis in 2021 from the SSPCA and he was about 3 then. We think they'd misjudged his food requirements cause they told us he had one mouse a week, but that he'd scarf up any leftovers the other snakes didn't eat. and when he moved in with us he fell on food immediately (which was nice cause we'd just lost a baby corn snake who never learned how to eat at all) but then he'd stay activated and looking for more food instead of settling in to digest. also he did this.

literally tried to eat both me and Sam multiple times which was no fun for anyone involved. lots of blood and prising off of jaws with a credit card. anyway then we upped him to two large mice a week and he never showed the slightest signs of aggression or biting ever again. he was literally just starving.

he also grew literally another foot once he was getting enough food, which came as a bit of a surprise cause at 3 we figured he was mostly done growing, but he grew so much we had to get him a bigger viv because he was doing frustrated circles around the old one.

we took him to the vet like a few months or so into having him, because he stopped eating over the winter, which we didn't yet know was normal for him, and because he had a scar on his head when we got him which seemed to be spreading (in retrospect, probably just because he was growing so much that damaged skin was splitting).

First off, the vet loved him. Whenever Otis had to go to the vets, all the nurses would see him through the window and come in to fuss over him.

On that early visit, the vet used the phrase "startlingly healthy" - he was on the biggest end of male kingsnakes and he was basically pure muscle. We called him our long himbo because he was both exceptionally fit, super sweet-natured, and kinda dumb.

I remember one time we gave him a mouse, he leapt on it instantly then dropped it, and he looked back at us in confusion with his tongue flickering like "mOuSe? sMeLl MoUsE? wHeRe MoUsE?????" and we were like buddy. It's on your butt. I can see it. It's draped over you.

he loved to burrow and he loved to swim. Not so much recently, because he was prescribed daily baths to help with his gut issues and he came to find it quite stressful, but in the past if we put him in a bath he'd settle in happily and swim laps around the box. he spent a good chunk of his life buried in between the paper layers in his viv (occasionally terrifying, he was good at hiding) but he refused to stay in pockets, because when he was out and about he wanted to keep an eye on everything.

he was so chill. He didn't mind being handled or kissed on his back, and he'd just do little bleps right on your face. He seemed almost impossible to scare, he'd just wander straight up to things. He did like an explore but he was also totally happy to sit in your lap or around your neck while you got on with things, and he'd often refuse to get back in his viv after. He really really liked people, and he liked us.

I'm really struggling at the moment because for years now when I'm sad and exhausted and out of energy I'd take him out and hold him in my lap and he'd help me feel more safe and present. And I would really like to be doing that again and I can't. I miss his weight and warmth and smoothness and the way he smelled and I miss talking to him. He was the goodest boy.

[belit0]

I'm glad you're back. What would Indra and the Uchiha clan members' reactions be if they had a partner who is a scholar who gives advice on various subjects firmly and capably, and doesn't flinch at anything? Also, she is the only person who can be around them without being overwhelmed by their presence, as her partner was born being completely incapable of feeling fear and pain (I have seen some cases in real life), but she loves the Uchiha's tendency to reproduce and would love to try things from various books, she also likes stimulation enjoying uchiha intensity

This one confused me… quite a bit. There was too much information mixed together, so… I did what I could, I hope it's okay.

Indra

Indra is accustomed to order. To precision. To the steady rhythm of control, unbroken and absolute.

And yet, here she stands. Unmoved, unimpressed, absorbed in her reading as if the world beyond her pages ceases to exist.

-You are watching me again,- she remarks, not bothering to lift her gaze.

Indra remains composed, fingers resting idly against the armrest of his seat. -You are mistaken,- he corrects. -I do not watch—I observe.-

She hums, as if amused. -A delicate distinction.-

He does not respond immediately. Instead, he lets the silence settle, stretching between them like an unspoken challenge. Most would shift beneath the weight of it, keenly aware of what it means when he chooses not to speak. (Y/N), however, merely continues reading, fingers tracing the inked characters with idle ease.

It is almost entertaining.

-You have an unnatural ability,- he muses, rising from his seat with quiet intent. -To remain unshaken in situations where others would falter.-

(Y/N) tilts her head slightly, finally meeting his gaze, unblinking, measured, unhurried. -Or perhaps,- she muses, -I understand more than you assume.-

Indra exhales a quiet laugh. Low, velvety, edged with something just short of indulgence. Not quite humor—no, he does not waste time on such trivialities—but amusement, tempered and sharp.

He steps closer, though the movement is barely perceptible, as if testing the space between them. -Be careful, (Y/N),. he murmurs, voice a silken thread of warning. -There is a fine line between confidence and recklessness...-

She does not waver. -And yet, you have not decided which one I am.-

His silence stretches for a moment longer. Then, the ghost of a smirk, subtle, knowing, devoid of warmth but not without interest.

-Not yet.

And for the first time in a very long time, something stirs beneath the surface.

Madara

Madara is no stranger to control. He commands without question, his authority woven into the very fabric of his being. The world bends around him, people either cower or submit. But not her.

(Y/N) stands before the grand library of the Uchiha compound, meticulously organizing tomes that have gathered dust for decades, entirely unbothered by his looming presence.

-You find entertainment in books rather than war?- he muses, arms crossed as he watches her.

-One must know history to avoid repeating it,- she counters smoothly, her hands never pausing as she sorts the texts. -Besides, you, of all people, should know knowledge is a weapon sharper than any blade.-

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something dangerously close. He moves then, fast enough that a lesser person would flinch, would shrink beneath his scrutiny. (Y/N) merely glances up as he closes the space between them.

-You do not flinch.- he observes.

-I have no reason to.- she replies.

Madara chuckles, dark and rich. He expected stubbornness, defiance, but this... this calm, unwavering confidence is something else entirely.

-Perhaps,- he murmurs, his fingers brushing against the spine of an old war manual, -you are a lesson I have yet to learn.-

Izuna

Izuna thrives in reactions. The way people falter under his gaze, the way they stammer when he leans in just enough to be distracting, the way their breath hitches when he murmurs something suggestive, watching their composure unravel thread by thread.

But (Y/N)?

She does not falter.

She meets his flirtation with something worse: amusement.

-You're quite the relentless one, aren't you?- She muses, tilting her head as he leans against the desk where she studies, his smirk unwavering.

-You say that as if it's a bad thing,- he purrs, fingers brushing against the pages of her book, his touch featherlight, teasing. -Tell me, (Y/N), can your books teach you how to handle a man like me?-

Her lips curve into something unreadable, something that sends a shiver down his own spine.

Fuck.

-They can teach me how to dismantle an ego.- She counters sweetly.

Izuna laughs, genuinely, delightedly. Oh, she is dangerous in the best way.

And suddenly, he is the one at risk of being outmaneuvered.

Obito

Obito doesn't know how to handle her.

(Y/N) is smart, too smart. She picks apart every argument he makes, every excuse he comes up with, every defense he tries to throw in her path. She meets him with unwavering confidence, never once backing down, never once giving him the satisfaction of winning their little debates.

-You're impossible,- he groans, throwing himself dramatically onto the couch.

(Y/N) barely glances up from her book. -You're easily overwhelmed.-

-No- He sits up abruptly, glaring. -I just—you're frustrating!-

Her lips quirk upward. -Because I don't let you win?-

Obito sputters. -That's not—!

She closes her book with a decisive snap, leaning toward him just enough to make him hold his breath. -Admit it,- she murmurs, voice light, teasing. -you like it.-

His face erupts into flames. -I- just- stop that!-

And with that, he promptly flees the room.

(Y/N) watches him go.

Too easy.

Shisui

He is used to people getting flustered around him. He knows how to tilt his head just right, how to weave his words like silk, how to break tension with a single well-timed smirk.

But (Y/N)?

She is immune.

-You are entirely too serious,- he teases, leaning against the edge of the table where she scribbles notes.

-And you are entirely too distracting,- she replies without looking up.

His grin widens. -You like the attention, don't you?.-

She finally glances at him then, unbothered, unwavering. -I like a challenge.-

Oh.

Shisui exhales a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. -You are something else, (Y/N).-

-And you,- she murmurs, returning to her work, -are predictable.-

Damn.

Now he’s the one who needs to step up his game.

Itachi

Itachi watches her the way one might study a complex puzzle, unraveling her intricacies piece by piece. She is not an enigma, not a mystery meant to be solved, she simply is, and that is what fascinates him.

She does not startle at his sudden appearances, does not waver under his gaze. When he speaks, she listens, not out of fear, but out of genuine interest.

-You analyze everything.- she notes one evening, eyes flickering over his expression. -Even now, you're dissecting my words, searching for meaning beyond what is spoken.-

He doesn't deny it.

-And you,- he counters, -believe every answer can be found through logic.-

Her lips twitch, but she does not argue. Instead, she leans back in her chair, studying him as openly as he studies her.

-We are not so different, Itachi.-

And perhaps that is why he finds her so dangerously captivating.