Aly

You weren’t crying, not yet. But it was close.

You walked with your head down, footsteps quiet, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. The case you’d just closed had wrecked something in you. It wasn’t the worst one you’d seen on paper, but it was the way the victim looked at you in the interview room. The way their voice cracked. The way the verdict felt like a hollow win.

It hurt.

You just needed five minutes. Somewhere silent. Somewhere away from the break room laughter and the noise of veterans catching up on war stories you weren’t part of yet.

You spotted an empty office and opened the door without thinking.

Except, it wasn’t empty.

Casey Novak was seated behind her desk, mid-sentence in something she was writing. Her pen stilled, and her gaze flicked up.

“Oh,” she said, not startled, just curious. “Do you need something? Might be hard to get a court order at this hour but I can try”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then blinked rapidly, already half-turned to leave.

“No, sorry, I thought this office was empty. I wasn’t, I’m not,” you forced a short breath, “I didn’t mean to barge in.”

You tried to leave quickly, but her voice stopped you.

“Hey. Wait.” There was no edge in it, no judgment, just something steady and warm. “Are you alright detective?”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, but the words wobbled. Too soft. Too thin.

Casey stood slowly and came around her desk, not too close. She wasn’t looking at you like a prosecutor. She was looking at you like someone who noticed the flicker behind your eyes. The kind of flicker she’s seen too many times.

She moved to a small kettle on a side table and flicked it on. “Sit down,” she said gently. “You look like you’ve had one of those days.”

You hesitated.

Casey didn’t pressure you. She just poured hot water into two mismatched mugs and set a bag of chamomile into one of them.

You sat, stiffly, on the edge of the couch.

She handed you the mug and sat back behind her desk. “Want to talk about it?”

You stared into the tea. “It was just a bad case.”

“Bad like heavy?” she asked. “Or bad like frustrating?”

“Heavy.” You shrugged, like you were trying to downplay it. “I know I’m supposed to be tougher. But sometimes, when the victim reminds you of your little cousin, or the perp walks like someone you used to know, it just… hits different.”

Casey nodded, not interrupting.

“And I don’t really… fit in with the squad yet,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “They’ve all known each other for years. The outsider feeling is just...hard”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t dismiss it.

Instead, she said, “That’s exactly how I felt when I started here.”

You blinked. “Really?”

She gave a soft smile. “Yea, I was probably around your age when I started here. Olivia and Elliot...yeah, they were hard to deal with".

That cracked something open in your chest.

"They don’t tell you that the hardest part of this job isn’t the blood or the cases. It’s carrying everything alone until someone lets you in.”

“I usually sneak into empty rooms to breathe,” you said after a moment. “Didn’t realize this one was yours.”

“I’m glad you chose mine,” she said quietly.

You looked up, startled. But she was back at her paperwork, sipping her own tea like she hadn’t just said something that made your pulse trip.

“You can stay if you want,” she added, eyes still on the page. "That old couch is more comfy than what it looks. And I don’t mind the company.”

You nodded slowly, your body still wound tight. But the couch was soft enough. And her voice was softer.

Somewhere between the warmth of the tea and the scratch of her pen on paper, your eyes grew heavy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But when you blinked awake, the room was dim. Her desk lamp was the only light.

And you were covered by her coat, light blue, soft, and warm with a faint scent of her perfume clinging to the fabric.

“Hey y/n” Casey said whispering. She stood there with a warm smile.

You sat up quickly, flustered. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry,”

“You needed it.”

Your hair was a mess. You probably had drool on your sleeve. But she didn’t look at you with anything but quiet understanding.

“I’m heading out,” she said gently. “You need a ride?”

You blinked. “Are you serious?

“I wouldn’t offer if I weren’t.” She grabbed her keys. “Unless you’ve got another ride. Like a… detective carpool I’m unaware of?”

You snorted, cheeks still warm. “No, no carpool.”

“Then let’s go.”

The car ride was quiet. Comfortable. Music low, city lights passing in a blur.

When she pulled up in front of your building, you reached for the door handle, and she stopped you with a soft, “Hey.”

You looked over.

“If you ever need anything, or if you just want somewhere quiet to breathe, my office is always open. Even if it’s not technically empty.”

You smiled thanking her, heart racing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were in Casey's office, napping on her couch when you suddenly heard the door open. It was her.

"Morning y/n" Casey said smirking. She walked towards you, taking off her coat, leaving it on the ground as she crawled on top of you, her lips almost brushing yours.

"You really like it here don't you detective?"

You were too stunned to speak.

"Well, I have a case you need to solve...how did my shirt get there?" You followed her finger to her desk and when you looked back at her, she was only wearing a bra.

Then you woke up.

"Oh God no"

And thats when you realized it, crystal clear and irreversible.

You had a crush on Casey Novak.

And it was growing faster than you could stop it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days passed like they always did, too many cases, too little time, and far too much caffeine. But something had shifted.

Not in a loud, dramatic way.

More like the quiet flick of a light turning on in a dark room.

Every time you passed by Casey’s office, you slowed. Not on purpose. Not really. But your eyes always found her door. Half-open. Lit from within. A safe room in the middle of a war zone.

You didn’t go in, though. Not right away. You didn’t want to seem needy. Or weird. Or like the baby detective who couldn’t function without hiding in the ADA’s office because you had big fat crush on her.

But on Friday, it hit you again.

Another long day. Another grim interview. A mother who blamed herself, a suspect who kept smirking.

And all you wanted was five minutes to exhale.

So you stood in front of Casey’s door again, staring.

You didn’t have to knock.

“Come in y/n” she said before you could even lift your hand.

You poked your head in. “How’d you know it was me?”

“You have a very specific rhythm when you hesitate.”

You blinked. “I do?”

“Mm-hmm.” She pointed to the couch. “You want tea or coffee?”

“Tea, please,” you said, managing a small smile.

She moved without ceremony, like you being there was completely normal. Like she hadn’t spent years working alone in that space before you wandered in one day with tired eyes and shaking hands.

She handed you a mug. You sat. You sipped. You breathed.

There was something beautiful about the silence you shared with her. Not tense. Not awkward. Just easy. Natural.

After a few minutes, she glanced over from her desk. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Just… bad day. Not as bad as last time. But close.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded again. “It just… it feels like no matter how hard I try, I’m always a few steps behind everyone else. Like they’ve seen every version of evil and I’m still trying to memorize the damn playbook.”

Casey’s eyes softened. “You know what makes a good detective?”

You shrugged.

“Someone who feels it. Who cares. That’s what makes the job unbearable sometimes, but it’s also what makes it worth doing.”

You looked down at your mug, letting her words settle.

“I guess I worry that I’m too soft for this.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “Being soft in a place like this? That’s the hardest thing you can do.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but it slipped out: “Why are you always so nice to me?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Because you remind me of me. When I started.”

You swallowed. “You mean emotionally unstable and always two seconds from tears?”

She laughed, a real, light, warm laugh. “No. I mean smart. Young. Kind. Trying to carry the weight of the world without asking for help.”

You felt your throat tighten again. Not from pain this time, but from something quieter. Gentler.

“I like it here,” you said quietly. “Your office. It feels… safe.”

Casey looked at you for a long moment, like she was reading past the words.

Then she stood and opened the small side drawer of her desk. She pulled out a tiny silver key.

She held it out. “Here.”

You stared. “What’s that?”

“My office key. In case you ever need to come in when I’m not around. You shouldn’t have to go looking for empty rooms.”

You stared at the key like it was sacred.

“Are you serious?” you asked softly, trying your best not to blush.

“Deadly.” She smiled. “And if I catch Fin trying to nap in here, I’ll know who gave him the idea.”

You took the key, your fingers brushing hers briefly. It sent a bolt of nervous electricity through you.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

And later that night, curled up on your bed with the key beside your pillow, you realized that the comfort Casey gave you, the space, the warmth, the steady presence, was starting to mean more than safety.

It felt like the beginning of something.

Maybe a friendship. Maybe a slow-burning crush you were completely unequipped to handle.

Either way, you were in deep. But you weren't ready to confess—yet.

And Casey Novak? She didn’t seem like the type to hand out spare keys to just anyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\\\\~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It started with a cookie.

You’d picked it up from a bakery on your way to work. One of those warm, slightly-messy chocolate chip ones with sea salt on top. The kind that tastes like comfort in the middle of chaos.

It reminded you of her.

You weren’t planning to leave it on her desk. Not really.

But you walked past her office that morning and saw the light was off, and the idea just… clicked.

You placed the cookie on a napkin, right on top of her notepad, and walked away before you could second-guess yourself.

You didn’t sign it. Didn’t say a word.

Later that day, when you stopped by with a file she needed, the cookie was gone and Casey had a tiny, amused smile on her face.

She didn’t mention it. But the next morning, you did it again.

This time, a little lemon shortbread cookie from your favorite place. Light. Bright. A little sharp, like her, in a way. It became a quiet ritual.

Every few days, a little something would appear on Casey’s desk. A honey biscuit. A mini brownie. Once, a tiny folded paper crane with a caramel tucked inside its wings.

You never said it was you. But you knew she knew.

Casey wasn’t the kind of woman to miss a detail. You were just the kind of woman who hoped she didn’t mind.

One Thursday morning, you passed her office with a wrapped matcha cookie in your hand, the kind she’d mentioned liking once while passing the vending machine. Her door was open this time. She was inside, flipping through a case file. You froze mid-step.

She looked up. And smiled. “Caught in the act?”

You turned red instantly. “I was just… dropping something off.”

“Is that today’s?” she asked, nodding to the cookie.

You offered it silently, suddenly unsure of everything.

She reached for it and held it delicately, like it was something precious. “You know, most people leave case files. You leave tea cookies. I think I got the better end of the deal.”

You smiled, nerves fluttering in your chest. “It’s just… a thank-you. For the tea. The couch. The key. The being-a-safe-person thing.”

Casey’s gaze softened. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said. “That’s kind of the point.”

She leaned back in her chair, the sunlight casting soft lines across her face. “You’re thoughtful. It’s rare around here.”

“I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you.”

The room felt warmer. Softer. Closer.

Casey tilted her head slightly. “I do.”

You blinked. “You do what?”

“I do know.” She smiled again, slower this time. “And I appreciate you, too.”

Your chest did that fluttering thing again.

There was a moment, quiet and open, where she didn’t say anything else. Where she just looked at you like she was memorizing the moment.

Then she gestured to the couch. “You on a break?”

“Kind of.”

“Then sit,” she said. “I’ll share the cookie.”

You laughed. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

You sat.

And while the city outside kept rushing past, in Casey Novak’s office, everything slowed down.

Just you, her, and half a cookie each. You’d never felt more at home. You stayed for almost an hour that day. It wasn’t planned. But neither of you rushed it.

You talked. Not about work, not about court dates or statements or suspects. You talked about books. Music. Food spots you loved. Childhood stories that somehow came out in the warmth of shared silence and half a cookie.

At some point, Casey leaned back with her tea and said, “You’re easier to talk to than most people I’ve worked with for years.”

You smiled, touched. “I think it’s because I’m not trying to impress anyone in here.” She raised an eyebrow. “Not even me?”

You looked at her, heart jumping. “Well. Maybe a little.”

She smirked, but her expression softened quickly. She swirled her tea for a second, then set it down.

Her voice was casual, but her eyes weren’t.

“Would you like to hang out outside my office sometime?”

Your brain stalled. It was a simple question. But it didn’t feel simple.

You blinked. “Like… in the precinct hallway?”

She laughed, low and real. “No. I mean—somewhere that doesn’t involve manila folders and fluorescent lighting. Maybe dinner. Or just coffee. If you want.”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

She noticed, of course she did. “It’s okay if you don’t. Or if it feels weird. I just—” Casey hesitated, suddenly uncharacteristically unsure. “I enjoy talking to you. And I thought… maybe you might want to.”

You finally found your voice. “I do. Want to.”

She tilted her head. “You sure?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Sorry, I just didn’t expect… that.”

Her smile was smaller now, private. “I don’t do this kind of thing often.”

Your heart thudded harder. “Me neither.”

“Then we’ll go slow,” she said gently. “Whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

You looked down at your tea, trying to hide the ridiculous smile threatening your face. “Coffee sounds nice.”

Casey reached for a sticky note and scribbled something quickly. Then she slid it across her desk. A phone number. And the name of a café. Quiet. Tucked away. Very her.

“Saturday?” she said.

You nodded again. “Saturday.”

And as you left her office with the note in hand and your nerves humming, you didn’t even care the squad room was loud, or that people barely noticed you passing by. Because someone did.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d been noticing you for longer than you realized.

----------------------------/////////////////////////------------------------------

“Hate to interrupt the exhilarating world of forms in triplicate,” Munch said, appearing from thin air, “but I need a favor.”

You glanced up. He stood beside your desk, sipping coffee like he’d just walked off the set of a 1950s detective flick.

“Need you to head over to Novak’s,” he continued. “We need a subpoena for the perp’s computer. She’s working out of her office today.”

You blinked. “Novak’s?”

Munch raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Redhead. Sharp suits. Law degree and weaponized sarcasm. Ring a bell?”

Your face flushed instantly. Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. You suddenly noticed how clammy your palms were.

“I, uh... sure. Yeah. Of course.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, annoyingly perceptive. “You okay, detective? You look like I just asked you to deliver a severed head.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, already getting to your feet and grabbing the folder. “Just tired.”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Tell Novak I said hi. And maybe try not to combust on the way there.”

You turned quickly, only to bump straight into Elliot, who was holding a coffee.

“Oh God! I’m so sorry, Elliot — I’ll pay for it, or I can go grab another one right now, just give me a second—”

“Relax,” he said, shaking his hand to brush off the spill. “It was yours anyway. You can drink it, spill it, baptize yourself with it. Your call.”

You blinked. “Wait — you brought me coffee?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “You got cursed with paperwork. Thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”

“Wow... thanks. Sorry I completely destroyed it, though,” you chuckled awkwardly.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He looked at you more closely. “But seriously, what’s up with you? You seem... on edge.”

“I was just on my way to Casey’s office for a—”

Before you could finish, Munch swiped the file out of your hand and kept walking. “I got it,” he called over his shoulder.

You sighed. “...Nothing, I guess.”

Elliot studied you, his piercing blue eyes reading far too much. “I see,” he said, smirking. “I was gonna invite you to grab a drink with me, Liv, and Fin after work... but I’m guessing you’ve got plans?”

Your eyes narrowed. “How did you—?”

He laughed. “We’re detectives, Y/N. Remember?”

-----------------------/////////////////////-----------------------------------

The café was small, tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat, the kind of place that smelled like nutmeg and played acoustic covers of 80s songs. She showed up right on time, in a grey trench coat and minimal makeup, with a warm contagious smile.

You sat across from each other, cradling warm mugs. You talked about books, the ridiculous ways lawyers wrote emails, and the worst court lunches either of you had suffered through. It was easy in the way things are when they’re meant to be.

“So, Y/N, how are things going at the precinct? Better? Or do I need to order an extra desk in my office?” Casey asked.

“It’s better… They still treat me like I’m too fragile to handle some of the cases, but… I realized that’s just because they care. They don’t want me to get too traumatized and quit....Oh! and Elliot bought me coffee today!.”

''Stabler?'' Casey raised her eyebrows. ''That's huge, he usually just buys coffee for Liv. How was it?''

''Oh I wouldn't know I... I ran into him and i made him spill it all over the floor''. Casey laughed.

“well that’s good to hear, Y/N. I’ve gotta admit, I was getting scared you’d leave if things didn’t get easier for you here,” Casey admitted.

“I don’t give up easily.”

“I don’t either,” Casey said with a smile.

You kept talking until the place was about to close. You pulled out your wallet, but Casey interrupted you.

“Nu-uh, this one’s on me,” she said, already handing her credit card to the waitress.

“Casey, you don’t have to. We can split if you don’t want me to—”

She cut you off again. “Let me spend money on you for once, okay? I owe you way more for all those cookies you’ve been leaving on my desk.” She laughed.

You sighed, letting her pay, trying to hide the fact that that small gesture had just won her another point on the internal love meter.

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t even touch. Damn.

----------------------------------/////////////////--------------------------

“Coward,” you muttered to yourself as she walked away from you outside the coffee shop.

Since straightforwardness wasn’t your thing, you had to try something else. Because like you told her—you don’t give up easily.

-----------------------------------/////////////////-------------------------

The next morning, you left her a cinnamon roll. Not just any cinnamon roll, your best one. Homemade, thick icing, just like the one she’d ordered yesterday. It sat in a little paper box, neatly labeled: “Homemade. No money spent.”

Casey didn’t say anything that day. Instead, she sent you a photo of an empty napkin and the message:

“This was dangerous. Also, I didn’t know basic baking groceries were $0. Wow.”

You smiled at your phone longer than you meant to.

The day after, you left a cupcake. Red velvet, with cream cheese frosting piped into a swirl.

On the third day, it was a brownie with M&M’s mixed in. The note read: “Recipe by Fin (making friends).”

By the fourth day—mini blueberry muffins—Casey leaned against the doorframe of your office, box in hand, one brow lifted.

“You know, I’m starting to wonder,” she said, half-smiling. “Are you trying to make me gain weight?”

You looked up from your desk, startled, then caught the teasing glint in her eyes. She wasn’t mad. She was curious. Playful. Waiting for an answer.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Shrugged.

“Wh-what?” you said, voice tight with nerves.

“If my pencil skirt feels tight for the next trial, I’m blaming you.”

You looked pale as a ghost, totally unsure how to answer.

Casey tilted her head, examining you more closely. “Seriously though. What’s going on? Not that I’m complaining—I’m definitely not—but this is starting to feel like a very well-camouflaged courtship...unless you're the Hansel & Gretel witch”

You hesitated and nervously laughed.  Looked down at your hands. Then, very quietly:

“I don’t know how to do this,” you said finally. “This… showing affection...love... It’s easier to give than to talk. I figured real gifts would be too much. Too obvious. But you love coffee, and sweets go with coffee. And I thought maybe, if I made them myself instead of buying them, you’d… understand.”

The silence stretched just long enough for you to want to disappear.

Then Casey’s expression softened. She stepped further into your office, setting the box down on your desk.

“You could’ve just said you liked me,” she murmured, not unkindly.

“I’m saying it now.”

She nodded, lips curving slightly. “You are.”

You glanced at the box. “And I made muffins.”

Casey chuckled. “So this is a confession and a bribe?”

You smiled, sheepish. “Something like that.”

A beat passed. She looked at you like she was seeing you more clearly than ever.

“Meet me in my office in five, okay?”

-----------------------------//////////////////--------------------------------

Your palms were sweating.

Five minutes. You were supposed to walk into her office like it was no big deal, like you hadn’t just spilled your guts over muffins and baked goods. Like she hadn’t not said she liked you back. Like your heart wasn’t currently beating somewhere in your throat.

You lingered in the hallway an extra thirty seconds, pretending to check your phone, wipe your hands on your jeans, breathe. Then, before you could overthink yourself into oblivion, you knocked softly on her office door and stepped inside.

Casey looked up from her desk. Then stood.

You didn’t even get a full word out before she was crossing the room.

She didn’t say hi, didn’t sit you down, didn’t do anything logical or lawyerly or slow. She just walked right up to you—close enough that you forgot how to stand—and kissed you.

Soft. Certain. No questions, no hesitation.

You froze for a second, shocked. Then melted into it like sugar in hot coffee.

She pulled back just slightly, eyes still half-lidded, searching your face. “Just so there’s no confusion,” she said softly. “I like you too.”

You blinked. “You... do?”

She huffed a laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Y/N. You’ve been feeding me for a week straight like I’m your favorite raccoon. You think I’d let just anyone get away with that?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, heart thudding against your ribs like it wanted to jump into her hands.

“I was scared I was being too much.”

Casey shook her head. “You’re not too much. You’re just... you. And I’ve never met anyone like you.”

You stared at her, completely unsure what to do with the warmth crawling up your spine. “So… muffins work?”

“They’re effective,” she teased, grinning. “But you can stop now. You already got the girl.”

You bit your lip, still unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“Okay,” you said softly, trying not to look like you were glowing.

“Although,” Casey added, arching a brow as she stepped back, “I wouldn’t say no to the occasional cookie. For… professional morale.”

You snorted. “Noted, ADA Novak. Morale boosters incoming.”

She smiled. “See? We’re already a team.”

You couldn’t help it, you smiled. A real one. The kind that felt too big for your face.

“A team, huh?” you echoed, half-playful, half-awestruck.

“Mm-hmm,” Casey said, casually picking up the muffin box again. “You handle emotional repression with baked goods, I handle sarcasm and legal threats. Balanced partnership.”

You laughed, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to melt. “Wow. We should put that on business cards.”

She gave a mock-serious nod. “Or wedding invites.”

You froze for a second, eyes wide.

Casey blinked. “Too soon?”

You gave a nervous chuckle. “a little.”

“And there you were, thinking you were a lot” she said, stepping closer again. “What about... a label?”

Your breath caught.

“I mean, unless you’re not into that,” she added quickly, the edge of vulnerability peeking out beneath her usual cool. “I just—I like this. I like you. And I’d kind of like to stop pretending I’m not hoping you’ll keep showing up to my office.”

You stared at her for a beat, your heart drumming in your ears.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” you asked, voice a little shaky but warm.

Casey gave a sheepish little smile. “I’m a lawyer. I like things defined.”

You swallowed, then smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “Then yeah. Define it. I’m yours.”

Casey leaned in again, resting her forehead lightly against yours. “Good. Because I’m definitely yours too.”

There was no dramatic kiss this time. Just the quiet understanding between two people who’d finally stumbled their way into something honest, sweet, and real.

You stayed like that for a moment longer—still close, still smiling—until she pulled back just enough to look at you again.

“Come over tonight,” she said softly. “I’ll cook. You bring whatever dessert you were going to make for tomorrow. We’ll call it even.”

Your heart jumped. “Your place?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Just... something simple. No pressure. Just us.”

You grinned. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Casey said, her voice warm, eyes soft. “Because I’ve already got a bottle of wine and absolutely no self-control when it comes to your baking...or you.”

You walked out of her office with your heart full, big smile, and your hands no longer shaking.

The scent that hit you when Casey opened the door was a world away from the sterile precinct hallways. It was warm and alive; roasted garlic, browned butter, and a hint of lemon. And there she was. Not ADA Novak of the sharp suits and weaponized sarcasm, but Casey. Barefoot, in a faded Harvard Law sweatshirt and soft jeans, her hair falling in relaxed waves around her face.

You stood frozen for a beat, the dessert box clutched in your hand like a familiar shield. Your heart was doing the same frantic rhythm it had in her office, right before she kissed you.

“You look…” you started, the words getting stuck in your throat.

Casey’s lips quirked into that smile you were quickly learning to cherish. “Like someone who forgot to change out of her cooking clothes?”

“I was gonna say gorgeous, but okay,” you mumbled, holding out the box. “I brought… well, you know.”

Her fingers brushed yours as she took it, a spark of deliberate warmth. “Ah, another bribe.” Her eyes were teasing. “Is this one dangerous, too?”

“Cherry crumble, as my final offering” you confirmed, referencing her favorite tart flavors. “And yes. Extremely.”

“I should hope so,” she said, her voice dropping a little lower. “Come in. Dinner’s almost done.”

You followed her into the apartment, the reality of it finally hitting you. After weeks of leaving baked goods on her desk like offerings to a goddess you were too terrified to speak to, you were here. The space was exactly like her: warmer than you expected, intelligent, and a little chaotic. Books were stacked on every available surface. An open bottle of wine stood on the kitchen island, already breathing next to two place settings.

“Wait,” you said, hovering by the counter as she moved with an easy grace, plating lemon-herb chicken and roasted vegetables. “You actually cook.”

She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “You sound surprised. You’re the one who accepted the dinner invitation.”

“I know, but I thought… I don’t know, that you’d order fancy takeout,” you admitted. 

She laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that made your stomach flip. She handed you a glass of wine and raised hers. “To well camouflaged courtships.”

You clinked your glass against hers, the sound ringing softly. “And to finally having to use my words.”

Dinner was easier than you had any right to expect. You learned she hummed when she was concentrating and that she’d known you liked her since the day you left the M&M brownie with a note from Fin. “It was a dead giveaway,” she’d said. “You were trying to show me you had friends. It was adorable.” 

You couldn't help but blush a bit.

After the cherry crumble was gone, Casey stretched and nodded toward the living room. “Couch?”

“Please,” you sighed. “Before I fall into a coma.”

The couch was soft and deep. She sat close, her knee brushing yours, leaving no space for ambiguity. She draped an arm along the backrest, her fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. The air grew thick with the memory of her office, of that first, stunning kiss.

“So,” she murmured, her voice a low hum. “No more sweets?”

“You said I already got the girl,” you whispered back, leaning into her touch just enough to feel your pulse trip. “Said they were no longer required for… professional morale.”

“I may have lied,” she said, her gaze steady and unflinching. Her fingers slid from your shoulder, tracing a slow path up your neck until they were tangled in your hair. “I may be greedy.”

You couldn’t breathe. When she leaned in, you met her halfway. The first kiss was a soft, certain reacquaintance, tasting of cherry and wine and the relief of finally being here. The second was deeper, hungrier. A low sound escaped your throat as you shifted, folding your knees onto the cushion. In one smooth, effortless motion, she pulled you into her lap. You gasped into her mouth as your bodies aligned, a dizzying flush of heat blooming through you.

Her sweatshirt came off, and then your shirt was gone, and you were skin-to-skin, a mess of soft cotton and tangled limbs. You let yourself fall back against the cushions, pulling her with you. She moved over you with a reverence that made your skin buzz, kissing your ribs, your stomach, her eyes sparkling when you let out a surprised laugh at a ticklish spot.

It felt perfect. 

Her hand slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your jeans, and the familiar coil of anxiety, the one that made your hands shake and your voice fail, tightened in your gut. You don’t know how to do this part. You stiffened completely.

“Wait,” you whispered, your breath suddenly shaky.

Casey stopped instantly. She went utterly still, then pushed herself up, her forehead resting against yours, her gaze searching your face with nothing but quiet concern. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice a low murmur against your skin. “You’re okay. Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, mortified. “I want this. I just… I don’t know how to do this part. It’s…I don’t know, I guess im nervous.” Your voice almost cracked.

The confession hung in the air, raw and honest. Her expression softened with such profound understanding it almost made you cry.

“Oh, baby,” she murmured, brushing a hand down your side in a soothing motion. “Look at me. There’s no script. You don’t have to know how to do anything.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “We went from you being too scared to talk to me, to leaving a trail of pastries like some kind of adorable Hansel and Gretel witch, to… this. It’s okay if it feels like a lot. It is a lot.”

She leaned in and kissed your forehead, a gesture of pure comfort. “I’m a lawyer, remember? I like things defined. So let’s define this moment as ‘perfect.’ And we can stop right here.” She gently pulled a knit blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over both of you. “I like you far too much to rush.”

You ended up tangled in her bed, wrapped in the blanket and her arms. She lay on her side, her thigh tucked between yours, holding you like she never planned on letting go.

“This is better than leaving a cinnamon roll on your desk,” you mumbled sleepily into her neck.

She chuckled, the sound a warm vibration against you. “Infinitely. But for the record, I’d still like the cinnamon roll.”

“Greedy,” you teased.

“For you? Always,” she whispered back. Her breath was warm against your skin, her fingers lazily tracing circles on your back. The crushing anxiety had faded, replaced by a quiet, buzzing warmth. You felt… safe.

“Casey?” you murmured, already half-asleep.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can I stay the night?” you asked, your voice soft and unsure, barely above a whisper.

She smiled before you even finished the sentence, pulling you tighter against her.

“Honey, I thought that was obvious.” She kissed your forehead, slow and sure. “I’m not letting you go anywhere...except my bed.”

The move to her room was gentle and sleepy, limbs brushing, your hand slipping into hers without thought. Her sheets were cool and soft, but the second she got under them with you, everything was warm again. She curled behind you like it was instinct, her hand smoothing along your waist.

You laid there for a moment in the quiet, your back to her chest, feeling her breath even out and maybe she thought that was the end of it.

You started thinking about what happened earlier. You knew you had trouble opening up to people… being vulnerable wasn’t exactly your strong suit. But this was not just a random person. This was Casey.

That made your chest tighten a little.

What if she thought you didn’t like her as much? What if she thought you didn’t trust her? The thought sat heavy. You hadn’t meant to pull away before, not really. It had just… overwhelmed you. The tenderness, the way she looked at you like she already knew every piece of you. It was terrifying.

And yet, here she was, holding you like you were something precious.

You shifted slightly and looked at her. Her eyes were soft, barely open, her arm still wrapped loosely around your waist.

It started as a flutter, low and steady, not nervous this time. A different kind of need. 

“Casey,” you whispered.

She blinked slowly, looking at you like she expected you to mumble something sleepy and ridiculous.

Instead, you climbed on top of her.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I thought you weren’t ready” she said gently, but you caught the breath she held as your hands framed her face.

“maybe for that” you admitted, “but for this, I am.”

Then you kissed her — slow, deep, like you needed to say sorry and thank you all at once.

Casey let out a soft sound of surprise that melted into a pleased sigh. “Well… okay then,” she murmured against your lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled, trailing kisses down her neck.

Your hands made quick work of her shirt, lifting it up slowly until she raised her arms to help you take it off completely.

She shivered slightly under your touch, eyes fluttering as you leaned down and pressed a kiss to her collarbone, then lower, across her chest. You took your time, worshipping every inch of skin like it was sacred.

You trailed kisses along her collarbone, down her chest, and further until you reached the soft curve of her stomach. You paused there, laying a slow, adoring kiss against her skin.

Casey let out a breathy laugh, fingers weaving into your hair.

"Ticklish too?" You grinned, kissing her again, softer this time. 

You hooked your fingers into her waistband, and she raised her hips for you without hesitation, letting you slip her sleep shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion. She lay back for you, chest rising and falling, her eyes locked on yours, wide and vulnerable and open.

“Can I?” you asked, voice low.

Casey nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

You took your time. Every kiss was slow, purposeful. First on her thighs, then the inside of her knee, then back up again. You kissed her like you’d never get to again, like she was something to be cherished, not just wanted. Casey whimpered when you finally dipped your head between her legs and dragged your tongue along her with firm, practiced pressure.

She gasped, fingers flying into your hair, hips twitching slightly. You kept a steady rhythm, listening for every breath, every hitch in her voice, adjusting your pace until her legs started trembling around you.

“That’s—oh, god…” she whispered, her voice cracking when your tongue circled her clit just right. “Don’t stop. Please…”

You didn’t. You held her thighs gently, kissing her again and again, mouth relentless but soft, completely devoted to her pleasure. She came hard, back arching, one hand covering her mouth as she cried out your name. Her whole body shook, then slowly melted back into the bed—flushed, panting, and wrecked.

You kissed her thighs once more, then crawled up her body, brushing hair out of her face. She blinked up at you, dazed and glowing, still catching her breath.

“Hi,” you murmured again, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Casey smiled faintly. “Hey” she breathed, voice hoarse. “You’re something else.”

You grinned, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “You liked it?”

“I loved it. That was so unexpected. I...wow.”

You laughed softly and kissed her again, gentler this time. “Let me grab you some water, okay?”

She nodded lazily, and you got up, returning with a cold glass. You helped her sit up just enough to drink, then eased her back down and pulled the blanket over her. She curled into your chest, warm and pliant, and you gently combed your fingers through her hair.

“Case?”

Her voice was muffled against your collarbone. “Hmm?”

“You have no idea how adorable you are right now.” You tightened your embrace around her.

Casey let out a tired laugh. “You realize I’m older than you, right?”

“So?” You grinned. “You’re the cutest little baby.”

“I’m literally 5'10” she scoffed without heat.

You leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “Exactly. That just means there’s more of you to cuddle.”

She huffed a laugh, burying her face deeper against your skin. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re blushing.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Casey groaned dramatically. “God, why do I like you so much?”

You smiled, letting your hand drift in slow, soothing circles over her back. “Because I make you laugh. And I bring you water. And I’m really good with my mouth.”

She let out a snort, and you felt the smile tug at her lips against your collarbone. “You forgot humble.”

“That too,” you said, beaming.

There was a beat of quiet as the room settled, just the hush of her breathing slowing, your fingers still carding gently through her hair.

Then, softly, Casey tilted her head back just enough to look at you, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“When you’re ready…” she murmured, her voice still low and warm from earlier, “you let me know.”

You blinked, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Ready for what?”

She smirked. “To let me return the favor.”

Your breath caught, and she must’ve felt the way your heart stuttered beneath her cheek, because she grinned wider.

“I’m serious,” she added, nuzzling into your neck. “I want to make you feel like that. Wrecked. Breathless. Loved.”

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. “Well, damn, Counselor.”

Casey chuckled, smug and soft all at once. “Just saying. Keep me posted.”

You laughed, a little flustered, a lot in love, and kissed the top of her head. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“I better be,” she mumbled, settling back against you with a satisfied sigh.

She clung to you like she didn’t want to let go, and you didn’t plan on letting her.