Hums when she’s comfortable, when you’re sat eating breakfast you’ll catch her softly singing to the radio. Paying no mind to you as she reads the morning paper. Or at the bar with the squad after a successful day, wrapped into your side or squished between Fin and Liv sipping her drink between notes.
Cannot keep track of a set of keys to save her life. The front desk keeps one on demand for her > the local lock smith knows you by name. However brings home any and all ‘pretty’ decorative bowls she finds. Declaring it will pursue her into fixing the habit.
Hates cooked fruit of any kind, you’ve had to swap breakfasts the numerous times when her’s came smothered in compoté. Apparently apple pie is a ‘crime’.
Would literally set fire to water but makes the best omelette you’ve ever had in your life > her grandmother had insisted she at-least know how to cook something!
Loves kids, the ice queen title does not apply around babies. She’s the first to ‘talk’ to them regardless of age > though she never alters her vocabulary. Her godchildren love, ‘Smarty pants Aunt Alex.’
Wears her headphone round her neck > she hates covering her ears. A dim beat followed her round, you could only catch the climax of a song if you stood close enough. You can always hear her music. Honestly you think she’s forced you into improving your hearing, she never lets the tv go higher than 25. Though you have seen her at a stone roses concert having the time of her life.
Is particular about her shoes, you’ve spent hours watching that woman walk up and down stores, prancing round the bedroom breaking in a new set. She once admitted they gave her the god complex she needed for the court room. They didn’t need to see her suited for the day, yet still donning her fluffy socks like you.
Kisses your cheek any chance she gets > there is positively nothing better to you than when you’re ‘gossiping’ in bed, cuddled together, she laughs against your flesh, her teeth gently scraping your cheek. The same goes for you, Alex isn’t one for PDA but that doesn’t stop her from tilting her jaw towards you any time you pass at work, or go to leave a room.
Bullshit corner:
These got very long, very fast.
I’ll just post more parts? Then what you gonna do?
The second the door locks you’re pulling the blinds shut.
Alex didn’t even turn around. Staring blankly at her computer screen, the sunrise bleeding in through the blinds.
You throw the garment bag on the desk with a thump. Taking a swig from the coffee you carried.
She finally looked up at you, eyes bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion. You faulted, taking in her pathetic structure. Ruins, commiserated for their beauty, taped off - guarded.
She shifts forward in her chair. Inviting you. Renounced, offered, sacrificial.
You move to her, fingers undoing the buttons of her shirt before she thinks to argue.
She swats at you lazily. “I can do it.”
You slap her hand away with a glare that she returns. Huffing as she leans back, arms limp at her sides as your palms works across her skin. The last button sticks; you yank it open with a little too much force.
Red lace. Of course it’s fucking red lace. You sigh, nostrils flaring, the blonde smirking proudly.
“You’re in a mood.”
“I’m in my ex-wife’s office at seven in the morning, normal people go to breakfast” you step back, prompting her to sit up. Rolling a hand across your hair - suddenly flushed.
She rises slowly, as though her bones were heavier. You shrug off her blazer, peel it down her arms, tossing it aside.
“I know what this is,” she mutters twisting her jaw in a way you always hated, she always made that face when you argued. It was smug, calculated, like she’d already won.
Her hands crawling across your waist, fingers curling into the curve of your thighs.
“This is penance. You’re doing this so you can feel superior later.”
You toss the blouse into her lap. “I’m doing this so Lottie won’t ask me why Mommy looked like she’d been dragged through a hedge at pick up.”
“She won’t notice.”
“She notices everything,” you say, pulling her gently but firmly to her feet. She grumbles, petulant, but stands. Lottie had always been the most importance thing to both of you. You made it work.
“Up,” you say, tapping her chin lightly so you can work the collar down.
She lets you. Silent. Passive. Her hands still clasped around your frame.
You catch the faint, jagged white lines above her collarbone as you pull the blouse off. It was fading now, never gone. You trace it with your eyes, till your thumb inevitably followed.
The blonde grit her teeth at the attention. The smooth pad of your skin brushing across the imperfection. History.
“You need to keep using that cream,” you murmur, quieter than you mean to, the faint smell of pomegranate that constantly emitted your ex wife’s skin suddenly turns sour in your chest. Toxicant.
Alex says nothing. Just breathes. Your fingers skimming across the tops of her breasts before pulling back.
Her chest heaves as you turn.
You unfold the clean blouse and hold it open. “Arms.”
She lifts her arms. You sooth the fabric up her arms, shaking the creases as you flatten it across her chest. Quick to work each pearlescent button closed, for sanity sake.
Her hands slide up and down your back to your shoulders, warm and casual in that way that only she gets to be. She drags her nails lightly along your spine as you reach around her to tuck the shirt in properly.
Alex had always had a think about clawing at your back, like a cat. Each night since your very first date this woman had lulled you to sleep by tracing her nails across your back - petting you-almost. Adoring? Absolutely. Well every night before July right? All those nights Alex fucked up, didn’t call, never came home. Did the coffee and kiss that followed each of those not make up for it?
“I forgot about Lottie,” she says and you nod. Mumbling against your ear. Her head heavy as she lay it upon your shoulder, nose tracing your cheek.
Not always. The time she’d missed Easter dinner with your grandparents, then processed to have coffee delivered with a simple ‘X’ drawn on your lid. There had been English tea for your entire family, exactly how they like it, a gluten free cupcake for Lottie. It was thoughtful. Practiced. It pissed you off how easily she mends things. What had been the point in leaving if you never stood your ground?
Alex was your ground. She was the one who refused to take you back, three weeks in. When you’d drunkenly called her to pick you up. She’d turned up in a navy turtleneck, her hair straightened with a hoop earring - the one from Morocco. Her make up darker than usual, her lips glossy - clear her natural pigment drawing you in. She’d been at an Art mixer in uptown. You’d kissed her. She’d pulled away and you hadn’t tried again since.
No other part of Alex contended with her lips, her smart mouth. You’d kiss her sore hips for hours before relenting.
You pause at the top button. Glancing down at her. She looked so tired, darling wife. Your arms finally falling to hold her close.
“She’s at Casey’s. Until five.” You mumbled into her hair, hands either side of her head. Holding it to your chest.
Alex exhales, kissing the exposed skin of your collar gently. “I’m sorry.”
You nod, stepping back while reaching for the slacks.
Her shirt’s on now, barely buttoned, collar crooked from her latest attempt to distract you by mouthing at your jaw while you were undoing her belt. Pushing the used trousers to the ground in one fluid motion.
Now kneeling, one hand on her calf, the other gripping the waistband of her slacks to her ankle, guiding her into them. She kicks you away. The soul of her foot pressing against your shoulder.
“Alex,” you warn, grabbing her ankle, hard enough you watched her flinch a little - allowing you to work the material onto her legs. Your mouth never chases, rather raced each step. Kissing at the dint of her ankle, your hand running across her metatarsals up to the back her knee. A sharp gasp fuels you from above.
There’s blonde bucks you away again, her head hung back, one hand holding her desk.
There’s a scar there. Towards the back of her left knee. She hates it. Tugging the fabric again to her knees, “if you don’t stop twisting away, I swear to Gods—”
She shifts her weight and bumps your shoulder with her thigh. “You’re no fun.”
You shoot her a look. She smirks, impossibly pleased with herself, sipping on your coffee cup.
“I’m buckets of fun,” you mutter, yanking the pants higher. She nearly stumbles. You catch her, nails curling by the hips, steadying.
“Mmm,” she purrs, rolling her hips once. “That’s more like it.”
You slap her backside. “Knock it off.”
“You used to like it when I misbehaved.”
“I still do.” You blow a fallen strand from your eyes.
She leans down, teeth scraping your jaw. “Yet you still won’t kiss me?”
You shove her back up with one hand. “Step into these damn pants before I zip-tie you into them.”
She laughs finally steps in properly. You haul the slacks up in one clean move, buttoning and zipping her up while she runs a hand through your hair in a mocking gesture.
You push her gently but firmly into the chair and kneel again to put on her shoes. She tries to lift her foot, too slow. You grab her ankle, plant it where you want it, and shove the flat on with all the care of someone resenting how much they still love her feet.
She tries to run her fingers through your hair while you do the other. You smack her thigh—firm, familiar. She laughs. You knock her hand away grasping them within your own, rising to your feet, and grab the blazer off the desk. Pulling her to stand with you.
She pulls you in before you can lift it—mouth brushing your neck, teeth grazing that spot behind your ear like she’s catalogued every single contact point.
You let her. For one breath. Maybe two.
Then you yank the blazer up over her arms, making her stumble back into the desk with a grunt.
“Behave,” you say.
“Buckets of fun,” she replies, voice breathless.
You straighten the lapels. Turning her form you. Grasping her hair, pulling out the pins she had jammed in wrong the first time.
She tries to turn into you, hands handing back and dragging down your ribs like a reflex. Glancing over her shoulder.
Her voice is lower now. “Y/N Kiss me.”
You stare at her. Her pupils are blown, lips flushed, hair falling into your fingers.
You hesitate. Just for a moment allowing her to turn to face you. Then gently—gently—you reach up and sweep her hair back behind her ears, smoothing the flyaways She hums when your fingers touch her scalp. Low and familiar. Your thumbs moving from her temples, down the slope of her nose, hollowed cheeks.
You kiss her. Once. No pressure. A simple peck - she swoons, her knees dip and suddenly you share a sight of view.
She mewls against your lips. Her mouth diving in, meddling to you. Forcing your tongue towards her.
You comb your fingers through the sides of her hair, dragging it smooth, tugging a little too hard.
You pull your mouth away with a damp - pop.
She hisses softly. You kiss her throat, humming at her reaction.
You grip a thick section of hair and twist it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. “You’ve been hunching.”
She hummed in acknowledgement, her palms rubbing soothingly up your sides.
You reach behind her, shoving the coffee cup into her hand. Pushing her away.
She stands at the mirror, correcting your errors. Grabbing her brief case.
“Thanks,” Alex mutters, sipping. Then, as you turn to unlock the door, she leans in and kisses your cheek.
It lands high, near your temple—warm and frustrating and entirely unwelcome in how homely it feels.
By the time you remember to breathe. She’s already halfway out the door.
“Don’t forget to eat something before noon,” you call after her.
“I’ll see you and Lottie at five.” Alex winks, smugger than ever, your lip still staining her lower lip. “There’s a table at Evelyn’s”.
"Open the book. (The gilt rubs off the edges of the pages and pollinates the fingertips.)" - Elizabeth Bishop
I’ve done some house keeping (took me four hours) enjoy! Requests are open, you don’t ask you don’t get. Open to write for any series and ship down to my own discretion.
Law and Order: Calex
Calex ‘trailer trash’ series - What if they were neighbours? -
Part 4 - ‘For what it’s Worth’
Part 3 - ‘This Year’s Love’
Part 2 - ‘Long as I can see the light’
Part 1 - ‘Mary Jane’
Calex Knight/Princess AU -
Part 2 - ‘Neon Moon’
Part 1 - ‘Every time the sun comes up’
Calex Ex’s series ‘One more day’ -
Full series on Ao3 ‘One more day’
Chapter 6 - ‘Nothings gonna hurt you baby’
Calex One Shots -
‘Holy’ - Fighter Casey x Reporter Alex
Calex Date Night - Pictures
Calex New Year’s Eve Part - Pictures
‘Cherry wine’ - Ex wives fic
Alex’s phone - Picture
Casey’s phone - Picture
‘Doctor My Eyes’ - Paramedic Casey x Doctor Alex
‘Rosemary’ - Calex Date
‘Planted In My Mind’- Calex’s goodbye
A Whiter Shade of Pale - Calex Wedding?
Law and Order: Cabenson
Cabenson Lovers series - ‘Never enough’
Full series on Ao3 - ‘Never enough’
Part 1
Part 2
Cabenson One Shots -
Cabenson Engagement Party - Pictures
Alex’s Phone - Pictures
Olivia’s phone - Pictures
‘From Both Sides Now’ - Politician Alex x Secret service Olivia.
‘The Giver’- A hot day at the precinct
‘Help me make it through the night’- Cabenson Wedding.
Adhd vs Autism girlfriends - Multiship
Law and Order: Alex Cabot
Boss Alex Cabot Series -
Part 1 - ‘Cherry Blossom’
Part 2 - ‘Killer Queen’
Part 3 - ‘Why’d you only call me when you’re high?’
Part 4 - ‘Hot Blooded’
Part 5 - ‘Her Life’
Part 6 - ‘Bella Donna’
Part 7 - ‘Girl’
Part 8 - ‘What I’m doing here’
Alex Cabot x Reader One shots -
‘Back to Black’ - Ex wife Alex Cabot
‘Oh darling’ - Girlfriend Alex Cabot
Law and Order: Casey Novak
Casey Novak x Reader One shots -
‘Like a Prayer’ - Neighbour Casey Novak
Law and Order: Cabenovak
Cabenovak One Shots -
‘Oh me Oh my’ - What if they were farmers Au
Law and Order: Multiple Couples
‘Nom de plume’ - An assumed name - Full series on Ao3
Title page
Part 1 - ‘Maybe Tomorrow’
Part 2 - ‘How unlucky can one man be’
Sneak Peek
Bridgerton: Eloise Bridgerton
Creloise Affair series -
Part 4 ‘Love grows’
Part 3 ‘Must be a dream’
Part 2 ‘Home’
Part 1 ‘A case of you’
Creloise Lovers series -
‘If I betray you, I betray myself’ - Secret relationship, Modern.
‘To Lady Crane with Love’ - Love letters
‘Learn to speak’ - Secret Relationship, Cannon
Creloise One shots -
Cressida’s Phone - Pictures
‘My swan, My dove’ - insomnia
‘Mirror’ - Ballet Au
‘Oh finally’ - First kiss
‘Together’ - Proposal
Creloise back ground - Pictures
Creloise as parents
‘Between two points’ - Plane crash AU
‘Coffee and Ice cream’ - Divorce AU
‘Growing pains’ - Baby AU
‘Flash Cards’ - Dating with Kids AU
‘Little moon’ - Daring with Kids AU
Adhd vs Autism girlfriends - Multiship
Eloise x Original Female Character -
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Sneak peek
Marvel: WandaNat
WandaNat Affiar series -
‘Red handed’
‘Why won’t you be mine’
WandaNat One Shots -
‘Expansion’ - Proposal
‘One more minute’ - Death AU
Adhd vs Autism girlfriends - Multiship
‘Mommy’ - Kids AU
Marvel: Wanda Maximoff
Wanda Maximoff x Reader One Shots -
‘Two Platforms’ - Meet cute AU
Y/N’s phone - Pictures
‘The unexpected’ - Accidental pregnancy AU
Marvel Agatha Harkness:
Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal One shots -
‘Death’ - Rio’s return
Agatha Harkness c Agatha Harkness One Shots -
‘Learn to love it’ - Selfcest
Y/N’s phone - pictures
Marvel: Yelena Belova
Yelena Belova x Reader One shots -
‘Beetlejuice’ - Jealous Yelena
Other Fandom Content:
The chilling adventures of Sabrina: Madam Spellman
Boss Alex Cabot?! Whose favourite food is Chinese from that hovel in midtown. You pick it up late, catch her in the office while she works into the night. She’s been ignoring you for days.
Her door is cracked open - as always. Always open after 5pm.
She glances over her glasses, “I’m sure I told you to go home.”
You mused fluffing your hair where the light rain had tangled it, slipping your coat onto a hook by the door. Her own swaying beside it the faint scent of pomegranate emitted, pressed into your own. As everything about her did, it merged, pillaged, rendered your own.
“And I’m sure I told you the exact same thing.” You bit back, ignoring her glare as you set about emptying the plastic bag. Warm container of soup dumplings, sticky rice and seaweed spread out between post-its and deposition prep. “Guess neither of us are getting what we want.” You huffed settling yourself into the chair opposite her own. The curve of your body contoured to the fabric, your honorary placement.
Earned.
“Is this your way of apologising for the other night?”
“This is my way of eating.”
The blonde huffed again glaring at you, “I’m not hungry.”
“Too bad.” You smirked, cracking open a set of chopsticks, “I know for a fact this was a fresh batch.”
The blonde watched in awe as you expertly placed a dumpling between your lips, biting into the flesh, groaning at the flavour. Yet you did not take another bite, instead you leaned across the desk, palm pressed against the wood, gripping the edge as you offered the dumpling up. Tiny indentation of teeth revealing the soft flavours beneath.
“Open up.” You directed.
Alex rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded oddly like-
Brat.
-as she reluctantly leaned forward. Baring those irrevocably soft lips, the sharp dip of her teeth. Because she went to the dentist religiously - you handle her calender, order the stupidly expensive skin oils from India.
Not because you’d read her flesh, for years, watching, as though a pilgrim and she a foreign land. You’d learnt the language, yet this is not your home. Homes do not have locked gates and fences, sacred places do. And if anything you were a martyr.
The groan that emitted from her as she swallowed however, felt enough. Worthy of the rain, the time and resource taken to achieve such a feat.
Worthy of your prayers. The skin off your knees.
Alex hummed gently, her eyes falling closed as you swiped the fallen broth from the corner of her lips.
A single eye cracked open at the contact, fluttering at the attention. Watching you as you pulled back, immediately sucking the liquid from the pad of your thumb. Philtre.
“See.” You winked sucking the tip of your nail, “delicious.”
Alex bit her lip. Hands flexed against her pen before it suddenly hit the desk, palm flat as she pushed her chair back. Walking around the desk with an assumed persuasive tone, her hip knocked against your chair. Turning you abruptly forward. It all happened so fast.
She’s in your lap.
Practically.
One hand wrapped into the arm of the chair, her other curled into the headrest. Her elbow resting at her shoulder, pushing you into the chair. Her body draped so lowly to you, you couldn’t believe her feet still reached the floor. Which they were, the tail tell sign of her heel scraping against the vinyl as she settled.
Face inches from yours, vision suddenly adopting a hue as a halo of blonde surrounded you - her forehead so very close to resting upon your own. If only she allowed the heights the level, her chest lay flat against your own, yet she remained tall, arching herself back - looming down at you.
If you were able to, you’d have swallowed.
“Honey. If you keep this attitude up, I won’t continue playing so nicely.” The hand above your head dropped, nails pushing into her cheek. She traced the lines of your face.
“This is you playing nice?” You scoffed, you couldn’t help it.
The slap that followed, rattled your head. It wasn’t particularly hard, rather unexpected and sharp.
You grasp, body instantly jolting at the sensation, forcing the blonde closer towards you. Your hands flying up to her arse waist.
Alex faulted for a moment. You saw it, the eclipse. As your thumbs found dimples. Your fingers curled. She leisurely glancing over her shoulder before looking directly at you.
Heights matched.
Wide eyes met blue.
You went to move your hands, her own capturing your wrist - holding it in place. Your other followed form.
She cocked her brow.
“I think this is me playing very—very nicely, don’t you sweetheart?”
Not hours, however late enough that it’s going to cost you. She’s already decided.
You slip in through the back, handing your coat to some waiter and passing through the kitchen onto the floor. Snagging a glass of champagne from the closest vendor. You circle, yet she’s too preluded.
Her hand grasping the elbow of an investments banker. Her tongue inching just that breath too close as she carrels him into another donation. The silk of her dress draped at his knee as she crossed her legs. Leaning back on the arm of his chair, winking as another guest navigated the conversation.
Counting to keep your posture straight just fluster, the blondes eyes on you as you head towards the bar.
That’s when Casey Novak finds you.
“Late,” she says with a half smile. “here I was thinking she kept you on a tight leash.”
She grinned with her smooth charm, eyes a little too curious. You had to admit she was gorgeous. Her voice accented in your ear, “You clean up well. Think she noticed?” And instead of stepping away — you smiled. Laughed even.
Hooking your palm at Casey’s arm. As her lips brushed the apple of your cheek. You huff a short laugh as you push her gently. “Wishful thinking?”
“Maybe.” Her gaze flicks toward Alex. “She’s been very well-behaved tonight.”
She orders a drink. You hate that she’s interesting. However Casey could only take so much avoiding eye contact, glancing over your shoulder. The redhead leaned down, kissing the side of your face again, whispering, “She noticed, you know. The second you walked in, I know because I saw you too.”
You exhale, tension shifting from your neck to your stomach. Casey’s hand drawing down the exposed section of your spine.
Alex had picked your dress. You knew she would be watching, though you’re too fearful to look.
You down your drink, ignoring how it tips out the corners of your mouth. Wiping it away as you excuse yourself to the restroom. The scratch of anxiety itching at your chest as you press your wrists into the cold tap.
You don’t realize how tense your shoulders were until you’re standing in front of the mirror, alone. Drawn back? Larger, defensive.
The lights above hum quietly, casting soft gold across the cool marble sink. The door behind you has clicked shut, leaving the noise of the fundraiser muted, distant.
You press your palms into the countertop, head bowed slightly. You don’t need to look up. You already know.
You meet her in the mirror.
Clearing your throat. “I—”
“Don’t.” Her hand raises towards you, a single finger pointing at you as the others curl into her glass.
Your turn towards her, straightening your dress briefly before forcing yourself to meet her gaze. Chin held high even as she processed you. Presenting yourself.
Taking a sip, she hums, squinting slightly as she mulls her options. Pressing the martini glass into her chest, folding her arms as she
walks forward, slow and measured.
“Turn back around” She orders, each step is practiced, barely a sound on the tile. Looking you up and down.
Yet you clutch the sink tighter as you turn. Unsure of where exactly she stood in the room.
She doesn’t stop until she’s in your space. Close. Her body radiates warmth yet you shiver. The silk material of her dress, lapping against your exposed back.
You chance a glance in the mirror.
“You’re late,” she says quietly. Her nose awfully close to your ear as she brushes your hair out of the way.
You open your mouth, but her eyes drop to your mouth, then collar and you forget what you were going to say. She’s watching your over your shoulder, her gaze heavy. Her bun has softened at the edges, strands of blonde framing her flushed face.
She frowns, you could practically feel her skin contract against your neck.
“You made me wait,” she says, voice quiet and clean. Her earrings catch the light. Her thumb brushes against your ribs. A slow, steady pressure.
You couldn’t dare yourself to speak.
“You want to be seen,” she says, breath warm as her lips press to your cheek “Is that it?”, Her hand lifts. Knuckles brushing the side of your neck, trailing up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. The back of her fingers slide along your jaw before her palm rests against your throat. Squeezing.
Then she leans in, not too fast. Her movements slow, soft, careful. Deliberate. Her mouth hovers near your ear.
And then — she bites.
Her teeth sink in just enough to leave the imprint, just enough to make your hand twitch against the sink and back arch against her chest.
You gasp, quietly. Her gripped loosened, her hand drawing away with a gently tap xxagainst your windpipe.
Her lips trace the place where her teeth were. “You embarrassed me.”
Her hand comes to rest at your waist now. The heat of it sears through the fabric.
“And I’ll forgive you.”
She lets that linger — her mouth still near your ear.
“But not tonight.” She steps back an inch, enough to see your face. To see your reaction as she pulls your hips harshly into hers.
“You’ll make it up to me,” she whispers with a simple kiss on the cheek, she fluffs your hair. Wipes your chin with the pad of her thumb as she pulls back.
You can do little but nods, her skin already heated with bruising. The embarrassment stood little chance against the guilt you felt.
She adjusts the strap of her gown. Runs two fingers across the inner curve of her mouth, as she bends over the sink. Nudging you aside, clearing her smudged lipstick.
“Try not to embarrass yourself again.” She stated with a pop of her lips, now freshly reapplied. She walked away.
@iwoulddieforher I lost your ask because of course I did. Not at all what you asked for either ahah.
Neighbour Casey Novak?! Who always seems to be in the hallway between your apartments at the worst of times.
Like when you got locked out after a rave down town, covered in UV paint and smelling like a brewery.
Typically dressed to the nines, her hair being the only true depiction of her day. She’d leave perfectly tamed only for it to deteriorate throughout work. She has that habit of putting her hands in her hair, you noticed it with every passing conversation.
She’s usually wittering on the phone to someone, yet always stops to smile at you. Her hip cocked to keep the elevator open gesturing for you to get on first.
You avoided being in enclosed spaces with her since you’d spilt laundry detergent all over your favourite sweater when she appeared behind you in the communal laundry room.
“Hey there hotstuff.” She’d breathe out, her chest mere inches from your back.
She always smelt of something thick, like oil, it’s floral. Lavender? Though it isn’t peppery or sweet, it’s just Casey… and that mingled with the inevitable sweat that covered her body after softball practice. It was your undoing.
The camomile scent bleeding out over you as you squeezed the bottle in response.
“Someone’s excited to see me.” She laughed, looking over your shoulder at the mess. Strong, calloused hands gracing over your bare skin as she turned your shaking body towards her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up honey.”
You’d struggled not to bite your lip as she fussed over you, your back pressed to the washer as she gently scrubbed the stain from your clothing.
She’d insisted you take it off, your only regret now that you’d worn different underwear as you glanced down at the near see through, Stars and Stripes bra you had on > it was hardly your fault all that was left on wash day was from a Fourth of July boat party in college.
“Very patriotic.” Casey mused as she rolled the sweater from your body. A small laugh escaping her at the bewildered look on your face.
“It’s uh— it’s old.” You’d argued, failing to notice how often the other woman’s gaze had flicked towards you as she leant over the washer tending to the spill. Yet your focus remained aimed at the soft rise of her shirt. The smooth strip of her lower back that revealed a tattoo of a dragon, that curved between the dimples above her arse.
This woman was seriously trying to kill you. Turning to push the fabric over your head. The backs of her fingers gracing your neck as she fixes the collar.
“There.” She grinned, purposefully brushing down your front. Your own nails curling into the detergent draw behind you. “Good as new.” She whispered cheeky as she lent in and tucked a strand of hair away from your cheek.
“Thank you.” You jittered out, focusing on the hand which now grasped your own. Folded over yours as it clung to the plastic draw.
“Anytime.” Casey grinned, still utterly invading your personal space. You glance down to catch the shimmer of silver that lay against her neck, a familiar ring resting against her chest. One that used to reside on her finger.
She pulls back, fluffing her hair with an informed laugh. Removing her items from the washer beside yours before clutching a stupidly red basket to her waist.
“I’ll uh see you around Y/N, try to stay out of trouble yeh?”
“You too—“ you stupidly agreed, nodding without thinking as you stalked the woman’s exit from the room.
“Oh Y/N.” She called again, her head hung cross the door frame.
“Yes Casey?”
“If you ever want somebody to.” She stalled stepping back into the room. No more than three steps between you as she exaggerated a stretch. Shirt bunching, lifting to revel she was in fact not wearing underwear similar to you - in fact she wore none at all. Her hand drifts through the air, playing with you as though collecting her words.
You knew better than to accept Casey didn’t know what she was doing, the smirk that lay persistently against her face when she spoke to you said different.
“If you ever want someone to be…” again she stopped, taking that final step towards you, her laundry basket trapped against your ribs as her view traced your shape. “Patriotic with.” She ended with the briefest lick of her bottom lip. So close to your own that you could almost taste it. “You let me know.”
You barely even registered that she’d left the room, only the lingering scent of lavender as proof that you hadn’t imagined the entire thing.
Boss Alex Cabot?! Whose skin flushes when she’s drunk.
It starts as a soft glow to her cheeks, any semblance of a smile felt brighter - relaxed. She’d had a glass to herself before she’d shared the matter, taking her time to spread the condensation from the glass. Her thumb swiping across the back of your hand as you took it.
“Y/N” she sighed, you were in her apartment on a Saturday night, missing dinner with friends just to catch a moment with her.
She needed a file.
It’s almost eleven pm she’d known about your plans, yet she still asked you to break them. She had that right of you and part of you, shameful didn’t care at all.
Yet softly the blush grew, her jaw impossibly defined by flushed of red that lead down her chest. Each breath she took drawing you to her neckline.
“Do you think I have a stern face?” Alex questioned suddenly, she sat on the kitchen cabinet. Glass of wine in hand. You never thought seeing Alexandra Cabot in low rise blue jeans and a blue sweater would be your down fall.
You just can’t stop staring at her, how her bangs fall as her glasses rest on top on her head. The cool pink of lips that she has a habit of damping before every sip.
There’s still empty take out containers and case files around you.
“My mother says I’ve always been stern faced.” She continues without an answer, you chance a glance at her face from where you lean across from her. She’s paying you no attention, as usual tilting her wine glass to see her reflection. There’s a spark of venerability to it. “She keep suggesting Botox, it’s punctuated with a pull to the side of her eye.
Only meeting your gaze when her eye watered from the attention. She was always so brutal with herself, you tried not to notice how she wince each time she insisted on wearing heels after the gym. Typically ending with her walking round in stocking clad feet. Or didn’t sleep, how often her face felt hollow before morning coffee.
Yet you couldn’t find her anymore delightful, it was a curse truly, she was vapid at the best of times you’d seen her turn men to mush on the stand. She teased and demanded you constantly, you took it willing with the promise of hearing her laugh.
“I think your face is fine as it is counsellor.” You state, as though a matter of fact, shifting slightly towards her. Her legs curling round your hips as you shrug whispering over the edge of your glass. “The closest I’ve seen to perfect.”
You’re struggling to keep your hands in an appropriate place, wanting nothing more than to chase the deep rouge that flooded her flesh. Her collar prominent, grasping your free hand and pulling it around her waist. Your thumb soothing circles to her back.
Then she laughed, that harrowing, endless feeling of warmth collected you. As though what you said was so utterly outrageous.
“Well thank you baby.” She’d shoot back lowly, her gaze down cast to greet yours as she winked.
