you’re known to have a soft spot for a bev and girl that’s fruity, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that in the past two hours you had downed five pornstar martinis & ogled at the resident doctor you work with everyday.
꩜ current warnings: age gap, alcohol & drunk behaviour, cassie remains sober 🤍.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ it’s been about four years since i last wrote/published something & im quite nervous about posting again so decided to put out a little teaser to help with the anxiety ^__^ hope you enjoy!
cassie stands by the entrance of the bar, the cold evening air makes goosebumps stand on her bare arms. her head gently comes into contact with the brick wall she’s leaned up against and she lets out a heavy sigh, channeling all of her regret that she forgot to bring a jacket into one exhale.
does she think it was a stupid decision to come out and ‘babysit’ her coworkers who are half her age? maybe. but does she regret doing that? well she would have, but fortunately you were there. so, in her head, the cold breeze that ruffles her bangs and the streetlight that shines a little too yellow for her liking is all worth it.
the wooden doors of the bar open and the sound of whitaker and santos having a duet in the open mic karaoke spills out onto the street. a short chuckle escapes her lips as she turns towards you, who’s walking (more like wobbling) out of the building, your heels clicking and clacking onto the pavement and your bracelets clinking as a way to announce your entrance, or exit.
“oh cassie!” you finally spot her and lunge into her arms.
the older woman mutters an amused ‘woah there’ as she catches you, your skin is soft against hers and somehow the contact makes the goosebumps on cassie’s skin stand taller. your face buries into her chest and your giggles get muffled into her tank top. she tries her best to steady you back on your feet, but you fight her every move, seemingly content with staying cuddled up in her arms in the dead streets of pittsburgh.
“where’s everyone else?” mckay mutters into your hair, having given up on getting you upright. her hand moves like it has a mind of its own and finds its way into your hair, fingers gently combing through each strand.
in response to that, you give her a shrug, currently not in the right mind to give her a proper answer. all you’re concerned with is how good cassie smells and how warm she is compared to the freezing september night.
once again, cassie knows its wrong. she’s known that this whole time. she chants it in her head like a mantra when she finds herself getting too curious about that tattoo on your chest, when her hands itch to pull the fabric of your top down to see what the rest of your inked skin looks like. or when she catches herself ogling at the way the denim of your jeans stretches over the swell of your ass and the lowrise cut reveals the dimples that you have on your back. not even the sound of your heels hitting the ground is safe from cassie’s perverse thoughts.
it’s all so wrong.
but then you look up at her, chin resting on her chest, eyes glossed over and glimmering under the yellow streetlights that she no longer hates so much. your inebriated gaze does so much to her that she finds it hard to breathe, finds it difficult to respond when you give her an inquisitive hum, wordlessly asking what's on her mind.
”hows yous been?” you snicker with your bottom lip tugged in between your teeth.
“never been better.” she responds.
from your slurred speech to your incorrect grammar, cassie nearly cries in frustration as she yells ‘this is wrong’ in her head. she shifts her gaze onto the middle of your forehead, a pathetic attempt to escape your stare and not fall into whatever it was you were doing to her right now.
a silence settles between the two of you. cassie holds you firmly in her arms, afraid that you’d lose your balance and fall if she loosened her grip, while you continue to stare up at her, studying her features. the soft slope of her nose, her bangs haphazardly falling over her forehead and nearly covering her tantalizing blue eyes. you want to push it away and see her eyes clearly. you want to run your fingers down the curve of her nose and feel her skin on the tips of your fingers.
you’re not sure what gives you the courage to do so, certainly not the five cocktails that you had in the last two hours, but slowly you reach up and graze your fingers against cassie’s fringe.
and from the corner of her eye, cassie sees your hand slowly come up to brush her bangs out of her face. she freezes, your touch feeling foreign on her skin, but not unwelcomed. as the tips of your fingers trace the outline of her nose and then her lips, they leave a trail of sparks in their wake, making her cheeks heat up and body tingle.
“shoulds we hooks up?” you suddenly blurt, the scent of alcohol evident on your breath.
Dennis absolutely despises Garcia. Not because she’s loudly fucking his roommate when he’s trying to sleep or study, though he’s not a fan of that.
He hates her because he can hear Santos crying late at night and already knows who is to blame. Santos has rose colored glasses around her, but he doesn’t. He can see how cruel she is to his best friend.
He hates how Garcia never cares about how Santos feels, how she walks all over her just because she can. He watches and realizes that Garcia genuinely sees Trinity as less than her, like she’s nothing more than, as she so aptly put it, a stress ball.
He learns to cook Santos’s favorite foods and listens to her rant over bowls of Sinigang because she deserves to have at least one person who cares like Yolanda should. His guard is always up around the older woman, loyalty to his pseudo sister making his blood boil.
you’re known to have a soft spot for a bev and girl that’s fruity, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that in the past two hours you had downed five pornstar martinis & ogled at the resident doctor you work with everyday.
꩜ current warnings: age gap, alcohol & drunk behaviour, cassie remains sober 🤍.
ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ it’s been about four years since i last wrote/published something & im quite nervous about posting again so decided to put out a little teaser to help with the anxiety ^__^ hope you enjoy!
cassie stands by the entrance of the bar, the cold evening air makes goosebumps stand on her bare arms. her head gently comes into contact with the brick wall she’s leaned up against and she lets out a heavy sigh, channeling all of her regret that she forgot to bring a jacket into one exhale.
does she think it was a stupid decision to come out and ‘babysit’ her coworkers who are half her age? maybe. but does she regret doing that? well she would have, but fortunately you were there. so, in her head, the cold breeze that ruffles her bangs and the streetlight that shines a little too yellow for her liking is all worth it.
the wooden doors of the bar open and the sound of whitaker and santos having a duet in the open mic karaoke spills out onto the street. a short chuckle escapes her lips as she turns towards you, who’s walking (more like wobbling) out of the building, your heels clicking and clacking onto the pavement and your bracelets clinking as a way to announce your entrance, or exit.
“oh cassie!” you finally spot her and lunge into her arms.
the older woman mutters an amused ‘woah there’ as she catches you, your skin is soft against hers and somehow the contact makes the goosebumps on cassie’s skin stand taller. your face buries into her chest and your giggles get muffled into her tank top. she tries her best to steady you back on your feet, but you fight her every move, seemingly content with staying cuddled up in her arms in the dead streets of pittsburgh.
“where’s everyone else?” mckay mutters into your hair, having given up on getting you upright. her hand moves like it has a mind of its own and finds its way into your hair, fingers gently combing through each strand.
in response to that, you give her a shrug, currently not in the right mind to give her a proper answer. all you’re concerned with is how good cassie smells and how warm she is compared to the freezing september night.
once again, cassie knows its wrong. she’s known that this whole time. she chants it in her head like a mantra when she finds herself getting too curious about that tattoo on your chest, when her hands itch to pull the fabric of your top down to see what the rest of your inked skin looks like. or when she catches herself ogling at the way the denim of your jeans stretches over the swell of your ass and the lowrise cut reveals the dimples that you have on your back. not even the sound of your heels hitting the ground is safe from cassie’s perverse thoughts.
it’s all so wrong.
but then you look up at her, chin resting on her chest, eyes glossed over and glimmering under the yellow streetlights that she no longer hates so much. your inebriated gaze does so much to her that she finds it hard to breathe, finds it difficult to respond when you give her an inquisitive hum, wordlessly asking what's on her mind.
”hows yous been?” you snicker with your bottom lip tugged in between your teeth.
“never been better.” she responds.
from your slurred speech to your incorrect grammar, cassie nearly cries in frustration as she yells ‘this is wrong’ in her head. she shifts her gaze onto the middle of your forehead, a pathetic attempt to escape your stare and not fall into whatever it was you were doing to her right now.
a silence settles between the two of you. cassie holds you firmly in her arms, afraid that you’d lose your balance and fall if she loosened her grip, while you continue to stare up at her, studying her features. the soft slope of her nose, her bangs haphazardly falling over her forehead and nearly covering her tantalizing blue eyes. you want to push it away and see her eyes clearly. you want to run your fingers down the curve of her nose and feel her skin on the tips of your fingers.
you’re not sure what gives you the courage to do so, certainly not the five cocktails that you had in the last two hours, but slowly you reach up and graze your fingers against cassie’s fringe.
and from the corner of her eye, cassie sees your hand slowly come up to brush her bangs out of her face. she freezes, your touch feeling foreign on her skin, but not unwelcomed. as the tips of your fingers trace the outline of her nose and then her lips, they leave a trail of sparks in their wake, making her cheeks heat up and body tingle.
“shoulds we hooks up?” you suddenly blurt, the scent of alcohol evident on your breath.
how to get thru writers block:
fall into an academically induced depression and find a new piece of media to obsessively cope with 🤍 trust yall, the moment ure faced with a life altering decision that could greatly impact ur future, all the creativity just starts running (also realizing ure a lesbian and writing about women is just a lot easier for u)
theartofmadeline
titsay
andulkaphoto
amandla
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
