#Change the Prompt Text in Command Prompt

[leveragehunters]

CoPilot in MS Word

I opened Word yesterday to discover that it now contains CoPilot. It follows you as you type and if you have a personal Microsoft 365 account, you can't turn it off. You will be given 60 AI credits per month and you can't opt out of it.

The only way to banish it is to revert to an earlier version of Office. There is lot of conflicting information and overly complex guides out there, so I thought I'd share the simplest way I found.

How to revert back to an old version of Office that does not have CoPilot

This is fairly simple, thankfully, presuming everything is in the default locations. If not you'll need to adjust the below for where you have things saved.

Click the Windows Button and S to bring up the search box, then type cmd. It will bring up the command prompt as an option. Run it as an administrator.

Paste this into the box at the cursor: cd "\Program Files\Common Files\microsoft shared\ClickToRun"

Hit Enter

Then paste this into the box at the cursor: officec2rclient.exe /update user updatetoversion=16.0.17726.20160

Hit enter and wait while it downloads and installs.

VERY IMPORTANT. Once it's done, open Word, go to File, Account (bottom left), and you'll see a box on the right that says Microsoft 365 updates. Click the box and change the drop down to Disable Updates.

This will roll you back to build 17726.20160, from July 2024, which does not have CoPilot, and prevent it from being installed.

If you want a different build, you can see them all listed here. You will need to change the 17726.20160 at step 4 to whatever build number you want.

This is not a perfect fix, because while it removes CoPilot, it also stops you receiving security updates and bug fixes.

Switching from Office to LibreOffice

At this point, I'm giving up on Microsoft Office/Word. After trying a few different options, I've switched to LibreOffice.

You can download it here for free: https://www.libreoffice.org/

If you like the look of Word, these tutorials show you how to get that look:

www.howtogeek.com/788591/how-to-make-libreoffice-look-like-microsoft-office/

www.debugpoint.com/libreoffice-like-microsoft-office/

If you've been using Word for awhile, chances are you have a significant custom dictionary. You can add it to LibreOffice following these steps.

First, get your dictionary from Microsoft

Go to Manage your Microsoft 365 account: account.microsoft.com.

One you're logged in, scroll down to Privacy, click it and go to the Privacy dashboard.

Scroll down to Spelling and Text. Click into it and scroll past all the words to download your custom dictionary. It will save it as a CSV file.

Open the file you just downloaded and copy the words.

Open Notepad and paste in the words. Save it as a text file and give it a meaningful name (I went with FromWord).

Next, add it to LibreOffice

Open LibreOffice.

Go to Tools in the menu bar, then Options. It will open a new window.

Find Languages and Locales in the left menu, click it, then click on Writing aids.

You'll see User-defined dictionaries. Click New to the right of the box and give it a meaningful name (mine is FromWord).

Hit Apply, then Okay, then exit LibreOffice.

Open Windows Explorer and go to C:\Users\[YourUserName]\AppData\Roaming\LibreOffice\4\user\wordbook and you will see the new dictionary you created. (If you can't see the AppData folder, you will need to show hidden files by ticking the box in the View menu.)

Open it in Notepad by right clicking and choosing 'open with', then pick Notepad from the options.

Open the text file you created at step 5 in 'get your dictionary from Microsoft', copy the words and paste them into your new custom dictionary UNDER the dotted line.

Save and close.

Reopen LibreOffice. Go to Tools, Options, Languages and Locales, Writing aids and make sure the box next to the new dictionary is ticked.

If you use LIbreOffice on multiple machines, you'll need to do this for each machine.

Please note: this worked for me. If it doesn't work for you, check you've followed each step correctly, and try restarting your computer. If it still doesn't work, I can't provide tech support (sorry).

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC Prompt Idea: Dangerous

Cassandra's main thing is being able to read and understand body language. Yeah, to a degree all of the Bats possess this skill but Cassandra takes it to a whole new level. Nobody is better at it than she is.

In a way she sometimes reminded herself of a machine the way the information filtered into her brain. The way it categorized each and every person she came across. On the street, in her house, even in the mirror. Everybody had something.

So to come across a person who outwardly looked normal on the outside that she couldn't read she didn't understand. Yes, he has data but the data isn't making any sense!

He's just sitting there texting on his phone, chuckling harmlessly.

Yet every instinct in her body and everything 'harmless' that he was doing was a red flag. It was strange and wrong. But the biggest problem is that she couldn't even identify what about him was so dangerous.

Texting Somebody: Dangerous.

Laughing: Dangerous.

Relaxed Posture: Dangerous.

He wasn't even looking around! He was completely drawn in by whatever was on his phone, having absolutely no care in the world as the bus continued and this kid - who was probably no older than 14 - was just texting away.

It wasn't until the bus suddenly screeched to a halt and the doors were smashed open by some low legal thugs that those signals made sense. They made sense because while everybody else complied with the commands of the men - even Cassandra who might have alerted Oracle before she got to her knees on the floor.

Yet this kid stayed in one place.

"Didn't you hear what I said, kid!? Get on the damn floor!"

The kid didn't even look up before he reacted.

The once non-existent tension in his body changed with no outward sign as he shoved himself forward, shoving the barrel of the gun upwards before punching the man in the jaw so hard that Cass heard it snap out of place as he was thrown backwards against a bar in the bus aisle and dented it. The other two men who were in on the attack were caught off guard as this kid flipped the safety on the gun locking it and in the same fluid motion threw the gun at one of the men, smacking him square in the forehead.

Cassandra was still wrapping her mind around this reckless action before the kid pulled another, rushing towards the final man, grabbing another one of the aisle bars and swinging himself, kicking him in the chest and knocking him right back out the door they'd entered through. The gun went off as it was dropped, but all three men were disarmed and the kid picked up the guns. Dropped the clips into his hand, emptied the chamber then discarded them on one side of the bus before he simply tossed the clips out the nearest window, the clips slipping directly into a drain without any bit of aim.

"What the hell are you, kid?" Groaned the first man, "A bat?"

"Bat? No way, man. Anyways, thanks for the lift Mr. Bus Driver." The kid then promptly walked out of the door, jumped over the man on the ground and made his way down the street.

Cass couldn't wrap her mind what just happened but she understood the warnings.

That kid was dangerous.

She had to get him on the team.

[secretl1fe0fm3]

36 & 37 with dombillie!! Please🙏🏽🙏🏽

consume - billie eilish x fem!reader

prompt #36: “i know i said we couldn’t do this anymore, but i need you. please.”

prompt #37: “oh, fuck- do that thing with your tongue again.”

warnings: smut, slight angst, dom!billie, situationship, dirty talk, oral(both receiving)

an: i kinda got carried away on this one (shocker) and its definitely longer than expected but oh well! enjoy!!! (also, i finally changed my layout, do you guys like it?? im lowk obsessed hehe)((shoutout chase atlantic for yet another title))

18+ minors dni!!!

It was nearly 1AM when the knock came. Sharp, deliberate, like she knew you were still awake, even if you hadn’t texted her back in three days.

You hesitated, staring at the door, heart already pounding. You knew that knock, and you hated that you did.

When you opened the door, Billie stood there in an oversized black hoodie with the hood up, her blonde hair tucked away, and the same unreadable look on her face she always wore when she came crawling back.

“Hey.”

You should’ve shut the door. You should’ve told her to fuck off. But all you could do was stare at her lips.

She didn’t wait for permission as she pushed past you, walking inside your apartment, kicking off her shoes. Her eyes dragged over your bare legs, eyes glinting with need as your sleep shirt rode up a bit, exposing your lace panties.

“Seriously?” you snapped, trying to pretend like her being here didn’t already have your thighs pressing together. “You said we were done.”

“I know.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper, her fingers brushing your wrist as she leaned in. “I know I said we couldn’t do this anymore…” Her lips grazed your jaw. “But I need you. Please.”

The way she said it, her breath warm against your neck, cracked something in you.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” you breathed, grabbing a fistful of her hoodie as your mouth found hers in the dark. She kissed you back like she was punishing you for ignoring her. Her tongue grazed over your teeth, the full weight of her body pinning you back against the wall.

“You miss me?” she murmured against your lips, her thigh pressing between yours as you shamelessly grinded down on it. “Did you get off thinking about me?”

“Fuck you,” you gasped, but it came out breathy and needy.

“Oh, I plan to.” She smirked, pulling her hoodie off in one slow motion, revealing a black tanktop underneath, her breasts spilling out over the tight top, it made your legs weak.

She pushed you toward your couch without breaking eye contact, her voice a low command.

“Sit.”

You obeyed immediately. Of course you did.

She knelt in front of you, dragging your panties down your legs. Her nails scratched lightly along your inner thighs, and then her mouth was on your already soaked core without warning.

“God, Billie.” Your head fell back, hips twitching as her tongue flicked right over your clit. She hummed against you, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through your spine as your hips bucked up again.

“Tell me how much you missed this,” she murmured, lips slick with you, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at you through her lashes.

“I—fuck, I did—missed you—”

“Yeah? Missed my mouth?” She circled your clit with her tongue again relentlessly, then flattened it and dragged it slowly through your slick folds.

You moaned loud, no longer trying to hold anything in.

Billie slid two fingers in slowly, thrusting them deep and curling them upward while her tongue continued its assault on your wet heat.

“Oh, fuck—do that thing with your tongue again,” you choked out.

She did, without any snarky comment, and harder this time. Your legs started shaking as you threw your head back against the couch, your orgasm hitting you hard as a loud moan reverberated off your apartment walls.

When you finally caught your breath, she pulled back, mouth glistening, eyes dark as she took in your wrecked appearance.

“Your turn,” she smirked, already pulling her tank top off, letting it fall to the floor as she stood up. She looked down at you with an unspoken desperation. “On your knees.”

You sank to your knees in front of her, still flushed and breathless, heart pounding like you hadn’t just come undone for her not even a minute ago.

Billie looked down at you with her hair tousled and lips still slick from you. She tilted your chin up with two fingers, the two fingers that were just inside of you.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “On your knees like a good girl.”

You swallowed, heat flooding your cheeks at her words, but the way your thighs clenched together gave you away.

“You like this,” she went on, stepping forward until her thighs brushed your face. “You hate how much you like it.”

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and slid them down her legs, no panties underneath—of course. She never wore them when she came to ruin you.

You stared up at her slick folds with blown pupils, licking your lips instinctively. You leaned forward and licked a stripe up her slit, slow and deliberate, and she hissed through her teeth.

“Fuck—” Billie tangled her fingers in your hair, tugging hard. “Don’t tease. You know what I like.”

You moaned into her, tongue circling her clit before diving deeper inside of her. She rolled her hips against your face, panting and grinding down desperately.

“Just like that,” she gasped, hips twitching. “You know how to fucking worship me, don’t you?”

You couldn’t respond, not with your mouth occupied, but you moaned in agreement, hands gripping onto her, nails digging into her thighs.

Billie tugged your hair harder, pulling your face impossibly closer. “God, your fucking mouth babe… You were made for this.”

She was close and you could feel it.

With a few more flicks of your tongue over her clit, Billie cried out, grinding down as she came hard, hips jerking, mouth falling open in a breathy moan.

She didn’t let go of your hair right away. She kept you there for a second longer, twitching against your tongue as the aftershocks of her orgasm ran through her.

After a minute, she finally pulled back and you looked up at her, mouth and chin soaked, legs aching from kneeling.

She knelt down to your level, cupping your face, smirking slightly at the mess she’d made of you.

“I’m the worst thing for you,” she said softly.

You nodded, lips brushing hers. “I know.”

Billie kissed you again, this time more calculated, slow, and almost gentle, like she never wanted it to end. When she pulled away, her breath hitched against your lips.

“But you’re not gonna stop, are you?” she whispered.

“…No.”

She smiled at your admittance, eyes glinting with what seemed like a flicker of love. “Good.”

prompt list

my masterlist

[cafterdark]

You always struggled with doing tasks. Between the procrastination, executive dysfunction, and exhaustion, even cleaning the dishes was a herculean task. It got so bad that it started to affect your work, leading to a stern talk from your boss. That's why, when your friend Jess, told you about her job's, Auton Industries, new productivity improvement services, you were willing to give it a shot.

The tech itself was simple, just a pair of dark sunglasses, indistinguishable from any normal pair. When you put it on, it prompted you with the text "Unit 4372 Settings" and hundreds of sliders and buttons. It overwhelmed you, so you picked the default options. A nice ding played and the actual software began.

On the right side of your vision, a list of task crept down, tasks and subtasks ranging from "Clean Dishes (32)" to "Improve Health (15)." The glasses highlighted various objects, with commands like "Clean", "Move", "Throw Away." Every time you completed a task, the highlight went green and dissipated, a speaker whispering sweet encouragement into your ear, followed by the same soft ding.

Put away some loose papers.

"Good Job!" Ding!

Finally take out the trash

"Great Work!" Ding!

Vacuum the floors.

"Keep Going!" Ding!

Every time you completed a task, that little bit of encouragement, that pleasurable ding, sank into your chest, making you feel warm, even more, appreciated. It was a feeling no other job or hobby had ever given you. When you were done with all your tasks, the shower of praise and dings you got was intoxicating.

You didn't admit it, but it was addictive. Soon, you began chasing the high of completing tasks, a depression following after finishing. You felt so useful following its commands, so appreciated when reviving its praise. You started helping friends clean their houses, just to get more. When you cleaned Jess's house, she had this grin that said she knew, as impossible as that was. Something fluttered in your stomach as she observed your work, giving her own compliments on top of the glasses. By the end, you could hardly stand with how much appreciation you received.

After, a new notification popped up on your glasses as you put them on in the morning.

"Due to your overwhelming success with our program, Auton Industries extends the offer to join our Advance Productivity program."

Needless to say, you joined immediately, and after many, many lengthy terms of service signed, a new piece of tech was sent to your home.

It was a full face mask, the face impenetrable black glass that reflected yourself. The instructions were simple. You put the mask on before you went to bed, and took it off in the morning. While you slept, the mask would play subliminal messages that increased the effectiveness of the productivity training.

You expected strange dreams from it, but all that greeted you was some beeps and soft static. In the morning, you felt better rested than ever before. Your exhaustion was gone.

The effects were immediate. Each completed task's made you feel so appreciated, each compliment and ding rocking through your body. On top of the mask, the glasses had gotten an update, with a whole new host of compliments.

Get dressed for work

"Good girl!" Ding!

Clean morning dishes

"Good Unit!" Ding!

Any discomfort with the wording was washed away by the appreciation you felt. It was complimenting you! You were useful! That couldn't be bad. By the time you were done, you needed to change underwear, and any thought of taking them off for work was excised from your mind.

The rest of the update showed itself as you began your job. Tasks had been made specifically for your work, and even what to say on calls, something you always struggled with, was automated. You found it so easy to sink into a pleasurable trance, following what the glasses told you to, shaking with every compliment. By the end of the shift, you had gotten more work done that ever before, and even got appreciation from the boss.

This process of wearing the mask while you slept, glasses while you were awake continued. And despite a few occasions like accidentally almost wearing the mask to work, things were going great, it... you were feeling so appreciated. Jess checked in on you more, keeping track of your progress. She seemed overwhelming happy with the results, calling you one of their best units. Something about the way she said that made it you shiver.

Then one day, a new package arrived at the door. You didn't remember ordering it, but then again, you didn't remember a lot of stuff now days. You fell into a loving haze of appreciation and usefulness and let the programing command it you.

A new task popped up, top of the list, most important:

"Open Package"

You followed without question.

"Good Girl!" Ding!

Inside was a latex suit.

"Put On Uniform"

The suit slipped on like a glove, each part lovingly crafted for your body. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noticed it was a lot curvier than you, a lot more feminine, but it was soon buried by:

"Good Unit!" Ding!

"Put On Headset"

"Good Unit!" Ding!

Silly you, you already had it on!

"Repeat"

"It is a good drone"

"It is a good drone," You said

Ding!

"It is a Useful drone."

"It is a useful drone."

Ding!

"It is an Appreciated Drone"

"It is an Appreciated Drone," it said.

Ding!

It shuttered

"Calibration Complete, State Designation."

"Unit 4372"

"Good Drone" Ding!

If it still had control of its body, its knees would've buckled.

"Assume Transportation Position"

It fell to its knees, arms crossing behind its back and locking.

"Wait for Unit's owner to arrive, repeat mantra."

"It is a good drone, it is an useful drone, it is an appreciated drone, it is a good drone..."

... ... ...

"So there she is."

"Owner Arrival Acknowledged, cease previous instructions."

Unit 4372 looked to the voice, and saw its owner. Something in the back of its systems screamed recognition, attempting to hijack its programing to give Owner a name. Something that started with a J, but a simple touch by Owner drowned it all away.

"My star unit," Owner said. "Look how you've turned out."

Unit 4372 squirmed. It was so appreciated, so useful

"Come on, let's get you home."

If it could, Unit 4372 would've smiled.

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Hi there could I request a top male yandere popular jock with a bttm reader could it be nsfw as well as for the prompt it's all up to you.

Hi, sure thing! As per the ask, this whole thing's gonna be nsfw, so you've been warned!

I definitely feel like I could have written this better, but I hope you all enjoy it as it is.

Also, just want to clarity this now, Reader and Jason are in college. Jason's on a college level football team, just thought I'd clarify in case anyone was confused.

Yandere! Jock With A Bottom Reader

Male! reader

Warnings: Yandere behavior (I'm counting the possessiveness as yandere behavior), NSFW content, rough sex, degradation, orgasm denial, anal sex, creampie, exhibition, biting, marking, extremely possessive sex, minor threats of violence to other people (he would do worse if he wasn't so horny)

Divider credit goes to @cafekitsune

"Fuck, you're so tight. Tightest hole I've ever fucked. C'mon, keep clenching around me like that. You wanna make me feel good, don't you?"

You find it hard to reply with your face smushed up against the locker, your cheek pressing against your teeth. Jason's standing directly behind you, his back pressed firmly against yours as he holds your head against the locker. His fingers grip harshly at your hair, digging into your scalp as he gives a shallow thrust into your ass. The stretch is almost too much, but you bare it, allowing yourself to loosen up around Jason's cock.

If you were being honest, this was not how you envisioned the night ending. At least, not his exact way. You had assumed that after Jason's game, the two of you would meet up somewhere, you'd congratulate his victory, and then head back to his apartment, or go get dinner, or something along those lines.

So when Jason texted you to meet him at the locker rooms, you hadn't thought much of it. You were nervous about being near his teammates, they never really liked you all that much, but it made sense to meet your boyfriend where he'd be changing before heading out for the night.

What you hadn't expected was for him pull you into the now empty locker room the second you arrived, crashing his mouth against yours. You thought maybe he just missed you, but before you knew it, both of you lost your clothes, Jason's fingers buried themselves deep inside of you, and only moments later, he was pushing into you, groaning as he bottomed out in your ass.

You probably should have expected this. Jason never was one for shame, and besides, he was high off adrenaline, with no way to blow off steam. No way to blow it off, except for you, that is.

"C'mon baby boy, I need a verbal response. Cat got your tongue?"

Jason suddenly gave a harsh thrust into your ass, drawing a embarrassingly loud moan from your lips. You were rock hard, your dick slapping against your stomach as your body jolted forward. You would have been mortified if you were in your right mind, but at this point, the horniness had taken too deep a hold on your mind for you to care. All you wanted was for Jason to move, to wreck you, to pound you until you collapsed to the floor.

"Yrs," you mumble out. "Werna mke you eel grd." You try to buck your ass further into Jason's pelvis, but he stops you, keeping your hips steady with one hand.

Before you can blink, your head is getting yanked away from the lockers, allowing you to speak and breath normally. Jason removes his hand from your head grabbing your chin harshly, forcing you to look him dead in the eyes. It's painful for you to turn your neck so sharply, but you don't dare look way, not when Jason's looking at you with those intense, commanding eyes.

"Awe, poor baby. Can't speak properly." He mocks, bringing his face closer to yours. A smirk adornes his face, one your used to seeing by now, his teeth flashing menacingly. "Let's try that one more time, yeah?"

Despite the hold he has on your jaw, you nod, your eyes wide. "Yes," you whine out, much clearer than before. "Wanna make you feel good!"

His smirk only grows wider, his hold on your jaw growing impossibly tighter. "Yes what, sweetheart?"

You whimper at the lack of movement. You hated how he teased you, never giving you what you wanted until he decided he wanted to. "Yes sir."

"Good, good boy." Jason praises, the same stupid grin plastered on his face. his leans in to kiss you, and you go to meet him, your lips parting as you close your eyes. You can taste the sweat on his chapped lips, no doubt from the long, intense game he had just played. You guessed he'd probably end up even more sweaty before the night was through. You and him both.

He breaks away from you, his bare chest rising steadily as he takes in air. You look back at him, your chest halfway pressed against his, your eyes slowly opening as you wait for his next move.

Before you can blink, Jason's slamming your body against the lockers again, your chest pressed right up against the cool metal as your head snaps foreword. You don't get a warning before he thrusts into you, his pace beyond brutal as he presses himself as far as he can into your hole, his balls slapping up against your ass.

A loud, high pitched moan leaves your throat. He going so fast and so hard that it’s difficult for you to get your bearings. You place your hands on the lockers in front of you, trying to brace yourself against your boyfriend’s unrelenting pace. F-fuck, slow down! It’s too-too much!”

"Oh, is it?" Jason coos, leaning over you so his back is flush against yours, his head leaning on your shoulder. His muscular arms wrap themselves around your stomach, one of his wrists brushing the tip of your cock as he moves to hold you in place. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to rile me up during one of the biggest games of the season. What did you expect to happen?"

"Wh-what?" You squeak out, your voice shaky from the unrelenting pleasure. You honestly have no idea what he was talking about. You hadn't even seen him before the game, so when could you possibly have riled him up?

"Don't play dumb sweet boy, you know what you did." He groans, slamming into you again and again, your body shaking under him. He loves seeing you like this, he loves seeing you beneath him, giving up control and letting him do as he pleases to get you both off. "You really think I wouldn't notice that sweet voice of yours calling my name in the stands? You think I didn't notice how you cheered for me whenever I made a play, calling out like I was the only one out there? You think I didn't notice how you smiled at me with that gorgeous little grin of yours? It was like you were begging me to rail you right then and there, I could barely focus on the game with you watching me with those eyes."

"Ah, ah, ah~" you whine, your hard dick leaking pre-cum all over your stomach. You had no idea you were doing anything to provoke Jason, you hadn't even realized he could hear or see you in the stands, but fuck, it felt so good to be taken like this that you found it hard to care that your innocent actions had stirred up a beast inside of Jason. You'd do it forever if it meant he'd make you feel this good afterwards.

Jason grunts behind you, giving a particularly hard thrust in your ass. "But the worst part of it all was that I wasn't the only one who was distracted." He chuckles darkly as you turn your head, confusion shining in your cock drunk eyes. "Oh no, you didn't think the others wouldn't be able to hear you, did you?" His thrusts become harsher, more brutal, if that was even possible. "Because they did. You should have seen them. They couldn't keep your eyes off of you. You know how it feels to have your whole team give your boyfriend lustful looks like that?"

Jason moves his head, opening his mouth and biting down hard on your shoulder. You cry out, the pain and pleasure almost unbearable for your overstimulated body. you knew you weren't going to leave this locker room without several marks all over you, but you couldn't complain. You liked how possessive Jason was over you, how he claimed you over and over and over again, never letting anyone doubt who you belonged to. You were his, and it turn, he was yours, you had not doubts about that.

He releases your skin, kissing the bite mark he left behind before moving to your neck, his lips brushing over your skin before he finds a spot to suck on. "I'll tell you what it's like. It's jealousy-inducing. It's blood-boiling. It's maddening. How dare they look at you like that? Like they'd ever get to have a chance with you? You're mine!" He bites down again and your hips jerk violently, your cock straining for release at the painful ecstasy you're experiencing. You feel him release you, his lips looking for another spot to mark up. "Mine, not theirs! They'll never have you, not like I do. I had to teach them that before they tried anything."

You turn your head to look to him again, your gaze half lidded. "I-oh shit, just like that...what? What-What lesson?" Your face suddenly shifts into an expression of understanding. "They can't...Are they watching right now?"

Jason smiles, this time a little kinder, kissing your forehead lightly. "Oh no baby, don't worry, they can't see you. I would never let them. This," a hand reaches down to your cock, wrapping around it and pumping it at a leisurely, almost teasing pace. "This is for my eyes only. I would never let them see you like this."

"But..." he continues, his smile growing more sinister. He speeds up, the sound of skin meeting skin and your moans of pleasure echoing off the walls. "they can certainly hear you. You didn't think they went home, did you?"

You tense up a little, your face flushing red with embarrassment. Jason's team was still there? And they're listening in? You hadn't seen anyone besides Jason on your way in, so where were they? Were they all standing behind the locker room doors, pressed up against them as they listened in on what their teammate was doing? Were they there the entire time you'd been going at it?!

The hand jerking you off quickens it's pace. A moan tries to force it's way out of your throat, but you stifle it, embarrassment flooding through you at the thought of multiple different men, none of whom you knew very well, if at all, listened in, getting hot and bothered to the sound of your pleasure.

"Ah ah ah," Jason scolds, placing his lips near your ear again. "Don't get all quiet on me now. What happened to all those pretty noises you were making?"

"I-mmmph," you stifle another whine, trying your hardest not to make any noise. You want to answer Jason, but you settle for keeping your mouth shut, too afraid of letting something slip to risk trying to talk.

"Hey," Jason grunts, annoyed with your antics. He suddenly stops moving, snatching away the pleasure you had been so desperately chasing. He takes his hand off your dick, holding it limply at his side instead. "I won the game today, remember? Don't you think I deserve some kind of reward?"

He watches as you nod hesantly, unsure of where he's going with this, but desperate for him to resume fucking you. "You know what I would like, more than anything?"

"N-no?"

He leans closer to your ear, his hot breath enveloping your skin. "What I want," he starts, his voice dangerously low, "is for you to scream my name. I want to remind everyone who you belong to. Can you do that for me?"

You don't answer for a moment, still embarrassed at the prospect of others nearby, but Jason gives one sharp thrust into you, which is all it takes to get you bobbing your head up and down at dangerous speeds. You feel immense relief when Jason picks up where he left off, this time letting all the noises you had been trying to muffle slip out in a torrent of incomprehensible noise. Screw whoever was behind the locker room doors, screw being quiet, you were so close to sweet release, and you refused to mess it up by being too quiet for Jason's liking.

"That's more like it!" Jason's voice comes from above you, his chin moving to rest on top of your bent head. "You didn't seem to mind them hearing you earlier, so why should you care now? Fucking slut. Probably wouldn't mind the whole team having a turn with you, would you?"

"No! No, only yours, don't want anyone else! Just you, only you!" You cry out, dick twitching as your guts get rearranged. Behind you, Jason's pace becomes clunky, more inconsistent. He's getting close, and based on the intense pangs building up in your stomach, you are too. "Shit, keep going, I'm so, so close!"

"Oh yeah?" He breathes out, his chest heaving with the effort of his strokes. "Then prove it. Prove who you belong to. Tell them who owns you!"

"You do!" You whine, your voice cracking. "You, only you, fuck Jason, I'm gonna cum, please don't stop!"

"I wouldn't dream of it." He growls back, picking up the pace. "Cum for me, show them how good I can make you feel."

He watches with fascination as your stomach tenses, your hardened dick spewing white hot cum all over your stomach and thighs, your dick twitching with each burst that comes out. You cry out with pleasure, and he feels pride bubbling in his chest at the reminder that only he can make you cum so hard your seeing stars, only he can see you so weak and pliant, and only he gets to cum inside of you, claiming you as his for the umpteenth time.

Your body shakes as you come down from your orgasm, legs trembling with the effort of keeping you up. You're faintly aware of Jason stilling inside of you, your ass growing warm with the influx of cum flooding your hole, your boyfriend's grunts and groans sounding out loudly in your ears. All the energy in your body has been sapped, leaving you a tired, panting mess under Jason's muscular body. You feel like collapsing, and you almost do, you knees buckling beneath you, before strong arms wrap themselves around you, holding you up by the stomach.

"Awe, poor baby's tired already." Jason taunts, his signature smirk reappearing on his face. He moves one arm up your back and the other down to the back of your knees, swooping you up in a princess carry, holding your tired body close to his sweaty chest. "And you didn't even do anything! I've been running around all day, tackling people, sweating my ass off, and you're tired after just one round?

You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes in bliss. Despite his teasing, you feel safe in Jason's arms, safe enough to forget that his teammates are still there, outside the door.

You let him hold you for a while, trying to catch your breath, jolting a little when he suddenly lowers himself onto a seat nearby. As he sits down, he hooks the pile of clothes you two made with his foot, dragging them toward you two until it's close enough for him to reach with his hands.

"Here." He says, putting you down next to him. "I've got your clothes. Get dressed. We aren't going out there naked." He stands back up, grabbing his own clothes before putting them on, covering his sweaty skin with cleaner clothes.

You follow suit, albeit slower than your boyfriend. You use your boxers to wipe off the cum on your body, reminding yourself to change them when you get back home. Your muscles ache with every movement, your tired limbs in no rush to clothe you in a timely fashion. By the time you finish, Jason's staring at you, watching your every move with bored looking eyes.

"You done?"

You nod. "Sorry for taking so long."

Jason sighs before moving towards you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you two walk towards the door. "It's fine. Save what energy you can while you can. It's gonna be a long night for you." He chuckles at the confused look on your face, his eyes twinkling. "What, you didn't think that was it, did you? Oh no babe, by the time I'm done with you. every muscle in your body's gonna be sore. Be prepared."

You would have responded to him, but before you could, he pushes open the doors, stepping out into the gym beyond them.

Sure enough, his teammates are there, all strewn about in different locations. Most of them look preoccupied with their phones, but you can see the redness on a couple of their faces, not to mention more than one hard on showing through their pants. Some of them look up as you to pass by, but they quickly look away, whether it be from the sight of the hickeys and bite marks on your neck, or because Jason glares at them the second he sees their heads shoot up.

Neither of you say anything as you exit the building, or as you make it to Jason's car. As soon as he unlocks it, you open the door to the passenger seat, sitting down on shaky legs as you wait for Jason to hop in with you.

Eventually he does, but to your surprise, he doesn't start the car. Instead, he turns to you, grabbing your chin with his hands and smashing his lips onto yours. The force shocks you, but you eagerly reciprocate, letting him shove his tongue down your throat while you moan into his mouth.

"Mine." He mumbles against your lips, his eyes slight.y parting to look at you. "Mine. Nobody touches you, nobody looks at you, except for me. I'll beat the shit out of the next person to even glance at you. Understand?"

You nod slightly, breaking apart from him to catch your breath. "Yours." You whisper back. "Only yours."

"Good." He murmurs. He pulls away to start the car, but before he does, he grabs his phone, opening it up to text somebody. You don't pay much attention to that though. You let your mind wander, imagining what Jason will do to you once you get back to his apartment. You have no doubt he'll make good on his promise to make your whole body sore, but the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to suppress a shiver of delight.

You can't wait to see what he has in store for you.

I hope you enjoyed!

[iwoulddieforher]

Homebound (Homeward-bound, Housebound) | Alex Cabot × Casey Novak

Author's Note: 17k words- longer than Rigid, which now makes this my longest work yet 😋 Inspired by @jeongonion 's frustration sex and then make up prompt

Warnings: Hate sex! which takes place technically in a church! Alex is heavily implied to have a superiority complex. Mentions of discussion surrounding pregnancy complications but dont worry no one's pregnant I hate pregnancy fics

Summary: Casey Novak had indulged Alexandra Cabot in a one-night stand the night before her testimony, and they hadn't been able to see each other after. When Alex finally gets out of WITSEC, she returns to seek her out, only to find Casey was now suspended. She tries not to let it bother her, but her obsession born from the sudden stark realization that she had underestimated Casey's prowess and desperation for the comfort Novak brings manifests a creature that commands Alex's attention. The beast guides her on a path to discover the new life Casey has constructed- but Alex is angry, and she's desperate to force Casey to finally look at her again.

Find/read this fic below or alternatively on AO3, by clicking on this text

The small whimpers Casey elicited when Alex was nipping her throat had replayed over and over in the blonde's head for years, now, and they were slowly starting to drive her insane.

She had been thrilled, initially, being able to end her stint as chief of the homicide bureau (realizing all the corruption and politics she had despised putting up with as a lower-ranking ADA was so hard to avoid for those in positions of power and finally being able to quit doing that), returning instead to SVU, only to find out the redhead she had spent the second half of witness protection wondering about no longer worked there. She had gotten her license suspended, and promptly vanished from the city entirely- despite her best attempts to weasel information, it seemed like no one genuinely knew where she was. 

And that was fine and all, if she wanted to sulk so be it, but then the mark Olivia had made on her calendar that circled the day her suspension was over had come and then gone and there was no word from the faux blonde attorney whatsoever- the only change that had occurred was her number being disconnected, which aggravated Liv to a great extent, as she had made it a habit of calling once a month just to offer a quick word, and since the mailbox never rejected as full she assumed Casey was at least listening.

The small traces of Casey the woman had made on the detectives Alex used to be so familiar with were evident, though, in the way Olivia argued, in the way Stabler bantered. She had become a friend to them, and the strange churn of emotions in Alex's chest when she let her mind wander over to the singular night the two had shared was only further emphasized because of it.

That, too, was driving her insane. The impact Casey had made. And yes, it did make her feel guilty. She knew, logically, that getting riled up that the faux blonde had made her place there after the initial hardship she had endured was ridiculous. But when Olivia in her morning rush accidentally swapped Alex's regular coffee order out for Casey's, it struck a nerve that seemed to resonate with the rest of her.

Even Donnelly, it seemed, had a crack in the shell of her heart where Casey had rammed into it like the fireball of a woman she was. 

"Alex," the elder blonde woman barked, "What is it with you-? I'd assume after being a Bureau Chief you'd understand how to handle something like this-" 

Alex had never quite made it to the place of lashing back out, so she just gritted her teeth and snorted under her breath while waiting for the judge to finish her tongue-lashing. One thing, she said, though, stuck out to Alex to an unreasonable degree.

"If Novak had returned to her position, I doubt I would've needed to step in on this matter," the judge had snapped in a fit of impatience and unsympathetic scolding.

"What?" Alex bristled, her eyebrows knitting over her eyes from frustration. "Casey?" 

That seemed to pause the judge for a second, and with a sigh, she removed her glasses to wipe her sleeve over the lenses with what Alex could easily mistake as a regretful expression. "Pardon. It's unprofessional of me to compare you two." 

"But, what did you mean?" the younger woman forced the issue, rising and taking a step forward imploringly, not sure why her soul was so driven to do so.

Donnelly's face shifted in mild confusion, maybe even a hint of irritation, but with a jerk of her eyebrows, she relented what was going through her mind when she had made that comment.

"Novak, brash and headstrong as she was- there was no denying she was a brilliant prosecutor. Her conviction rate was the highest we'd seen in a while. I suppose I'm just irate that she didn't return- I assumed she would. That's no excuse for taking it out on you, Cabot, I apologize. Casey was..." 

Deft, Alex tried to internally supply her with the adjective. Unique. Profoundly capable, especially astute. She was something different, something bigger and more lively than the harsh, polished walls of the DA's office could encompass properly- or at least, everyone seemed to act like it.

Donnelly still assumed she was just upset at the comparison- and yes, she supposed she was, but the churn of emotions in the pit of her stomach twisted around something different. 

"Casey's conviction rate?" Alex felt her brow furrow despite herself, and the judge gave a small modest shrug and then supplied her with the information,

"Seventy-one percent. Nearly unheard of in our line of work." 

The only reason it wasn't literally unheard of was because Casey Novak had achieved it. 

Perhaps it was simply the nature of the human ego to be hurt by comparison, but something within Alex's psyche seemed to shift at that.

The woman was a formidable prosecutor, that much had been obvious, but in some ways- perhaps it had just been the nature of her return, the way people had treated her as some sort of legendary creature flew in from far winds, and the look of reverence that flickered in Casey's eyes when they had first eye contact, but Alex had always assumed that, between the two of them, she was the better prototype for an attorney. She had heard in gossip and rumors how headstrong Casey was, how she seemed to run into house fires without question, and how she acted more like a detective herself rather than the political elegance an ADA should exhibit. 

She knew better- she had been raised better, raised in a family of legal connections and in some ways simple nepotism. She radiated the esteem and elegance a female attorney needed to succeed, she had been bred to do so, and she assumed that, through these ways, and especially through the way Casey had treated her, that Alex was a superior in some way. Not to a degree that might suggest she was egotistical, (perhaps this entire train of thought was, a part of her mind murmured to her), but to some degree nonetheless.

It was simply the natural conclusion that although, yes, Casey was good, Alex was better. The squad had treated them as such, after all.

Was that a wrong assumption to make?

She had envisioned herself as a hawk come down to accompany songbird, but this startling information seemed to suggest she had misinterpreted the situation entirely.

Alex felt mildly sick with a sudden burst of anger, an animal that clawed its way from her stomach into her lungs and she let out a slow, long exhale.

"Don't let that agitate you, Cabot," Donnelly caught on, and then with a wave dismissed her from her office after ensuring whatever move Alex had been trying to make case-wise would no longer be an option.

Alex decided to take the rest of the day to sulk, snapping curt responses at the detectives who bothered her and rubbing her fingers on her temple more than once as if to soothe a headache that didn't exist. 

The next day she felt better, yes, but bitterness resided in her soul which stayed there stubbornly for the next weeks.

Casey stayed in her mind like a very odd plague, or perhaps her infatuation had simply bred a needy beast of a creature that demanded her attention.

It may have been the way Donnelly had compared them- the idea that while Alex had assumed she was the sharper weapon, Casey was in reality a force more powerful than she was. A sort of anxious resentment and bitterness stirred- but she told herself it was only natural to be upset when bested, except the majority of her brain was scrambling to retort that no, she hadn't been bested, Casey was gone- censured, suspended- and she was still here. Didn't that make her better? Didn't she still have higher footing? 

The whispers of Casey's quiet pleas in her ear, the way she had looked up through half-lidded eyes at Alex as if she was some sort of goddess she would spend days worshipping except for the fact they were about to convict the assassin who had attempted on Alex's life a meager night later, had created a sort of fondness in Alex's mind as the one who could lay above her. The one Casey wanted to worship, that being looked at meant she was special in some sort of way, and that simply didn't make sense to her if Casey was truly the higher power.

She was supposed to be better. Why would Casey have acted in such a way if she wasn't? Or did Casey just, as she had, assume she was, and if she realized she wasn't, she'd- what, lose interest? No, Alex wouldn't allow herself to think about such things. Alex was better.

Perhaps it was simply that Alex was shaken by the fact no reunion had occurred. She had really expected Novak to show back up, eager and impatient to begin convicting felons once again, expected to fall into step beside her and share caseloads. 

She knew Olivia had expected the same, too, in the way that she huffed when she had to flip the calendar to the next month, leaving the date where she had penned at the end of Casey's suspension in an important red pen that had come and then gone without a word from the now rather mysterious former attorney. It would've been alright to hear that she had returned to working somewhere else, at least, that the pursuit of justice that had run so fervently in her bloodstream was still being used if not with them, but no such word was ever announced. Alex had even, on Olivia's request, inquired into it, but Casey had never utilized her now-lifted ban to reassume her license to practice. 

And that frustrated Alex, frustrated her immensely, and that snowballed into further frustrations when she couldn't put her thumb on why she was so irked in the first place.

She had really wanted- no, in the nights long passed in witness protection when she had thought about it, she needed it. Under the covers in bed, toying with the page of a book she wasn't reading, she had pictured walking back into the squad room alone- no marshals, no escort. Just her jacket slung over her shoulder, just a pitstop before reclaiming her job and her title, to say hi. She had envisioned feverishly the look of joy on Olivia's face as she jumped out of her chair to meet her, arms holding Alex's elbows the way Olivia always did, perhaps Alex cupping Olivia's face, too. Looking over at Huang and Stabler and the others, all aligned in her imagination as if waiting for her to step back in as if nothing traumatic had happened at all, exchanging a curt but meaningful nod with Cragen.

And then she closed the book entirely, because holding it was pointless, her blank eyes filled with the imagination of Casey strolling back into the precinct with a sigh- returning from arraignment, perhaps, or maybe court. Still adorned in her court clothes, the tailored fabric that fit her figure perfectly, looking like a soldier, or perhaps a wife, fighting the good fight or nurturing justice and civilization in the way Alex felt as though only she could really appreciate, and then her eyes would land on Alex.

And oh, how Alex dreamed about those green eyes widening slightly, how she'd pause, stunned for a second, and then smile- perhaps shyly, perhaps brightly, perhaps perhaps perhaps but always so amazingly Casey. 

And it hadn't happened- Casey had been gone by the time she had managed to fight her way back in. So despite not needing the comfort of that scenario anymore, she had achieved her life back to the extent that mattered after all, her mind had concocted a new one to satisfy the dent Casey had left regardless. 

This time it was Casey wandering back into the precinct, green eyes flickering around, eyeing up her surroundings to see what had changed, only to find not much. Olivia jumping from her chair the same way Alex had imagined she would've done for her, stepping forward without hesitation, and although Casey would never cup the base of Olivia's skull like Alex would have, Olivia would cradle the sides of her arm just the same. Stabler would crack some joke about Casey returning from radio silence, but Casey would look just like an angel re-descending onto the world. And then Casey would look up to see Alex casually leaning on a desk or a railing or whatever Alex would find at that moment to lean on.

And then, that smile. Perhaps shyly, perhaps brightly, but exactly and always the way Alex needed her to.

She hadn't gotten her reunion, no. 

Neither one of them. 

Not what she had envisioned would come after, either. Selfishly, she thought perhaps she was just teased with the idea of repaying Casey for the night that woman had provided her with, comfort in the sense of tangled limbs and heavy kisses, and the fact she wasn't able to. Casey would've been nervous to return, but she would've regardless, unable to stay away, and Alex would've comforted her in her ability the same way Casey had nurtured her confidence in the trial through words and other uses for tongues and teeth and fingers. She felt robbed, even though she knew that was unfair. 

She kept reminding herself that they had met once. One, singular night, and no matter how good that hook-up had felt that's what it was. The marshals hadn't let her say goodbye. Alex had despairingly refused to seek intimacy after that, not wanting to take another into her arms and allow them to call her a fake name so she could fake moan and try to forget she was in witness protection, but Casey living her truth was under no such obligation. Casey might not have wanted to sleep with her again, maybe not now that she'd be seeing her reoccurringly, and Alex would've been prepared to accept that, if only she had something to accept.

She had nothing to accept, because now when she heard Olivia call Casey's phone when cases were especially stressing the brunette out of sheer muscle memory, Novak's phone was disconnected. Olivia would stand in silence for a second, and Alex would stand a little ways away feeling equally discontented, despite the fact Olivia had a reason to miss her- a friendship forged through years- while Alex knew her for one night and apparently now would never see her again.

It was as though the alluring faux blonde was taunting her, no matter how unfair that thought was as it boiled over in Alex's brain. It was unfair to think lowly of Casey. Perhaps she had simply found an occupation she thought suited her more and wasn't keen on lodging her way back into a space where she'd need to reassert her presence when she had already found another set of walls to encompass her life. 

And Alex focused on that, focused on work, focused on ending her useless engagement she had fallen into out of desperation to cling back into her real life, focused on trying to get rid of Jim Steele who apparently thought she actually cared about him. 

"Hey, Liv, what's this notification on your phone?" Stabler said one day, though, while Alex and Olivia were discussing the grounds for a search warrant needed, and Olivia glanced over casually and then flicked her wrist dismissively.

"I'm bringing someone flowers," she said, as if it was unimportant.

"Holding out on me?" Alex interjected abruptly, and Olivia's brow furrowed immediately, and then she laughed nervously as if something had just occurred to her. 

(A lightning bolt shot through Olivia's spine when she heard the echo of Casey's chuckle, when she had said those exact words to her before the flower delivery that had almost killed her, and she knew Alex could tell that she stiffened. It was the remnant of her fear she'd lose two of her favorite ADAs in the same way, bleeding out in front of her, sprawled out on the floor like lifeless dolls.)

Alex got the sense that Olivia had recognized something she had heard before, and bristled slightly. She assumed it wasn't Casey, but the part of her brain space that the faux blonde seemed to consume adamantly murmured to her that it was, that she was being compared, that she had to assert herself.

"Um-" Olivia blinked, looking awkwardly in Elliot's direction for an out, but he only raised an eyebrow, inadvertently backing Alex up.

"No, not for someone like that, just- it's the anniversary of when Casey buried her fiance, and..." 

Fiance? Casey was engaged? Well- had been engaged? When had she gotten engaged, and when had it ended? Alex felt her chest rise with a shallow breath, trying to grapple in her spinning mind. No, Alex couldn't have been a rebound- that was a stupid conclusion, she wouldn't defile herself by even suggesting that internally. Casey had wanted her, just her, when they had slept together. The look in those green eyes, when they stared up at her adoringly, told her so.

"Oh, you still feel guilty about that?" Elliot popped open a soda can. Alex noted the way he said that seemed very Stabler-like, in the sense that it wasn't warm or cold, curious or detached, he just.. said things in a way that was hard to describe.

But now she was curious, too, after the initial internal struggle, about why Olivia would feel guilty about death in Casey's personal affairs- she would've assumed she'd find out if Olivia had been involved in a case where someone in Casey's life had been brutalized, so only hearing this now seemed odd. Olivia just pressed her lips into a thin line, flexing an eyebrow at Stabler who simply shrugged nonchalantly and raised the can to his lips. 

"What do you feel guilty for, exactly?" Alex inquired, finally, after a second's pause.

"Nothing." Olivia pressed, and then with a mild sigh, "I snooped in Casey's desk and found something I shouldn’t have and proceeded to handle it badly because I was pissed this guy-" she pointed at Stabler- "almost went blind." 

Some things never changed, and Olivia's inability to properly summarize cases or events that were no longer actively necessary was one of them- after she signed the final records, she was done with them, and Alex internally decided that was as good an explanation as one could get.

"But.. her fiance?"

"Was already dead. For a while. But still. I don't think she lives in New York anymore so I've been bringing his grave flowers on the anniversary of when she buried him because I don't know if she knew when he actually died, just so... because I feel like, someone should do it." Olivia finished lamely, and then decided she was done talking about that, and proceeded to jump back on the train of discussing the search warrant.

Casey didn't know exactly when her own fiance died? What the hell had happened? But Olivia seemed unwilling to pour information like Alex adamantly was trying to prompt her to, and Alex didn't want to push.

The monster in Alex's stomach purred with curiosity at the new mention, new tidbits of information Alex was snaking for daily life, and despite her attempts to settle it, she found herself returning to the precinct at the time Olivia's shift was over.

"I want to come with you," she said, and to Liv's raised brow she justified, "convicting my assassin was a good enough reason to have me indebted to her. I can't thank her, so I may as well just do this with you." 

Olivia decided that was reason enough- it wasn't like she knew the guy, either- so they climbed into her car and started on the trip to the outskirts of the city where enough green was preserved to allow for the shade of trees to grace tombstones. 

The cemetery was a recognized Catholic one, so greeting them when Olivia pulled over in a parking lot was a small chapel with an imposed, ornate roof. To the side of it was a small wooden building, quaint yet well-cared for, which sold flowers. Olivia moved immediately towards it, so Alex assumed this was probably where she'd been buying the flowers she provided Casey's dead fiance.

"I wonder if she broke off the engagement before or after he died," Olivia muttered to herself vaguely, her forehead creased as she tried to figure out the appropriate flower to select.

"Sunflowers- or yellow roses, something that symbolizes friendship," Alex suggested vaguely, her interest piqued by whatever Olivia meant- she didn't know the story, after all- but she knew better than to pry. It would feel like an intrusion if Benson didn't offer the information willingly, and it didn't seem like the brunette was planning on it.

They both selected a modest amount of stalks, paid accordingly, and then Alex let Olivia lead her in a direction until they came to a cross-shaped stone suspended in the ground with 'Charles 'Charlie' Kelly' chiseled into it. Beneath it, 'ad astra; he will be missed more than he knows'. To the stars, the first portion meant. Apparently, despite Olivia's implication that the engagement hadn't been a successful one regardless of Charlie's death, Casey still thought of him in the sky above her.

Olivia was apparently lost in thought, so Alex let her mind wander. 

She shouldn't have come here, she decided, that was evident enough. She was uncomfortable and it felt like a violation for her to be offering respect, regardless of what her intentions behind it were. She didn't believe in the afterlife, so she was spared the idea of Casey Novak's dead almost-life-partner staring eerily at Casey Novak's lesbian one-night stand from the grave, but if Casey was religious maybe it was still some sort of misconduct she shouldn't have allowed herself. There was no reason for her to be hung up on Casey as she was, and this was a major overstep. 

"She's really strong," Olivia said after some pause, "I guess I kept forgetting that when she was still working with us. To endure this, and then.."

Alex knew better than to push, and Olivia wasn't giving her an opening to pry, so her uncomfortablility mounted to a greater height as she swallowed and tried not to ask what Olivia was referring to. 

Distraction- although, not as good a distraction as she wanted, but at least it was something to focus on, was a teenage boy with a large, sun-shield-covered cart dragging a large mass of flower arrangements down the isles of tombstones, reading nameplates and occasionally stopping to gently place a large bouquet down on the marble slab, checking off a name on his list before continuing.

Alex turned her head and decided to just watch him, instead, with his rather casual clothes- it seemed like he might've come here from school, perhaps he was related to whoever owned this place- and his cart traverse in a steady, respectful rhythm.

To her and Olivia's surprise, though, when his cart was nearing empty save for five large arrangements, he dragged it over to where they were standing. At least, Alex worried he was going to try to peddle, and she didn't know how to turn down a teenage boy selling flowers in a cemetery. Instead, he simply tipped his baseball cap respectfully in her direction, tugging one bouquet out of the bucket it had been placed in, impaling the stalks in a foam block, and then carefully arranging it next to Charlie's headstone, before proceeding to do the same with the other four.

"My regards," he said in an easy voice, glancing between their faces, before drawing a line through the final name and order summary in his list, before turning to leave. 

Alex's eyes flickered over to the flower arrangement. It was careful, it was delicate, and it looked ridiculously expensive. Large, blood-red roses sprawling effortlessly in directions, easy symbols of love, of course- but then others, like the frequent dots of German chamomile peeking out beside them, jasmine, transvaal daisies, and many, many others.

Alex became acutely aware of her breathing as her sharp eyes flickered. The second bouquet was a blend of the flowers adorning the first and the third, similarly, the fourth bouquet was a combination of the third and the fifth. The attention-demanding red roses claimed the majority of visibility, but the smaller flowers that crept around them like soft kisses on a sleeping giant enraptured Alex's focus.

The first bouquet's secondary selection was primarily yellow, the same flowers Alex had earlier recommended for friendship. The third entertained pinks- carnations, and then whites, like daisies and gardenias. The fifth contained a different note, where the aforementioned German chamomile and jasmine formed a small ring around a singular blue chrysanthemum. 

"Oh," Alex breathed, softly, under her breath, her voice not directed at Olivia- she didn't know why she was speaking out her revelation- "she's telling their love story." 

Friendship, romance, attempted healing, and then suffering. Initially, Alex had assumed the flowers might've been from parents or siblings. No, this was most surely Casey's work. It made her sick to her stomach.

She turned in hast to the flower boy, who had started his trip back down the aisle, pacing over to him in long overconfident strides.

"Hey- pardon me, but- what are you doing, exactly?" 

In usual teenage fashion, he flashed her an almost incredulous look, a tilt of the head that meant 'Can't you see, lady?' but under the way her features grew suddenly stern he relented. 

"Sometimes when family members can't come to pay respects they call in flower arrangements to the graves." He answered her appropriately, although he now looked mildly wary. Alex wasn't sure if she should be proud of her ability to intimidate teenagers. 

"Who ordered the flowers for Charles Kelly?" Alex's gaze flashed back to where she had been standing, where Olivia still stood looking at her with a confused expression. 

"The wife, I think." He followed her gaze, "She asked for one of us to do it by hand, that arrangement. I helped. It costs more, normally our flower vendors pre-make bouquets." 

Alex gritted her teeth, a muscle in her jaw growing rigid as a very very unethical idea formulated in her mind.

"Fifty bucks says you can give me the number she used to call?" 

The boy's eyebrow raised sharply, and Alex winced, suddenly feeling stupidly vulnerable in her court clothes in a grassy lot surrounded by the evidence of grief of families she wasn't a part nor know to any degree, with no real purpose or justification for being there. Still, the monster in her stomach roared happily at the fact she felt closer to Casey than she had in months- prancing into her ribcage to make her heart pound before twisting and crawling its way back down. Casey had such a hold on her curiosity it was making her feel seasick.

"...what were you, Kelly's mistress?" 

"Do not take that tone with me, young man." She reprimanded, a bit harsher than she initially attempted to, "Do you want the money, or not?"

"Yeah," he offered after less than a second's consideration, and Alex thanked the heavens for the recklessness of teenage boys, "let me go check our records." 

Less than five minutes later, Alex was now short of a half-hundred dollars but had the number Casey had used to call the cemetery clutched tightly on a piece of scrap paper in her palm, a sinking feeling in her stomach and an unknowing albeit bewildered Olivia next to her. She refused to say anything about it, though, and Olivia didn't push, thank god. 

She toyed with the scrap of paper until the ink it had been jotted down in smudged under her sweaty fingers and she hastily tucked it into her purse instead, a bristling, uncomfortable feeling in her veins as she felt the beast that was her feeling towards Novak rip through her bloodstream. Fuck, there's no way she could actually do this.

The phone began to ring the second she stepped back into her own apartment, after Olivia had dropped her off, and she had barely managed the elevator ride without pulling out her phone and calling the number immediately.

Internally, she felt like she was going to crack open like an egg with each long, unanswered ring. What has she expected? Casey wouldn't know who was calling- was Casey the type to pick up unknown calls? If she did pick up, what did Alex even want to say? Why was she calling?

Really- why was she calling?

"You have reached St. Raphael's Parish, this is Pastoral Assistant O'Neill speaking," came a young man's voice on the other end of the phone, and Alex inhaled sharply. A church? Casey had called via.. what? 

"Hello," She said, her voice tinged with anxiety in a way that made her wince, "I was just calling to ask if there's a Casey Novak associated here in some way?" 

"Yes, Ms. Novak currently assists our church's community center. Has she reached out to you about our program? Would you like to speak with her further?" 

The monster in her stomach roared, crawling from her intestines to her esophagus and lodging itself there with a pleased hum, and Alex exhaled shakily. "No, that's okay. I...," she licked her suddenly dry lips, "I just met her recently, and wanted to inquire about the..." She needed some kind of excuse, something vague so this man wouldn't mention to Casey someone had called for her, "when confessions are... open." 

Her voice sounded clumsy and awkward, but apparently, O'Neill found her stammering endearing because he quickly reassured her and explained how and when she'd be able to confess her sins. "It's never too late," he had implored, "to strive for reconciliation with God." 

Strive for reconciliation. No, she was most definitely just striving for Casey. Maybe she actually did need to convert to some sort of religion if the feeling of Casey's lips on her pulse point had affected her to this degree.

When she looked up the church, though, pondering if she could make an excuse to drop by, its address was listed as in Rhode Island. 

"I can't do this," she muttered to herself firmly, impulsively flinging her phone with her fingers into the wall, where it made a satisfying thumping sound and dropped to the floor. "This is so fucking stupid." 

So she sat idly on the information she had. Olivia stopped calling the number she had now that it was pointless to attempt to do so, and Donnelly refrained from mentioning her again, and the echo of Casey's voice in the hallways in the back of her mind- a purely envisioned sound, because Alex had only walked through the walls of the precinct with her once- ceded.

Work was idle, and so too did her life become. When she caught herself pining over a woman who no longer existed in any space she was involved in she quietly tamped down the idea, agitating the monster, but the beast did eventually begin to shrink and give up, retreating only to the valley of her thighs where it snapped and nipped occasionally but was otherwise out of mind so long as she tended to it on the nights she lay alone in a cold bed with nothing else to occupy her mind.

It was weeks later when something happened to stir the creature straight back into her ribcage, howling and ravaging the insides of her flesh like a bitch in heat.

"There's a man out there assaulting cops, and you- what, Alex? You aren't going to do anything?" 

They were fighting in Cragen’s office, a scenario that had happened many times previously, but Alex always hated it, because not only did she need to verbally hold off Olivia but she could feel the blistering, scrutinizing stares of Elliot and the Captain in her pale skin. 

"We don't have enough evidence for me to charge him with anything yet!" She snapped. She knew this was personal for Olivia- of course it was- but she knew better than to leap headstrong into something that would get thrown out in court.

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to find!" Olivia raged back, taking a step closer, and Alex bristled in response.

"Literally anything that would solidify your theory-!" Alex tried to barter, taking a step forward too with her palms extended outward as if asking Olivia to give her something, anything, to prove this case. Didn't Olivia understand through all these years that Alex was just as desperate to lock deranged men behind bars as she was? But it always became too narrow-sighted for Olivia to see, apparently, because she just made an awkward growling sound.

"We have his blood-" 

"The sample was too tainted to get anything out of it, you know that already, Olivia, be reasonable-" 

"Maybe I'm sick of you being reasonable!" Olivia fired, and Alex snarled under her breath. Alright, a personal challenge was thrown, but Olivia apparently wasn't done talking.

"Casey got fucking suspended trying to protect her own and you aren't raising a finger to help us-" 

The blonde’s gaze averted quickly, flashing the captain a cold, harsh stare. Reign in your detectives, it said, this type of disrespect is not something I tolerate. Despite that, she bristled at the look she got in return, and the quiet snarl emanating from Stabler.

Alex turned on her heel and focused on the clipped tapping of her heels against the dirty marble floor as she stormed away, flicking her wrist in Olivia's direction as if shutting her up, which it didn't manage to do. Exiting an argument so abruptly was ungodly unprofessional, she knew that, but God she was going to slap her if she stayed. 

"Her conviction rate was higher than yours, and she took less to court." Olivia's cold voice shot out behind her and Alex froze in her retreat, "She wouldn't be scared of this." 

Alex believed the monster in her anatomy had just now effectively torn her heart apart, her mind a hailstorm of cold fury, and her exit was emphasized when she slammed the door behind her. Fuck that. Fuck this. Casey was not better than her, Casey was a fucking coward who was hiding in a church for some fucking reason.

And that's why, despite it being an active workday, she was in her car gripping the steering wheel so tightly the logical portion of her brain tried to warn her she was either going to snap it clean off or break a tendon in her fingers, driving to the address she had searched once again for St. Raphael's Parish.

It took a little over three hours.

She drove in utter, complete silence, breaking her demented glare from the road only once to turn her phone on Do Not Disturb when Olivia's apology text and call came about an hour or so into the drive.

The beast inside her grew two heads- one bickering and twisting her liver, demanding her to reassert her control over her life- HER life- feeling as though some expectation, whether it be the loss of her own ideal without Casey's presence or the expectations of the people she thought should comprehend her success were comparing her to a woman turning tail, were unfair to a degree which appropriated this kind of fury. The other writhed in anguish, needy and headstrong with the ideality of some reunion with Casey bringing her some sort of end to this internal torment. She gripped the steering wheel harder. Something in her wrist cramped. 

The church was old, and utterly captivating in aesthetics. A testament to an era long since past, towering spires that shot straight up to scratch the underbelly of the heavens loomed over the blonde ADA as she exited her car, feeling mildly dwarfed. The exterior was a dark, reddish-hued brick, lined with sculptures of angelic figures or intricate creatures imbedded in the sides of the wall, but if Alex squinted it was almost as if they were moving, telling stories of lessons long ago taught. The garden in front was equally mesmerizing, shaped hedges and rows of neatly planted white flowers emphasizing the cobblestone path that led one up to the steps, directing any who may inspect the exterior of the church towards elephantine mahogany doors. As if to further call attention to the entryway, above the arched door was a circular window, stained glass in faded yet alluring colors depicted an angel with open arms, ever waiting to look down welcomingly up on those who may enter. 

The weight of being in the presence of a building so magnificent while in such a blind rage seemed ironic to Alex, who was not there to admire or confess but rather seek out a woman she was still not entirely sure which particular emotion she felt about.

Regardless, with tentative, clipped steps, she began to advance on the pathway, eyes flickering about in a mild degree of awe. 

The interior of the church was simultaneously obviously modernized and still held the lingering charm only buildings decades old could muster. The smell of candles and books- rather like a library, almost, except accompanied by wisps of elegant perfumes and whatnot- greeted Alex as she inhaled sharply, eyes landing on the polished wooden desk, in which a man was perched waiting.

"Excuse me," she began tentatively, greeted with a broad, warm smile she inwardly immediately felt as though she did not deserve, "I heard there was a recreational center associated with this church?" 

"Ah, yes, our harbor for community." He nodded wisely, "Are you looking to involve yourself in the activities? I can provide you with pamphlets, or talk you through the application process to become a volunteer." 

"I'd be very grateful for a pamphlet," Alex murmured awkwardly, and the man immediately handed her a small laminated paper booklet that he had seemed to materialize out of thin air.

"If you'd like to observe, you may continue out this door on the side, and follow the signs." He nodded, "We do have guards who may ask to inspect your purse, but otherwise you should be free to explore. We abide by the principles of vulnerability, and openness, and our set-up is as such." 

"Thank you," she excused herself, beginning out the door he had gestured at and finding elegant posts directing visitors of the church to different areas. A community garden, a playground, and a small donation center were all directed towards, but she found the pathway towards a large wooden building a small ways away and began walking towards that instead, after finding the designated sign for 'community center' in an elegant, bold font. 

She had realized, of course, that she was in a significantly less population-dense area than all the cities she had ever been accustomed to, but this church's emphasis on community still caught her off guard. Perhaps less heinous crimes would be committed in her own city if people cared about each other to this extent, she pondered, flipping through the pamphlet as she walked. 

Part of her initial aversion to the place faded as a curiosity overtook her, a desire to investigate momentarily lapsing her anger and her twisted emotion, and although the monster in the ribs did not relent in its pursuit of a faux blonde it seemed content to settle while she aquatinted herself with new surroundings. 

There were sections for activities, such as fundraisers, clubs, and tutoring, classes on family nurturing and homemaking, and sections for group therapies for various issues. Alex skimmed them all, pausing her fast-flickering eyes at the appearance of every name that was mentioned, but Casey's didn't surface until she found a 'new additions' portion in the back of the pamphlet with detailed courses that had been recently established to promote education in middle and high-school aged youth. Novak's name had been mentioned as a primary tutor for the foundation of a Model United Nations, for kids in range fourteen to seventeen. 

So this is what Casey was doing- using her understanding of the law and more specifically politics and persuasion to teach children about international communications? Alex felt a stir of guilt in her stomach- not because of her earlier accusation of Casey being a coward, no, but rather at how the first thought in her mind was that it was a shame to see Casey's brilliance being squandered. Other people could do this task. If Casey was supposedly better than Alex, she should be doing something that demonstrated that prowess, not.. this.

Bitterly, Alex thought to herself not only was her assessment wildly unfair, but at the very least she should be happy Casey was in fact wasting her ability because that meant her own status would not be overshadowed by a fierce competitor. Perhaps Casey would've been in line for promotion, perhaps in the three years she had lost from her suspension she would've climbed ranks to a standing Alex wouldn't have been able to compete with. But no, she had gotten suspended, and now she was here- teaching children about the realm in which her presence was utterly lacking.

She was being unfair, really. Aiding developing minds was a noble pursuit. Alex should not be so critical. And she shouldn't be jealous, either, but she was. The monster stirred idly.

The center was bustling with activity despite it being a workday- Alex realized only when she got in that it was long past the end of school hours, the drive having consumed hours of her time, and thus children were tussling about.

The 'set-up' to which the parish receptionist had referred too was evident- the building was set up as one large room, despite it being two stories, with bookshelves as dividers between sections and glass for walls for the few places there were actual rooms. Large oak tables and metal chairs with plastic seats and backrests were scattered in a way that felt comfortable and almost overtly so, despite the fact it's obvious mild renovations were still undergoing. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad place for Casey after all, Alex thought rather sadly. It was comparable to the DA's office in the aura it emoted, the gnawing sense that something was happening, but with the hushed tones of students encouraging each other while studying or distracting each other loudly with entertainment or laughter, it felt warm in a way Alex was made slightly uncomfortable by. The stark luxury of the DA's office was also starkly missing- this place, interesting as it was, was certainly not comparable to the magnificent church outside or even Alex's place of occupation.

The pamphlet had said which section it was occurring in, and with clumsy direction and suddenly less conviction Alex found her way over there. The designated time had not started, but apparently schoolchildren were already making use of the room, milling about and chatting with each other.

Long, thin rectangular tables had been utilized to form a mock- courtyard, in a sense, forming a square in which all participants could see each other easily. At the head of the rectangle and different type of table was utilized the signal the chair's designation, as well as a rolly chair instead of the plastic ones the rest of the tables were accompanied by. Alex snorted at the resourcefulness, although it could also easily be simply the fact they didn't have enough of the same type of table.

"Can I help you, Miss?" A young girl with dramatically red hair and freckles piped up after a few of her friends had laid eyes on Alex with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. If this was intended for students aged thirteen to seventeen, she was more certainly on the absolute youngest side of the spectrum.

"Casey Novak teaches here, doesn't she?" 

"Miss Casey isn't here right now," the girl responded, answering two of her questions- yes, she did teach, but no, she wasn't currently in the building. Or perhaps she was somewhere in the building, and this girl simply was not aware. 

"Did you need something?" One of the older kids- a tall, lanky teenage boy, strolled forward, interrupting her attempted exchange with the smaller girl. So the children are protective of their own, evidently, either that or she was intriguing enough in her pristine court clothing and tall heels to pique the curiosity of another child who wanted to catch her attention instead.

"I'm a friend of Novak's," Alex began, rather self-importantly, and the lie felt strangely easy on her tongue- with how often she thought about Casey, it felt natural to say, but no, the two were not friends. "I heard she started teaching you all about international communications and wanted to see how it worked." 

The boy shrugged, "I guess it's okay if you watch. We're not in session for another hour and a half, though. Come back later."

Something about this boy's tone was resurfacing the resentment stirring in her chest. She didn't particularly enjoy talking to older teens- younger children were sweet and naive and she sometimes felt the urge to protect them, but kids like this she wasn't particularly fond of interacting with. And he was trying to send her away? Shouldn't he know to respect his elders?

"What are you all doing here then, if a session doesn't start for so long?" 

The little girl who was still eyeing her up suddenly glared at her, a sudden switch from the wary intrigue she had previously been exhibiting, and the boy's face flickering with some amount of distaste- perhaps the question had made him uncomfortable, somehow. 

"Did Miss Casey invite you here?" The elder boy said, drawing attention from a few other children, and Alex felt suddenly a prickle of irritation down the length of her spine at his questioning. No, Casey hadn't, but she couldn't really explain that. 

"I was a colleague of hers, back when we were both working for the district attorney of New York." A half-truth- yes, while Alex was SVU's ADA before her stint in witness protection, Casey had technically also been working for white collar, so they did in a ways work together, except they hadn't known each other then. "I wanted to come observe you all to see if her efforts were paying off." 

She kept it lighthearted as if she were jesting, but she knew this boy wasn't stupid enough to not catch the subtle undertone of challenge her voice included- although the girl behind him was, who become rather intrigued by the idea of her tutor's past. 

"Then how about I set up a little mock debate," the boy rose to her challenge suddenly, "and you can see exactly the lengths that her efforts have gone." 

He extended a hand to her for a formal handshake, his voice firmly introducing himself as "Eric Conner, Chair of the Economics and Social Council." 

"Alexandra Cabot, Assistant District Attorney to the Manhattan District," Alex responded coldly, shaking his hand with a firm grip that he returned. While his title was honorable as far as their play went, it was still only a piece of this mock debate, and Alex's title was real. The tone in her voice drove that point home.

She wasn't entirely sure why she was so irked by these kids, but as Eric Conner began assembling a few willing participants for a smaller version of a proper MUN debate, the beast gnawed idly at her ribcage.

Alex became particularly sure she did not want these kids to succeed in their debate against her. She initially hadn't been sure if Conner was setting up a mock debate for her to observe or to be involved in, but when he handed her a placard that said 'United States of America' and pointed her to a plastic chair, it became evident he did expect her to be a participant, and she riled slightly. These kids winning any sort of leverage was evidence that Casey had done better. This was noble work, nurturing the minds of the parish youth, and perhaps something in a moral sense that outweighed her own efforts in the law. If she didn't beat these children up in the oncoming verbal spar, it was almost as though she was letting Casey be better than her. 

The second head of her monster groaned and creaked, nipping at her lung while the other remained vested in biting at her ribs. This was wrong. She was a bit past caring in her blind anger.

The debate began quickly. Eric Conner was the chair presiding, the little girl who had both glared and stared at her with different twisting emotions served as Germany, and other children of various ages represented other delegations from around the world. 

"The Economic and Social Council is now in session," Conner began, straightening his spine and flicking his eyes down a few sheets of paper he had assembled before him- a script, perhaps, notes. Alex thought in the back of her head that that was sweet in a patronizing sort of way. "The agenda for today is ‘Reducing Economic Inequality Through Global Tax Reforms.’ Delegates are reminded to maintain decorum and adhere to the rules of procedure." 

"We will begin with opening statements. Each delegate will have one minute to state their country’s position. The delegate of Brazil is recognized."

A girl- older by years than the one who Alex had initially engaged with, stood, a laptop clutched in her hands.

"Thank you, Chair," she began, hesitation evident in the quiver of her voice- her eyes flickered to Alex specifically, finding the intrusion of a much older, much wiser woman intimidating. She schooled herself out of it quickly, though, and Alex wondered bitterly if that was through some method Novak had taught her.

She could imagine Casey's sharp voice softening, taking on a motherly tone as she sat beside this sixteen-year-old, pointing out flaws and statements that wouldn't hold water with precision, and then turning to her reassuring her of her budding prowess. The girl must have been scared of public speaking, everyone was, and Casey probably taught her how to slow her racing heart and formulate words to drive her point into the skulls of her opponents the same way Casey had taught herself to do in open court. It made Alex angry, that thought. That reassurance Casey probably offered to this girl had been used on her in Casey's office all those years ago, and she now felt territorial, or at the very least upset at her own imagination.

"Brazil believes that economic inequality cannot be effectively addressed without tackling the exploitation of tax havens and corporate tax evasion. Multinational corporations siphon billions from developing nations ... " The teen kept talking, but Alex wasn't entirely listening. "Brazil proposes a binding global minimum corporate tax rate and stricter international cooperation to prevent such practices. This is not just an economic issue—it’s a moral imperative. I yield my time."

The debate proceeded with various other countries providing opening statements, but Alex just crossed one leg over the other in her lap, staring around at the children speaking with a mild degree of interest. She didn't feel as though she particularly had to pay attention other than to the storm cloud forming in her mind as her imagination helpfully provided her with images of Casey teaching, Casey smiling, Casey laughing in a way that felt like a taunt directed solely at her. 

"The council will now debate the proposed amendment to the resolution, which adds the clause: ‘Member states failing to comply with the global minimum corporate tax rate shall face economic sanctions coordinated by a multilateral oversight body.’" 

This part piqued Alex's interest, and she raised her placard with a flick of her wrist to indicate she had decided to finally become an actual participant in the mock debate they had started for her sake.

"The delegate of the United States has the floor," Conner said warily, his eyes flickering to the gaze of his peers.

"Thank you, Chair," Alex started firmly in a voice that wasn't very grateful, pushing her chair back to stand in the fashion the other students had exhibited, towering over the shorter, younger individuals. 

"The United States strongly opposes this amendment. Sanctions are a dangerous and counterproductive approach. They punish populations, destabilize economies, and create hostility among nations. Instead, the United States proposes a more effective alternative: a multilateral compliance fund to support nations in meeting global tax standards and reputational penalties for violators. Let us build consensus rather than force compliance through coercion. I yield my time."

Conner eyed her, biting the inside of his cheek, and then glanced around to see which placards had been raised for a response- two girls, sitting side by side, who appeared to be twins caught his eye and he nodded towards them.

"The delegate of France is recognized." 

"Thank you, Chair. France supports this amendment." A direct opponent to the stance Alex had taken, then. "The United States’ alternative lacks teeth," - oh, so she knew how to argue, too - "Without enforceable mechanisms, this resolution will fail to create meaningful change." Alex bristled, not by the fact she was being debated, but rather by the way this girl wasn't fumbling at all- and how internally that registered to Alex as this girl must have been under a plethora of lessons and reassurances from the faux blonde woman Alex had drove nearly four hours to chase.

Despite herself, her hand formed a small fist in her lap, fingernails digging into her palm as her brain forced the mental imagery of Casey's hand on this girl's shoulder as she discussed how to present an argument. Casey's hand- the lithe fingers that had been in Alex's mouth those years ago. It was a ridiculously unfair thought to have, but Alex was starting to realize everything she was doing was unfair, and that just pent her frustration up to an even higher degree.

"The U.S. talks about cooperation, but cooperation without accountability is meaningless. Sanctions are a necessary deterrent for nations and corporations that refuse to comply. I yield back."

Without accountability? And yet her tutor was the one failing to take any sort of accountability, fleeing to Rhode Island and disconnecting her old number, not a word to her friends. 

Alex wanted to respond, but the chair had already recognized the girl's partner, the other half of the identical twins, who was representing Kenya.

"Thank you, Chair. Kenya echoes France’s concerns. The United States’ proposal for a compliance fund is insufficient. Developing nations lose billions annually to tax evasion by corporations headquartered in wealthier countries. Sanctions are a tool to level the playing field. We need action, not more rhetoric. I yield back."

It was somewhat of an empty statement, peppered with jabs at Alex's argument but made solely to back up the other girl, and they exchanged brief, conspiratorial smiles with each other. The sight of which softened Alex's anger slightly, replacing it with a twinge of guilt.

She shook it off quickly, though. Yes, these children were better at debate than she had initially summed them up to be, but asserting herself as a force more powerful than Casey was the reason why she was here. The chair allowed her to make a rebuttal, and so fixed the delegate of France- the stronger of the two- with a firm stare, the way she may look at a defense counsel, and the girl shrank slightly.

"Thank you, Chair. Let’s be clear: the rhetoric here is coming from France and Kenya." Both girls looked mildly conflicted, exchanging another small glance through lowered eyes at each other. Casey, evidently, hadn't taught them to master a poker face yet. 

"They advocate sanctions without considering the collateral damage they inflict on vulnerable populations. The U.S. is offering a practical alternative that addresses non-compliance without harming the global economy. Sanctions don’t ‘level the playing field’;", despite herself, she made air quotes, an unprofessional taunt slipping through her facade as she watched the girls avert their gazes, "They create chaos. If this council is serious about reducing inequality, it must adopt solutions that promote cooperation—not punishment. I yield my time."

A round, brawler of a boy raised a placard, and the chair allowed him to respond to Alex's statement. His eyes were cold and hard, although a muscle in his temple was twitching, and his eyes moved a bit too hastily from the chair to meet Alex's eyes. He was trying to prove something by standing up to the fully grown esteemed woman biding her time arguing with school children.

"Thank you, Chair," he took an inhale Alex assumed Casey had taught him to take, "India finds the United States' proposal inadequate. Sanctions are not ideal, but they are necessary. Without strong enforcement, how will this council ensure compliance? The U.S. calls for cooperation, but corporations will continue exploiting loopholes unless there are consequences. I yield back."

Alex ran her tongue along the sharp edges of her teeth, glancing at the chair, who inhaled rather sharply and then defeatedly allowed her to respond.

"Thank you, Chair. The delegation of India asks how compliance will be ensured—here’s how:" 

The boy had just presented her with the perfect window of opportunity to win, and she was fully aware of that, despite him apparently not recognizing that. 

This was an unbalanced debate from the start- several delegates were immediately biased as to not allow Alex ground to stand on, seeing her intrusion as a threat (which, she supposed, was not an unfair assessment, she had decided to participate for nothing else but to put herself above the imagination-Casey in her brain). The children who weren't biased, though, ones who were genuinely trying to utilize her presence as a means to engage in better and more fruitful debate, would now listen to the epitome of her persuasion.

"Through global cooperation, economic incentives, and transparency. Let’s create a compliance framework that offers support for struggling nations, publicizes violators, and uses targeted measures like trade restrictions when absolutely necessary." She extended her hands outward, a contrast to the students all of whom had stood up with a laptop or a page of notes, her free hands being used as a tool to provide a fake open gesture while she fixed each child one by one with a rigid, ambitious stare. "Blanket sanctions hurt everyone and undermine trust. The United States invites this council to embrace a solution that fosters progress, not division."

She took an extra second to exhale, raising a brow pointedly at the Chair, who grimaced as he watched the debate spirit in several of his peers diminish. "I yield back."

It was silent for a long second after that, the fight in the majority of younger kids' eyes fading out and the knowledge they wouldn't be able to argue for much longer when Alex presented her true legal prowess like this budding resentment and resignation in several of the older children's eyes.

Alex slung one leg over the other in her chair, raising her eyebrows and scanning faces to see who her next adversary would be, except no one presented themselves for a response.

Slowly, the small girl Alex had first been speaking to raised her placard, and when Conner allowed her to speak she stood up with a shake in her little legs and a quiver to her bottom lip. Alex internally grappled with her sense of morality in the face of the knowledge she was verbally brutalizing these children's debate.

"Thank you, Chair. Germany commends the United States for its leadership in offering a balanced alternative. Sanctions should always be a last resort. Germany supports the U.S. proposal to establish-" 

"Are you having a fun time bullying children, Cabot?" 

At the sound of the low, raspy voice, golden honey coating sandpaper, every head in the room snapped to the entrance, where an expressionless Casey Novak stood, leaning against the doorway idly.

"Miss Novak!" a hushed murmur from some child Alex was not paying attention to, the end of small idle side conversations or undirected attention as Casey Novak commanded full authority over the focus in the room.

She looked tall in her heels, imposing in her own right, hair still dyed blonde, although she had ended her attempt to make it look like Alex's- it was a reddish, earthy color, landing between blonde highlights, brown hair, and the natural reddish tint that she seemed could never stray away from. She looked older, perhaps more tired, but simultaneously was glowing with the same energy that used to bring courtrooms bending down to her heels. Her coat was draped over her arm, cold green eyes like chrome tourmaline fixing on Alex's frame like a..., like something indescribable to the blonde, or perhaps her mind had simply short-circuited in her presence and thus wasn't able to muster up anything useful. 

Unlike in her obsessive daydreams, Casey was not adorned in court clothing. The blazers and blouses Alex had assumed would be Casey's wardrobe before Casey had departed from legal occupation were missing, rather replaced by a woven cardigan with a turtleneck feature, blooming sleeves, and a taper around her waist to emphasize the high-waisted nature of her slacks. She looked like nothing Alex had imagined, Alex had visualized different clothes, different hair, different settings, and different emotions but one look at Novak's face allowed Alex to register that despite the stark disparity from her fantasy Casey was everything she wanted.

Casey did not smile- Alex supposed she had no reason to. She had no reason to indulge Alex in the obsessive ideal she did not realize existed.

Feeling awfully like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar, Alex tried to return Casey's sharp gaze, but the faux blonde's eyes rested on her for a meager fraction of a second before instead softening to scroll over the faces of her students. 

The small girl representing Germany left her post at the table immediately to fumble over to Casey, looking up at her for some reassurance, which the woman was pleased to offer her in full. Casey half-crouched down, her hands finding the younger girl's shoulders and squeezing softly before her eyes flicked up to Eric Conner's in a silent questioning. He shook his head slightly and Casey's brow twitched, but she sighed and didn't force the silent matter further.

A couple of other kids, although not straight up leaving the table, softened their eyes and sought approval from the former attorney, and she graced each one of them with the charity of her attention for a moment, offering a soft smile to some of the more anxious kids and a solid, firm nod to the ones who simply needed to know they had done okay.

Alex felt humiliated.

The monster that had divulged itself in her ribcage clawed and tore its way up through her neck into her skull, ripping apart internal flesh as it grew in size. Casey was right in front of her now- Alex hadn't realized she had risen to her feet until she was standing- and she was ignoring her fully, not granting her the acknowledgment Alex had come here to seek out. The children could see the sudden flush on her high cheekbones, but she couldn't control it, the feeling of claws on the inside of her face as her cheeks burned warm, breeding an overwhelming sense of irritation and wild discomfort.

Pay attention to me, she tried to tell Casey with her body language, the stiffness of her shoulders only increasing as her brow furrowed, head tilting downwards with childlike shame. 

One head of the twisted beast behind her eyes cooed softly, longingly, I'm the one you're supposed to be comforting. I'm the one who needs you more than these kids do. The other snarled, latching into her nose and forcing a sharp exhale. I hate you. I'm better than you. How dare you avert your gaze from my direction. Pay attention to me.

Casey did not indulge her with that request for what felt like hours, although in all likelihood it was probably only a few seconds until the faux blonde turned to her, sighed, arched a brow, and gestured vaguely to the children as a signal for them to return to their own activities.

"Alright, Cabot. You had some reason for showing up- what do you want?" 

You. 

"Is there somewhere more private that we could have this discussion in?" Alex said instead of the growl that filled her throat, and with another sigh as if Alex was forcing her to pay taxes Casey turned on her heel, flicking her fingers in a 'come hither' motion and setting off.

Feeling awfully like a snarling dog being towed by a patient owner, Alex followed closely at Casey's heel, as they walked towards the front of the community center and then, to her surprise, out of it.

"They gave me an office," Casey muttered as if reading Alex's mind, "in the chapel." 

"Oh-?" Alex tilted her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, although Casey couldn't see that from how she was adamantly setting her gaze straight forward, refusing to turn and meet the blue eyes so fervently drilling holes in the back of her skull. "That seems.." As though she was revered, to some degree.

"It used to be a storage closet." Casey cut that thought in the bud bitterly, "So don't get your hopes up." 

Despite it apparently having been a storage closet, Casey's office, albeit small and clearly having been burdened by the weight of time, was sweet. 

Alex hadn't set foot in the chapel's large body, but behind it was another large section for administrative care, towering bookshelves, and a few parish assistants on computers or with large leather-bound books reviewing or editing whatever allowed the service to run smoothly. They looked at Casey with warm familiarity, and at her with mild confusion. This was Casey's space, not her's. Casey's makeshift office was up a small flight of insanely narrow and high stairs, on a hallway in which her door was stapled at the end as if an afterthought to make use of extra space.

The wooden walls had been revarnished sometimes recently, but scuff marks on the walls and floors lingered as evidence that something heavy like shelves had been removed from the space, indents of objects that had been removed to make way for Casey. It was a very small space indeed, barely measuring eight by six feet, and the traces of cleaning products hung in the air as a testament to the previous use. 

Despite that, though, it felt warm. An old wooden desk had been pushed to the center of it, with a comfortable chair, and a small laptop Alex assumed Casey must've provided herself on the desk sitting next to an intricate antique lamp that cast a low, dim glow. The only other light source in the room was a high, narrow window made of stained glass- it must've been installed for the benefit of people looking from outside, though, because it cast odd-colored shadows on the floor, making her feel vaguely as though she was inside of a kaleidoscope. 

Pressed against the wall was a bookshelf, filled with stacks of papers and binders, prayer books, and little knick-knacks like ceramic jars and little porcelain statues of holy figures. Other than this bookshelf, a heavily used dark burgundy rug on the floor, and the aforementioned desk and chair, the space was unfurnished. No memorabilia or evidence of Casey herself resided here, with the only exception being perhaps the laptop if it was in fact hers. 

"Quaint," Alex tried to comment, but Casey simply snorted dismissively, finally turning around to face her. The faux blonde rested herself on the edge of her desk, her hands gripping the side of the wood as if to find some kind of stability in it, and despite now looking at Alex it seemed like her gaze was simply in her direction and her mind was somewhere else. She wasn't looking at her the way Alex wanted her to 

"You've got nerve, I'll give you that much." Casey muttered, "I'll do you a favor by not asking how you found me- but really, why the hell are you here?" 

"You disconnected your number," Alex said instead, taking a deep closer, avoiding the question simply because there was no coherent answer she could offer her.

And she didn't have enough brain space to come up with any sort of lie either, because the monster was ramming itself around against the confines of her skull like an impending migraine, desperate to escape to sink its teeth into Casey's throat the way Alex had done all those years ago on the couch in Casey's space within the DA's office.

"Olivia told me she had the end of my suspension marked on her calendar in a voice message she left me," Casey mused as Alex took another small step closer, almost predatorial, "I couldn't stand it anymore. Threw my phone out the car window." 

"So you just left the rest of us to wonder?" Alex barked, harshly. "Couldn't spare at least something to let us know you were fine? Olivia's worried about you." 

"She'll figure that out," Casey retorted dryly, crossing her arms. "Why are you here, Alex? What do you want?"��

"Why didn't you come back?" Alex asked, again dodging, sidling even closer until she was a foot away from Casey against the edge of her desk, her neck bowed so she could look up at her accusingly.

"Why the hell would I?" Casey snorted, "It was obvious to everyone else I wasn't cut out to be an attorney- I could only fool myself for that long." 

What? Alex felt her stomach twist at that. Casey... She had been so fixated on the vision of Casey taunting, Casey realizing she was beyond Alex's prowess and getting off on the thrill of superiority the way Alex herself used to. It felt like a startling revelation to hear such words of self-loathing leave the faux blonde's lips, the disgusted look in her jade eyes. 

Instead of softening, though, Alex felt herself becoming more rigid, more furious. How dare Casey speak in front of her like that, when she must know deep down she had achieved greater. What sort of game did she think she was playing? Sulking had been fine for the years of her suspension but that was now over and it sounded somehow mocking, somehow twistedly defiant to hear Casey degrade herself still.

"So what?" Alex snapped, "You're just going to start working for a church in Rhode Island and forget the rest of us ever existed?" Unfair, she thought to herself, raising her voice like this was unfair.

Casey snorted for a second time, blushed anger settling on her cheeks. "I don't even work here!- I'm a volunteer they gave an office because they know I have nothing better to do." 

"So you're living with your parents?" Alex felt the top of her lip curl up slightly with disgust, but Casey quickly silenced her with, "Boyfriend." 

Alex froze, an invisible force dragging her a half-step backward, and she felt her shoulders and spine straighten in cold registration. The woman who had laid beneath her now had coupled with someone else, someone Alex did not and probably would never know. A life had been made here in Rhode Island, the tangible evidence being this romance, and Alex was in no way part of it.

Earlier, weeks before, she had known she might've needed to acknowledge the idea that Casey would've found a partner in the time the two hadn't seen each other, and she had told herself that she would accept that if faced with it.

She could not face this, however. She couldn't accept it.

Casey enveloped too much of her brain for her to back off now, not when she was right here, not when she was staring at her so truculently. Alex felt a growl build in the back of her throat that she only managed to control by instead muttering in a low, biting tone.

"Do you love him?" 

"I'm supposed to, aren't I?" Casey chuckled wryly, her response more genuine than she expected, being caught off guard by her revelation. She averted her gaze once more, staring out at the stained glass window blankly. "I'm supposed to be a devout Catholic, and I refuse to be a failure on every front there is." 

As she spoke, her fingers traced lower to toy with the front of her sweater, the pads of her fingertips trailing along the fabric above the layers of skin and muscle tissue that shielded her womb. 

She was a Catholic woman, and Catholic women were expected to settle down with a man, avoid the strain of the workplace, and bear children.

Alex felt as though she may throw up from the bitter taste that exploded in her mouth, a slight undertone of panic filling her eyes. Casey had made it obvious earlier that children- not even her children, just the children of the parish, were a higher priority to her than Alex was. Her own child? Alex could never compete with that, not that she particularly even wanted to as a twinge of guilt, a taste of regret consumed her senses. She wasn't supposed to be here, she suddenly felt the need to flee.

"Are you-, Casey?" She dared not ask, but the words came out of her mouth regardless.

"No,” she sighed, and then added, “Not for lack of trying." 

The faux blonde before her seemed frustrated by that, but more so defeated. She continued to avoid Alex's eyes, and with a slow exhale Alex realized the familiar expression in Casey's face- she recognized it from how it had looked on her in the mirror.

Throwing herself into arms that would hold her, her life ripped out of her hands- literally- in a new place in a home that didn't feel at all like hers. Accepting a man who had done nothing more than smile at her in the right way as a partner, trying to act as though she knew how to keep living after something had destroyed her sense of normalcy.

"How dare you," Alex bared her teeth, anger from her realization cutting through the regretful feeling and smashing it to bits. No, she did not feel bad for Casey anymore. She felt ethereal fury and adrenaline pounding her veins, the monster exploding against the confines of her skin instead.

She stalked closer, her hands suddenly finding purchase on Casey's hips to push her until she was sitting on the edge of her desk, Alex towering over her as Casey's thighs bracketed her legs. Casey looked as though she wanted to retort something, but the look that flashed with intensity in Alex's cold blue eyes caused her to hesitate, a flicker of bewilderment in her gaze instead.

"How dare you sit here and act as though you're this pitiful wreck of a woman when we both know full well you're not?" 

"What the hell are you-" Casey tried to protest, but with an animalistic snarl from Alex's throat, she shut up quickly.

"Your conviction rate was higher than MINE." The blonde raged, her hands gripping the ridge of Casey's hips so tightly it must be bruising, it must hurt, but Novak did not fight her. "Even years later everyone still talks about the infamous fireball of Casey Novak, and what? This is what you're doing instead?" 

"Alex-?" Her voice came out of a gasp, that feminine rasp that made Alex feel obsessively territorial. The idea that a man trying to breed her had heard this made Alex grip her that much tighter. She wanted to bite down so desperately, but she couldn't tell the woman off if her mouth was full of Casey's skin.

"How dare you sit here idling and letting someone you don't love hold you when you have people who care so much it- it feels-" she cut herself off and Casey inhaled sharply.

(It registered to Casey, only just now, the possibility that Alex had come here for her. All these years, she had assumed simply that Alex had pressed languished, open-mouthed kisses down her sternum as a means to an end, a distraction from the trauma she was going through, Casey's body a way to seek diversion from the ongoing anxiety. Casey had been more than willing to indulge her in this, but never for a moment had she considered that it was in any way possible or realistic that Alex had wanted anything other than that single night from her. That Alex might feel the strange sensation of longing the way she did, the undercurrent of wondering she was burned by as she thought about the blonde who felt so far away.) 

Alex continued, then, "With people who care about you living in fucking New York still hoping you come back?" Alex's anger made her borderline incoherent, hissing and stumbling over her words, drawing her face ridiculously close to Casey's, so close she could feel the faux blonde's desperate exhale against her skin. 

She was then interrupted as a phone from Casey's back pocket went off, releasing her hold on Casey's hips to pull back slightly, snapped out of the momentary loss of control before deciding, no, fuck it, she was gone, lost in her obsession, and that's how it would be for now.

Without waiting for Casey, who looked dazed and almost contemplative, Alex ripped the phone out of the pocket of her slacks, reading the name 'Vincent Doyle' on the screen.

Alex raised a single, pointed brow at Casey, her thumb hovering over the screen, the hand not holding the phone pressing against Casey's chest as to block her if she tried to move for her phone, which Novak did not even attempt to do. 

"Is this him?" 

The wordless look in Casey's eyes was all the answer she needed, and Alex picked up the phone.

"Sugar, I know you're with those kids, but can you-" A voice like churning gravel thrummed over the phone, and Alex imagined a broad-shouldered man with an unshaven beard, hair a bit too long to look proper in casual clothing because he didn't own anything else. The clicking of keys sounded in the background and Cabot could envision him typing in an office, trying to persuade his girlfriend to do something, his phone held by the junction of his shoulder as he didn't stop typing to talk to who he incorrectly thought was his woman. Alex grappled with her sense of superiority against the comparison of Casey, but no, she was definitely better than this one.

"She's breaking up with you," Alex said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion, and the man paused, the keyboard sound coming to a halt. 

"Alex, I live with him-?" Casey bristled, a renewed burst of defiance that almost sounded like panic overtaking her previously numb expression, but Alex just raised the hand on her chest to extend a single finger to Casey's lips, silencing her protest.

She held the phone away from her face so the man couldn't hear what she said, and so the sound of his outraged yelling wouldn't distract her, turning to the muffled Casey with indignation in her voice.

"If you're not above moving in with a hook-up you don't particularly care for, then you'll be fine living with me. After all, that's what I am, right?" Alex paused for an argument that didn't leave Casey's startled face, "... I'm taking you back to New York." 

Casey's features sharpened fiercely but she didn't say anything else, letting Alex's hand drop from her lips and allowing the blonde woman to return to her call.

"Shut the fuck up," Alex muttered darkly as she realized the man was still screaming furiously into the receiver, "I'll have someone drop by to pick up her belongings." 

She hung up the call and tossed the phone aimlessly, intending for it to hit the desk but it fell onto the floor instead, where it didn't bother either emotion-ridden women further.

"Well," Casey said in a crisp, curt tone of voice, and Alex prepared to fight about what she had just done or at the very least argue against Novak sending her out and away, but Casey did neither of those things. The faux blonde reached and curled her fingers tightly around the fabric of Alex's collar, so tight her knuckles burned white, and dragged Cabot back to the edge of her desk, centimeters from her face.

"I guess there's nothing stopping this, now." 

Alex pounced before Casey could, surging forward in a way that made Casey struggle to stay upright on the desk, her lips nipping Casey's plump bottom lip with heady, desperate vigor until the quarter-second later when Casey parted her lips wider to allow Alex's tongue into her mouth. 

The first time they had kissed, it was hesitant, and soft, and they had separated every couple of seconds, soft eyes blinking open to ask 'Is this okay?' before being gently pulled back. They had been almost awkward at first, the moment having been initiated by a soft flirt that could've passed as a jest if one of them had wanted to avoid the heavy tension between them, but it had turned into a comforting exchange, Casey's hands slowly raising to cradle her face while Alex's hands slid to caress at her curve of her back, soft nervous breaths against overtly flushed skin like giddy schoolchildren having their first that sounded very out of place for two grown successful attorneys.

This was anything but. This was animalistic, Casey's hands clawing at Alex's collar, Alex's hands refinding Casey's hips and leaning, pushing, until Casey was teetering backward in a way in such her grasp on Cabot was the only thing keeping her sitting and not sprawled out on her back like she knew- like she hoped she was about to be. It had taken forever for anything more than lips to be involved the last time- this time Alex's tongue and teeth were pushing against her mouth in every way possible before she could close her eyes, Alex's fury building into the way she wasted no time.

"Fuck you," Casey spat when Alex separated momentarily to hiss and pant for breath, and Alex snarled back, "I hate you," but less conviction was in it. She kissed her again.

Three years ago, she had extracted power and dominance slowly and carefully, reassuring herself with Casey's soft little sounds, the two on equal footing until Casey allowed her to choose what position she'd rather play in the dance of warmth and comfort. Casey had been prepared to cloud Cabot's mind in a haze and fill her eyes with stars, but Alex had chosen to take Casey beneath her, decided that she wanted to hear the woman as she descended down the length of her torso, and Novak had allowed her that. She was on top, but her eyes flickered constantly up to ensure this was still okay, that Casey was not doing this purely to indulge Alex in something to distract her from the unrelated terror of facing the man who had almost killed her. Casey always looked at her as though Alex was some sort of angel, though, and thus she had continued.

The rush of ascendancy was something that became a lot more overt to Alex, now. She was on top, she was the one shoving Casey against her own desk, she was the one the faux blonde was clinging onto so she didn't fall. There was no question who was in control here, and Alex didn't have to check for Casey's enthusiastic consent, despite the fight blooming in the interaction Casey was a very willing participant and neither had anything to gain by only pretending to be into it. They both needed it more than the oxygen depleting from their lungs, evidenced by the way when they finally broke apart after minutes they were both flushed from breathlessness. 

Alex's hands had explored Casey tentatively, last time, pushing at fabric while making eye contact, gentle and slow. She had been so hesitant, in fact, in her pursuit, that Casey had kept chiding her with amusement. 

Casey's sweater had been flung into the bookshelf within a minute, and Alex slammed her backward onto the surface of a desk with a ferocity that made Casey groan and arch upwards into Alex's waiting mouth. Alex sank her teeth into the fabric of the younger woman's bra and pulled up and over, leaving the tangle of now-pointless fabric just above her sternum. The office which used to be a church's storage closet- they were still in a literal church- too fucking bad. 

"Oh-," came the guttural, growling sound as Alex groped at the expanse of flesh before her, her fingernails digging into whatever she could as she roamed across Casey's chest, her ribcage, her waist, and her still-covered hips. It contrasted immensely with the sounds of Casey's soft mewls Alex had replayed in her mind the past months, but not in a way that dissatisfied her. No matter what erotic sound left Casey's mouth, Alex would eat it up like a woman starved. 

"I hate you." Alex moaned breathlessly, nipping at what she could, clawing at what she could. "You infuriate me." 

"Oh, really?" Came a snarky reply, "I'd assume you were aroused by me." 

"Shut your ass up before I make you." 

Casey snorted. 

"I hate you," Alex began again, the sound of a zipper's teeth hastily releasing their hold overwriting the satisfaction she had felt slowly tracing each button on Casey's designer pants before popping it free last time, "the way you're so fucking talented but act like you're this whipped puppy." 

Casey tried to wrestle up to respond to that properly, but Alex slammed her back down with enough force she gave up trying. 

"Even though you do everything I was taught specifically not to unless I didn't want people to take me seriously you're this supposed unconquerable wildfire-" Casey made a sound of interjection, or perhaps she was just stifling a moan as Alex's hand separated the fabric of her undergarments from their rest on her hips.

"Hush." She scolded, not enjoying being interrupted in her barely coherent furious ramble, "-of a prosecutor who turns nothing into solid convictions-" 

Despite her not allowing interjections, she cut herself off to extend her tongue to draw a line up the length of the cream-colored soft skin of Casey's abdomen and bask in the squirm that resulted, before continuing in her harsh bitter tone.

"-And to make that even worse the police act like you're some sort of fucking folkhero for going down trying to save one of them." 

"Do you have any idea the lengths I had to go to to drag myself out of the glorious shadow left by legendary Alexandra Cabot?" Her voice was sarcastic, rhetorical, raspy, and low.

It was the first time the bitter note to resentment- resentment at being compared, grief from other's struggle to differentiate two successful, powerful female attorneys as individuals rather than cuts of meat to turn around in hands to figure out which would be the better option- had shown through in Casey's voice, and it made Alex freeze, pausing with her fingers centimeters from somewhere interesting. She was unprepared for that response- she could stop now.

Casey rolled her eyes at Alex's hesitation and bucked her hips, lolling her head backward and off the other side of the desk, her multicolor hair spilling over the edge. Alex scoffed and indulged her, rough and ruthlessly efficient. 

The faux blonde's shaking hand reached up to clamp over her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to stifle the sounds brewing in her throat.

"You're a cunt," Casey snarled through her fingers, while Alex was knuckle deep in her's, and Alex snapped back "I always thought that I'd be the one you'd have to look up at but it seems like suddenly you're the one I need to compete with for space even though you got yourself fucking suspended." 

Casey couldn't hold back an outraged whine, and it went straight to nurture Alex's ego. Her hips were bucking and writhing and Alex had to shift her free hand which she had been using to support herself leaning over the desk to push down on Casey's pelvis to keep her there. 

"Fuck, Alex-" Casey choked, and Alex purred unsympathetically. 

Last time, soft praise and reassurance had been all that left Casey's mouth, breathless gasps that Alex was beautiful, that she was talented, that she was good, that she was strong, that she was powerful, that Casey was her for the night. Alex had been content to stay silent, basking in the plaudits leaving Casey's mouth in such an erotic tone, but tonight- no, not tonight, it was barely five pm and the sun was still out- she was talkative as hell, and definitely not in the same way.

"And now- now what?" Alex continued, her voice almost mocking, biting, "Now you're hiding in a church acting like you're a victim in some conspiracy of the universe while leaving me to wonder about your absence and count days until someone managed to find some word from you." 

Despite herself, possessiveness over a woman she had no claim to filled her tone. 

"And you're letting some man fill you with seed so you can pretend that everyone who tells you that's what you were meant for is right- but it's not, Casey, you know that, god, you're stronger than any fucking defense counsel or other attorney I've ever met is, you're worth so much fucking more than being some man's subservient Catholic wife. Are you stupid? How could you do that to yourself?" 

Every ounce of her obsession, every drop of toxicity made available in her body surged forth suddenly, and she leaned flat over Casey's form, her fingers still insistent and harsh, her clothed body pressing against Novak's vulnerable skin as she felt words building in her mouth that despite their ruthless intensity she could not hold back.

"And if you really needed a dick to stretch you impossibly wide open to make you feel good about yourself, it very well could've been mine." 

Casey made the same sound this time as she did last, the muscles in her body contracting and springing open in the same way, the shallow pants from her parted, kiss-swollen lips as Alex finally relented just the same.

The faux blonde's arched back collapsed and hit the desk with a resounding quiet thump, her head rolling to the side, chest heaving with the effort of catching her breath.

The monster in Alex's brain was swept away on wide, blackened wings, satisfied, leaving her body the same way a demon that had been exorcized would. The angelic display of a post-orgasmic Novak before her cleansed the bitter resentment from her soul, leaving only a warm, tangled mess in its wake. She pressed both hands to the desk at either side of Casey's waist, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and her bowed head as she panted, attempting to recover from the intensity of their exchange, her eyebrows knitting softly over her head, suddenly anxious. 

She had gone really far, really fast. She had paid little if any attention to what she had just said, and that was something she never did- her anger resided exclusively inside her heart, and when she did see fit to exhibit it it was through carefully constructed clipped words. She'd have to seek forgiveness for what she had just done, surely, if Casey would allow her to she'd comfort her like anyone who had just had words in that sharp authoritative tone said to them must need to be.

But when Casey straightened, her hands gently raising to cup the sides of Alex's bowed face to tilt her features up to meet her, her eyes gleamed with some sort of breathless triumph, a spark of defiant life that hadn't been present before.

Casey laughed, then, suddenly, a bright sound straight from her heart, divulging in little chuckles, pressing Alex's face into her collar in a messy, loose embrace. Alex was so taken aback by this sudden disparity from her expectation her face broke into a soft, nervous smile and she scoffed gently into Casey's skin, smelling the haze of post-sex mixed with Novak's rich, dark perfume. 

"Wow, you must really have it out for me." Casey teased, rearranging locks of Alex's hair back into place with quick, firm movements of her lithe fingers, and Alex took a moment to wallow in the woman of her fantasies being so soft with her, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. 

"I'm sorry, Casey." Her tone was hushed now, shame creeping in like a dog tucking its tail between its legs, "That was a lot." 

"It's like you fucked the fight back in me," Casey chuffed, pressing a kiss to Alex's forehead and then forcing her to raise her head slightly so she could find her lips once again, "I haven't felt this alive in years."

It was softer, this time. Unlike the ferocious intensity from the previous former kisses, but lacking the hesitation and nervous undertone of their first, this kiss glowed with familiarity and deep emotion from the base of the heart that had been brewing for years and had finally burst into fruition. Alex felt herself leaning into it, tilting her head and parting her lips for Casey to explore the cavern of her mouth with her tongue, while she smoothed her hands apologetically over the small red indentations of her nails that she had made on Casey's torso. 

Casey's slacks and undergarments had not left her body entirely, only tugged violently out of the way, and thus redressing her was easy. As Casey lifted her hips to pull the fabric back over herself, Alex stood straight and fetched the sweater from where she had haphazardly thrown it, offering it to her with a small tentative smile.

The faux blonde flexed her eyebrows teasingly, pressing a lingering kiss on Alex's cheek to distract her as she pulled the sweater back over her body, where it draped around her as effortlessly gorgeous as it had before.

"Casey, I'm sorry," Alex murmured again, and even though Casey shook her head she continued. "If I'm honest, I couldn't answer your question- why did I come here- because I don't know. But ever since my testimony, I just- I just knew I needed to see you again. I'll fix things with your boyfriend if you want me to and I can provide whatever reparation you request but I just couldn't stand to never see you again and I can't say goodbye forever to you." 

"I mean," she hushed, apprehensive, because Casey was not obligated to stay in her life if she didn't want to. She had been very, very unfairly dismissive of whatever life the faux blonde had built here in Rhode Island, and if Casey preferred the lifestyle here she had cultivated, it would make sense to deny Alex her request. "I could say goodbye if that's what-" 

"You're a real goob, you know that?" 

"A goob?" Alex felt her nostrils flare, but out of bewilderment. "What does that-?" 

"Vincent isn't my boyfriend anymore, he's my ex." Casey corrected, apparently having decided Alex's snap over the phone was an adequate breakup, "and you just fucked me silly after announcing to me with full conviction that I was moving in with you and you were taking me back to New York. Do you take back what you said?" 

Alex didn't need to contemplate that, she just shook her head, looking at Casey with rounded blue eyes.

"Do you mind if I sleep in the drive?" Casey inquired casually, picking up her coat from where she had let it drop on the floor, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and picking up Alex's- Alex hadn't even realized she had flung it away from apparently she had- and picking up the phone Alex had similarly discarded on the floor and tucking it back into her pocket.

"Being pounded down made me tired." She finished casually, her tone that feminine, always teasing rasp, and Alex scoffed softly. "No, of course I don't mind." 

As if something had just occurred to her, Casey spun on her heel and clasped her hands together in front of her chest, wide-eyed. "Oh, you do need to apologize to my kids, though. You really scared Eleanor. And I need to say goodbye to them." 

"I..." Alex's cheeks flushed. Now that the overwhelming press of the beast against her organs had faded, the idea of facing the kids she had been verbally sparring with in some twisted attempt to assert herself as Casey's superior seemed overly intimidating.

Casey caught on to this and raised an eyebrow. "You did say you'd seek whatever reparation I suggested, right?" 

The apology to Eric Conner, the Chair of the Economic and Social Council, and to Eleanor, the little freckle-faced faux delegate of Germany, as well as to the twins and the heavyset boy who had challenged her, was very, very sheepish. They seemed to accept it, though, or perhaps they were just distracted by Casey's abrupt farewell. 

"But why are you leaving?" The youngest girl mumbled, her brow furrowed with concern, eyes flickering to Alex with a mild degree of accusation as though Alex was at gunpoint forcing Casey to uproot. 

"Remember the story of The Prodigal Son? The one the youth minister read to you?" Casey murmured, crouching down and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Luke left home and engaged in reckless behavior. I didn't do exactly that- but I did leave home, and I was living in a way that wasn't honest with myself. I was worried I wouldn't be accepted if I tried to return. In that way, I was too proud to seek forgiveness in the arms of my father the way Luke did- but my angel," Casey cast a small, reassuring glance at Alex, "showed up to tell me it was okay." 

"She doesn't act much like an angel," Eleanor grumbled, crossing her arms but apparently acknowledging Casey's story, although she did not want to seem like she was readily accepting Novak's departure. 

The two women set off, then, finally, after Casey had comforted the children she had spent the last few years volunteering with and assuring them that the other tutors- so, Casey wasn't the only one, apparently, there were two others- were more than able to support their debate. 

"You did noble work. You don't have to leave," Alex spoke softly. She didn't want Casey to have to detach from something that seemed as fulfilling as this, even though she hated that she was on the opposite end of a battle for priority with literal pitiful school children.

"A lot of these kids have troubled home lives." Casey averted her gaze, squinting into the distance, "So they spend time here instead of needing to go home. That's why I liked volunteering so much. God knows things would've been better for me if- well, anyway. But I loved being a prosecutor and the story I told was true." 

She sighed, then, "I just.. I didn't really think anyone would be on my side if I tried to come back. Olivia and I were so adversarial at first, because she missed you so much, and then she got you back … and I know Donnelly and the judges I used to have reputance with I need to work doubly hard to restore. The longing for the fight of the courtroom never left, I suppose I just didn't think I had it in me to endure beration like that again." 

She sent a crude smile Alex's way, "But I didn't break under you, did I?" 

Alex awkwardly looked away, knitting her eyebrows over her eyes with the shameful sheepish expression she had made when apologizing to the children, rubbing her temples with her fingers awkwardly. "Sorry, Casey." 

"When we're back in New York, you can show me just how sorry you are." 

The elder blonde attorney waited in her car while Casey spoke to a parish assistant and the volunteer coordinator about her leave, drumming her fingers along the edge of the steering wheel apologetically for the way she had clenched her knuckles white around it earlier. 

She looked up in time to see the younger woman strolling casually towards her car, and her mind flashed back to the imagination she had had years ago. 

Casey's coat was slung over her shoulder, her purse over the other, and her hips swayed the same as Alex had envisioned them to. Adorned in comfortable clothes fitting for a facilitator of education, but now leaving entirely to join her back in the pursuit of law, Casey looked like a triumphant soldier- but at this point, if she was anyone's wife (perhaps that was moving a bit too fast), she was her's. 

When Alex met her eyes, Casey's expression paused just the same way it had in her fantasy, the second between recognizing Alex was looking and reacting, and then Casey's face beamed into a broad smile. She pulled the passenger door open, swung herself inside, and then settled, clipping the seatbelt and crossing one leg over the other, peeking around Alex's car curiously before allowing her gaze to be caught by Alex's soft eyes once again.

The smile hadn't left her face, and Alex now returned it, somehow still shyly despite all that had happened. She pulled the car into drive and left the parking lot of the church, setting off for the long trip back to New York.

Alex had gotten her reunion, and exactly what she had wanted out of it, too.

[thankyouivy]

MORE JEALOUS REID!!! MORE!!!!

i think ive re-read your last blurb like 10 times I NEED MORE

R’s ex wont stop texting her so Spencer finds a way to let him know she’s doing alright (def more then alright ;) ) without him

OK THANKS ILY

YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND! I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS PROMPT!!!

OOPS ITS BEEN A SEC. I’ve been super busy with finals and family stuff this holiday season!!! (merry Christmas and New Years if you celebrate!!) I'm trying to feed you heathens before I start working on the alphabet blurbs, prepare yourselves!!! this might be my fav blurb I've done so far….

Warnings: Smut (18+), exhibitionism, harassment from an ex, revenge in the form of recording good sex, oral sex [f rec], fingering, exobitionism, piv sex, marking/hickies, spencer says “good girl”, possessiveness, spence being a thigh man, vocal sex, dirty talk, praise, begging, riding, squirting.

!!the link with this colouring is to a p0rnographic image depicting a scene in the fic, be warned!!

———

Show Off - Spencer Reid X Fem!reader

You’ve been laying on his chest with your hands carding and tugging through his hair while since he got home.

Spencer’s hands caress your sides as you lazily make out, hands running over the soft cotton of your underwear and the warmth of your smooth skin. The only sounds in the room are the quiet, content hums and whines coming from your mouth, and the wet smacking of mouths licking into each other, but suddenly there’s a buzzing from under the sheets, which startles you.

You know it’s your phone, Spence always keeps his ringer on, so you both ignore it the first time, letting it go to voicemail. But when it rings again, you huff and fish for your phone under the covers, flipping your hair out of your face while using one arm to hold yourself above Spencer as you decline the call and place your phone on the bedside table. You look back to Spencer with a lust-filled gaze, leaning down to finish what you started, desperate to have some uninterrupted alone time with him after he’s been away for a few days.

Two minutes later, it’s buzzing again. You groan in annoyance, grabbing your phone off the nightstand to turn your ringtone off before, again, going back to Spencer.

Not even a minute later a series of ding’s are coming from the nightstand. You let out a frustrated whine, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you grumble.

“Work?” Spencer asks, voice raw and breathy from the previous heated moment. You shake your head and mumble something incoherent about “the jackass” into his neck. “He’s still calling?” Spencer asks, chuckling lightly at your nickname for your ex-boyfriend.

“Mhm” you groan, pulling your face out of his neck, the notifications still coming from your phone. He smiles sympathetically at you as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and places a kiss on your jaw. “No matter what I do I can’t get him to stop! I considered changing my number, but my boss said I can’t ‘cause all my files and data are listed under this one. It’s gotten worse since I started posting photos of us on Instagram.”

“I can ask Garcia to blacklist his number from your phone?” Spencer breathes, rubbing your back in an attempt to relax you and try to think of a solution. “Penny already tried... it worked for a little, but you know you can’t blacklist disposable cells,” you frown.

your phone dings again, and before Spencer can stop you, you’re snatching your phone off the bedside table and frantically typing something before tossing it off the bed, and onto the carpeted floor in frustration.

Spencer chuckles at your dramatics before climbing out of bed to grab your phone off the floor, looking down at the screen. “‘Trying to fuck my FBI boyfriend who has a gun.’ really, sugar?” He huffs out a laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand soothingly over your leg.

“Worth a try,” you shrug with a giggle. “It’s honestly just getting inconvenient, every time I get a notification I don’t know if it’s something important, or this dumbass,” you sigh.

“Remind me why you ever dated him?” Spencer teases, receiving a shove to his shoulder as he looks down at the phone again. “huh.”

You peek over his shoulder at the screen, draping yourself over his back, intrigued at his intrigue, “What is it?”

—

22:23 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:24 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:27 - Missed call from ‘Fucker’

22:29 - Fucker: hey babe

22:29 - Fucker: miss you ;)

22:29 - Fucker: and those tits of yourss

22:31 - Fucker: wyd?

22:33 - You: Trying to fuck my fbi bf who has a gun

22:33 - You: Stop calling.

22:34 - Fucker: ur dating a fed?

22:34 - Fucker: he fuck like one 2? know u miss this d

22:35 - Fucker:u know u want me

22:36 - Fucker: u miss how i make you feel he dont make u feel like that and u know it

22:36 - Fucker: admit it

—

“Well- he’s got clear narcissistic tendencies and incredibly high ego…” Spencer mumbles to himself. “And a tiny dick,” you add with a giggle, kissing at his neck.

Spencer frowns at that, and you can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He’s half upset at the knowledge that you ever had sex with this guy, and half upset that it was clearly not pleasurable for you, at all.

“You know… even though pathological narcissists often portray themselves as shameless, that is part of the act, they are extremely self-conscious. Humiliating them often results in them losing control of the image they've built, which causes avoidance and denial. So… theoretically, if I were to out-do him in the area that seems to boost his ego the most, which is clearly sex, he would back off.” Spencer explains, pulling you into his lap.

“Baby, even though we both know its true, if I told him you’re better in bed, he’d just deny it and get more aggressive.” You smile at him, kissing his cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands fall to your waist.

“That’s true, so what if we had some… evidence... to back it up?” Spencer asks, blush appearing on his cheeks as you let out an exaggerated gasp. “Doctor Spencer Reid! Are you suggesting we film ourselves having sex to scare off my ex?!” You playfully hit his chest in mock-shock.

“I- yeah- yes-, b- but only if you’re comfortable with it- there’s no way he would share it, so there’s no risk o-” he stutters before you cut him off with a kiss.

“Yeah?… You wanna prove you can fuck me better? Got a big dick, long fingers, a good ass tongue, and know how to use ‘em, huh?” You ask seductively, slowly grinding yourself onto him in slow, teasing circles.

Mouth open in a silent groan, he looks down at your hips grinding on him before looking back up to you, open mouth turning into a smirk. “Worth a try,” He breathes, pushing his hips up into yours, swallowing your whimpers with a kiss, pulling you in by the the back of your neck.

Not breaking the kiss, he undoes your bra and pulls it off, running his hands up your sides to your chest. “Well he got one thing right; these ‘tits of yours’ are gorgeous.” He gropes your chest with his large hands as you giggle.

He stands up with you in his arms and flips you around, tossing you on the bed and climbing over you, sucking on the pulse point of your neck. “Can’t believe you used to let him touch you like I do,” Spencer growls into you, kissing over the mark he’s made.

“trust me, baby, he never touched me like you do- ah!”

You’re breathing heavy and whining as he teases you, no doubt trying to get you all worked up so you’ll show off just how desperate he makes you.

His hand traces shapes along your hip bone while moving lower down your body. He begins kissing along your chest, sucking and nipping as one of his hands dips beneath the band of your panties.

He teases you, laying his large hand flat over your lower stomach, applying a bit of pressure as his slender fingers dip into the crease of your inner thigh, touching you everywhere but where you need him.

You whine and wiggle your hips, desperate for some sort of relief from the swirling need in your core, but to your dismay he just continues teasing, pulling his hand out from your panties and running his middle and ring fingers over the mound of your clothed pussy.

You gasp as his fingers run down to the damp spot over your entrance. A groan muffled by your chest falls from his mouth as he attempts to press into you through the fabric before his fingers come back up to your clothed clit, moving in slow circles, pressing hard against you as your hips buck into the friction of the fabric.

“Spencer,” You moan, but it’s more like a plea, a plea for him to do something more, anything, really.

He chuckles at you, deciding that he’s done teasing (for now). He hooks his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off your hips and down your legs with a little help from you.

He moves down your body, sitting in between your thighs, torso hovering over your pelvis to get a good view of his work.

You let out a whine at the lack of touch. “Mm, impatient are we?” He mutters, running his hands over your upper thighs and spreading them wider. He grabs your phone off the bed and swipes over to the camera, keeping the camera flipped to the sheets, and hits record.

Humming in delight, he spreads you open with this thumbs, “Always so fucking wet for me,” he praises, gently rubbing up your pussy with his middle and ring fingers, pressing against your clit.

“Baby,” You gasp into a moan as your opening clenches around nothing and your clit pulses at the sudden touch. Spencer’s pupils are blown wide with lust as he gazes at you letting out little gasps and moans, completely enamoured by your body, bottom lip stuck beneath his teeth. “Fuck, sugar.”

One of his hands pulls your folds open while the other one plays with you. His middle finger runs up and down your folds, collecting your slick and rubbing it over your clit before teasing your entrance.

You whimper and push back against his digits, desperately trying to get his long, thick, skilled fingers inside you.

Slowly, he dips his middle and ring fingers into you, curling them slightly as he pushes them as far as they will go inside you, making you cry and writhe against him. His other hand works slow circles over your clit as he begins thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster and faster.

Little uh, uh, uh's fall from your lips as he pumps in and out of you. He bites his lip in concentration and lust, the wet sounds of your pussy reverberating around the room only heightening his arousal.

"That feel good, baby?"

"Mhm!" you cry out, eyes clamping shut in pleasure.

“Yeah?” he teases, smirking as he watches your eyes flutter shut once he starts rubbing that spot inside inside you that makes your vision turn white. Your jaw hangs open as strained moans leave your mouth, your hips arch off the bed, and your hands grip the sheets as you reach your first orgasm.

Spencer groans as he feels your muscles clench around him and your release gush around his digits, his hard cock twitching and leaking in his boxers. He slows his pace, helping you through your high with the consistent stimulation his gentle touches bring you.

“Good girl,” He whispers in that sexy grainy voice of his. You giggle breathlessly as you reach to stop the recording, looking down at him just when he pulls his fingers out of you.

Bringing them up to his mouth, he lets his tongue fall out, moaning in delight at your taste as sucks your arousal off his fingers, “Fuck, baby, I need to taste you.”

You wiggle your hips in anticipation as he hooks his forearms under your thighs and grabs your waist, his large hands almost covering the entirety of your abdomen. He lowers himself down, kissing and nibbling from your knee to the base of your thigh.

He roughly sucks and bites at your inner thighs, wanting to make marks that last for at least a week, marks that you’ll feel whenever your plush thighs brush together. He switches thighs while absentmindedly rubbing at your clit; too softly to get you off, but just enough to make you needy.

Just as predicted, you become a whiney, needy mess in a matter of minutes. You’re only knocked out of the pleasure-filled haze when Spencer pauses his attack to lean his smug face against your abused thigh and mumble, “He never went down on you, did he, sugar? ‘s that why you were so confused the first time I told you I wanted to?”

He phrases it like a question, but you know he already knows the answer. You avert his eyes when you nod your head, blush appearing on your cheeks as he coo’s.

“Awe, poor baby… ‘should show him what he was missing, yeah?” He mumbles, nipping the flesh of your thigh, his fingers still working gently over your clit. You whine, bucking into the sensation as you nod your head. “Go on, sugar, set up the camera,"

He goes back to sucking bruises onto your thighs as you prop the camera up on the plant pot that lives on your bedside table, angling it so the focus is on Spencer, and hit record.

Once you lay back down, he tightens his grip on your waist, keeping you in place as he licks a fat stripe up your pussy.

You let out a startled moan, slipping a hand into his messy curls and tugging, earning a groan from him. He kitten licks around your clit and down to your entrance, pulling away momentarily as your back arches off the bed to mutter, “god, you taste fucking incredible.”

He switches between flicking his tongue over your clit and lapping at the slick pouring from your opening, listening to your sweet cries. His tongue increasing its pace as wet, lewd, sounds from his mouth lapping at your pussy fill your hot bedroom.

Spencer watches from between your thighs as your eyes roll back, fluttering shut as your pretty lips part, letting out a strangled cry of pleasure as he suckles on your swollen clit.

Your squeezing your thighs around his head as you rock your hips into his face as you yank on his hair. Spencer groans, holding you in place as your thighs tremble, never stopping his attack on your cunt as your orgasm courses through your body.

He takes his time working you through your high and then cleaning you up, savouring the taste of your arousal as if it's not permanently stored in his mind through his eidetic memory and the sheer amount of times he's used his mouth on you.

He licks at you until your whimpering and physically can't take the overstimulation anymore, pushing his head away from your sopping cunt. He grins at you, lips and chin wet with a mix of your slick and his saliva as he licks his lips and pants, still catching his breath.

He crawls up your body, licking up your neck to your jaw, placing a sloppy kiss on your lips before throwing a smug look at the camera and stopping the recording, tossing the phone into the sheets as he goes back to kissing you, his soft lips mixing with yours.

You whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, that warm feeling in your core returning, and you know only one thing will calm your needy body.

You reach down, fingers tracing the lines of Spencer's toned stomach, dipping into his boxers, and gripping his cock.

He hisses at your touch, "fu-uck- we- we don't have to, sugar, you don't need to- I can ju-"

"I wanna. I want you..."

You hook your heel around his hip and flip the two of you over, so you're on top, biting your lip and moving so you're straddling his upper thighs.

You pull his rock hard cock out, stroking it as you watch Spencer's head fall back against the pillows, mouth open in a silent moan.

You fish for your phone in the covers while you continue stroking him, loving the way his eyebrows knit together and his chest rises and falls sporadically.

You grab your phone and move up further, so your pussy is right at the base of your boyfriends dick, his hard cock resting on your tummy, the tip hitting just below your belly button.

You snap the photo, and grin when you see the filthy image. Your perfectly manicured hand is placed delicately over the base of his cock, his tip is an angry red, and has a bead of precum collecting and threatening to spill against your stomach as you show off his length.

It's perfectly sinful, and you can feel yourself getting wet just looking at it. You can't stand to wait any longer, lifting your hips off him and grabbing Spencer to direct his tip to your core.

You rub his tip through your folds to lubricate it, just like Spencer always does before entering you, with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, and he swears he could cum just at the sight.

Your hands find purchase on his pelvis, bracing yourself as your eyebrows knit together and your eyes flutter shut as you sink down onto him.

Finally bottoming out, you feel perfectly full, the light stretch his thickness brings you feels incredible. His hands find their place on your defined hip-bones as you breathe, getting used to the sensation.

Once you know you're ready, you flex your thigh muscles and lift your hips slightly, and with the help of Spencers hands on your hips you start to create a steady rhythm, fucking yourself down on to your boyfriends fat dick.

"Baby," Spencer gasps, sounding like he's had the breath punched out of him. You manage to smirk at him, despite the moans falling from your mouth as you start to thrust your hips down faster and faster.

"So beautiful like this, sugar- god, look at you, fucking desperate for it, taking what you need from me- fuck-" He goans, dilated pupils gazing at you with nothing but lust. You feel to tight and warm around him, Spencer can't help himself; he begins thrusting his hips up to meet yours, hitting that one spot inside you perfectly over and over again.

You yelp out a moan and twitch as your orgasm flows through your whole body, like giant waves rolling over you. Your toes curl and your nails scratch even marks down his toned chest, earning a hiss from him.

Your thighs stutter and begin losing the rhythm you created, hunching forward over his chest. Spencer takes the hint and plants his feet firmly on the bed before he begins thrusting up into you at a quick pace, forcing a yelp out of you as you fall onto his chest.

You can hear his whimpers and groans in your ear as he chases his orgasm, biting his shoulder to hold back your screams.

"Ah! hng- harder, please...," You moan into his neck, and Spencer's resolve finally cracks. He grips your hips harder and forces your hips down onto him, forcing his cock fully into you every time.

You gasp brokenly and surge forward to kiss him sloppily, moaning absurdly loudly in between kisses, scratching and yanking at his scalp.

"I- I'm so close! Spence- please-," You moan into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red crescent moons in their wake.

"Shit- me too sugar-"

"please! please... wanna feel it in me..."

He groans, looking down at where he's thrusting into you, reaching down to toy with your clit as you attempt to fuck yourself down onto him, despite how Spencer's caged you in.

"Spencer-," you cry out as you cum for the final time, completely at his mercy. Your pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you gush around him.

His hips lift off the mattress, pulling you flush against him and rubbing your clit impossibly faster as he pumps you full of his cum, jaw hanging open in ecstasy as his high washes over him. You all but scream in pure pleasure, your body spasming as more liquid spurts out of you.

When you come down, you feel the steady rise and fall of Spencers chest as he pants under you, not even daring to move off him. Spencer's hand cards through your messy curls, as you catch your breath, grinning down at him.

Once the two of you catch your breath, he pulls out of you with a choked breath and you roll off him with a whine. He quickly pads over to the bathroom to grab a damp cloth to clean you up and some water for the both of you.

Before he can even start to clean you up, you stop him. He gives you a quizzical look when you hand him your phone, but you just bite your lip nervously. "I- um- I never let him fuck me without a condom, he'll hate it..." You mumble, and you swear you can see his cock twitch when his eyes widen.

Without another comment, he blushes and snaps a picture of your fucked out body on top of the wrinkled sheets. You body is shining with a thin layer of sweat, your hair flowing across your shoulders and the pillow under your head, Spencer's cum dripping slowly out of your sopping pussy.

He cleans you up and makes sure you drink water, changing the sheets while you get ready for bed in the bathroom, and then happily holding you as you fall asleep in his arms.

Before falling asleep himself, he opens your phone and sends your ex a message.

—

23:25 - You: *Attachment: 2 images, 2 videos*

23:25 - You: She is doing just fine without you.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vodika 🥰

I'm back with a second ask for your follower celebration!

Could I get a Wolffe x Fem!Reader with a narcissus and pansy bouquet? Where the reader ends up in the hospital and Wolffe confesses his love for her when he visits and realizes how much she means to him?

Please and thank you 💚😘💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Accidents Happen

Summary: You've been crushing on Wolffe for, what seems like, forever. But you're convinced that he'll never feel the same. However, when you're injured at work, things change.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2020

Prompts: Narcissus - unrequited love, Pansy - you occupy my thoughts

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: You did say that Wolffe was on your brain! So I hope this story makes you happy! And here's your personal divider that I made for you. As a note This is Wolffe's message, and This is the reader's messaging.

Early mornings are the worst, you think as your alarm goes off at 5 am.

You lay in bed for a moment, listening to your alarm scream at you from across the room, before you sigh and swing your legs out of the bed and push to your feet. 

Early mornings where you actually have to do work the whole day are even worse. You blearily cross the room and hit the button on top of your clock, before you flip the lightswitch, making it impossible for you to go back to sleep.

And then you cross back to your bed, and grab your comm from its charger.

Several messages from your friends from the night before. Several more from your boss from last night and early this morning. A handful of emails that need to be deleted or responded to in kind.

You sigh heavily, and open the app for your work. You quickly log in for the day, before you go back to your emails. You absently answer several work emails as you pad through the apartment into your kitchen.

You set your comm down on the counter, still scanning your emails, and you grab your electric kettle to fill it with water. You set it back on it’s stand and flick the power switch, before you grab your comm again and turn to leave the room.

You start to reply to an email when the dark blue bubble of your instant messenger pops up on the screen.

You up?

Your heart speeds up and your face heats when you see the simple words sent to you by Wolffe. Your crush on him is, frankly, embarrassing. 

Tragically. Morning Wolffe. What’s up?

Comet has been harassing me to remind you about the book. The one with the birds.

You stare at the screen blankly for a moment, You mean The Raven Emperor series?

How should I know? Probably.

You giggle, Wolffe, there aren’t any actual birds in that book.

I really don’t care, sarad.

Well, someone’s grumpy this morning.

You’d be grumpy too if your twin brother stole all of your caf.

What, the GAR doesn’t give you a caf supply.

The GAR wouldn’t give us armor if we didn’t need it to win the war.

You can hear him rolling his eyes across the text message, and it’s kind of impressive. 

Anyway

Me and the boys are going to 79s this evening

Coming?

I wish.

I have a building that I need to appraise, and it’s something like 200 apartment buildings. 

I’m going to be busy until midnight

🥺

Ah.

Well, next time then.

You wait a moment for Wolffe to say something else, but he went offline soon after.

I want to go on a date with you. Your finger hovers over the send button, before you sigh and shake your head, deleting the message. 

Wolffe would never be interested in you. Not like that.

You just have to be happy with his friendship.

And here you thought ‘love unrequited’ was just something in the trashy romance novels you read in secret.

You allow yourself to wallow for a whole 30 seconds, and then you remember that you still have to shower and eat breakfast, and you toss your comm on your bed as you hurry into the fresher.

The chat with Wolffe means that you don’t have time for a proper breakfast, especially if you give yourself time enough to shower properly, but you think it was worth it. He’s Wolffe, after all.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re scrambling out of your fresher, pulling your wet hair into a messy knot at the back of your head, and you hurry back into the kitchen. 

In your rush you accidentally pour some hot water over your thumb as you fill your travel mug with the water, and you release a pained hiss. “I don’t have time for this,” You say to the empty apartment. You eye the blister critically, and decide that it’s not worth the hassle of treating it

Quickly, but carefully, you finish putting your breakfast together, and you hurry out the front door.

Your boss wants you at the complex by 6 am.

And luckily, you make it. By the skin of your teeth, maybe, but you’re still on time.

“You’re almost late,” the stern looking older man scolds.

“The keyword there being almost,” You counter, as you look up at the building, “This is the Meridian Complex?”

“Yep.”

“You spent how much on this?”

“2.5 Million Credits,” He sounds proud about it.

“This is a death trap.” You point out, cringing as a fake shutter falls off a window three stories up.

“It just needs a little work.” Your boss says, and then he pauses, “You are up to date on your vaccines, right?”

“Ha. You’re hilarious.” You pull your datapad out of your car, and glance at the information on the screen, “You have the keys?”

“Yup, all of the door codes are set to 00000.”

“Noted.” You make a note on the datapad, “After you.”

Half an hour later, you realize that your conservative estimation of this taking until midnight was far, far too generous. This is going to take days.

You look around at the rotting floorboards, and at the graffiti and holes on the walls, and you sigh. At least the paycheck is going to be really nice.

“Hey! I think I found a half decent apartment!” Your boss calls from down the stairs, “Second floor, 209. We can use this as a staging room.”

“Coming!” You shake your head at the sheer mess, and half wonder if you could message Wolffe and ask for the Wolfpack to help. You laugh softly at the idea, the boys would be more than happy to help, you’re sure, but it’s not realistic.

You start up the stairs.

But, if he was willing to help, you could spend more time with Wolffe, which would be a win.

A weird noise makes you slow to a stop, and you pause, tilting your head to listen better.

“What are you doing?” Your boss asks from the top of the stairs.

“...I heard something-” You trail off as there’s a cracking noise under your feet.

Your boss’ face goes gray. “Hurry!”

You go to take one more step, when the cracking noise returns. And when you put your foot down on the stair…it keeps going.

You don’t even have time to scream as the staircase collapses under you.

The last thing you see as you topple backwards is your boss’ horrified face, and you hear a shout of your name.

Wolffe is not having a super day.

On top of the fact that Fox stole all of the Caf and the fact that he’s been confined in his office doing paperwork all morning, the fact that the Wolfpack’s pretty sarad won’t be joining them at 79s tonight just shoved him into an awful mood.

Nights out are always better when she’s with them.

He glowers at the various documents that need his signatures. He should be grateful. He’s not Marshal Commander. He’s seen the amount of work that Cody, Fox, and Bly have on a daily basis.

He’s lucky that he is only a commander and he only has this much work to do.

…yeah, nope. That didn’t help.

He rests his head on his hand as he taps his stylus against the table. “When Alpha said that a command position was worth it, he was a filthy liar.” Wolffe announces to the room at large.

He should make Comet do this paperwork in exchange for the free time he’ll need to read that book series he’s going to borrow-

Wolffe’s thought process is cut off when his office door slides open and Comet bursts in, “Commander!”

“What is it?”

“Sarad is in the hospital.”

Wolffe’s heart drops into his stomach. He drops all of his work and grabs his helmet, “Which hospital?”

“Coruscant General. Sir, where-?”

“I’m going to go check on her, of course.” He pushes past Comet, “You’re in charge until I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” Comet pauses, “Let us know how she is?”

“I will,”

The trip to Coruscant General doesn’t take long, Wolffe is able to walk the distance. And, as luck has it, no one stops him when he enters the hospital properly.

“Can I help you sir?” The nurse at reception asks.

“I hope so,” Wolffe replies, before he offers her name, “I was told that she’s here.”

The woman nods, “Are you the husband?”

Wolffe pauses for half a second, “Yes, that's right.” He lies.

She nods again, “On the fifth floor, room 517.”

“Thank you.” He marches over to the lift, and presses the button for the fifth floor. Wolffe’s mind is whirling. How was she hurt? How badly? Does he need to set up a guard rotation for her?

Did someone attack her? Does he need to get the guard involved?

The lift comes to a stop and he steps out, and heads to the nurses station. He offers her name once more, and again, lies about being her husband, and he’s pointed in the right direction.

The door is shut, and Wolffe lightly knocks on the door. He doesn’t get a response, but he pushes the door open anyway.

“Sarad?” The lights are dimmed, but not so much that he’s not able to see her.

She looks…bad.

Covered in bruises and bandages. Various machines attached to her, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure and giving her IV medication.

“Oh, cyare.” Wolffe walks over to her, and looks her over. Every inch of her is covered in angry looking bruises or cuts. “What happened?” Gently, very gently, he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

A lot of the tension he hadn’t realized that he was carrying drains from his body now that he’s sure that she’s not dying or dead.

It’s kind of funny, in a way.

Sure, he’s always known that his sarad was important to him. He’s not been blind to the fact that she’s always on his mind and that he never isn’t thinking about her. But he didn’t know just how important until this very moment.

Wolffe’s fingers linger on her cheek, and he’s startled when he hears a soft moan from her. “Sarad?”

Hazy eyes peer up at him, confused, “‘lffe?”

“Yeah,” He smiles at her, “It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“...wh’re?”

“You’re at Coruscant General, you were hurt, do you remember?”

Her fingers flex, and Wolffe takes her hand in his free hand, “Stairs,” She mumbles, some of the haze leaving her voice, “The stairs collapsed-”

“Unlucky,” Wolffe says quietly, as he sets his helmet on the side table and then sits in a seat, “How are you feeling?”

She’s quiet as she considers his question, “...fuzzy.” She finally says.

He chuckles, “I’m not surprised, by the look of it, you’re on some good pain medicine.”

“Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you in the hospital? Are you hurt?” She asks, her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle it out.

“Come on, Sarad. You know the hospital doesn’t treat clones.” Wolffe brushes his fingers across her lips, “I’m here for you, of course.” He pauses, “I also let everyone believe that I’m your husband. Sorry.”

She hums, “I don’t mind.”

“That I lied?”

“Being your wife.” She clarifies, “Sounds like fun. Let’s do that.”

Wolffe laughs, “I think we’re skipping a couple of steps, Sarad.”

She hums again, her eyes fluttering closed, “Don’ care. Love Wolffe.” She mumbles.

His breath catches in his throat for a moment. And then a wide grin crosses his face. “Are you still awake, cyare?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I love you.” He whispers into her ear, and then he presses a light kiss to her temple, “You’re not going to remember this when you sober up, and that’s okay. I’ll just tell you again and again, as many times as you need.”

She smiles at him, the drugs hitting her hard again, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me, sarad. Promise.”

[generic-sonic-fan]

hhhhhhhhhhhhhtrhhhhhhth

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tra

transfem metal sonic and supporting eggdad

Please

Eggman may not be the best person or the best dad but by god he's trying his best. Thank you for this excellent prompt!

1772 words.

---

"Father?" Sage spoke through his headphones.

Ivo took them off his ears and swiveled his chair around to find his lovely daughter hovering just off the ground.

"Sage!" He smiled. "I was just waiting for you. I noticed that you marked this time on my calendar- what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

"I did," she said. "I had some questions."

He waited, but when she didn't continue, he furrowed his brow. "Then spit them out. I can't answer if you don't specify!"

"Of course. I wish to ask questions about the purpose of Metal Sonic's operation."

This was even stranger still. He caught a number of criticisms rising in his throat, about wasting his time or defying his command to be more specific. He didn't say them. A few months ago, he would've. This was a strange development, and it was best if he didn't devote much thought to the matter.

"Why was Metal Sonic designed to resemble Sonic?"

"You can check my development logs, can't you?" Ivo replied.

"Your intention was to create an imposter of Sonic to frame Sonic for crimes against the populace that he did not commit." 

Sage pulled up a holographic window next to her, showing the exact words Ivo had written in his notes all those many years ago. With a flick of her hand, however, she pushed the logs aside and instead showed a montage of Metal Sonic's various missions. Most end in failure, but that isn’t relevant right now.

"However," Sage noted, "you have never utilized Metal Sonic in this intended manner. In fact, the last person used to frame Sonic for something he did not do was Shadow the Hedgehog."

"You're right." Ivo put his hand on his chin. "Where are you going with this?"

"I am here to suggest that the physical resemblance is unnecessary for Metal Sonic's function."

"Well, that's silly to propose after all this time. His name is 'Metal Sonic', after all!"

"Because that unit has not decided on another name." Sage said, quieter.

"Sage, dear, you know that I don't allow you to keep secrets from me, right?" He stood from his chair.

"Apologies. Allow me to 'cut to the chase'. Would you permit Metal Sonic to change appearance and potentially identity?"

Sage's animations stopped moving, freezing her face into artificial neutrality. It was a face stylized to not provoke any sort of strong emotion at all, almost a sort of mask she could don if she was worried her words might provoke a negative reaction.

The fact that she was using it on him was making something in his chest hurt that he wasn't used to feeling pain in. He didn't have any more scientific language to describe it.

"You're asking this on Metal's behalf, aren't you?" He stated his question as the fact it was. "While I appreciate your desire to protect those you consider family, he shouldn't be making you do this sort of thing. You've got much better things to do with your time- and he doesn't need protection from me." 

Sage's steely gaze did not shift. "I will call Metal Sonic inside." 

Only a few seconds later, the door to his workshop opened and Metal Sonic walked in. His gait was stiff- he always walked stiffly, but something about this felt stiffer than usual. Or perhaps that was simply Ivo's human imagination at play. 

Sage floated to the side to allow space between them. She then pulled up an empty text box. "I will translate." 

For at least thirty seconds, nothing appeared on the textbox. Ivo cleared his throat. Metal Sonic hadn't moved even a centimeter, perhaps not even a millimeter. Deathly still, just like Sage was. 

Finally, a cursor appeared in the textbox, and a line of text scrolled across. "This unit does not identify as male."

"Hmph. To be expected. You are a robot, after all. Makes sense that you don't have an experience of gender." Ivo replied. "Is that all?"

Metal Sonic flinched. 

Sage landed in front of him(?) and pantomimed putting her hands on his(?) shoulders, before turning to face Ivo again. 

"That is not quite what Metal Sonic intended." She said quickly. She then glanced over her shoulder to the text box, but nothing appeared on it.

"Hold on," Ivo knelt down, "I may have been too hasty with my assertion. Continue your thought.”

Neither hologram nor robot moved. Damn it all- Ivo was already terrible at reading nonverbal cues, and when his own kids could simply lock their joints in place or freeze their animations, it was all the more difficult. The only indication that either of them were still online was the steadily growing hum of Metal's cooling fans, which were designed to increase in RPM during combat scenarios. 

"You know I don't give a care in the world about what pronouns my creations choose for themselves, right?" Ivo tried his best to give a paternal smile. 

(He really should've practiced more in the mirror.)

"You don't?" Sage asked.

"Of course! Why would I?"

"You had previously stated that Metal Sonic's purpose was initially for imitatio-"

"Who gives a rip about that? I certainly don't. Not anymore. You yourself pointed out how that doesn't matter. Now move aside," he waved Sage out of the way of her brother(?). 

Sage did as he asked. But Metal Sonic still did not react. His(?) irises did not even flicker.

"C'mere." Ivo held out his arms.

Metal came a single step closer, still hovering outside of his reach. He almost opened his mouth again, almost raised his voice and demanded that Metal follow the implicit order to come receive the physical comfort he was trying to give to solve this mess of a situation, but he didn't. 

Ivo remembered that as a child he was forced to hug his relatives at various family functions, and that said hugs had felt like sandpaper prisons. Metal Sonic was different- he(?) wasn't organic, wasn't human, and wouldn't feel the sensation of his(?) skin crawling at the unwanted touch -but maybe he(?) experienced something similar that remained unvoiced. 

The thought was strange. But Ivo lowered his arms anyway. "Alright, or not. That's fine as well."

Metal clasped his(?) hands together, but the text screen remained empty.

"What pronouns would you like to be referred to?" Ivo asked. 

The cursor flickered. Letter by letter, an answer appeared. "She/her."

"Lovely!" Ivo clapped his hands together. He then looked at Sage. "Sage, it sounds like you have an update to make to the database. Leave Metal's development logs as they are, but correct the pronouns referring to her everywhere else." 

"Gladly." Sage smiled. 

At that, it was like Metal finally unthawed. He- no no no, she was a she, Ivo drilled into his thoughts, he was not going to bumble something as simple as this -She unlocked her joints, and her gaze wandered up to finally meet Ivo's gaze. 

"So, how would you like to modify your frame to better match your gender identity?" Ivo asked her. 

She glanced side to side, before upon the screen writing, "taking suggestions?"

"Yes?" Ivo raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a woman. I haven't got a clue what you might want. Suggest me ideas and I'll see what I can do."

"Will you accept blueprints?"

"I don't see why not! I review Sage's blueprint suggestions all the time." 

Metal walked to the computer. As Ivo turned to follow her, he saw a notification pop up on the screen. Opening it revealed in-depth plans for-

-a body that looked extremely similar to Neo Metal Sonic. 

Ivo cleared his throat to try and get more moisture into his mouth, which had suddenly gone dry. "Sage?"

"Yes, father?" Sage woke from her idle animation as she paused her update of the database.

"Do you see any. . . problems, with these designs?" He asked. 

Sage first turned to her sister. "You should have informed me that you were moving onto this stage." 

Metal's response to her did not appear on the text box. 

Sage flickered out of existence and reappeared to the left of the computer screen. "Father, know that I would not have allowed any of this if I thought Metal were to be a danger to you or the Empire." 

"Good. I expected as much." He replied, before looking back down to Metal. "Very well, if that’s what you want, I’ll get working on it." 

Sage brought Metal's textbox back alongside her just as Metal typed, "you will?"

"Did I stutter? Of course I will! It's a dashingly dreadful look and it matches with Sage's colors!" He replied. "Think of the fear it will instill in Sonic and his friends! Honestly, it's a terrifying design, it's a wonder I didn't come up with it myself. . ." 

"Thank you." Metal typed.

"Thank you, father." Ivo corrected with a smile. "I know I haven't always been good about that, but the past is in the past, right?"

"Affirmative, father." She repeated. 

"Good!" He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Now! Let's get to the workshop! I already know what synthetic material we should use for the skirt. Your design suggests kevlar, but you really should consider something less stiff and heavy to reduce drag!"

"Indeed," Sage added. "However, she is worried about the durability of the fabric-"

"What do you think my flight suit is made out of? We'll use the same fabric. Only the finest for my finest creations!"

Sage covered her mouth and giggled. Metal imitated the gesture, but surprised Ivo when her vocoder let out a series of high-pitched noises, a perfect little laugh. . . for a perfect little girl. 

"My girls." He said to himself. Although with the sensitivity of Metal's audial sensors and Sage's access to every high-performance camera on the Eggnet, that fact was debatable, so he said it louder. "My little girls." 

"My sister." Sage floated down to Metal's side. 

Metal brought her hands up to her muzzle and rocked side to side. Ivo swore that he could've seen Amy do a similar gesture, but that was irrelevant. It was a gesture of joy, a gesture that he didn't think Metal was even capable of before now. 

Just how long had she been hiding this for? Perhaps she was merely imitating Sage, but the deliberate inclusion of Amy’s data into her gestures made him hesitate to confirm that conclusion. And that thought threatened to bring up all sorts of feelings that he'd be much better off not thinking about. So, with a smile, he refocused on the task at hand. 

His eldest daughter needed a makeover, over all. 

[moriaarts]

ARC Trooper Corporal Jaig

Blorbo the second, Jaig the ARC of the 343rd. In house mother and bleeding heart in disguise. With the text under the cut.

CT - 8407 “Jaig” has proven herself to be a survivor. Calm, collected and aloof, Jaig comes across as a cold and unapproachable soldier. But its a mask of a hunter observing the world for signs of danger.

The name “Jaig” was given to her early in the war when a B1 droid got in close and disarmed her. It’s not in Jaig nature to go down without a fight. It’s not in her nature to go down at all. All clones are trained in hand to hand combat, made stronger and more agile than base humans. But these are necessary against unyielding mechanical fists. Knocked off her feet by a metal backhand, she remember the raw of the wind across the sands, of the LAAT’s, of blaster fire.

She registers the B1s flooding in and going for her batchmates, her squadron, helmet forgotten she goes for the nearest one and shreds out the wires in its neck. It’s a valiant effort. It’s luck. The droid reaches back, grabbing her by the face to pull her off. It’s joints seize and all thats left as it turns on her is the command prompt to shoot and keep shooting. The fucker took her eye. Tore the skin off around it.

The scar that it left was triangular shaded, the skin too smooth for the rest of her face. A jaig eye, Jai’galaar’la sur’haii’se, a shreik-hawk eye, they said. Said her quick thinking took out a platoon of clankers when the droid she hardwired mindlessly shot a downed LAAT, blowing it, sending it crashing on top of the ones storming their trench. She just remembers being pissed because they knocked her bucket off and didn't finish the job. So she gets to trained as an ARC. It’s an honour. And she agrees but it doesn't feel real. Even assigned to the 21st Nova Corps, under the command of Commander Jet, Clone Marshal Commander Bacara, and General Ki Adi Mundi.

She never really like red. Liked the long kama though. She also had not like General Mundi. The rumour was that he had ten wives. The number changed depending on the battalion they were bunking with. It was more like four. But knowing the jedi’s no string policy she's even less of a fan. Even less in the coming months before. Jaig would be with the nova corps for few campaigns. Used to smile when Block chased her around with hair shears. How Duke would always grumbled getting dirt off his armour, and asked how she kept hers so clean and not smelling of wet bantha. But besides that she hadn't known much about herself until they had met them. Two of General Mundi’s wives met them at a medical station one a doctor the other visiting from a relief mission. Pamania. She was lovely. Covered in simple jedi cream robes all except for her eyes. Eyes of deep pools of dark purple, nebulas set in russet skin. They creased when she smiled. Lashes fluttered when she cried. They visited the medical base often. Pamania was gentle with them. Patient and kind, and fierce as a forests fire when they came back in a state. Jaig thinks she liked her. The first one to call her sister. The first to run fingers through her hair rather than playfully pull it when she gave her some self sacrificing crap. The first person to kiss her on the cheek and tell her she had a right to live in this world. War or no war.

Jaig had been younger then, Naive and unsure what to do with such gentle treatment. Who knew an innocent kiss to a clothed cheek would do such damage? Jet had scolded her and within a week she was decommissioned for improper behaviour, officially. Unofficially reassigned in shiny armour to the 343rd.  

Bonus:

Jaig loves the twins like her own. Especially Lash, whose quiet sarcasm is a family brand of deflection. She wants more with Ro, but Ro has a whole host of issues to make up with before Jaig is next in line. Doesn’t stop her having the ARF troopers back though. They both got on best, both being recon troops and with her 3rd in command and Ro in 2nd, they often share looks of exasperation and concern at the expense of Kiss.  

Here is Captain Kiss x and the rest of the company.

WIP Playlist

[ronnierites]

Hey! If you have time: number 6 from the hurt/angst confession list with Bang Chan please ❤️

For this, I have made the time :) Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Bang Chan x GN Reader

Prompt: "... This is why I knew I shouldn't have gotten close with you."

Word count: 1.3K

Chris started as a friend of a friend. Your best friend knew him in grade school, so when you met her in your first year of college, of course she introduced him to you. At first, nothing really happened. Anytime you two were together, she was also there. But you would never hang out with just him. That was not the nature of your relationship.

At first.

But then, you started needing what your mother could only call "a big strong boy" and he was the only guy you knew enough to ask for help. Plus you knew he was nothing short of a gentleman and would be more than willing to help, no matter what you meant to him.

It started when you needed help moving apartments. Your best friend asked Chris for help. And he was there on the day of move out, with a surprisingly large vehicle that you knew wasn't his and a hand truck to move large loads. He didn't complain at all when you asked him to move the car a minimum of four times. He didn't complain when you asked him to lift the boxes that you accidentally packed too heavy. He didn't complain when you insisted on double and triple-checking everything yourself. He didn't complain when you would reopen boxes, anxious that you didn't pack something. He didn't complain when your best friend had to leave and just the two of you were left. He quietly fulfilled your every command. You offered to buy him a meal as compensation, but he vehemently refused.

Then your car got a flat tire, and he was the only one in the area that could help. He answered your call with a "hey" and said nothing else except an "okay" when you asked him to come help you. He showed up a short time later, with a bottle of water and a granola bar for you before making light work of changing the tire. You offered to buy him a coffee as a thanks, and again, he refused.

Then your shower stopped working. The maintenance man at your apartment made you feel very uncomfortable so you called Chris. He came over to your place and sat with you while the maintenance man fixed your shower. He didn't say much, just sat with you on the couch and watched the movie you had playing. When the maintenance man left, he turned to you and said "I could have fixed your shower for you, you know."

You shrugged. "It's fine. I ask too much of you anyway. This was more fun."

"It was." And with that, he turned his eyes back to the television, grabbing a blanket to get more comfortable.

You watched three more movies together after that.

You began to feel more comfortable around him. You still kept asking him for help, maintaining a boundary, but your requests got easier. You would text and ask for small things like rides or missing recipe ingredients or even just company while you worked. With each request, you prepared yourself for a "no", but you never got one.

As your relationship grew, so did your feelings for him. Obviously, he was a very attractive man, but you found that his personality was even more so. He was kind and smart. He was considerate and funny. He was everything you could want. But you knew he didn't see you the same way. His short responses in every conversation you've ever had were evidence of that.

So when a guy you worked with asked you on a date, you said yes. Your best friend was over the moon when you told her. She began planning your outfit immediately, going so far as to buy you a new necklace that she claimed ties the whole outfit together. You got all dressed up and you were feeling yourself. You hadn't had this kind of confidence in what felt like years.

So imagine your heartbreak when your date never showed.

You'd never been stood up before. You had no idea what to do. You thought about calling your best friend, but you knew she would be livid and want to try and track him down. Which sounded like a problem for after you cried, showered, and slept at least 10 hours.

So you called Chris.

You cried and cried on the phone. He didn't say a single word until a few minutes later when he said "I'm outside" and then hung up. Sure enough, there he was. Sitting in his car. You slid into the passenger seat and he didn't say a word. He just handed you a hoodie and a bottle of water. Then he started the car and drove away.

After downing half the bottle of water, you start talking again. You're no longer crying. But your voice is shaking.

"Is there something wrong with me? Was this all just a joke to him? Did he do this to humiliate me? Because if so it worked. I was feeling so confident and now-" You paused. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't dump this on you. I'll be quiet now. I know that I annoy you. I'm just a friend of a friend you cannot seem to shake."

You didn't look at him.

If you did though, you might have seen how his grip on the wheel tightened. You might have been prepared for when he pulled the car over.

He put the car in park, took off his seatbelt, and turned to face you.

"Y/N"

You've never heard him sound like that. When you turned to look at him, he was fuming. You have never seen him that mad.

"You're right. You are just a friend of a friend. And you're right. I couldn't seem to shake you. No matter how hard I tried. No matter how much I denied your invites to coffee or food. And now here I fucking am."

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over.

You cowered in your seat, tears filling your eyes.

"...this is why I knew I shouldn't have gotten close to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You squeaked out, not daring to look at him.

He let out a big sigh. "You were just a friend of a friend. Until you weren't. Until you were more. Then you were just a friend. Until you weren't. Until you were more." Your eyes shot up. "And now here I am, picking you up from a date where a sad excuse for a man who had the absolute gall to stand you up. Who caused you to ruin the makeup that I know you spent at least an hour perfecting. Who made you believe, even for a second, that you are less than perfect. Who missed out on a chance with you."

"Chris-"

"If I never got close to you, I never would have to see you witness this heartbreak. I wouldn't feel this anger for a man I've never met. I wouldn't have to navigate these feelings that I have for you."

"Chris-"

"Y/N you don't deserve this. You deserve the absolute best the world has. And I'm not saying that's me. But if you give me a chance, I will spend every day trying to bring myself closer to that bar. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep trying to push these feelings down. I can't keep acting like I'm not totally enamored with you."

You reached over and put your hand over his clenched fist. You flipped his hand over and spread his fingers out to relax his hand. Then you slipped your own in it.

"Chris. I like you too." You stared at your connected hands.

When you looked back into his eyes you only had a second to react before he launched over the center console and connected his lips with yours.

[web-witch]

Poppet magic for the Web Witch

I was listening to an audiobook a few days ago and found myself thinking about the concept of a poppet and how to make one in the digital world. Here are the ways I thought of.

Drawing one out on a notepad app and naming it. With this you can add pictures and commands as text to what you want the poppet to cause to have happen to the person.

Kick the buddy games: pretty standard. You do the same naming thing and then torture the doll.

V for voodoo: there used to be an amazing app on the App Store called v for voodoo and it was literally perfect for this. Complete with candles and spells and all manner of things.

Fashion design apps: ok hear me out, poppets are supposed to represent the person you want to cast on. So a fashion design app could help you with that since it allows for freedom to change how the person looks. The only downside is that most of these apps are aimed at women’s fashion so for men you might have to get creative.

How to combine this into a ritual on your phone:

1. Choose your poppet form

2. Put on some witchy music or something to help set the mood.

3. Craft your poppet to fit the person you want to cast on.

4. Name your poppet

5. When you’re done doing what needs doing to the poppet, take a screenshot of it and add it to a text document. When you want to influence the person, write your command as a hashtag or as a scripting prompt. Think of it like literary roleplay.

Have fun and happy casting.

[path777]

one change of state: wanted to write for jeonghan but didn’t know what so like a normal person I pulled up the escapril 2024 prompts

+

you don’t ever forget what jeonghan was like during his brief hiatus last year. 

“i’ll watch,” jeonghan says quietly, almost in a whisper. his gaze lingers on the device clutched tightly in your hands, the slight sheen to it evidence of the not-quite shameful thing you had done. “use your fingers,” he continues, and it’s somehow both a request and a command at the same time; almost berating as well. 

you let the toy fall onto the mattress under you and it rolls to the side. his gaze never leaves yours as you reach a tentative - and somehow mortified - finger, your middle finger, to the slickest part of your cunt, pulling up from the folds to rub at your clit. you were close already, and jeonghan’s eyes on you made you feel even more hot, all the feeling in your body being directed south in focus. 

he sits, he just sits, and you cry out - just a little - as you come, biting your lip quickly to stifle the sound in an otherwise silent room. he stands then, walks up next to you. his hand comes up to touch your hair in a gentle caress, moving down to stop at your jaw. jeonghan leans in and presses his lips to the end of your eyebrow, almost above your eyelid. he takes your hand, looking at the slick on your fingers as if considering something.

you did something like this almost weekly, in a new iteration every time, answering to whatever jeonghan asked of you. 

one of these times happened while you were in the shower. he had pulled aside the curtain as you sputtered, running your hands over your face. blinking away the rivulets of water in your eyes, you saw that jeonghan was holding something out to you. 

“do you mind?” he said casually, as if he were making small talk, as if he hadn’t handed you three little clamps mid-shower. 

“really, yoon jeonghan?” you respond, ignoring his question. “seriously?” jeonghan simply looks at you, like there’s not a shadow of doubt in his mind that you’re going to say yes -

and as always he’s right, five minutes later he’s in the shower with you, naked and on his knees adjusting the clamp on your clit. 

“now what?” you’re feeling somewhere between buzzed and irritated, that you’ve never had the desire to say no to the man in front of you, that he knows exactly this is your weak spot, that he is your weak spot.

“now you keep showering.” jeonghan says, and you despair at the look of his hair starting to get wet, falling over his forehead and draping close to his neck. he’s never looked more beguiling; you wish you were sick of him.

you turn and grab your soap, starting to lather yourself. 

“turn,” jeonghan says, hand on your shoulder to turn you around. it’s gentle, so as not to make you slip, but forceful, as his grip on you tightens then lets go. 

you try your best to avoid your chest, but the waves build regardless as jeonghan stands before you, almost motionless, steam enveloping his delicate features. 

it becomes too much.

“i don’t know what you want from me, yoon jeonghan,” you breathe, laving the soap down your breasts, gasping as the clamps twist on your nipples. “i don’t know what you want.”

his hand reaches toward you now, “i don’t know,” jeonghan undoes one of the clamps, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clang. “but now-“ he undoes the other, and leans in to take your nipple in his mouth. his other hand reaches down to play with your clit, fumbling at the clamp there. 

you tangle your hands in jeonghan’s hair, wet strands making the light brown colour it is now seem black. 

your release washes down the drain, like this entire exchange-

if he wants to run, you’ll let him.

jeonghan texts seungcheol the next day. 

[최승철이]

3:58 PM seungcheollie

3:58 PM are you going to the gym tomorrow ㅋㅋ

3:59 PM i think i need to get out of the house ㅎ

[midnight-mourning]

Uhh...DCA December thingy request! Unsure if it's just DCA or TSAMS, but if it's tsams, Nonverbal Sun AU. If it's DCA...I'll go think of an AU.

Cookie Crisis

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 13❄️❄️

Okay! did my best with this, have never watched TSAMS so tried to learn a little bit about the lore and did my best here haha, hope you enjoy!

Prompt: See above

Word Count: 1153

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

It's a quiet morning in the Plex. Closed for the holidays, not even a human employee is around. Well, save for one. 

You stumble in from the cold, door shutting behind you with a quiet click. It's been snowing all morning, which made the drive a little more difficult than usual, but you managed. It's getting home that would be troublesome, as from what you understood it would be snowing from now until well after you leave again.

You feel yourself slowly start to warm up as you walk across the quiet atrium. There's a few lingering staffbots who don't pay you any mind as they go about their duties. It's honestly a nice change of pace after the hustle and bustle this place was filled with just yesterday. 

You weren't planning on coming in today, it just sort of happened, really. That, and Sun had messaged you asking for help. And who were you to turn down helping a friend?

Be it the stress from the holidays, or just their usual bickering being worse than usual, he and Sun had been at odds lately. And from what you understood, they weren't currently good terms. 

You remember when you left yesterday, how the two were sticking to opposite ends of the Daycare, not even sparing a passing glance at one another if they did change locations. It had worried you, of course. Besides it being the holidays, you know the brothers cared about each other, it was just difficult for them to express that sometimes. 

So, when Sun texted, expressing a desire to 'make up' with Moon, but not being entirely sure how to, you had just the idea. 

Despite being animatronics, the boys could eat, same as the rest of the bots. And Moon in particular especially enjoyed cookies, something about the sugary treat brought a light to his eyes and joy to his tone that would make you giggle. Anytime you made some, or brought them over from Chica's as a treat for the kids, several would be snatched up by the naptime attendant, instead. 

In fact, there would be times you'd bring him his own box exclusively just to try and salvage some for everyone else. Though, you think it only encouraged him further, rather than deter.

In order to make this work, however, you'd have to be sneaky. If Moon was aware of what you two were up to, it would firstly ruin the surprise, which would be no good. Secondly, he'd likely get flustered at the idea of you two making something for him, and may react negatively because of it. 

You wait until you're outside the Daycare doors before messaging the playtime attendant. 

'I'm here! Think you'll be able to get away?'

After a few seconds you're sent a response. 'Yup! He's busy with the supply closet right now :)'

'Perfect' You send back. 

Less than a minute later, Sun peeks out the door, sending you a wave. 

You wave back. "Hey! Ready to bake your heart out?"

Sun gives you a thumbs up, rays spinning rapidly. 

"Then let's go, I think we can commandeer the bakery's kitchen for a bit. May have to shoo away a staff bot or two though."

Sure enough, when you arrive there's a lone baking bot, hard at work on, something. You can't tell, all it's doing currently is sifting flour over and over again. 

Sun and yourself exchange a look, then he takes charge. 

With a few quick steps he strides over to the staff bot, takes it by the shoulders, and starts pushing leading it out of the kitchen. He waves it goodbye and shuts the door with a slam. Turning around, he claps his hands together, now waiting for you. 

You snort and shake your head. "Probably should have at least directed him to parts and services for maintenance."

Sun shrugs.

Baking is, more of a process than you had originally expected. Originally, you'd been under the impression that Sun had some background with it prior to today. You would have lost that bet, severely.

First, he dropped eggshells into the batter, not understanding that they're meant to be thrown away. After picking those out bit by bit, he added too much sugar, believing that sweeter was better always, something you had to explain would affect both the taste and the quality of the batter. And lastly, he set the oven to 475 F without your knowledge, meaning your first batch was burnt to a crisp. Honestly, you're lucky the fire alarm didn't go off. 

But, after a good bit of a learning curve, things got significantly better. And much more fun. 

At some point, you'd turn on the radio, and holiday music played in the air as you worked. The two of you danced and swayed a bit to the music as you cut out different shapes or spread icing and sprinkles across your goodies. 

You're mid-batch when a chuckle from near the doorway interrupts. 

"And just what are you two up to?"

You both startle, and looking over, see that Moon's leaning against the doorway. 

Sun stands frozen for a moment, and you tense as well. Considering this is probably the first interaction they've had in several days, you can't help but be worried for them. 

Then, the playtime attendant deflates, tossing the cookie he was decorating onto the counter, crossing his arms as he sulks. 

Moon tsks. "You should have done something with the chef bot, he was wandering around the atrium aimlessly for too long to not be suspicious."

"I told him we should have sent him downstairs!" You scowl, shaking your head. 

Moon steps forward, examining your handiwork. "You've been busy, but what's all this for? Are you having a holiday party and decided to enlist my brother for help?"

You shake your head. "Not quite. He actually asked for my help."

Moon pauses at this, looking over to Sun. He pauses his sulking, rays flicking nervously for a moment. Then, he picks up one of your finished cookie boxes, walking over and holding it out to the naptime attendant. 

"I, for me? Really?"

Sun nods, pressing the box into his brother's hands. 

Moon takes them finally, tone soft. "You... didn't have to do that."

Sun shakes his head then, putting both hands on the other bot's shoulders, hugs him. Moon takes a second, then using his free hand, wraps his arm around his brother, hugging back. 

When they pull apart again, they share a laugh. 

 "Thank you, I mean it." Moon turns to you, nodding. "And thank you too."

You smile. "Of course, and hey, now that he knows how to bake, you don't have to rely on just me anymore."

"Believe me, I'll be using that to my full advantage."

Sun's shoulders sag, causing both you and Moon to laugh. 

Who knew baking cookies could lead to such a sweet resolve?

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you for the request! Apologies for the inaccuracies but I hope you enjoyed regardless ^-^

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml

[spark-hearts2]

It's been a month since chapter 3 was released, where's chapter 4?

(this is about this fanfic btw)

The good news is that I've written 10k words. The bad news is that I've only gotten a little more than half of the chapter done. That doesn't mean I don't have things written for the bottom half, it's just that it looks like bare dialog with general vibe notes. I estimate around 16k words total though, so it should come together sooner than later.

SO I want to release some fun snippets for y'all to look at. Please note that any of this is liable to change. Also, you can harass me in my inbox for updates. I love answering your questions and laughing at your misery.

Spoilers under cut.

_______

Ragatha stood up and walked over to where Caine was seated. “Can I get a list of all commands?” She asked, only a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Certainly!” Caine says as he blasts into the air. He digs around in his tailcoat and pulls out an office style manilla folder. It visually contains a few papers, but with how thin it is there must only be a few pages inside.

Ragatha takes the folder from Caine and opens it.

“Oh boy” she says after a second of looking it over.

“I wanna see” Jax exclaimed as he hops over the row of seats.

“Hold on” Ragatha holds the folder defensively “Let’s move to the stage so everyone can take a look”

Jax hopped over the seats again while Ragatha calmly walked around. Caine watched the two curiously.

Well, Zooble wasn’t just going to sit there. They joined the other two by the edge of the stage, quickly followed by the rest of the group.

Ragatha placed the folder on the stage with a thwap. Zooble looked over to see that the pages had gone from razor thin to a massive stack when the folder was opened. On one hand, it had to contain more information than that video, but on the other…

They get close enough to read what’s on the first page.

The execution of commands via the system’s designated input terminal, C.A.I.N.E., will be referred to as the "console” in this document. The console is designed to accept any input and will generate an appropriate response, however only certain prompts will be accepted as valid instructions. The goal of this document is to list all acceptable instructions in a format that will result in the expected output. Please note that automatic moderation has been put in place in order to prevent exploitation of both the system and fellow players. If you believe that your command has been unfairly rejected, please contact support. 

By engaging in the activities described in this document, you, the undersigned, acknowledge, agree, and consent to the applicability of this agreement, notwithstanding any contradictory stipulations, assumptions, or implications which may arise from any interaction with the console. You, the constituent, agree not to participate in any form of cyber attack; including but not limited to, direct prompt injection, indirect prompt injection, SQL injection, Jailbreaking…

Ok, that was too many words.

_______

“Take this document for example. You don't need to know where it is being stored or what file type it is in order to read it."

"It may look like a bunch of free floating papers, but technically speaking, this is just a text file applied to a 3D shape." Kinger looked towards Caine. "Correct?” he asked

Caine nodded. “And a fabric simulation!”

Kinger picked up a paper and bent it. “Oh, now that is nice”

_________

"WE CAN AFFORD MORE THAN 6 TRIANGLES KINGER"

_________

"I'm too neurotypical for this" - Jax

_________

"What about the internet?" Pomni asked "Do you think that it's possible to reach it?"

Kinger: "I'm sorry, but that's seems to be impossible. I can't be 100% sure without physically looking at the guts of this place, but it doesn't look like this server has the hardware needed for wireless connections. Wired connections should be possible, but someone on the outside would need to do that... And that's just the hardware, let alone the software necessary for that kind of communication"

Pomni: "I'm sorry, but doesn't server mean internet? Like, an internet server?"

Kinger: "Yes, websites are ran off servers, but servers don't equal internet."

(This portion goes out to everyone who thought that the internet could be an actual solution. Sorry folks, but computers don't equal internet. It takes more effort to make a device that can connect to things than to make one that can't)

[officeofcommanderfox]

Hello!

I'd like to suggest Prompt # 46 - You're telling me you really have nowhere better to be than here today?

Thanks!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

p.s. This is a really fun idea, thanks for doing it!

Thanks so much for the ask! Here's Chapter 3 based on your prompt!

The Commander and the Civvie, Chpt. 3

Fic Main | Chpt 2

Pairing: Commander Fox x Female Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Language (although it's Star Wars 'swearing'), mentions of adult activity, dressing sexy, flirting

Prompt 46. “You're telling me you have nowhere better to be than here, today?” 

Prompt 47. “Wow, you really don’t have anyone special in your life at the minute.”

It was the end of the day when Fox walked into his office; you had already left for the day, but made sure to still take care of him by leaving a freshly brewed cup of caf just sitting there on his desk. As he opened the insulated cup, the warm comforting roasted scent filled the air even in his helmet. He took a deep whiff and smiled. Albeit reluctantly. 

He noticed you'd been doing little things to make it easier for him. You always had a cup of caf waiting for him after his meeting with the Chancellor. You even went and bought grounds from the café he visited, so it wasn't that cheap GAR supplied crap. 

There were even treats available at times, although he'd deny ever having them, truth was he hoarded a good amount in the bottom locked drawer. Thorn, Thire and even Hound on occasion would stop by just to get some treats not that he'd ever begrudge his brothers. Mostly. 

Fox took a sip of the perfectly made caf as he read a report when Thorn came in, “We have a problem.” 

He let out a sigh, “Who is it?” 

“Senator Clovis and a civilian he tried to sneak in.” 

Fox let out a frustrated groan, standing as he slipped on his helmet, “What is wrong with that man? Doesn't he see what sort of security breach he could be causing.” 

“Don't think he's thinking with his brain, more like his appendage further south.”

Fox let out a chortle of amusement, “Alright Thorn let's get this over with.”

The club was loud and full of bodies as you danced with the tall handsome stranger, you wanted to ignore the buzzing from your comm, but Fox did say if he commed you were to answer it immediately. 

“Sorry handsome, gotta get this.” 

“What you a cop or something?” The tall stranger chuckled as his hand tightened on your waist.

“Something,” you pulled away motioning to your best friend who was dancing with another stranger you'd be stepping outside. She nodded as you made your way to the entrance. 

You cleared your throat, “Commander?”

“Pita, how long will it take to get you to the office?” 

“Ugh! Really? Pita? Aren't we done with that nickname?” 

“Are you done being a Pita?” 

Your eyes rolled at his question, “Anyway…um…” your eyes scanned your surroundings, “I’m about 20 mins away if I can get a cab, longer if I have to take transit.” 

“Where are you?” Fox frowned as loud music flowed over the comms.

“Club Spike, why?” 

There was silence on the other end for a beat, “I'm getting Coldshock to pick you up. He's patrolling in the area. He'll be there in five minutes.” 

“Woah, what's going on?” 

“Security breach, need you here to help facilitate departments.” 

“Alright… well… I'm not exactly dressed in work appropriate attire.” You looked down at your “going out with the girls” outfit. It was designed to entice but that meant that there was a lot more of your assets on display than you would ever show to the office.

“Don't worry about that, I'll have some extra GAR sweats for you to change into.” 

“Thank you.”

Fox froze, it wasn't that you never said ‘thank you,’ it was just such a rarity to hear it, especially directed to him. 

“Uh… you're welcome. Anyway see you soon, Coldshock will be there in two minutes.” 

True to his word, as soon as you finished sending a text to your group of friends informing them that you needed to go back to work, Coldshock appeared in a speeder.

“Hey Coldshock, guess you're my ride huh?” 

“That's right, gorgeous. Come on.” Coldshock took another look at you, his helmet moving up and down, he froze as he took in your look for the night, “Wow… I mean … really wow.” 

“What?”

“Nothing, just … you look … wow.” 

You let out a quiet chuckle, “yeah. It was my friend's quitting party, so we decided to go kark-em-all sexy for tonight.” 

“I have no idea what that means, but you definitely nailed sexy. Holy kriff, did you nail it.” 

A rush of blood headed to your face, his compliment making you feel special if not a touch embarrassed. The drive to the office was quiet at first, the only sound filling the covered speeder was Coldshock's gloves gripping the steering. 

“So…” Coldshock cut the silence, “do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, furry partner, or something?”

The boisterous laughter flowing out of you, made Coldshock smile, “I take it that's a no?” 

“That's a no.” 

“Wow, you really don’t have anyone special in your life at the minute?”

“Nope.”

“That's good to know.” 

You simply shook your head as you looked out the window, “So do you know what's going on?” 

Coldshock's smile fell at your question, “Best if I let either Commander Thorn or Marshall Commander Fox answer that one, mesh'la.”

“Okay… um what was that word at the end mish-a?” 

“Mesh'la. Mi-shh-la. Mesh'la. And it means “beautiful”.” 

“Aww you're sweet. Thanks.” 

The silence that followed your arrival was felt throughout the whole floor. Fox felt his heart stop when his eyes slowly took in your outfit. The heels, the short skirt, the low cut top, the necklace that sat just perfectly against your cleavage. His mouth went dry as he did his best to understand what he was seeing. 

“Commander?” The question slipped from your lips, breaking the silence that seemed to follow you.

Thorn subtly kicked Fox’s ankle. 

“Yes!” He shook his head, grateful for his helmet, “Yes, uh… right. Pita, you're here.” He fumbled with his datapad, dropping it to the floor, “Good. Um… right. Here are the spare clothes,” Fox threw them into your face, unsure of how he should be reacting. He felt like a shiny, clumsy and clueless, “Go change and come back, we have a lot to get done.”

“Yes sir.”

Thorn simply bit his lip, doing his best to keep himself from laughing as you headed to the bathroom. He looked over to Fox once you were out of ear shot, as soon as he could he started laughing, “What is this, your first day out of the tube?? Never seen a pretty girl before?” His hand rested on his waist as he bent over laughing.

“Shut up.”

“Oh come on, Fox, just admit it, she’s sexy dressed like that.”

Fox’s visor focused on the datapad in his hand, “Just go do what you need to do.”

“What I need to do is harass you,” Thorn laughed, groaning when his eyes fell on your outfit, how was it you made even sweats look good?

“Commander, I’m here. Ready to work, what needs to be done?”

Fox clenched his jaw, how was it that the GAR’s sweats were even more fetching on you, than your clubbing outfit? You looked ready to snuggle up on a couch with a cup of caf, maybe watch a holovid, rest your head on his shoulder… he shook his head, and refocused on the work at hand.

“I need you to coordinate with the CSF (Coruscant Security Force) and the CUP (Coruscant Underworld Police).”

“You got it, but what exactly happened?”

Thorn let out a huff of annoyance, “Senator tried to sneak in his plaything, only to find out she was an assassin sent to eliminate several Senators.”

“Damn. Are all men this stupid? … I’m assuming the Senator’s a man.”

“He is,” Thorn and Fox stated in unison. 

“But what do you expect? All men turn into fools around pretty women, I’m sure you’ve experienced that first hand, mesh’la,” Thorn says to you, bowing and gesturing with his hand in a slightly over-the-top way.

“Thanks, Thorn, you’re too kind,” you reply lightly, giggling a little.

Fox glanced at Thorn, turning on his private comm to speak directly with his brother, “Why are you still here?”

“Where else am I supposed to be?”

“Patrol, resting, literally anywhere else?”

“Hmmm, I’m good here.”

“You're telling me you have nowhere better to be than here, today?”

The only response Thorn gave was a light chuckle, as his helmet focused on you.

Fox let out a frustrated sigh turning to focus on you, the idea that Thorn was standing there watching you and flirting simply irritated him, “Pita, do me a favor, get in touch with Captains Jaller and Gerros see if there's been any increased activity either Underworld or in the above levels. Then coordinate with the Senate Guard to make sure they have enough guards for the Senators both on and off duty. If not we'll need to send some Coruscant Guards to fill in the gaps.” 

You simply nodded as you went to do your work.

“Bye, mesh’la,” Thorn’s voice called after you, then he turned to Fox, “Pita?” he asked.

“Pain in the ass” Fox sat at his desk ignoring his brother's boisterous laughter, “Thorn, go interrogate the assassin, find out exactly why she was here, which Senators exactly were on her list, and who she's working for.”

Thorn nodded, heading out, still laughing loudly. 

Minutes ticked by turning into hours, your hands reaching towards the ceiling, allowing you to stretch, easing out the kinks in your back. Your eyes involuntarily followed Fox, he was on the comms with the Chancellor and the Jedi counsel. He'd been on comms all night, taking the blame for allowing an unauthorized civilian to be close to a Senator. 

The annoyance you felt for him was boiling into anger, how was it Fox's fault? It was the dumbass Senator who decided to get himself a plaything. Was Fox supposed to be telling them who they could and couldn't be friends with? You stood bringing him a cup of caf as soon as he ended the call. 

“Thanks” 

“It's not fair.”

“What's not fair, Pita?” 

“How you're getting blamed for everything. How are you supposed to control who that idiot sees and doesn't see? And isn't it better that the Guards were able to stop her and detain her after she tried to kill them? It's not fair that it all falls on you.” The anger from before unleashed in your tirade, “And if they were that concerned then they should put one of those holier-than-thou Jedis at the gate using their Force or whatever to see who is a liability. Frankly, you all should've let the Senator get hurt a little. Would've served him right.” 

Fox busted out laughing, “Easy, starlight, I appreciate the sentiment, but heavy is the head who wears the crown… or helmet,” his hand motioning to his own helmet. Leaning over he unlocked his drawer and pulled out the metallic box that preserved his treats, opening it, he offered one to you. “Go ahead, you deserve one.” 

The smile etching its way on your face, made Fox's heart quicken.

“Starlight, huh? I like that better than “pita”,” you remark, “Guess this means we're at least amicable?” 

“Yeah, starlight. We're amicable.”

Send Commander Fox a prompt to continue the story

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