description: casey loves calling you her princess.
pairing: casey x fem!reader.
wc: 3.8
The first time you met Casey Novak, it was in a courtroom - two opposing forces, both relentless, both unwilling to back down.
You had walked in late, not because you were unprepared, far from it - but because you understood the power of an entrance. The soft click of your designer stilettos echoed against the marble floors, drawing more than a few glances from the jury and even the judge. You were dressed in a blush-coloured, curve-hugging dress, the kind that some might have called inappropriate for a courtroom setting. But you knew better. It wasn’t just fabric - it was armour, a weapon, a carefully calculated statement.
Casey had looked up from her neatly organized legal pad, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed you. She was the very picture of discipline, clad in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, her auburn hair pinned back in a way that was both practical and devastatingly elegant. There was no reaction on her face, no raised brow or flicker of amusement - just sharp, professional scrutiny. And then, just for a second, something else. A flicker of intrigue, perhaps, before she quickly masked it with her usual stoic expression.
“Your Honor,” you said smoothly as you reached the plaintiff’s table, sliding into your chair with effortless grace. “Apologies for the delay. Traffic was murder.”
Judge Petrov barely spared you a glance over his reading glasses. He had seen your theatrics before. “Cut the dramatics, counsel. Proceed.”
From the defense table, Casey let out a barely audible scoff. “Glad to see your priorities are in order,” she murmured just loud enough for you to hear, eyes still fixed on her notes.
You turned your head slightly, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. “Why, Casey, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous of my grand entrance.”
She didn’t even look at you. “I’m just wondering if you plan to present a legal argument at any point today, or if we should just sit back and enjoy the performance.”
The courtroom quickly became your battleground.
Casey was calculated and methodical, every argument laid out with impeccable logic and precision. She wielded legal precedent like a scalpel, dissecting opposing arguments with brutal efficiency. There was no room for theatrics in her world - only the unshakable foundation of the law.
You, on the other hand, thrived in the unpredictable. You spoke to the jury like they were old friends, weaving emotion and narrative into your arguments in a way that made them forget they were even listening to a legal proceeding. Where Casey relied on hard facts, you built stories, turning cases into living, breathing things.
“You can’t seriously expect the court to entertain this,” Casey said one afternoon, irritation evident in the slight crease between her brows. The case was a heated one, and you had just made a rather unexpected move, throwing in an argument that wasn’t in any of your filings.
“Why not?” You tilted your head, the picture of innocence. “Afraid they might agree with me?”
She let out a slow exhale, her lips pressing together in a way that told you she was trying very hard not to lose her temper. “I’m afraid they might mistake your performance for substance.”
You feigned a wounded expression, placing a delicate hand over your chest. “Ouch, counselor. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to hurt my feelings.”
The judge cleared his throat, clearly unimpressed with your back-and-forth, but the jury? They were eating it up. And, if you weren’t mistaken, so was Casey - whether she wanted to admit it or not.
Outside the courtroom, the tension only grew stronger.
Your paths crossed constantly—at depositions, in courthouse hallways, at late-night coffee shops where you both stopped to refuel after hours of casework. At first, your conversations were all barbed wire and sharp edges, each of you poking at the other’s weak spots, testing limits. But slowly, something shifted. The teasing became less about cutting each other down and more about… something else.
One evening, after a particularly brutal case, you found yourselves alone in the courthouse hallway. The trial had been grueling, and though Casey had technically won, you had made her fight for every inch.
“You fought hard today,” she admitted, surprising you.
You turned to her, watching as she leaned back against the cold marble wall, arms crossed but not in a defensive way. She looked tired, her usual perfectly polished demeanor slightly frayed at the edges.
“Well, I had to give you a challenge,” you said, offering her a small smirk. “Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”
She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re exhausting.”
“Yet you keep showing up.”
Casey glanced at you then, her green eyes lingering just a little too long. Something unspoken passed between you, something charged and dangerous and completely inevitable.
She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she just sighed, pushing herself off the wall. “Don’t stay too late,” she murmured before walking away.
But you both knew that wasn’t the end of it.
The room felt suffocating with heat, the heavy scent of leather-bound law books and aged whiskey mixing with the intoxicating aroma of her presence. The golden glow from her desk lamp cast long shadows, emphasizing the sharp angles of Casey’s face, the way her lips curled in that dangerous smirk.
"You really shouldn’t look at me like that," she murmured, her voice low, warning-laced, but still with that signature authority. She leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, her loosened tie hanging carelessly, enticingly, around her neck.
"Like what?" You took a step closer, smirking, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. The subtle, yet unmistakable scent of your perfume curled around both of you, only amplifying the growing heat.
"Like you want something from me."
Your fingers brushed over the edge of her tie, trailing deliberately down its length. "And if I do?"
Her breath caught for just a moment. You saw it in the way her eyes narrowed, how the composure she worked so hard to maintain cracked just a little, revealing the smouldering hunger beneath.
Casey’s voice dropped, thick and rough. "You’re such a goddamn tease." Her grip tightened on your wrist - not rough, but firm - holding you in place. Her thumb ran circles against your pulse, each movement sending a shockwave of heat through your body.
"You like it," you whispered, eyes locking onto hers.
A wicked chuckle escaped her lips, low and dark, and she pulled you in closer, her body just a breath away from yours.
"I fucking love it," she confessed, the words rougher now, heavy with need. There was no distance anymore between you, only heat, the kind that burned, the kind that could never be sated by anything but each other.
"But you’re not in control here, Princess."
The nickname fell from her lips like a challenge, a command - a reminder.
Her hands slid down your dress, slow and deliberate, as if to savor the fabric beneath her fingertips, as if she wanted to leave a mark, to claim you.
"You wear this just to drive me insane, don’t you?" Her voice was barely a whisper against your ear. "Wearing my favorite color, knowing exactly how to make me lose control."
The air around you felt charged, every word heavy, every gesture deliberate. The tension that had been building between you for months was finally snapping.
"You should have better self-control," you teased, but your voice betrayed you - thin, breathless, caught in the web of her pull.
Casey’s smirk was dark, knowing. "Oh, sweetheart. You’re the one who’s going to be begging me soon."
Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you hard against her, the edge of the desk digging into your thighs as she closed the remaining space between you, her thigh pressing firmly between yours.
"I’ve been patient for months," she growled, her voice a low rasp as her lips brushed against your ear. "Watching you parade around, flaunting yourself, taunting me in front of everyone." Her breath was hot against your skin. "Flirting with me in front of the whole damn courtroom, just to see if I’d crack."
Her grip on your throat was sudden, firm, but not enough to choke, just enough to remind you of her power.
You gasped, the weight of her touch sending a thrill racing through your veins.
"Guess what, Princess?" she murmured, her lips hovering just over your ear. "You win."
And then, suddenly, urgently, her lips crashed into yours. There was nothing soft about it. Her kiss was a demand, taking everything from you, claiming you, pulling you deeper and deeper under her spell. Her teeth grazed your lips, nipping, pulling, urging you to respond, to surrender, to melt.
You didn’t just kiss her back - you submitted.
When she pulled back, there was a brief moment of clarity. Her eyes were molten with desire, a cruel, predatory hunger dancing in the depths. Her fingers found your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at her.
Her thumb brushed over your lips, her gaze locking with yours.
"Pathetic," she muttered under her breath, a slight shake of her head as she looked down at you.
Before you could react, she gripped your chin, forcing your mouth open with surprising force. Your pulse quickened, heart hammering in your chest, breath caught in your throat. You stared at her, wide-eyed, and before you could fully comprehend what was happening, she leaned in - slowly, deliberately - and spit into your waiting mouth.
It was warm, slick, and thick, a tangible mark of her ownership, her control over you.
For a heartbeat, you froze.
Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she waited, her grip still tight on your jaw, forcing you to swallow.
"Swallow," she commanded, the word sharp, final.
A thrill ran through you as the taste lingered in your mouth, a reminder of who you were with. Who you belonged to.
"Good girl," Casey murmured, her voice low and rough as she leaned in to kiss you again - this time softer, slower, savouring the moment. But there was nothing gentle in it. It was a reminder, a claim, marking you as hers.
You were breathless, your knees weak beneath you. The sensation of her lips on yours was dizzying, overwhelming.
Her voice dropped even lower, the words curling in your mind, leaving an imprint.
"By the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember how to stand, let alone how to breathe."
Her fingers slid back to your throat, pressing, not hard enough to crush, but enough to make your pulse flutter, enough to steal your breath.
"You’re mine now, Princess."
And you knew, deep down, that tonight - Casey Novak would ruin you.
The drive to her penthouse was suffocating in its silence, every second dragging out in unbearable tension. The atmosphere in the car was thick with unspoken words, heated glances, and the lingering electricity of what had happened in her office earlier. You could still feel the imprint of her touch on your skin, the way her voice had dropped low and dangerous as she’d leaned in close, her presence leaving you breathless. Now, as you sat beside her, the soft fabric of your dress brushing against your thighs, you couldn’t stop the restless movement of your fingers in your lap. Each stolen glance at her - the tight set of her jaw, the way her knuckles whitened against the steering wheel - only made the ache between your legs worse.
When she finally pulled into the parking garage, the tension between you was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap. She didn’t say a word as she stepped out of the car, her heels clicking sharply against the concrete floor. You followed her lead, your heart hammering in your chest as you hurried to keep up with her determined strides. The elevator ride to her penthouse was no better, the enclosed space amplifying every subtle shift in her stance. You could feel her heat, her restrained power, as she stood beside you, her lips pressed into a thin line.
By the time you stepped inside her penthouse, the heavy click of the door shutting felt like the finality of a lock snapping into place. The second the sound echoed through the space, she turned to you, her eyes blazing with intensity. Her lips were on yours in an instant, her kiss hot, demanding, and utterly consuming. There was nothing soft about it - her teeth tugged at your bottom lip, her tongue invading your mouth with a ferocity that left you gasping. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her, the cool leather of her jacket pressing against your arms as her knee slid between your legs. The pressure against your core was enough to make you whimper, the sound swallowed by her relentless kiss.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were red and swollen, her breath coming in heavy pants. Her hands didn’t loosen their hold on you, her nails digging into your skin just hard enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine. “You’ve been teasing me all fucking night,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous, each word vibrating against your lips. “That little dress, the way you crossed your legs in front of me like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. But it’s over now. You’re mine.”
Her grip on your wrist was firm as she led you toward the bedroom, the pace of her steps leaving no room for hesitation. The fabric of your dress brushed against your thighs as you stumbled after her, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor. You barely had time to take in the room - the sleek lines of the furniture, the muted tones of the décor—before she spun you around, her hands gripping your shoulders as she backed you up against the wall.
“Strip,” she ordered, her voice slicing through the charged silence like a whip.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the raw authority in her tone. But the look in her eyes - sharp and unyielding - left no room for defiance. Your fingers moved to the zipper at the back of your dress, the soft hiss of the fabric splitting filling the room. The dress slipped from your shoulders and pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but the lace panties and heels you’d chosen that morning without realizing just how much they’d matter now.
“Faster,” she snapped, her gaze fixed on you like a predator sizing up its prey. “I don’t have all night.”
You hurried to obey, kicking off your heels and peeling the delicate lace down your legs until you were completely bare before her. The weight of her stare was almost unbearable, her eyes raking over you with a hunger that made your skin burn.
“Good girl,” she murmured finally, a slow, predatory smile curling her lips. “So fucking perfect. But not nearly perfect enough. You’ll look better covered in my marks.”
Before you could respond, she was on you again, her hand gripping your chin and tilting your head back to meet her gaze. “You don’t speak unless I tell you to,” she said, her voice a low growl. “Understand?”
“Yes, Casey,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips.
Her smirk widened, and she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “That’s what I like to hear.”
She pushed you back toward the bed with an unrelenting force, her hands rough and purposeful. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, she shoved you down, her strength undeniable.
“Lie back,” she commanded, her voice brooking no argument. “Hands above your head.”
Your heart pounded as you complied, your body trembling with anticipation as you stretched out beneath her. The cool air brushed against your skin, making every nerve ending come alive.
She climbed onto the bed, her knees bracketing your hips, her hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head. The weight of her body against yours was intoxicating, her power undeniable as she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear.
“You don’t get to decide anything tonight,” she whispered, her voice a dark promise. “Not how hard, not how fast. You’ll take whatever I give you, and you’ll fucking love it.”
Her words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching beneath her as her hands trailed down your arms and over your chest. When her fingers reached your throat, she wrapped them around it, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. The sensation was heady, the mix of pleasure and control making your pulse race.
“You like this,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over your jaw. “Being at my mercy. Knowing you’re completely mine.”
Her hand slid lower, her nails dragging over your skin and leaving faint red trails in their wake. When her fingers finally slipped between your thighs, you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily against her touch.
“Pathetic,” she sneered, her voice laced with mockery. “So fucking desperate. You’ll beg for it, won’t you?”
“Yes, Casey,” you moaned, your voice barely audible as she pressed her fingers against your slick heat.
Her smirk widened, and she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Good. Now, let’s see how much you can take.”
Casey’s fingers slid between your thighs, unapologetically exploring the wet heat there, her touch firm and unrelenting. She didn’t hesitate, parting your folds with an ease that had your back arching off the bed. Her lips curled into a smug smile as she felt how soaked you were, the evidence of your need coating her fingertips.
"Look at you," she murmured, her voice dripping with condescension. "So fucking wet already, and I’ve barely touched you. You’re practically begging for me to ruin you."
You whimpered, your legs trembling as she pressed her fingers deeper, teasing your entrance but not giving you the satisfaction of her full touch. She was deliberate, controlled, and maddeningly slow, her fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk, but not enough to send you over the edge.
"You’re such a needy little slut," she growled, her free hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, her thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. "I bet you’ve been dripping for me since the moment I told you to strip. Haven’t you?"
"Yes," you gasped, your voice shaking as her teeth grazed your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.
"That’s right," she hissed against your skin, her lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. "You fucking love being at my mercy. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?"
"Yes, Casey," you moaned, your voice breaking as she slid a single finger inside you, the intrusion making your breath hitch.
"God, you’re so tight," she muttered, her tone rough with desire. "I could fuck you with my fingers all night and still never get enough of the way you squeeze me."
Her pace quickened, her finger pumping into you with an unrelenting rhythm, curling just right to hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur. When she added a second finger, you couldn’t stop the shameless moan that tore from your throat, your body writhing beneath her as she fucked you deeper.
"That’s it," she purred, her thumb pressing against your clit in perfect tandem with her thrusts. "Take it like the good little whore you are. Don’t you dare hold back - I want to hear every filthy sound that comes out of your mouth."
Your head fell back against the mattress, your hands still pinned above you as she worked you with ruthless precision. Her mouth was everywhere - biting, licking, sucking - leaving marks in her wake that you knew would linger for days.
"Look at you," she sneered, her voice filled with mockery as she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. "So fucking desperate for me. You’re a mess, you know that? Pathetic and perfect, all at the same time."
Her free hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at her as she increased the pace of her fingers, the slick sounds of her movements filling the room. "You’re mine," she growled, her breath hot against your lips. "Every inch of you. Your body, your mind, your fucking soul - every part of you belongs to me now."
Her words sent you hurtling toward the edge, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you, threatening to break. You could barely think, barely breathe, every nerve ending focused on her and the way she was unraveling you piece by piece.
But just as you felt yourself tip over the edge, her hand stilled, her fingers pulling out of you entirely.
You whimpered in protest, your hips bucking in search of relief, but she only smirked, shaking her head. "Oh no, Princess," she said, her tone dangerously low. "You don’t get to come until I say so. Beg for it."
"Please," you gasped, your voice desperate as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "Please, Casey, I need it."
She laughed, a dark, wicked sound that sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. "That’s not good enough," she said, leaning down to press her lips to your ear. "I want to hear you beg like the filthy little slut you are. Tell me how badly you need me to make you come."
"Please, Casey," you whimpered, your voice breaking as you looked up at her, your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving. "I need it. I need you to fuck me, to make me come. Please, I’ll do anything."
Her smirk widened, her teeth flashing as she leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over your lips. "That’s better," she murmured, her fingers slipping between your thighs once more, this time with an unrelenting intensity that had you crying out.
"Now, be a good girl and come for me," she commanded, her tone laced with dark satisfaction as her fingers worked you with ruthless precision.
And when you finally shattered beneath her touch, she didn’t let up, her hands and mouth dragging you through wave after wave of pleasure until you were trembling and utterly wrecked beneath her.
"You belong to me," she whispered against your skin, her voice a dark, possessive promise. "And I’ll make damn sure you never forget it."
