it's not subtle at all, the way her pert smile drops upon hearing him explode. celeste's brows twitch. there's a beat of hesitation before they furrow into a proper frown. "wait," she demands quietly, scrambling to rationalize his outburst. "you're serious right now? he brushed past me. that's all." nevermind the way his touch lingered, or how comfortable he seemed putting his hands on her. celeste's arms unfolded as she spoke, hands frantically gesturing. "you think --- you think that i have time to line up some other guy between work and rehearsals?"

celeste's chest aches, it's taken everything in her to ignore the hurt feeling swelling inside of her. instead, she takes a breath. forces her expression to - settle. acknowledges, with a grimy feeling, that she does have something of a reputation. that adam isn't -- wrong, to worry. to get angry. still, it's not a realization that makes her feel particularly kind towards herself, her past.

celeste's gaze lingers on the hands raking through his hair. the frustration spilling out. the hurt in his tone. her steely expression softens, and she commits to shuffling closer, hand tentatively reaching out to flatten a wrinkle out of his shirt.

"well, the whole 'dating my mother' thing never scared me off. it didn't stop us much, either -- i'll give you that." darcy glances away from him -- or rather, away from his reflection in her vanity. returns focus back to her own reflected image instead, carefully patting more shimmer onto her pouty mouth.

can't help but hope that he's still watching her through the mirror.

she told her parents that it was only going to be dinner -- a private and intimate affair, really, at the girl's favorite restaurant. she'd even sent a few photos to her mother; the first whenever her plate arrived and then the next immediately after, whenever she and all the other girls bunched together tightly for a group photo. her mother only reacted to the image with a simple thumbs-up, but suki could feel the unease behind it. could picture her ammi, thumb hovering over the telephone icon and struggling not to call her for the third time in the hour. she'd typed a hurried response, then, to keep it from ringing. thank you for trusting me, ammi! she wrote. for letting me spend some time with my friends. she'd made so few friends so far into the semester; her gratefulness was far from exaggerated. her response was left with a 'seen' notice. the silence that followed it felt permissive.

that was earlier.

now, it's well past midnight. the group splintered apart after dinner, with some opting to go home and the rest (including the birthday girl) insisting on a late night bar crawl. suki knew she should have stayed behind. should have shyly asked one of the early birds if she could maybe get a ride home -- my abbu doesn't like to drive so late at night, but for some odd reason, she was compelled to stay out. maybe it was the birthday girl's teasing, or maybe it was just suki's own desire to catch a glimpse of the city's nightlife. she wasn't sure; all she knew was that she was becoming increasingly nervous the longer she stood dumbly* near a vacant pool table. they'd disappeared into the bathroom in a cluster of tipsy giggles, and suki felt dangerously out of place; she'd only had a sip of something bubbly and fermented before she hastily returned to her glass of alcohol-free cherry juice at dinner, so she hadn't joined the bathroom brigade. maybe that was a mistake.

it's beginning to dawn on her that she's a little too dressed up for the wrong side of town. she glances down at her little kitten heels and grips onto the wristlet of her handbag, nervously twisting it between her fingers. suddenly, she feels a little mortified that she'd borrowed some lipstick from her mother. it's with a new resolve that she suddenly pivots forward, dodging laughing bodies and drunken stumblers, and makes her way to the bar. she awkwardly shifts onto an unoccupied stool, leaning over the sticky surface to ask about a charger in a meek yet polite voice.

inspired by ... that's my girl by russ

muse ... wyatt davenport. 40 - 45. writer.

to be clear, celeste had every intention of sleeping in.

really, she probably should have after the evening she'd had. rehearsal had been dragged on and then on again, well into the night. the stage crew ran into some trouble with the lights and for whatever reason, that meant it was the cast's problem too. celeste hadn't even gotten out until late -- and even then, a certain someone had lured her to his with the promise of dinner and a movie.

they hadn't even bothered with the movie before celeste was being thoroughly fucked on the couch --  eventually, they'd made it to the bedroom which is where she'd woken. for the first few minutes, she glared at his window and the thin curtains that didn't even bother blocking out light. eventually, though, she caught sight of something stirring under the covers and descended upon him.

it was a sudden and restless urge that she didn't even bother talking herself out of before her lips wrapped around his throbbing member. she realized with a sigh that she could taste herself on him still. it made her cunt pulse and ache, honeyed thighs clenching tightly in response. she told herself it was for him. a thanks for dinner. in truth, she knew it was for herself, too: it was a thrill to see him undone before his eyes had even opened.

celeste's tongue laved wetly over his cockhead as she waited for him to fully stir. couldn't help but lap at the bead of precum crowning his head, greedy; her eyes slid shut while she slowly swallowed more of his thick cock. she'd meant to get more of him fit into the wet suck of her throat before a familiar hand threaded into her hair. quick, she peeled off some; just enough to peer up at him with her watery eyes. celeste didn't fight it whenever he used his grip to guide her head back down, until her throat ached and her own spit began to coat her chin.

swallowing cyclically, her throat spasmed around his length. it caused spit to dribble from the corners of her lips. still, celeste did not raise her head; only continued to suck. she'd made it to the root of his cock, lips touching his pubic bone, before she finally pulled back for air, gasping. she screwed her teary eyes shut, fingers curling around the base of his cock in absence of her hot mouth.

if camille tries to look on good side of things, there's no way they'll deny her a restraining order now. however, the bad overweighs the good in this situation. he now knows where she lives and he's at her door when no one else in this apartment is up.

her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to slam the door in his face. that's what any person with rational thinking would do. and yet, she can't bring herself to do it. "was that before the time you hit me or after the time you threw a plate at my head? sorry, i'm having trouble remembering." the bitterness was evident in her snarky tone, eyes narrowing in his direction.

it's irrational. it's such a tiny fucking thing to fixate on -- but coyo's never been the most rational, and he's never liked sharing what's his. he notices that she still hasn't closed the door: it's only a matter of time before she does. "i thought maybe you'd be happy to see me." he remarks lowly, crown bumping into the doorframe. his brow furrows, as if contemplative. "thought maybe you'd have outgrown those grudges you like to keep.

i forget that you never wanted to give me the time to explain, to make things right. fuck -- you know, it's not like you never lost your temper with me, either, cami." he wears a smile, shy of incredulous. "you've never been helpless. don't play the part now. you're doing yourself a disservice."

winona had been pacing in her apartment since she had checked her doorbell camera. seeing coyo on her screen had sent a chill down her spine. it had been about a year since she had last seen him. but she had spent most of that time looking over her shoulder, living in paranoia that he would find her once more.

briefly, as she peeked at him from the safety of the doorway, coyotl wondered if she’d always been so timid -- so frightful. he couldn’t quite recall. he surmised that the months they’d spent apart had simply been too long, too much on her.

coyo soon leaned his weight against the doorframe; it was like a test, the way he leered just barely into her space. a test to see how much harder he could press, what she would give and what he would take. a lazy smile crept upon his features at the thought.

“you’re already blushing, muñeca.” he remarked smoothly, conveniently floating past her questions. “surely you missed me.”

similarly, romeo's head drops back against the loveseat as he barks out a laugh. maybe his response is mean, adds insult to injury -- really, he doubts that. cam's only pouting.