#‘Liv that’s such a long post’ SURE IS

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[dynamitekansai]

WWE RAW (DECEMBER 16, 2024)

[canongf]

Whenever I try to join the selfship community I find it so hard because it feels that almost Everyone already know each other plus whenever I try to ask people about their ships they are really happy to do so but no one does the same for me, and I also feel like no one cares about my ship compared to the ones that their friends have which makes sense but it’s so demoralizing and at this point I’d rather just celebrate my ships on my own rather because even promo posts don’t work 😔 the community is supposed to be friendly and accepting to others and filled with close bonds that anyone can have but i can’t find the same experience for me :’)

i'm sorry that your experience hasn't been what you hoped it'd be!!!

finding your place can be hard sometimes. it can take a while. it can be disappointing and discouraging. but it won't always be that way!!! you can still find your place!!!

even if it feels like everyone already knows each other, they can still know you too.

something that can be helpful is to start sorta small. it is completely understandable to look at the community as a whole and want support from the community as a whole, but the community is really just a lot of very different people and a lot of very different friends! and because everyone's so different, it can end up being a wide search. so try to start small! start with one friend!

"but liv, making one friend isn't working." making friends isn't always a quick and easy thing, and maybe it isn't working right now! but it doesn't mean it'll never work! sending asks about ships is a great way to start, you're doing great! and i know it sucks when you show interest and that interest isn't returned, and i know it makes you not want to ever do it again. but sometimes it's really, really worth it. sometimes you just gotta keep trying.

sometimes it takes several asks or interactions from someone for me to realize "oh! hey! i like them and want to talk to them!" and it's not because i don't care, it's just because sometimes i'm in my head and it doesn't occur to me! sometimes people have stuff goin' on and they don't think about it. sometimes people forget, sometimes people are overwhelmed, sometimes people are scared. but i know that you're not alone in this feeling, i know there are people that feel like they're on the outside looking in too. so i know that there are people you will connect with when you find each other.

and then! when you start small! it can be easier to make another friend, and another friend, and another friend. you'll get to know them and they'll get to know you. you'll talk about ships. and slowly but surely you'll be able to find your own little circle in the self shipping circle.

be patient with yourself. it's okay to get upset, it's okay to feel disappointed and discouraged, it's okay to feel lonely. it's not a failure on anybody's part and it doesn't mean you're unwanted. it happens sometimes. it's okay if you need to take breaks. and while you're finding your place, try not to lose the reason you fell in love with self shipping in the first place. there is nothing wrong with wanting a community, wanting friends, wanting validation, just try not to let the search for it take away all your happiness!!!

[marikamlp]

Pit Girl Feast Analysis (season 3)

Possible spoilers I suppose

Before this season is over and we all know for sure who is who during the feast, I want to make my contribution to the analysis of who is who here. (This is a long post but bear with me, please)

My analysis will not include Misty because, obviously, we all know she is playing the so-called "Overseer" in the original script, who prepares food off-screen.

So let's start off with...

Tai

Tai is a pretty easy one because we were pretty much told who she is during the promo for the panel in Brazil

There are two characters that are wearing pretty similar outfits. The one on the left and the one in the middle on the right photo. However, only one of them is wearing the green gloves. So the one on the left would be Tai.

Melissa

I do think Melissa survives at least up until Pit Girl feast. And I think Melissa is the bunny costume, as both the bunny and Melissa's character in the winter BTS photos from season 3 are the only ones wearing the Yellowjackets uniform

But I also find it very interesting that Melissa is wearing a mask that is visibly resembling a rabbit given Shauna's history with rabbits in the adult timeline and their connection to Jackie.

Gen

In the BTS photo, Gen seems to be wearing the same kind of raccoon fur and green bandana as the middle character in the second photo. It's definitely an interesting choice to make Gen a survivor for that long given how unimportant she has been up until this point but I think it also makes sense since she seems to be on Shauna's and Melissa's side. And it makes sense because I think that...

Shauna is the Antler Queen

Since season 1, Shauna has been struggling with envy and greed for power. And I love her, but she is a queen of blaming others for her falling to the background. We know she's been angry at Jackie and blaming her for putting Shauna in the shadow. And she seems to be doing the same with her envy over Natalie's position. However, Natalie is clearly not doing well as a leader, girls are not really listening to her and she seems to be unable to actually grasp how to execute the power that is connected to her position. And we know that these scenes will take place in the near future:

Which for me seems like Shauna will question Natalie's leadership, and she might actually rise to the power and take up the position as the new leader.

I've also got a photo proof for that:

I don't think that any of the other characters' outfits seem to fit this closely to the Antler Queen's attire.

Van

She's a hard one. I'm somewhat sure and unsure of my choice at the same time. The BTS photo of Liv is not really showing much however I feel like the little part of the shirt is looking a bit similar to the shirt of the "Hunter" (Now I know this name does not fit Van and I agree but let's remember this is the name that has been used to describe this character in the scrip of the Pilot episode, I don't think it was ever set in stone and as we have seen with Javi, all of the girls take on the "hunter" role during the hunt)

But what's more, look at the hunter's shirt. It seems to be looking like the one Van is wearing both in season 3 and season 1 and might also be in season 2 but I don't remember it from season 2 so don't hold me up on that:

We can also see Travis wear that shirt in season 2

but I think it's mostly associated with Van's character or at least she's the one wearing it the most.

My last proof is the face mask sweater pattern. Because in one of the teasers for season 3 I believe, we can see Van wearing a sweater with the same pattern as the one on the face mask:

Misty has also worn a sweater with a pattern like that, might be the same one to be honest

But again, we know who Misty is already, as it was revealed in the pilot episode and Van is the only one who has been seen wearing both the face mask and the shirt of the "Hunter" throughout the series. And also in season 3, and I wouldn't take that for granted.

Travis and Lottie

Both of them are a question mark for me. There are only two places by the fire left and I do not think Nat is present for the feast and I will discuss that in a while. So solely based on the similarity of the hair, I would put Lottie as the pink hoodie character

Which would leave as with this seating:

Where is Nat?

We do know that Nat is one of the survivors in adult timeline so she has not been eaten and sacrificed to the Wilderness. But I think she might not be a part of the cult. Shauna has a history with throwing people out and even though Nat doesn't die the way Jackie did, I think she will be exiled to survive on her own as Shauna's punishment for Nat. Which would explain why her outfit in the BTS photos from what little angle we get seems to be looking more civilised and less culty than other girls

Now, does that mean there are 9 survivors or does it mean Pit Girl is in fact not the last sacrifice? I don't know honestly, and I think we might not find out during this season. We can only wait, watch and speculate.

If you've gotten this far, congratulations and thank you for indulging me

[pookietv]

mending | arthur tv

omg bee is back after her inconsistency streak oncemore?? lmao i feel all i do as the forewords for my posts is say sorry for being inactive but.. sorry for being inactive :P

hope you enjoy!! if people want it, i may make a part two :)

arthur was a clumsy boy. you knew all too well after seeing his neverending spillages, leading to him carrying a flask round his house twenty-four seven.

and after falling out of a tree, drunk in a recent video? you weren't even surprised.

you had been an easy shoe-in for the friendgroup as soon as bach and liv had moved to london - you had went to school with liv, reconnecting when you found out she was living in the same city as yourself, and in no time you found yourself with a better group of friends you could ever have asked for.

and you had to admit, you had grown a small crush on bach's best friend, arthur, the silly nerd that was nice to everyone you had ever seen him interact with.

and the next time you guys were hanging out, he was complaining about his jumper.

"a twig got stuck in the jumper i was wearing, ripped a hole as well man, that was my favourite jumper!" he declared over his pint, the group laughing at his complaints (that were mainly his own silly fault).

"i might be able to fix it," you hummed, over the glass of cider that sat in front of you, "i mean, i'd have to see it first, depends on the hole," you said softly.

"never knew you were a spinster," george joked, and you rolled your eyes.

"not a spinster, i'm just a grown adult who can fix my own clothes if they break," you grinned back.

"you think you could fix it?" arthur said, looking back at you, a small smile gracing his face, "it really is my favourite jumper,"

"sure, if you bring it round to my house, i can have a look at it and see what i can do," you said, nodding.

so the next day, arthur showed up at your door, handing a folded jumper over with a slightly embarrassed grin, before unfolding it slightly, "see, the hole's here, near the hood? it's pretty close to the seam,"

as your eyes scanned over where his longer fingers held the fabric (and trying to ignore just how nice his hands were long enough to examine the damage), you smiled at him, "oh, this is an easy fix, arthur," you said, and watched a lopsided pleased expression grace his face.

"you're the best, y/n," he said.

"it's not a problem, it'll probably take me an hour, i mean you can come in whilst i sew it if you'd like, i can make you a cuppa," you offered, and he frowned.

"i wish i could, but i'm actually dropping this off on my way to meet with bach for filming," he said softly, "but i can come pick it up whenever, honestly don't rush if you have other things to do,"

"it's fine arthur, you stresshead - i'll do it tonight and you can come pick it up tomorrow," you smiled.

"see, what would i do without you?" he grinned, and hugged you at your door, "i'll text you tomorrow, to see what time i can come get it,"

so your night had consisted of a cup of tea, a tv show in the background whilst you curled up on your sofa, your sewing kit (which resided in an old chocolate box) laying beside you, and patching up his jumper.

and once you had finished it, the shoulder of the hoodie looking practically new, despite one small line of stitching that really wasn't noticeable, unless you were being pedantic about it.

you sent him a photo of the fixed jumper, along with a message reading 'all mended!" and he responded saying 'thank you so much! i'll pick it up around lunchtime tomorrow if that's okay?'

'around lunchtime' of the next day came, and a knock on your door signalled arthur was here, so you grabbed the gray jumper and walked to your door.

he smiled as he saw you opening the door, holding a small bunch of flowers, "sorry, i wanted to get you something to say thanks for fixing them, but i didn't know what so i figured flowers would be.. i don't know, but they're for you," he explained awkwardly.

you smiled back at him, "you're sweet, arthur, but honestly you didn't have to, it was just a small favour, didn't even take me long,"

days later, however, arthur just couldn't bring himself to wash the jumper. he didn't know how, but it smelled so inexplicably of you after all you had done was fix a small part of it. he almost felt himself a creep, but there was something so strangely comforting about the way it smelled slightly sweet, homely almost. he hadn't even realised that he enjoyed the way you smelled until then, but it was all he could reasonably think about. he hadn't dared to wear it and ruin it by smelling like him again.

he knew it was a stupid, stupid idea, but he found himself trawling through his cupboard of clothes, looking for something, anything that had a small hole or slight tear that he could ask you politely to sew.

he didn't even know why he felt this way, and he didn't know exactly what to do with this feeling, so he mentioned it off-handedly to bach.

"i know it sounds weird, but it's just such a.. nice comforting smell, and i feel bad even wearing the jumper again." he finished explaining, and bach was trying not to giggle, a smug smile plastered across his face.

"have you not considered the fact that you might, you know.. like her?" he laughed, looking at arthurs bright red and confused face.

"of course i like her, she's my friend, but like, no offence bach, i don't think you smell nice enough to make me this weird over a hoodie," arthur rolled his eyes at bach's seemingly stupid comment.

"arthur, you freak, i mean a crush,"

"no, i.. i don't think i have a crush on her.." he murmured out, and felt his eyes look to the floor for a moment, as if calculating something in his head.

[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 7

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

The arena was alive with noise—the roar of the crowd echoing off the walls, sneakers squeaking across the court, and the rhythmic beat of the ball hitting the hardwood.  

And there you were—on the bench, not in uniform but in your team tracksuit, ankle wrapped beneath your tapered joggers, arms crossed tightly over your chest.  

The second of three games stood between your team and another historic title. The pressure was massive. The energy? Relentless. And you were living every second of it from the sidelines.

The plan was clear: rest you. Keep you safe for the long haul. You weren’t coming on in the first half—maybe not at all, depending on how the game played out. The physios, coaches, everyone was united in protecting you, making sure your longevity didn’t get sacrificed for a single night.

But watching from the bench?

Torture.

You were anything but passive. Standing half the time, leaning forward, pointing out screens before they happened, calling out mismatches, reading the flow of the game like you were already on the floor.

“Liv! Hand-off! Watch the double!”

“Maya—drop to help, she’s cutting baseline!”

Every instinct in you was screaming to be out there. But you knew better. You couldn’t be reckless now—not with everything on the line.

The cameras caught you a few times, gesturing wildly with the clipboard, animated as hell, eyes glued to the court like a coach-in-training. The commentators picked up on it too.

“Look at [Your Name] on the sideline—still leading, even from the bench. That’s what captains do.”

You didn’t hear it, of course. You paced during free throws. Fist-pumped every big shot. Barked instructions, encouragement, praise—anything to keep the momentum flowing.

The girls looked to you constantly. Liv glanced at you after every possession. Maya nodded each time she stepped off the court, waiting for your read. You weren’t playing—but you were still in the game. Still running the rhythm from the edge.

And up in the stands Alexia was watching.

Eyes on you every time the camera cut away from the court. Watching the way your teammates listened. The way you led. The way your entire body moved with every possession, like you were mentally sprinting the court even if your ankle wouldn’t let you physically do it.

From the bench, you were still the pulse of the team. Still the one they followed. And soon, depending on how the second half played out— You might be stepping onto the court after all.

The second half buzzer sounded like a war drum.   And when your number was called, the roof nearly came off.

The crowd surged with energy—fans leaping to their feet, chanting your name, thunderous applause crashing like a wave through the arena. It was deafening, electric, a moment that felt like something more than just a substitution.

You were checking in. Your team was down, the scoreboard a harsh reminder of the fight still ahead. The opposing side had come out swinging in the first half—tight defense, ruthless transition, punishing every missed shot. It wasn’t lost. Not yet.

But it was close. And now, the one person they all trusted to flip the script was you.

As you jogged toward the scorer’s table, the cameras zoomed in. Eyes from every seat, every corner, every screen around the world locked onto you.

Everyone wanted to see if the ankle held. If you'd limp. If you’d hesitate. But you didn’t. Not even for a second.

You jogged onto the court with your chin high, jaw set, laser-focused. You slapped palms with Maya and Liv as they gave you the court and instantly fell into formation. The energy shifted. Tangibly. Visibly.

They believed. Not just in the comeback. In you.

The first possession came quickly—ball inbounds, pace controlled, your defender sticking close like they’d been warned not to give you an inch.

You ran off the screen anyway, shook her off with a jab step, flared to the wing, caught the pass, and didn’t blink.

One fluid motion.

Step.  

Rise.  

Release.

Splash. The three-pointer snapped through the net clean, no rim, all confidence.  

The crowd erupted.

You didn’t celebrate. Not really.

You turned toward the sideline, raised both arms, and made a circling gesture with your finger—“Let’s go. Get up. We’re not done."

The fans rose with you. Your teammates clapped you on the back as you fell into defensive position, adrenaline pumping, the arena roaring like a storm behind you.

There was work to do. Points to make up. A trophy to chase.

But with that shot, that first touch, you didn’t just put points on the board you reminded everyone who the hell you were.

The comeback wasn't just dramatic—it was dominant.

After your opening three, the tide turned with force. Like someone had flipped a switch and reminded your entire squad who they were. The defense locked in. The passes got sharper. The pace faster. Every possession became a statement.

You ran the floor like you hadn’t missed a minute.

Steals. Fast breaks. Assists. Another three. Then another.

Maya hit a mid-range jumper off your screen. Liv got an and-one and screamed so loud you could feel it in your chest. Every bucket, every stop, every rotation—it added to the momentum until the other team started breaking under it.

They were stunned.

Because you weren’t just clawing your way back.

You were taking over. The scoreboard flipped and kept climbing. What had once been a 14-point deficit turned into a 12-point lead.

And when the final whistle blew, the scoreboard told the story loud and proud:

Barcelona 84 – 69 [Opponents] Another trophy. Another piece of history.

The crowd exploded.

You didn’t even think—just threw your arms up, face to the ceiling, eyes wide with disbelief and adrenaline and absolute joy.

Then came the chaos. Teammates sprinting toward you. Maya launching herself into your side. Liv wrapping you in a one-armed hug while jumping up and down.

The rest of the bench poured onto the court. The arena was alive, noise vibrating in your chest. People screaming. Flags waving. Cameras flashing. Phones recording your name as it echoed in chants from all corners of the stands.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it in—hands in your hair, overwhelmed in the best way. The second of four titles this season—won. On a night you weren’t even supposed to play.

And yet, you did.

And you delivered. You pointed to the crowd, pounding your chest once, mouthing, “This is for you.”

Fans leaned over the railings just to touch the moment, to be close to something they knew they were witnessing—something real. Something legendary.

And as you jogged to the huddle of your teammates at center court for the trophy presentation, your eyes swept over the stands—

And found her. Alexia. Standing. Cheering. Smiling. A little pride. A little awe. Maybe even something else. But for now—this moment was for you. For your team. For history.

And you owned every second of it.

And the biggest high of your life.

The final was clinical—domination from start to finish. You scored 22, picked up MVP, and practically danced off the court. The kind of win that made your legs shake and your heart sprint. But it wasn’t just the wins. It was the crowd.

Because somewhere in the sea of noise, right behind the bench in VIP seats, were Alexia and half the Barça women’s squad, decked out in your jerseys and scarves like they were ultras, not athletes who had just trained hours earlier. Alexia’s voice had been the loudest when you hit the go-ahead three. You’d know it anywhere.

After the final buzzer and the trophy lift, the party started immediately. Locker room? Chaos. Champagne flying, music blaring, Liv doing some half-committed dance on a table while Maya poured sparkling wine into plastic cups like she was in charge of hydration. You? Somewhere in the middle of it all, still in uniform, medal around your neck, hair a mess, cheeks flushed from both the win and the champagne you'd definitely drunk too fast.

And then came the press conference. Which you shouldn’t have been allowed into in that state.

The media room was packed, the club staff trying to maintain some level of professionalism while you and two of your teammates—still giggling—took your seats behind the mics.

“Congratulations,” the moderator said, trying to be composed. “How does it feel to of won two trophies now this season?”

Liv leaned into her mic, deadly serious. “We’re gonna be insufferable for the rest of the season. I just think everyone should prepare.”

You snorted, half-laughing, half-hiding behind your hand. “She’s not wrong.”

One reporter raised a hand. “You’ve had back-to-back MVP performances. What’s been the difference for you this season?”

You blinked, leaned toward the mic, and slurred only slightly, “Hydration. Discipline. And, uh…” You glanced to your left where Maya was wiggling her eyebrows dramatically. “Support systems.” Liv choked.

“Can you elaborate?” the reporter asked, clearly amused.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Having someone yell ‘DO IT FOR THE SEXY CAPTAIN’ from the bench really kept me grounded.”

The room lost it. Even the moderator laughed.

Later, the clip made it to Twitter.

It was captioned:

“Drunk [Your Name] confirming Alexia Putellas is their muse was not on my 2025 bingo card but I’ll take it.”

The moderator tried to steer things with a half-exasperated, “Let’s keep questions focused on the match, please,” but no one listened.

First came the expected ones.

“[Your Name], back-to-back MVPs in finals, did you expect to carry this kind of form into both finals?”

You took a sip of champagne and gave your best serious nod. “Well, I actually woke up this morning and said, ‘I feel like doing something iconic.’ So. Here we are.”

The room laughed, and Maya gave you a dramatic golf clap. Another reporter chimed in, grinning. “Is it true you played the second half of the game with a busted ankle when you weren’t originally planned?”

“Listen,” you said, leaning forward like you were telling a secret. “The plan was always for me to just play two quarters. A trophy was on the line and I was feeling unhinged.”

More laughter. Another sip. You were riding the high, loose and warm in a way that only came from winning and bubbles.

Then it came.

A different voice. Friendly, but calculated. “You’ve had a lot of visible support from the Barça Femení squad lately—particularly from one Alexia Putellas. She’s been courtside, wearing your jersey, and caught on video celebrating your final points. Any comment on that?”

You felt it immediately—the shift. Maya turned her head slowly toward you, lips twitching. Liv sank back into her chair with the smuggest expression known to mankind. You tried—really tried—to stay cool.

“I… have a lot of support,” you started, flashing a practiced smile. “The whole club’s been amazing this season.”

“Sure,” the reporter pressed, “but it’s not every day the captain of the women’s team shows up with your number on her back and gets caught whispering something to you in the tunnel after a game.”

You paused. Shrugged. “She’s… a friend.”

“Just a friend?” You glanced at Liv, who was absolutely vibrating with the effort not to laugh.

You took a deep breath. “Okay. Look. Am I saying I don’t find Alexia attractive? No, I am not. The girl has a face card that needs to be hung in the Louvre. But she is my friend.”

The room erupted. Liv full-on dropped her head to the table. Maya whispered, “Put that on a t-shirt.”

You held up your hands, mock-serious. “She is—genuinely—my friend. Do we support each other? Yes. Do we wear each other’s merch? Maybe. Are you all reading way too much into it because we’re both incredibly good-looking and charming? Also yes.”

A reporter near the back shouted, “So that’s a no-comment with bonus compliments?”

You grinned. “That’s a no-comment with flavor.”

By the time the press conference ended, the clip was already online, memes being made in real-time. One side of Twitter had declared you soulmates. The other? Convinced it was all a PR stunt (that somehow felt too real).

And in your pocket, your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Face card in the Louvre??.

You: Tis my truth Putellas!

No more dodging. Not tonight. The alcohol gave you a don’t give a fuck confidence for sure. 

Later that night, the celebrations had cooled—but not completely. Your medal still hung loosely around your neck, the strap twisted from wear. Your hoodie was only half-zipped, and your cheeks were flushed from the champagne and the high of victory. You’d made it through the party, the interviews, the endless congratulations.

But now you just wanted her. Alexia’s apartment lights were warm through the windows when you were buzzed in, and she opened the door before you could knock twice.

She was in sweats and a tank top, hair tied back, glasses on, clearly not expecting you, and definitely not like this.

You were leaning against the doorframe, one hand braced like it was holding you up—eyes glassy, smirk crooked. “Hi,” you said, voice low, sweet, and a little slurred. “You alone or your girlfriend here”

She blinked. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” you said. “Just… celebratory.”

Alexia raised a brow, arms crossing loosely. “Celebrating all the way to my doorstep?”

You looked her up and down—slowly, obviously. “I’d like to sit on your face… please.”

She stared at you for a beat, expression unreadable.Then— She laughed. A full, head-tilted-back laugh, the kind that made you grin stupidly and lean a little heavier on the doorframe. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here,” she said, half-scolding, half-grinning as she reached for your arm and pulled you gently inside.

“I took a cab,” you said proudly, nearly tripping over your own feet. “See? Responsible. But still—my request stands.”

Alexia rolled her eyes as she guided you inside, shutting the door behind you. “You’re impossible.”

“You like me impossible.”

She smirked, pressing a hand to your chest to stop your very uncoordinated attempt at leaning in. “You’re also tipsy, mildly annoying, but a little bit adorable.”

You blinked. “You said adorable.”

“I regret it already.”

You flopped dramatically onto her couch, legs spread, hoodie half hanging off your shoulder. “So… is that a no?”

Alexia crossed her arms again, trying not to laugh as she leaned against the wall, watching you with something warm in her eyes. “Drink some water. Eat something. Then we’ll talk.”

You gave her a lazy grin. “So… not a no.”

She shook her head, already walking toward the kitchen. “Definitely not a yes, either.”

You let your head fall back against the cushions, smiling to yourself, feeling full—of joy, of champagne, of her—for the first time in a long time.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been draped across her couch like some kind of smug, post-victory royalty, but when Alexia walked back in from the kitchen, she was holding a plate with a sandwich and a raised eyebrow like she was rethinking all her life choices.

She stood over you, unimpressed but slightly amused, holding the plate just out of your reach. “You are such a handful.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” you said, smirking, “so are my tits, and I don’t hear you complaining about that.”

Alexia blinked, clearly trying not to laugh. “Are you for real right now?”

You reached up lazily, still not moving from your reclined position, fingers brushing the edge of the plate. “I’m just saying. If I’m a handful, I’m at least a fun handful.”

She shook her head, biting back a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. Feeding me. Hydrating me. Thinking about my tits.”

Alexia set the plate on your stomach with a dramatic thud, sandwich and all. “There. Eat. Rehydrate. And stop being so full of yourself.”

You grinned, grabbing the sandwich immediately. “You love it.”

She didn’t answer, just turned to walk away with a little shake of her head—but you caught the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before she disappeared into the kitchen again.

“That’s what I thought!” you called after her, mouth full of sandwich.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she yelled back.

“Too late,” you mumbled around a bite. “You’ve been regretting it since I walked in hot and victorious.”

But the truth was there wasn’t an ounce of regret between either of you. Not tonight.

You were mid-sandwich, shoes kicked off, hoodie half off one shoulder, talking absolute nonsense about how you should start a post-career podcast called “Buckets and Brat” when Alexia returned to the living room, arms folded and eyes full of you’re a mess, but you’re my mess.

“Come on,” she said, standing in front of you, hands extended.

You blinked up at her, confused but willing. “We dancing now? 'Cause I can’t promise I won’t fall in love with you if we slow dance.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t drop her hands. “You need a bath.”

“I smell like champagne and achievement,” you said, proudly.

“You smell like a locker room and bad decisions.” She wiggled her fingers until you gave in, placing your hands in hers. She pulled you gently to your feet, and you swayed slightly, leaning into her chest with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re bossy when I’m drunk,” you mumbled against her shoulder.

“You’re clingy when you’re drunk.”

“Lies,” you said, gripping her hips. “You’re just magnetic.”

She laughed under her breath, guiding you down the hallway toward the bathroom. “You ramble so much when you’re tipsy.”

“I’m a layered character.” When she reached for the hem of your hoodie, you squinted at her. “Okay, calm down, ma’am, we’ve barely shared a sandwich.”

Alexia smirked, undeterred. “I’m not undressing you to jump you. Although you've clearly forgotten that was the original reason you cam here.. I ran you a bath. Try not to drown.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. You peeked past her into the bathroom. Steam curled from the tub, the soft scent of eucalyptus drifting in the air. The lights were dimmed, the faucet still trickling, and a fluffy towel was already folded by the sink.

You blinked. “You’re—wait. You’re really running me a bath?”

“I work with women who treat muscle care like religion,” she said. “You just played two finals back to back, you stink, and your spine is shaped like a question mark right now.”

You blinked again. “You’re perfect.”

“Get in the tub.”

She helped peel the hoodie off, then your shirt, warm hands careful and patient. You kept making faces at her, muttering things like “Where’s the seductive music?” and “This feels very bridal” until she gave you a light shove toward the water.

Once you were settled in—neck deep, body melting—you let out a long sigh. “You’re sitting there to make sure I don’t drown, aren’t you?”

Alexia sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor, chin resting on her palm, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “Absolutely.”

You floated in silence for a minute, warm and safe, cheeks pink from the heat and champagne. “You’re really not gonna kiss me right now?” you asked, eyes half-closed.

“Not while you’re this drunk,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’m good, but I’m not reckless.”

You smiled at her through the steam. “You’re kind of everything.”

She didn’t say anything. Just kept sitting there, eyes soft, keeping watch like she always did—even when you didn’t ask her to. And you let yourself be looked after. For once.

You’d sunk deeper into the bath now, arms draped over the sides, head tipped back against the edge as the warmth settled into your muscles and loosened your thoughts—which, at this stage, were entirely unfiltered.

Alexia still sat nearby, legs tucked to her chest, occasionally sipping from a glass of water she'd brought you and definitely rethinking her life choices.

“I just… I just think it’s weird,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering open. “Like, how do we know we all see the same colors the same way?”

Alexia blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Like your purple… might not be my purple,” you said with complete sincerity, hand lifting out of the water to gesture vaguely. “We all learn the name of the color, sure, but what if how you see purple looks like how I see green? We’d never know.”

She stared at you for a long second. “Did you just bring an existential philosophy spiral into my bathroom?”

“I’m serious, Alexia. What if you think of red and your brain’s like, ‘yeah, red,’ but it’s secretly a totally different color to what I see as red, and we’ve just been living this color-coded lie our whole lives?”

Alexia exhaled slowly, like she was regretting not locking you in the guest room with a Gatorade.

“Also,” you continued, undeterred, “what if animals do talk but only when we’re not around, like in that one movie with the toys?”

She leaned back against the wall, rubbing her temple. “Are you just listing childhood thoughts you never got closure on?”

“Closure’s a myth,” you said dramatically, eyes closed now, steam curling around your face. “Like matching socks or quiet group chats.”

She actually laughed at that—low and involuntary, and you caught it, grinning even as your eyes stayed shut.

“And another thing,” you added, lifting your hand out of the water, finger pointing toward the ceiling like you were delivering a TED Talk. “How do we know pigeons aren’t government spies? Like—”

Alexia stood up abruptly, grabbing the glass and walking it over to you. “Alright. Drink this before you start debating gravity or convincing me birds are robots.”

You took the water with a sheepish grin. “That’s not a no, though.”

“It’s a please shut up and hydrate,” she replied.

You sipped, sighing contentedly, cheeks still flushed, and watched her settle back down beside the tub like she hadn’t just endured a full podcast episode of Drunken Bath Thoughts.

“You’re really staying there the whole time?” you asked, quieter now.

She glanced over at you. “Would you get out safely if I left?”

You thought about that for a moment. “...Probably not.”

“Exactly.”

You smiled again, eyes softer now. “You’re good at this.”

Alexia didn’t answer. Just reached over and flicked a few bubbles at your forehead. But stayed right there.

--

The bathwater was starting to cool, but you didn’t care. Your limbs were heavy and relaxed, your mind floating somewhere between champagne tipsy and sleep-deprived philosophical. Alexia was still sitting on the bathroom floor, leaned back against the wall, scrolling quietly through her phone. She hadn’t said much in the last few minutes—not because she wasn’t present, but because she didn’t need to say anything.

You shifted slightly, letting your fingers skim the water.

“Alexia.”

She didn’t look up. “Yes.”

You blinked at her tone, mock-offended. “Okay—no need to get snippy.”

Still, she didn’t look at you, just tapped at her phone. “Ask your question.”

You pushed up a little in the tub, water sloshing against the sides. “If you could be any kitchen appliance, what would you be and why?”

Nothing.

Not even a glance. Just the soft tap-tap-tap of her scrolling. You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna answer?”

Still no reply. You narrowed your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips.

“You’re really gonna ghost me in the middle of a deeply introspective and emotionally vulnerable moment like this?”

She exhaled a small laugh—barely audible—but her eyes stayed locked on her phone.

You leaned back dramatically against the edge of the tub. “Fine. I’ll just sit here and cry in lukewarm water thinking about how my girlfriend doesn’t want to be a kitchen appliance with me.”

“Not your girlfriend,” she muttered, still not looking at you.

“No you already have one of those” You smirked when you caught her eye roll. “Not denying that or that you’re an appliance, though.”

Alexia finally looked up at you, deadpan. “You are unbearable when tipsy.”

You grinned, triumphant. “That sounds like blender energy, actually.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone, but you caught the small smile tugging at her lips. Victory. Sort of.

Alexia hadn’t moved from her spot on the bathroom floor, her back still pressed to the wall, phone in hand, thumb lazily scrolling like she was purposely ignoring you—or worse, unfazed by you.

Which… was unacceptable. You tilted your head toward her, eyes narrowing.

“Alexia.”

Nothing.

“Alexxxiiaaa…”

Still scrolling.

You pouted, lounging further into the water. “You’re so boring when you go into ‘scroll mode.’ You’re missing premium content.”

No reaction.

You stared at her for a moment longer. Then your expression shifted—mischief replacing mock-annoyance. If she wanted to act unbothered, you could fix that.

You slid one leg up through the surface of the water, slowly and deliberately, trailing your fingers over your shin in a way that was anything but casual. You dipped your hand into the water again, picked up the sponge, and began gently running it over your collarbone, up the curve of your neck, eyes fluttering closed just for effect.

“God, I’m so tense,” you sighed dramatically, arching your back ever so slightly. “I really wish someone was paying attention.” The sponge glided over your now visible breasts.

Still no reaction.

She had to be watching now.

You let the sponge glide over your shoulder, deliberately letting the water drip down your arm with a soft hiss. “Bet I’d be so much more relaxed if someone helped wash my back…”

You cracked one eye open to peek at her.

Alexia was… still looking at her phone.

But.

The corner of her mouth was twitching. Caught.

You dropped the seduction act and sat up with a splash, water sloshing over the sides. “You’re so fake! You’re laughing!”

Alexia didn’t even look up. “I wasn’t laughing.”

“You were!” you pointed accusingly. “I saw your lip do the thing!”

She finally glanced at you—smirking. “That was the most aggressively obvious bath seduction I’ve ever witnessed. You used a sponge like it owed you money.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And yet you’re still here.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t drown,” she said, unfazed. “Not to witness your Oscar-worthy softcore solo performance.”

You groaned, flopping back into the water dramatically. “You’re so no fun.”

Alexia stood, stretching slightly as she walked over to the sink to grab a towel. “If I was no fun, I wouldn’t be sitting through your bath monologue about color theory and seductive sponge work.”

You watched her, then let out a soft sigh. “You do like me a little.”

She draped the towel over the radiator, not turning around.

“I’m still not answering the kitchen appliance question,” she said calmly.

You grinned. Victory pending.

You watched her move around the bathroom with that same impossible calm, the towel now warming on the radiator, her back to you, hair slightly messy from lounging, sleeves pushed up.

You were still naked in the tub, surrounded by bubbles that had long since started to die out, and she was somehow completely unbothered by your attempts to rattle her.

That only made it worse.

You crossed your arms on the edge of the tub, resting your chin there as you stared her down. “You know,” you said, voice deceptively casual, “most people would crack by now.”

Alexia glanced over her shoulder, unimpressed. “You think this is the weirdest thing I’ve experienced? i’m in women’s football! Please.”

“Come on,” you whined. “Just a hint of what appliance you’d be. Blender? Toaster? Air fryer?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on this?”

“I’m committed to the bit.”

She leaned back against the counter now, arms folded, finally giving you a sliver of attention. “You’re in lukewarm bathwater, half-drunk, and asking me what kitchen appliance I spiritually identify with. This is the person I chose to spend my night with.”

You grinned. “And yet… you didn’t choose me.”

She paused. Just for a second. Then, “I’d be a dishwasher.”

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

Alexia nodded once, cool as ever. “Efficient. Quiet. Cleans up after other people’s messes.”

You let out a soft laugh. “That’s the most you answer you could’ve given.”

“And what are you again?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Blender.”

“Right.” She smirked. “Noisy. A little dangerous if left unattended.”

You raised a wet finger. “But useful in the right hands.” She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. You watched her for a moment, softer now. “Thanks for taking care of me tonight. You didn’t have to.”

Alexia stepped closer, kneeling briefly beside the tub. “I didn’t,” she said, eyes on yours. “But I wanted to.”

You didn’t speak—you just nodded, lips curving into a quiet smile. She reached for the sponge you’d been using in your earlier performance and gently flicked water at you.

“And now I’m kicking you out of the tub before you wrinkle into a raisin.”

You laughed, catching her wrist lightly. “Fine. But only because you answered the question.”

“And because I warmed your towel,” she said, smug.

“That too,” you muttered. “God, you’re annoying.”

She stood and grabbed the towel. “And yet…”

And yet, you were already reaching for her hand as she helped you out of the bath, towel wrapping around your body like it belonged there—like you belonged here. Even in all your chaos, she stayed.

You might’ve been a blender, but somehow, she always knew how to handle the mess.

Alexia had just wrapped the towel securely around your body, all calm efficiency and soft eye-rolls as she dried your shoulders with the kind of care she probably wouldn't admit to.

“Stay here,” she said, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “I’m getting you something to wear.”

You gave a dramatic salute. “Yes, capitana.”

She turned to leave the bathroom, muttering something about oversized shirts and how you better not be a chaos goblin while she was gone.

But the moment she was out of sight, your stomach gave a very inconvenient, very loud growl.

You blinked. “Oh my god… my sandwich.” It hit you like a spiritual revelation. You hadn’t finished it. You’d had, like, two bites before she started making you hydrate and bathe and reflect on your questionable life choices. And now? Now it was calling you.

Without hesitation—and with zero regard for the fact that you were completely naked—you abandoned your towel on the bathroom hook and wandered out into the apartment in search of your half-eaten, slightly squished post-championship sandwich.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Alexia was digging through her drawer, already holding a t-shirt in one hand and a pair of soft shorts in the other when she called out, “I hope you like Barça kits, because that’s all I own in your size—”

Silence. She frowned.

“…Hello?”

She turned around. The bathroom door was open. Steam still curling out. Towel hanging up neatly.

But you were gone.

Her brow furrowed. “No… no, no, no—” She moved quickly down the hall. “You did not wander off naked in my apartment—”

But of course you had. Because there you were, standing in front of her open fridge like you owned the place, back fully bare, posture relaxed, holding the last triangle of your sandwich in one hand and taking the slowest, most satisfied bite imaginable.

Alexia stopped dead in the doorway.

She blinked. “What the actual hell.”

You turned your head, mid-chew. “What? I got hungry.”

“You’re naked.”

You looked down at yourself, then back at her, unfazed. “Yeah, but, like... casually.”

She closed her eyes, sighed through her nose, and muttered, “I am too sober for this.”

You held up the sandwich like a peace offering. “Want a bite?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I want you dressed. And not dropping mayo on my kitchen floor.”

You looked down at the small smudge on the tile near your foot. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Alexia turned on her heel. “I’m getting the shirt. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t start philosophising with the toaster.”

You grinned, watching her disappear again, still completely nude, still chewing. “You love it,” you called after her, mouth full.

“I am re-evaluating that by the minute,” she called back.

But she wasn’t. She really, really wasn’t.

When Alexia returned from the bedroom—oversized Barça shirt in one hand, shorts in the other—she was expecting to find you exactly where she left you: standing in the kitchen, still dripping water on the tiles, still annoyingly proud of your post-bath sandwich detour.

Instead, she stepped into an empty kitchen. No naked sandwich gremlin in sight. She stared at the abandoned plate on the counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Alexia turned slowly, eyes scanning her small apartment. “Not again.” She started down the hallway, calling out, “If you’ve gone back in the tub, I swear to God—”

But then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a TV turning on. Followed by… you giggling? She rounded the corner and found you sprawled across her couch, still completely naked, a blanket tossed lazily over your lap, attempting to keep your modesty in a laughable attempt. Legs sticking out, remote in hand, and her Netflix account pulled up like you lived there.

“Oh hey,” you said casually, not even looking at her. “They added a new season of that dating show where everyone lies about being in love. I thought we could watch one episode.”

Alexia stared at you, arms still holding the clothes you should be wearing, trying to decide whether to scold you or grab her phone and take a photo for blackmail purposes.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You glanced at her, grinning. “Right? And yet, still more stable than half the people on this show.”

She walked over slowly, set the shirt and shorts on the armrest beside you, and gave you a look. “You are naked on my couch.”

You pulled the blanket up slightly “Technically not anymore and besides wouldn’t be the first time.”

She gave you the most unamused expression she could manage. “This is a personal attack.”

You patted the cushion beside you. “Come on, Alexia. Take a break. Join me in my cozy little kingdom of poor reality television and post-bath wisdom.”

Alexia hesitated for one second too long, then sighed, finally sitting down—though noticeably keeping her distance. “Put the damn clothes on first.”

You gave her a mischievous look. “I don’t know… I’m really vibing with this setup.”

“I’m going to smother you with that blanket.”

You slipped the shirt on with dramatic flair, then turned the volume up a notch. “Fine. But you have to admit this is kind of peak domestic.”

Alexia didn’t respond right away, just leaned back into the couch, stealing the remote from your hand. Then quietly, almost too quiet to catch, “…It kind of is.”

You were fully sprawled now, her oversized Barça shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder, blanket still draped lazily over your lap, legs stretched across the couch like you owned it. The TV cast soft flickers of light across the room as the reality show’s chaotic intro music played in the background.

Alexia sat at the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed, pretending to be deeply focused on the screen—but her eyes kept flicking toward you. Probably trying to decide if she was annoyed or entertained. Maybe both.

You caught the glance, of course. Smirked.

“You don’t usually complain when I’m naked,” you said, casual as anything.

Alexia didn’t blink. “That’s because normally, you’re not naked while disrespecting my furniture and eating my last slice of bread.”

You gasped, dramatic. “So it’s about the bread?”

“It’s mostly about the bread.”

You shifted slightly under the blanket, nudging her leg with your foot. “You didn’t complain last week when I was naked in my bed with you.”

She shot you a side-eye, lips twitching despite herself. “That was different.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

She gave you a measured look, leaning in just a little. “You weren’t drunk and stealing the TV for trash dating shows.”

You leaned right back, grinning. “So you admit there’s a naked exception clause in place?”

“I admit,” she said dryly, “that I need better boundaries.”

You kicked her lightly with your foot. “You love it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away. “You’re a menace.”

You beamed. “And yet here you are. Letting the menace pick the show.”

Alexia didn’t respond immediately. She just shifted slightly, reached under the blanket to steal a corner of it for herself, and pulled it across her lap.

And just like that, you were side by side under one blanket, watching messy strangers pretend to fall in love on TV

The second episode of the dating show had just started—some dramatic intro about secret exes showing up, “Familiar” you mutter—when Alexia let out a small sigh and leaned back, letting her head rest on the top of the couch, one arm now loosely stretched along the back behind you.

You scooted closer without thinking, tucking your legs up beneath you, your head naturally finding a place near her shoulder.

Alexia didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease you. She just… settled into it.

The blanket was warm, the glow of the screen soft, and the chaos on the TV was blissfully mindless. You. Her. A shared blanket and bad television.

—

The restaurant was dimly lit, humming with quiet chatter, plates clinking in the background as glasses were refilled and music played low overhead. You sat in a booth tucked into the corner, ankle propped on the bench beside you, a slight wince every time you shifted—but you were getting used to it.

Maya sat across from you, already two drinks in and talking animatedly about a player who tried to dunk on her in practice. You barely listened. Not because you weren’t interested, but because your brain had been off centre all day.

Beside her, Liv sat with that smug ‘I did something’ smile she always wore when she was up to something. You’d asked who her “plus one” was for dinner, and she’d just winked.

So you weren’t surprised when Mariona Caldentey slid into the booth a few minutes later, all sunshine and tattoos and that mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“Wow,” she said, eyeing your foot. “You look severely hung over”

You shrugged. “Still vertical.”

The drinks flowed, plates of tapas shared and picked apart. Maya kept the vibe light, Liv leaned into the gossip, and soon the conversation naturally drifted... to Alexia.

Mariona tried to stay out of it—tried. But it was Liv who cracked it open.

“She hasn’t said anything?” Liv asked, sipping from her glass.

“Not seen her,” you said flatly. A complete and utter lie that fell easily out your mouth.

Maya raised a brow. “Even after the game? The injury? The whole ‘Alexia standing in the stands like a lovesick simp’ moment?”

You rolled your eyes.

Mariona chuckled. “She’s dramatic. But subtle like a brick.”

That made you smirk despite yourself. “That’s true.”

Mariona leaned forward, casual as ever poking her fork into a dish. “I mean, she only kept Vicky hanging around to make you jealous.”

The words hit the table like glass shattering. You blinked. “What?”

The others froze. Mariona paused, her wine halfway to her lips.

Liv gave her a slow turn of the head. “Mariona.”

Mariona’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“What?” you snapped, voice sharper now.

She winced. “No—I mean—she didn’t say it out loud. Not to me. But I did hear her talking to Irene and Mapi about it. She was trying to get a reaction. You know the whole you want something if you can't have it kind of thing.”

You sat back slowly, arms crossing over your chest. “What a joke,” you muttered. Your jaw clenched. “Two can play that game,” you said, voice cool.

Maya sat forward. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“I won’t,” you said, already pulling your phone from your pocket.

Mariona winced again. “You’re already doing something stupid , aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Because if Alexia wanted to play with feelings, with tension, with silence and suggestion—fine.

You’d play, too. And this time? You’d make sure she saw it.

You went to Alba’s Instagram, she had just posted a new story and a photo—you noticed it immediately.

A high-contrast, sun-soaked bikini shot, lounging poolside somewhere that looked expensive, with a caption that simply said:

“Sun hits different lately ☀️”

You paused. Smirked. Tilted your head, thinking just long enough to make the decision dangerous. Then you hit Follow. And after that, you did something.

You commented.

“Guess it does. Damn.” 🤤🔥

Not subtle. Not at all. And you didn’t need it to be. Because you knew Alexia would see it. Alba was private. You’d never followed her before. The follow alone would’ve sent a ripple. But the comment? That was the splash. You tossed your phone onto the table, already bracing for the fallout. Because yeah, maybe it was petty. Maybe it was calculated. But so was dragging your ex around to make a point. And if Alexia wanted to play games, you’d just made your next move.

[only4riwoo]

paper hearts 🏹 k.dh

genre smut 941 words cw MDNI!! sub!leehan, lowercase intended, unprotexted sex (big nono!!), cum eating, handjob (m), overstim, pet names (pretty, princess, love etc), if im missing smth lmk!! note i would tag liv (our beloved liverspaghett) because she helped me write a piece of this but since she deactivated her account, we will instead mourn the loss of our pookie. we will miss you liv rip!! this post is way over due, i was supposed to upload this on valentines day but i fell back and it definitely affected me :^ i know this is a super short read but enjoy this little treat my lovelies & make sure to keep urself hydrated; also that posture ml, sit up straight! < 33

"hi pretty.." leehan hums, his voice scratchy as he plopped down onto the mattress of your shared bed.

his hand was splay across your lower abdomen, the bed dipping a tad bit more under his weight when he scooted closer behind you.

although leehan was usually pretty good at keeping it in his pants, the smell of your freshly shampooed hair invading his nose was making his randomly speratic hormones go extremely haywire.

a sudden shift in what was, on a normal day, a comfortable type of tension, became very heavy and almost 'nose-stuffing'.

you clear your throat in an attempt to catch his attention since you noticed he was starting to stare directly at you with a blank expression. "you okay?"

your tone was softhearted with no intent of offense, your left hand reaching back to rest on the underside of leehan's arm, the one he used to keep a tight grip around your waist.

after a moment of complete silence, the only sound being your breathing and the quiet hum of the ceiling fan above.

he eventually answered, but of course, it wasn't a normal response to someone asking if you're okay.

"you smell good" leehan suddenly blurted, ripping a short giggle from your throat. "baby, you know you can tell me that there's something wrong, right?" you reassure, knowing leehan has a tendency to stay quiet and keep things to himself.

"yeah, i know," he subtly nods at you before continuing to speak. "i just.. need you so bad"

it was a given that he was reluctant to speak but he knew you care and will do everything in your power to help him when in need.

an almost silent noise came from your noise, the quietest laugh.

you didn't say anything, the hand on his arm coming down to pause just over the spot he wanted you so badly.

leehan whined at the slightest of touch, his hips pushing forward a bit to chase the feeling of your hand.

you knew your way around leehan's body. you also knew his limits, what he could take and what he couldn't take.

"really, hani?" that damn nickname. he cursed under his breath at your sultry tone. "please.." leehan whispered, desperately longing for your touch.

you laugh at his desperation, eventually giving in and sitting up before turning around, pushing leehan to lie on his back. pressing your palm flat against his clothed boner, you earn a sigh of relief from leehan as his hips involuntarily jumped forward into your hand.

with his chest heaving, breathless whimpers roaring up, he subtly humped against your fingers. leehan barked up a pathetic whimper when your hand slipped past his waistband, his eyes threatening to roll back as you thumb at his slit.

"fuck," he groaned, his hips slowly thrusting up. "ah ah, no sir." you warn with a click of your tongue, shifting your body to help him pull his sweats off before sitting on his thighs to hold him still.

leehan decided to actually listen to you, keeping still despite the obvious need in his watery eyes. the tip of his cock was flushed pink, just like his cheeks. you could hear he was breathing heavier. his cock stood up, aching for your touch. he wasn't beyond begging, never was. and that's exactly what he would do if you kept teasing him like this.

you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, dragging it up until you reach the top. you circle the head with your thumb before pushing your fist back down. leehan let out a quiet sob in response, drowning in the feeling of your touches.

you smear the small bead of precum that formed at his slit and spit in your palm to wet his cock. your hands move quicker and grip him harder, leaving him wriggling and whining under your weight, but unable to escape. it wasn't like he wanted to anyways. he rolled his hips into your palm, desperate for release. the moment you noticed his breath got shaky and uneven, you knew he was getting close. just as you feel his cock twitch, you pull your hand away.

leehan lying all desperate underneath you was really a sight to see, cupping the side of his face to admire his beauty before pulling him in for a long awaited kiss. you felt leehan’s hands come up to rest on your hips but you ignored it, continuing to kiss him while your free hand reached down to fondle his balls.

his fingers clung to your waist, pulling you closer to him to deepen the kiss. leehan’s tongue slipped through the small gap between your parted lips, moaning into your mouth as you start stroking him again.

the moment was heated and heavy, leehan’s chest caving as his dick twitched sporadically in your palm.

“ngh.. “ he whimpered against your mouth, his hips twitching up into your hand. “i’m-” he pulled away to make an attempt to speak but cut himself off with a soft groan, his cock pulsing as you graze your fingernail on his head. “fuck, wait i’m gonna cum”

leehan shudders harshly as you continue milking him. his stomach muscles clenched, his dick twitching again before it spurted hot and sticky semen all over your hand and his thighs. your hand doesn’t stop, working leehan through his orgasm until he’s shaking from overstimulation.

it’s when leehan pushes your hand away that you stop and lick his cum off your hand. suddenly gasping as your back hit’s the mattress. “your turn, princess.” he whispers teasingly from above you, a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

[martygraciesversion381]

SO LONG MONACO

oscar piastri x reader

masterlist

summary: you are a famous singer who just went through a breakup with charles leclerc.....who knows what will your fans think of your new album and what secrets are hidden behind it?

warnings: none except mention of break up, smau

face claim: olivia rodrigo (love u liv<3)

a/n: this was usually posted on my old account (i changed the pics tho)

yourusername

liked by conangray, taylorswift, sabrinacarpenter and others

yourusername: stay tuned big thing happening tonight at my concert🤭

76,657 comments

username1: OMG NEW ALBUM TONIGHT?!

↳ username2: about charles?!

↳ username1: omg he should fear her

logansargeant: stunning like always but that first pic is amazing

↳ yourusername: stfu logan

yourusername

liked by logansargeant, sabrinacarpenter, taylorswift and others

yourusername: surpise! my brand new album 'loml' (as love of my life) is coming out on july 17th can't wait for all of you to hear it! thanks to sabrina to accepting to work with me!<3

98,678 comments

yourusername: sorry for shitty quality of the second pic😅 here's the tracklist:

loml, drivers license, lacy, the grudge, all i want, all too well (10 minutes version), exile, you're losing me, so long london, the smallest man who ever lived, how did it end?, robin, peter, the black dog, all because i liked a boy (ft. sabrina carpenter) (pinned comment)

sabrinacarpenter: best collab i ever made<3 (liked by yourusername)

logansargeant: so proud of you! (liked by yourusername)

taylorswift: so so proud of you! you deserve everything

↳ yourusername: omg did the one and only taylor swift just comment on my post?!

charlesleclerc: should i be scared?

↳ yourusername: you should 😈

↳ username1: 🤣

username5: I WAS THERE WHEN SHE ANNOUNCED IT!!!

username2: you're soo gorgeous can't wait to hear it<3

yourusername

liked by sabrinacarpenter, conangray, taylorswift and others

something is coming......

comments are turned off for this post

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, conangray, sabrinacarpenter and others

yourusername: hi! it's me again! so...i felt productive and decided to add some songs to my album<3 (special thanks to conan and oscar and maybe also charles who inspired these songs) enjoy! (still out on july 17th btw) here's the new songs:

deja vu, good 4 u, vampire, get him back!, love is embarassing, now that we don't talk, gorgeous, king of my heart, so american, obsessed, dress, call it what you want, false god, jealousy jealousy, hope ur ok (this one is about conan), ballad of a homeschooled girl, pretty isn't pretty, so american, obsessed and the archer <3

76,657 comments

username1: OMG!!!! can't wait!!!

username2: are you free on july 17...NO!

charlesleclerc: ok now i'm scared

conangray: can't wait!!!! (liked by yourusername)

taylorswift: wait! this is amazing!!! (liked by yourusername)

F1NEWS

liked by f1wags, landonorris and others

f1news: famous singer Y/N Y/LN was spotted today at the miami gp with driver oscar piastri

45,675 comments

username1: NEW WAG?!

landonorris: i'm just gonna leave this here....@/yourusername @/oscarpiastri

username2: i'm sure some songs in her new album are about him

username3: I SHIP!

↳ username4: ME TOO!!

↳ username5: SAME!!!

tap to see more answers

username6: ew he deserves better

username7: how can people like them together?

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter, conangray and others

yourusername: LOML is out now! go listen and enjoy! (ps: yes the last songs are about oscar🤭)

76,657 comments

oscarpiastri: so proud of you baby ❤️

↳ yourusername: love u❤️

taylorswift: my child is growing so quickly i'm a proud mother (liked by yourusername)

conangray: wow! bonan and i are proud of you ❤️🤣 (liked by yourusername)

↳ username3: conan is so real🤣🤣 like he's a conhead himslef🤣

sabrinacarpenter: love this album and u so much❤️ (liked by yourusername)

THE END!

hope you liked this (it's my first time posting a fanfic i'm so happy!) btw if you saw any spelling mistakes no you didn't 🤭

[artvscvntymullet]

ALMOST, ALWAYS - ARTHUR TV

word count : 3400 words

content warnings : angst, alcohol consumption, suggested anxiety attack, confrontation, social media toxicity, language etc

A/N : i am obsessed with angst, can you tell?

masterlist here !!

You and Arthur met on someone else’s couch, in someone else’s YouTube video. One of those last-minute group challenges Chip threw together for content. You weren’t even meant to be there, just tagging along with George, your best friend, but someone dropped out, and suddenly you were center frame, awkwardly holding a mic and trying not to laugh.

Arthur was behind the camera, giving you a thumbs-up between takes.

Afterwards, in a moment that stuck with you way too long, he handed you a drink and said, "You’re funny when you’re nervous."

That was the beginning.

From there, it was a steady blur of collabs, chaotic shoot days, in-jokes the audience would never fully get. You and Arthur became inseparable, but always just shy of more. The comments shipped it. The fan edits were relentless. George teased you constantly.

"He looks at you like you hung the stars," George said once.

"He looks at everyone like that," you replied, even though you knew it wasn’t true.

You liked him. He liked you. But nothing ever happened. And then she showed up.

Arthur’s newest video was all over Instagram before it even dropped. People were hyping the thumbnail: soft lighting, a beautiful stranger in a green jacket laughing over coffee. She was fucking gorgeous

You watched the final cut in your flat with George. He paused it halfway through to side-eye you. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you said.

But your stomach twisted when you saw how he looked at her through the lens. Like maybe this time, the camera was telling the truth.

When Arthur posted a behind-the-scenes picture with her, it felt like something broke. She wasn't just a collab. She was something.

You didn’t ask. He didn’t tell you.

Sabina texted you the address with a heart emoji. You almost didn’t go. But Liv sent a voice note saying, "Everyone’s asking if you’re coming. You need to babe, don’t let him ruin it."

So you went. Dressed up. Showed up. Pretended.

The flat was packed, half YouTube, half TikTok. Chip was doing shots in the corner with Chris. Arthur Hill was already loud. Arthur was in the kitchen. So was she. You downed your vodka cranberry.

They looked perfect together. She was perched on the counter, legs swinging, laughing at something Arthur said. He looked happy.

George appeared beside you like clockwork. "You okay?"

You nodded, lied. "Sure."

Then she spotted you and walked over, smiling like a dagger.

"You’re Y/N, right? Arthur talks about you. Said you were like, his best mate."

Your smile cracked, "Yeah. We go way back."

She tilted her head. "I love how close your group is. It's cute."

George was at your side again before you could respond.

"Fucking hell, come on," he said. "Let’s get you another drink."

You spent the next hour drinking too fast, too much. Watching them. Laughing too loud at things that weren’t funny.

But the alcohol only made the ache worse. And now she kept looking at you like she knew. Like she could smell the heartbreak on you.

Everywhere you turned, there was another reminder. Arthur laughing at something she said. Her touching his arm like it belonged to her. People filming content and tagging them.

You wandered to the edge of the living room where Chip and Chris were filming a quick TikTok. Bach was behind the camera and Arthur was supposed to jump in next.

"You alright, Y/N?" Bach asked, catching your eye. He looked concerned. You just gave a queasy thumbs up and turned away.

"She doesn’t look alright," Chris muttered, watching you go.

You stumbled toward the kitchen again in search of something stronger to make the night go faster. Tried to find George but couldn’t. You saw her instead.

She smiled at you like she pitied you. Or worse, like she was bored of the whole situation.

"You don’t have to be weird about it, you know," she said, so softly, it was almost patronising.

You blinked. "Sorry?"

"I mean... you and Arthur. Whatever that was. I’m not trying to step on anything. He just... moved on, and to be honest, can't blame him - you're so not his type."

Your heart cracked open. "Right." You were too drunk, shaky - you couldn't let her get the better of you. Not here.

You left before she could see you cry. Bathroom, door locked. You sat down and lost it. Your hands were shaking. You couldn’t breathe.

Liv found you first. Then Sabina. They pulled you off the floor, got your makeup off and held your hand.

"He picked her," you whispered.

Sabina kissed your forehead. "Then he has no idea what he’s just lost, darling."

You stayed in the bathroom for ages. Because going out there meant seeing it all again and your heart couldn’t take it.

George was furious. He’d seen enough.

He found Arthur laughing in the kitchen with Chris and her, beer bottle in her hand like nothing was wrong.

George slammed his own bottle on the counter. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Y/N is in the bathroom crying her heart out. And you’re here like nothing happened?"

Arthur looked stunned and Chris froze. She had the cheek to raise an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on her lips.

"You knew," George spat. "You’ve always known how she felt. And instead of saying anything, you string her along and then bring her here like she means nothing to you."

Arthur's face fell, ears burning hot. "I didn’t mean to hurt her."

"But you did. And you’re too much of a coward to admit it."

People were staring now. Bach had stopped filming. Chip was watching, jaw tight.

Arthur tried to get a word in, but George wasn’t done. "You don’t get to call her your best friend and treat her like a backup plan. She’s not some safety net for when you get bored."

Arthur opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Because you were standing in the doorway. Eyes glassy, face pale, still swaying from the wine you'd gulped down in a hurry. But there, listening. You turned around and walked out.

You didn’t cry again until you were home.

Everything felt heavy. You stripped out of your party clothes and left them on the floor. Crawled into bed and sobbed, the heaviness of your heart weighing on you.

You didn’t sleep.

The next morning was worse. Your phone was blowing up with messages you didn’t open. George, Sabina, Liv. Even Chip. Arthur, too—his name haunting your notifications like a ghost you hadn’t buried.

Then the internet noticed. Someone at the party had uploaded a blurry video of the confrontation. George’s voice was crystal clear. "You don’t get to treat her like a backup plan!"

By midday, your name was trending. Fan accounts were dissecting it all; comparing clips, pulling receipts from old vlogs.

Then she tweeted: "Some people mistake friendship for flirting. Don’t be delusional hun x."

It blew up instantly. Replies flooded with clown emojis, screenshots of you and Arthur from the last year.

You muted everything. Still, it didn’t stop the ache and the humiliation. The part of you that still loved him.

George came over without asking. Let himself in, sat on the floor next to your bed. "We don’t have to talk. I’ll just be here."

So you cried until your chest hurt. And he stayed.

You ignored Arthur’s texts and his calls. You missed him, but not like this. He showed up at your flat, knuckles sore for knocking on the door for five straight minutes.

When you opened the door, he looked wrecked. "I messed up," he said.

"Yeah."

"I should’ve said something. A long time ago."

You crossed your arms. "Why didn’t you?"

"Because I didn’t want to lose you."

"And now?"

"Now I’m terrified that I already have."

You stared at him. "You really hurt me," you whispered.

"I know. I hate myself for it."

He stepped forward, voice shaking. "I didn’t choose her. I was scared. You mean everything to me, and if I messed it up, I couldn’t bear it. But not being with you is worse."

You shook your head. "You let me think I was crazy, you let me spiral."

"I know. I’m so sorry."

You stared at him, heart pounding.

"I love you," he said, eyes glassy. "I’ve always loved you, not as a backup. Not as a maybe. You were the only thing that ever felt real."

Your breath caught. Your chest ached. But the walls you built cracked just enough.

"I love you too," you said, barely audible.

He stepped closer. "Can I..." You nodded.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t almost.

It was always.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ i'll do it better than he can ❞

# summary; your boyfriend kind of sucks

# playlist; your guilty pleasure - henry verus, knuckles - moose blood

# word count; 1k

# note; the casual x chrismd fic is actually in the works btw

Arthur feels his eyes roll into the back of his head as Jack, the insufferable man you've begun going out with, drones on about how his tiktok supposedly blew up, "It's got almost five thousand likes, mate, 's mental."

Isaac nods, Liv and Becky stand next to you, tapping through your phone at the photos you'd taken just earlier. You stifle a giggle at how as he continues to speak, more of your friends have slipped away to the toilet, called it a night, or simply tuned him out.

He was biting his tongue because he knows what you'd say if he were to so much as murmur what he really thought about this guy, or if he were to arrogantly laugh in his face saying how he got that in ten minutes of posting something.

To prevent allowing his internal, jealous rage to peak through his usual demeanor, he gets up off his seat heading for the bar, "Uh.. shot of southern comfort, please." Harder liquor should help him get through the night.

He lets out an exasperated breath he hadn't realized was crowding his lungs following it with several deeper ones, his skin feels prickly, and he wants more than anything to go home.

Thinking of how close you once were, about the few nights you spent in his bed, the only sounds being moans and heavy breathing. How you used to come get him after pub crawls and take him home, making sure he was comfortable.

You hadn't done that for months, not because you didn't still offer but because you expressed how Jack felt about you being alone with him, so Arthur simply stopped calling when he was drunk.

Nodding at the barman as he slides the shot he ordered to him, knocking it back like it was nothing, however, the way his face twists into a grimace and the alcohol burns the entire way down makes him realize what he's done. He knows how terribly he handles his drink but he went ahead and let his intrusive thoughts win.

Quite a few things are swirling in his mind as he stares at you from across the room, shamelessly letting his eyes flick down your body to your legs in those ripped skinny jeans, he bites hard on his lip when they fall upon your ass in them. Fuck. He feels all the blood in his body rush to his face when you turn and look directly at him. And dammit now you're walking over.

Never has he really been a religious man but he's praying you wouldn't notice him eye-fucking you or the way he was now watching the way your tits bounced against the tight, cropped top you were sporting or how he practically salivated over the sway of your hips as you stalk toward him.

"What ya up to?" he picks up on your sing-song tone. Just thinking about how much better I could be for you, he wishes he had taken another shot because then maybe he'd have the courage to utter that sentence: "Was getting a shot, and now I'm getting another martini. " He states untruthfully, but the matter-of-fact edge he has to his voice has you nodding, suspicion swirling in your mind.

His gaze lingers when you notice you wrap your arms around yourself, leaning your weight onto one foot. You hate how he made your pulse quicken, and when you saw him standing alone across the room, you felt a gravitational pull in his direction.

Jack never made you feel that way; sometimes, you felt the opposite. Arthur's just different—he always has been. He never made you feel weird about your interests; hell, you shared most of them. If you ever needed anything, you knew he'd be a call away, and vice versa.

You hadn't noticed how long you stood in silence or how he was reading you like a book until he said, "What're you thinking about?" His eyes roam over your features, watching you stutter with a knowing smirk, "And don't lie to me. You're an awful liar, love."

You internally swoon as the name makes your stomach somersault, "Just that I miss you, we never hang out anymore," he scoffs glaring daggers over your shoulder, presumably at Jack who you can feel staring a hole straight through you. His chin tilts slightly, eyeing you once more before murmuring, "You and I both know why that is."

Racking your brain for a rebuttal you come up empty, any and all words dying on your tongue, as much as you hate to admit it, he's right. You let your relationship drive a wedge between you, despite it not always being strictly platonic, the two of you were still incredibly close for years and all that's changed in three months.

Your phone comes to life in your back pocket, the custom tone Jack chose for himself echoing through the space between you. You resist the urge to sigh, his timing is always impeccable. "I'd bet you a tenner, he's suddenly ready to leave," you murmur, Arthur observing the screen with a hint of irritation in his gaze.

"He has a knack for butting in at the most inconvenient moments," Arthur comments with a dry chuckle, clearly amused yet envious of Jack's presence in your life.

You snort, it shouldn't be true for a man you claim as your boyfriend, but it is, you swear the more time you've spent with him the more overwhelming he's become, "Just gonna tell him 'm going with Liv tonight." You know that won't happen, she told you before you rocked up tonight, that she'd be going home with her boyfriend as they had set plans for the next morning.

Never have you been supportive of those who are enough of an asshole to break up with someone over text but you definitely might have to become one of them with this guy, he won't take it well no matter how you do it. If he made you feel how the man standing just in front of you, fiddling with his fingers did, maybe you would consider things.

He mutters, "She's going with Bach, you can always stay with me," his voice conveying hints of uncertainty and yearning. You lift your gaze in an attempt to meet his eyes, which he carefully sidesteps suddenly fairly interested in his ratty airforces.

"I was promised a Harry Potter marathon the last time we filmed with Chris anyway," he adds with a smirk. You can't help the way the corners of your mouth twitch. The fact that he remembers sending a flutter through your chest, his thoughtfulness always has you giggling like a schoolgirl.

You hum in agreement as you continue typing up your response, a playful smile on your lips, "I might just take you up on that," you nod moving around him in the direction of the bathrooms, "Let me know when he's gone, yeah?" you throw over your shoulder before disappearing out of sight.

Arthur watches Jack's reaction from the bar while he orders his martini, feeling full of himself. Your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend shoves his arms into his coat sleeves and bids your friends goodbye as he stalks out of the pub his jaw clenched so tight he swears he's grinding his teeth

[cosmicflw3rr]

ooooh or actor!r x dom hcs?

dominik mysterio x fem! actor! reader

(kinda got carried away but I really loved this request.)

-you and him met at a charity gala where reader was presenting, and dom was invited as a wwe guest.

-he accidentally bumped into you while trying to grab dessert, spilling wine on himself.

-you recognized him as rey mysterio’s son, since you grew up watching wwe.

-despite the awkwardnsss, you two ended up seated next to each other during the event, and the conversation flowed easily. you couldn’t stop laughing and talking.

-dom dm’d you after the event, and you responded right away.

-you two hit it off pretty quickly, and the texts kept flowing until you were texting daily.

-he would occasionally send you funny videos of him and his coworkers messing around backstage.

-in return, you’d send him behind-the-scenes glimpses of your work life, like funny moments on set or sneak peeks of your projects.

-your first date was casual but intimate, where he took you to a small diner after one of his shows, and you ended up talking for hours about everything

-you made your first public appearance together at the red carpet premiere of your new movie, where dom couldn’t stop complimenting you.

-he was a little nervous about being in the hollywood spotlight, but you made sure he felt comfortable, sticking close to him the whole night.

-dom loves visiting you on set whenever his schedule allows it, and he’s in awe watching you switch work so effortlessly.

-though you two come from very different industries, you both share a mutual understanding of the physical and emotional toll of being in the spotlight.

-you love watching his matches in person when you’re not filming, cheering him on from backstage.

-whenever dom has a tough match, you’re the first person to check on him afterward, running your hands over his bruises and making sure he’s okay.

-he jokes that you’d make a great wwe manager because of how protective you get over him when he takes a bad bump.

-dom secretly loves when you steal his judgment day merch to wear on your off days, especially when you’re lounging around set.

-you’ve helped him run lines whenever wwe gives him a scripted promo, and he swears you’re the reason he’s improved so much on the mic.

-and he playfully teaches you wrestling moves when you guys go to the gym.

-sometimes, he surprises you with flowers or small gifts in your trailer, leaving little notes like “for the best actress in the world” or “can’t wait to see you later, hermosa.”

-you return the favor by sending him little good luck gifts before his matches, sometimes leaving notes that say things like “kick ass,” or “don’t let balor boss you around too much.”

-whenever you’re away filming for long periods, dom makes sure to facetime you every night, even if it’s just for a few minutes before he crashes after a show.

-dom has zero shame hyping you up online, always posting about your projects with captions like “so proud of my girl” or “everyone go watch this movie, she’s incredible.”

-when you win an award, he’s the loudest in the room cheering for you, even standing up before anyone else does.

-he’s secretly obsessed with seeing you in your red carpet gowns, always telling you how lucky he is before pulling you in for a kiss.

-for one red carpet, you subtly incorporated wrestling into your look with metallic colors inspired by dominik’s ring gear.

-dom immediately noticed and couldn’t stop grinning the entire night, whispering, “you’re really out here repping me, huh?”

-at a chaotic red carpet event, dominik stepped in to shield you from crazy fans or paparazzi, gently guiding you away with his hand on your back.

-cameras capturing him adjusting your dress train during the wwe hall of fame red carpet and whispering something that made you laugh.

-he loves bragging to his coworkers about you, always showing them clips of your performances or red carpet looks.

-liv, finn, and JD tease him about being whipped, but they all secretly love how happy you make him.

you once brought dom as your plus-one to an industry event, and he got a kick out of introducing himself as “just the supportive boyfriend.”

-he still gets flustered when fans ask him about you in interviews, running a hand over his face with a sheepish smile before saying, “she’s amazing. i don’t know how i got so lucky.”

-dom’s always the first to like and comment on your posts, leaving things like “my stunning girl” or a simple heart-eye emoji.

-you love wearing his hoodies and jackets when you’re on set late at night, claiming they’re the coziest thing ever.

-whenever dom gets nervous before a big match, you send him a voice message hyping him up, which he listens to on repeat.

-you and dom are both secure in your relationship, so when fans try to stir up drama about his on-screen pairing with liv morgan, you just laugh it off.

-dom always reassures you that it’s strictly business, and you trust him completely.

-when you visit him at raw and liv is around, the two of you always team up to mess with him.

-on social media, you and liv occasionally post behind-the-scenes moments together, showing off your friendship with captions like “just two girls supporting each other” or “dom’s not the only one who gets to have fun.” fans can’t get enough of it, and they often joke about how the three of you should start a podcast.

-when fans catch onto how well you and liv get along, they start shipping you two and making edits just to mess with dom, which he pretends to be annoyed about.

-“so i lose my girl to my storyline partner, huh? unbelievable,” he jokes in an interview.

-you and liv even plan to mess with him by both wearing judgment day shirts one night at raw, crossing your arms and staring him down like you’re about to jump him.

-“oh, hell no,” he mutters, backing away immediately.

-despite the teasing, dom loves how supportive you are, and he’s always bragging about you in interviews.

-“she’s amazing,” he says with a grin. “like, the most talented person i know. i don’t know how she does it.”

-and when you hear those interviews later, you can’t help but smile, texting him, you’re not so bad yourself, mysterio.

-fans absolutely adore your relationship, constantly making cute edits of you two set to romantic songs.

-the most popular ones feature clips of you two on the red carpet, backstage at wwe events, and candid moments where you’re laughing together or stealing little glances at each other.

-there’s even a fan cam of dom looking at you with heart eyes at your movie premiere, and it goes viral with captions like “he’s so down bad.”

-some fans call you the ultimate “power couple” since you dominate in your respective industries but still make time for each other.

-whenever dom posts you, the comments are flooded with things like “boyfriend of the year,” “how does it feel to be dating an icon??” and “protect them at all costs.”

-your ship name trends on twitter whenever you make a public appearance together, and dominik secretly loves it, even if he pretends to roll his eyes when liv teases him about it.

-fans even make edits comparing your relationship to classic hollywood love stories, calling you two “real-life movie protagonists.”

-dom once stumbled upon a compilation of all your cutest moments together and immediately sent it to you with the caption, “okay, i get it… we’re adorable.”

-when you’re apart for work, fans joke about how you two must be “suffering” without each other, especially when dom tweets something vague like “missing my girl” with a sad emoji.

-your wwe appearances always break the internet, and fans are convinced that one day you’ll make a full heel turn and join the judgment day just to be at dom’s side.

-you both find it hilarious, but dom loves hyping up the idea, once telling an interviewer, “never say never… i think she’d look great in all black.”

-fans constantly beg for a wwe storyline where you and dom team up, and even some of dom’s coworkers admit it would be fun to see you involved.

-when you finally post a picture of you two in matching outfits, fans lose their minds, commenting things like “this is a cultural reset” and “they’re endgame.”

-dom might play the villain in the ring, but with you, he’s the softest, most supportive boyfriend ever.

[730architect]

picture your face - L4B (1.1)

first real tumblr post um hi?? anyways i posted this fic on ao3 last month and it did pretty well so i decided to post it on here as well! so hi if you know me from there or from twt :)

part 2

── •✧• ──

wc: 2.4k

tags: 18+ MDNI!! liv4brutality, masturbation, hatred, conflicted feelings, liv lowkey hates dominik (yay), callbacks to l4b (2022), liv is still hopelessly in love with rhea but we knew this, light heterosexual couple jumpscares sorry....

── •✧• ──

I had to go into the other room, she sent me something and I can’t think about anything else…

Liv walked confidently to the back after successfully winning a dark match on tonight’s SmackDown, a match she had won with ease. Ease, which really meant continuous interference from her boyfriend, Dominik Mysterio. She cradled her precious championship in her arms as she pointed and laughed in the faces of the fans booing her on her way out. She was on top of the world and there was no woman on the entire roster, on the entire planet for that matter, who could knock her off of her pedestal.

Each victory was sweeter than the last, further cementing her as the greatest women’s world champion of all time, as she so eloquently called herself. She and Dominik were all smiles as they walked through the curtain arm in arm celebrating the champion’s win. However Liv’s smile faded quickly the second they made it back to gorilla, dropping her hand from his.

“You okay, mi güerita?” Dominik asks, immediately noticing her instant lack of affection which had caught him off guard.

“Fine, just a little tired.” Liv replies with a strained smile, attempting to save face. Dominik returned her smile with a bright one of his own, oblivious to her strange behavior.

The truth was, dating Dominik wasn’t all she had imagined it would be. Sure, in the beginning it was sort of fun. But that was due to the fact that Liv had finally gotten the ultimate revenge on the woman who had ruined her life while the whole world watched. She did exactly what she vowed she would do: take everything from Rhea Ripley until she was left with nothing but her shitty shoulder and her own misery.

Unfortunately for Liv, it was obvious that Dominik liked her far more than she liked him; which she took full responsibility for. Her conversations with Finn always seemed to be over the same matter: her true intentions with Dominik. She was not at all prepared for how needy and affectionate Dom would be, both in private and in public. He constantly needed her attention for even the littlest things.

“Hey Liv, should I wear my white or purple boots for my match later?”

“Liv, do you think I look jacked in this picture?”

His constant neediness was enough to drive any woman insane, Liv was amazed that Rhea was able to stay with him for so long. She couldn’t help but discreetly roll her eyes whenever he called her name before putting on a sickeningly sweet smile paired with a skip in her step as she made her way to him. Why did she feel this way?

She and Dominik are back in their shared hotel room after the show. She finds herself trapped in his arms yet again in bed as he mindlessly scrolls through the TV channels. Liv gets up from the bed, tossing Dominik’s tattooed arm off of her and ignoring his audible confusion, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Picture your face, I wanna touch you but you’re too far away…

Liv locks herself in the bathroom and surveys her surroundings, mind still racing. Her eyes land on the large bathtub and decides a bath would help clear her head. She empties the pockets of her shorts and runs the bath water to her desired temperature while she pours soap into the tub, allowing it to form bubbles as she undresses. She tosses her clothes into a pile in the corner of the bathroom and ties her blonde hair up into a lazy bun at the top of her head, then climbing into the warm and welcoming water as bubbles swirled around her. Liv allows herself to sink down, down, down into the tub until only her head breaks the surface of the foamy water.

She tries to dilute her stress but Rhea continues to ravage her thoughts relentlessly, refusing to provide her with even a second of relief. Liv finds her mind drifting back to 2022, when she and Rhea were tag team partners and the best of friends. How Rhea treated her like the only girl in the world, how she picked her up with ease in ways that Dominik could only dream of. Liv feels a pang in her heart as she relives each sweet memory she and Rhea shared together on their quest for tag team gold. Her wet fingers rise and ghost over her lips where she swears she can still taste the sweetness of Rhea’s cheek that she would kiss after every win or loss. No matter what, they had each other. Until they didn’t.

And maybe Liv was naive for thinking that they would last forever, but how could she not when Rhea treated her like the only girl she would ever have eyes for for as long as she lived? Sometimes she thinks about what their lives would be like if Rhea had never turned her back on her. Would they still be tag team partners or would they have split on good terms? Would they be champions together like they once dreamed? The constant state of wonder she repeatedly finds herself in leaves her head pounding. They once looked at each other with such tenderness but now every glance is filled with pure malice.

Know I shouldn't need it but I want affection, know I shouldn't want it but I need attention

She hears a familiar snore come from the other room and immediately recognizes it as Dominik, which only seems to piss her off even more. Liv’s mind shifts once again, thinking about how her stomach would jolt whenever her eyes met Rhea’s as she stared her down, blue eyes morphing into angry slits every time Rhea saw her. Liv would try and put on a hardened expression of her own but to no avail. She just couldn’t ignore the heat that pooled in the pit of her stomach every time Rhea was near. Her breath on the back of Liv’s neck every time she pinned her down to the mat, seething over how much she fucking hated her. And by god did it turn her on.

Her nimble fingers begin to trail down her still-immersed body, fantasizing about how roughly Rhea would grab her, practically throwing her around like a rag doll if she really wanted to. How her sharp canines would flash through her snarl every time she had Liv backed into a corner. She found herself dismissing the wet spots in her underwear after every interaction with her or even after just stumbling across a post of hers on social media.

Liv grabs her phone from the side of the tub and opens Instagram, switching between accounts. Her wet fingers slowly find the search bar and tap on the last and only searched profile: Rhea’s. Liv couldn’t risk making a wrong move and tapping something she wasn’t meant to on accident, which would end up being the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to her. She looks through Rhea’s profile for a couple seconds, nearly missing her latest post.

It was a mirror picture taken at the gym, nothing Rhea hasn’t posted about a million times before. But this one nearly had Liv’s world crumbling around her. It wasn’t the photo that mattered, despite how good she looked in it. Muscles bulging and glistening with a light sheen of sweat after what Liv assumed to be an intense arm-day workout. Black tattoo ink decorated her skin, wrapping themselves around her arms and fingers as she held her phone in one hand and flexed the other. But it was the caption that truly caught Liv’s attention.

“rhearipley_wwe watch me 👁️‍🗨️”

Liv sat up straight in the bathtub, nearly spilling water onto the bathroom floor with the speed she moved at. She waits for the anger to hit her but it never does. Instead it’s that same familiar throb in her core which she’s sure is coated in slick and not because of the water she’s sitting in. She stops for a moment to listen to her surroundings, relieved when she still hears Dom’s obnoxious snores through the locked door. She sinks back down into the tub, still staring at the photo, eyes drooping slightly with lust. Her fingers trace incoherent shapes onto the soft skin of her thighs as she separates them, exposing her cunt to her digits. She glides her index finger over her opening, almost slipping it inside due to how wet she is. Rhea may be obsessed but Liv was nothing short of infatuated by her.

Now I'm picturing you and you're touching yourself…

Her fingers slowly begin to circle her clit, spreading her slick over the puffy pearl. Liv sighs softly to herself, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before opening again to marvel at the photo. The caption itself almost seems like a teasing invitation in its own right, enticing Liv to slip a finger inside of herself, quickly replacing one with two and imagining it was Rhea’s inked ones instead. Water sloshed around due to her movements as her back arched slightly off the back of the tub she leaned on. “Shit… Rhea…” she whispers to herself through parted lips, Rhea’s name slipping past them like a prayer. Like she’s repenting, begging some sort of divine power for forgiveness for what she’s done as she does it.

Liv never slows the relentless piston of her fingers, going in and out of her weeping hole. The heel of her palm hits her clit with every thrust at the perfect angle, making her brain short circuit with every motion.

A memory from years ago plays in her mind like a technicolor movie. Liv had made her way to the locker room, calling out Rhea’s name as she glanced left and right for her then partner until she saw her standing at the end of the locker room, back facing her.

“Hey Rhea, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some food before we head back to the hotel or something.” Liv chirped as she walked up to her partner, blissfully unaware that she was stripping herself of her ring gear. Rhea turns around to face Liv, her hands reaching behind her back to unclasp her bralette that made up the top half of her gear.

“Sounds good to me, love. What are you in the mood for?” Rhea asks with a toothy smile, thick accent slicing through the air.

She turns around once again and lets out a relieved sigh when she finally unfastens her top, allowing it to fall off of her and completely expose the top half of her body. Liv’s mouth drops open before she quickly regains her composure, trying her hardest not to gawk at her tag partner’s physique, now having half of it fully exposed to her.

Rhea had less tattoos back then, her body a little leaner as she's put on more muscle since. But regardless of how she looked, Liv always found herself pressing her thighs together whenever she saw her, searching desperately for even the smallest bit of friction to provide herself with some semblance of relief before she could tend to it herself. Rhea turns to the side as she throws on a t-shirt, allowing Liv to catch a glimpse of her plush tits and the piercings that adorned them; along with the massive gargoyle tattoo that sat right underneath. She didn’t feel worthy of seeing her like this, all exposed and vulnerable. She didn’t feel worthy of seeing her at all.

The fingers wrapped around her phone still displaying Rhea’s photo had begun to tremble due to the sensation, liking the photo accidentally in the process. Liv however paid no mind, how could she with how her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the sounds of her breathy moans and pathetic whimpers as she imagined Rhea’s expression seeing her like this behind her rolled back eyes. Liv eventually drops her phone back down and paws at her breasts, rolling her nipples between her index finger and thumb as she continues the assault on her pussy with her other hand.

She feels pressure increase just below her pelvis, making the entire lower half of her body feel like it’s about to implode. She slows the speed of her fingers ever so slightly to be able to grind her hips down onto them, allowing them to hit even deeper inside of her which makes her head spin. She feels the pressure increase more and more until she pinches at her nipple right as her fingers curl up slightly inside her, hitting that spot that makes her see stars every time. Liv throws her head back and detonates like a bomb around her digits, Rhea’s face the only thing she could see behind her tightly closed eyelids.

“Rhea… oh my sweet girl, oh my god…” she wept to herself, only then realizing that a few tears had rolled down her face. She slowly pulls her fingers out of her cunt, whining at the sensitivity and emptiness she felt. Liv laps her fingers clean, moaning around them as she envisions they’re Rhea’s she’s sucking off rather than her own.

She lays back and takes some much needed deep breaths with her eyes closed, feeling her heart rate return to a normal speed. She opens her eyes to the sound of her phone going off, notifying her that she’s received a text message. Liv picks her phone up to check who it is only to almost drop it into the water when she does.

It’s an unsaved number she hasn’t texted in years, but the lack of caller ID doesn’t serve any purpose considering it’s the only phone number besides hers that she knows by heart. With shaking fingers, she taps on the notification, opening the messages app. The text contains a single screenshot of someone’s instagram notifications. She taps on it and reads “yaonlylivvonce and 82,385 others liked your photo”.

You’re fucking kidding.

The photo in question is the post of Rhea that Liv had just spent the last half hour jerking it to. She’s stuck, frozen in shock as the now lukewarm water stills around her. She’s snapped out of her trance with another text notification, this time it’s a short sentence.

“I guess you really were watching me”

Shit.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Bad Habit

Pairing: Warren Kole x Actress!AgeGap!Reader

The music was loud, pulsing through the after-party in a way that made the air itself feel electric. You weren’t the type to shy away from a good time, but there was something different about tonight. Maybe it was the dim, golden lighting casting everything in a hazy glow, or maybe it was the whiskey coursing through your veins.

Or maybe it was Warren.

You hadn’t had a single scene with him in Yellowjackets, but somehow, over the course of shooting, interviews, and late-night cast dinners, you had found yourself gravitating toward him. He was easygoing, funny in a way that felt effortless, and had a presence that made you feel oddly safe—even as your very public, very obvious crush on him became the running joke among the younger cast.

They weren’t subtle about it, either. Liv Hewson had once posted a picture of you side-eyeing Warren in a group setting with the caption, study the form of an apex predator. Sophie Nélisse had casually dropped a joke about it in an interview, and you had to force your face into an expression of pure indifference while the internet ran wild with it.

But Warren didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he was good at pretending.

You weren’t sure when the two of you had started gravitating toward each other on the dance floor. It had been small at first—a shared look over the rim of your glass, a lingering pause when your hands brushed, a low chuckle at something only the two of you could hear. He didn’t treat you like a kid, but he also didn’t treat you like a woman he wanted.

Until now.

You had slipped outside for a cigarette, enjoying the cool contrast of the night air against your flushed skin when you heard the door click open behind you. You didn’t turn around at first, just exhaled a slow drag, watching the smoke curl in the neon glow of the city.

“Got another one?”

The deep, familiar voice sent something hot down your spine. You tilted your head just enough to look at him, the cigarette dangling from your lips as you extended the pack toward him.

He took one, stepping close enough that you could catch the scent of his cologne, something deep and woodsy that mixed with the whiskey on his breath. You offered your lighter, and when he flicked it, the flame illuminated his sharp features for just a moment—then he inhaled, exhaled, and leaned against the railing beside you.

Neither of you spoke at first. The air was thick with the kind of tension that had been bubbling under the surface for months.

“You looked good in there,” Warren finally said, glancing at you sideways.

You smirked, taking another slow drag. “Just in there?”

His lips quirked like he was fighting a grin. “You know what I mean.”

A slow pulse beat beneath your skin. This was the first time he had ever acknowledged the way you danced around each other, the way you seemed to orbit one another without ever closing the distance.

When he turned toward you fully, you didn’t think—you just reached out, tugging him by the collar of his button-up until his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant. It was months of stolen glances and lingering touches igniting in one messy, desperate collision of lips and hands. He kissed you like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to feel that this was real.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he exhaled a rough chuckle. “Shit.”

You licked your lips, tasting whiskey and smoke. “That bad?”

His thumb traced your bottom lip, eyes dark. “That good.”

For a moment, you both just stood there, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between you.

Then he sighed. “We can’t—”

“I know,” you murmured, even as you leaned into him, even as his hands ghosted over your waist.

Because it wasn’t just the 20-year age gap. It was the way your co-stars would immediately pick up on it. The way the internet would go feral. The way the headlines would write themselves before either of you had a chance to catch your breath.

But it didn’t stop you from kissing him one more time, slow and deep, before you pulled away and flicked your cigarette into the street.

“Come find me when you change your mind,” you murmured, giving him one last smirk before slipping back inside.

And from the way his gaze followed you, dark and wanting, you had a feeling it wouldn’t take long.

[purplereina11]

You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines.

What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

You walked into the locker room for a home game, you eyed Maya and Liv in the corner giggling away as you walked through the locker room to your spec. They were scrolling through Twitter reading comments, laughing at posts, and occasionally shoving their phones in your face.

“Oh, this one’s gold,” Liv snickered. “‘Alexia Putellas watching from the gym window like a Disney princess longing for her forbidden love.’”

Maya nearly choked on her drink. “They did not say that.” Liv turned the screen so she could see. “Oh, they definitely did.”

You shook your head, suppressing a smirk. “You two have way too much free time.”

“And you have way too much restraint,” Liv shot back. “I mean, come on, you could really mess with her right now.”

Maya nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! She’s already halfway to losing her mind over you, might as well push her the rest of the way.”

You leaned back, sipping your drink. Liv nodding “Oh, 100%. You should’ve taken your shirt off sooner.”

You smirked. “I like to keep things interesting.”

Maya and Liv exchanged a mischievous look before both leaning in closer, eager to fuel the playful tension between you and Alexia. “Alright, alright,” Maya grinned. “But you have to admit, you’re making her suffer a little. Just imagine, if you gave her just a little more…” she trailed off, letting her words hang in the air like an open invitation.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your cool. “I’m not here to make anyone suffer.”

Liv gave a playful snort. “Sure, sure. Just don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the game. I mean, she’s practically dying to get you alone.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe, but she’s gotta work for it.”

Maya leaned back, eyeing you with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “You know, you’re playing this way too well. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or worried for her.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s all about balance. Can’t let her think she has it all figured out.”

Liv raised her eyebrows, leaning back on her chair. “Well, if she’s watching through the gym window like some Disney princess, you might want to start acting like Prince Charming soon.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe I’ll just let her keep guessing.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the teasing atmosphere fading as you settled back into your spot. But as you glanced across the locker room, your gaze lingered for just a moment longer than usual, wondering if this game was really just a game at all.

This wasn’t basketball. This was a warzone disguised as a game.  

Madrid came to hurt you tonight. Not just with the score but with every shove, every elbow, every late hit the refs somehow missed. And if you hadn’t already known how dirty they played, you would’ve thought they had a personal vendetta against you.  

The first quarter set the tone.  

A hard screen blindsided you, knocking you off balance before you even had a chance to see who hit you. The impact rattled your chest, but you bit down on the sting and kept moving, refusing to give them the reaction they wanted.  

Then came the second quarter, and it only got worse.  

You went up for a rebound, body fully extended, only to get yanked backward mid-air. Your feet never landed properly, someone made damn sure of that. Your back hit the court with a thud, a sharp pain shooting up your spine. The whistle blew, but the damage was done.

By the third quarter, you were seething.  

Another drive, another cheap shot, this time, an elbow straight to the ribs just before you went up for a layup. The contact knocked the wind out of you, the sharp ache in your side lingering as you lined up for the free throws. You exhaled slowly, ignoring the burn in your lungs.  

Madrid played dirty.  

You played harder.  

By the fourth quarter, your body was screaming at you to stop, but there was no chance in hell you were letting them win. You pushed through, ignoring the bruises, the sore ribs, the stiffness in your back. You were tired. You were pissed off. But you weren’t done.  

And when the final buzzer rang, the only thing louder than the cheers from the crowd was the sound of your own heartbeat, still hammering in your chest.  

Your team had won. Just.

But you’d paid for it.  

You stormed off the court, ignoring the lingering stares from reporters, the murmurs from the coaching staff. You didn’t even wait for the post-game team talk. Right now, you didn’t care about anything except getting the hell out of there.  

You were beaten up, bruised, and exhausted.  

But more than anything, 

You were angry.

The locker room was dead silent.  

Your teammates had come and gone, the post-game celebrations cut short by the bruises littering your body and the tension still sitting heavy in your chest. The only sound was the distant echo of the arena outside, fans still lingering, reporters still chasing interviews.  

You sat on the bench, head resting against the cool metal of your locker, trying to breathe through the dull, aching pain radiating from your ribs. Madrid had done a number on you tonight. Every muscle in your body felt tight, sore, overworked.  

You needed ice. You needed a shower. You needed—  

A knock on the door.  

You didn’t move.  

Another knock, firmer this time. Then—  

"Are you decent?"  

You recognised the voice instantly.  

Your jaw tensed as you straightened up, wincing slightly at the sharp pull in your ribs. "Come in."  

The door pushed open, and there she was.  

Alexia.  

In casual clothes, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, her sharp eyes scanning the room before locking onto you. For a second, she just stood there, her expression unreadable.  

“You alright?”

You let out a slow exhale, wiping a hand over your face before tilting your head at her. "Why do you care?" She didn't deserve your attitude but she seemed to take it in her stride.

Alexia scoffed, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind her. "Because I saw what they did to you out there. Looked like they were trying to take you out."  

You smirked, though it lacked your usual confidence. "Yeah? Well, they failed."  

Alexia didn’t look amused. She took another step closer, eyes flickering down to where you were still absentmindedly pressing a hand to your ribs. "That bad?"  

You rolled your eyes. "I’ve had worse."  

She didn’t seem convinced, crossing her arms as she studied you. "You sure? Because you don’t look too good."  

"Wow, thanks," you deadpanned, shifting slightly but instantly regretting it when a sharp pain shot through your side. You gritted your teeth, and Alexia noticed. Of course she did.  

"Let me see," she said, already moving forward.  

"I’m fine."  

"You’re stubborn," she shot back, unfazed.  

You leaned back slightly as she crouched in front of you, closer now, her presence filling the space between you. Her gaze flickered up to meet yours, something unreadable in her expression. "Just lift your damn shirt."  

Your breath hitched.  

Not because of the request because of the way she said it. Low. Firm. With that no-nonsense authority she carried so naturally.  

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you relented, slowly lifting your shirt just enough to reveal the bruising already forming across your ribs.  

Alexia’s jaw tightened.  

She didn’t say anything at first, but her expression darkened, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wanted to do something but wasn’t sure what. "They really went after you."  

You simply hummed in response.

Alexia shook her head, muttering something under her breath in Spanish before exhaling sharply. "And your staff just let you sit here like this? No medics?"  

"I told them I’d deal with it."  

"Right. Because that’s smart," she shot back, sarcasm dripping from her voice.  

You smirked despite yourself. "You’re really this concerned?"  

Alexia met your gaze, unflinching. "Yes."  

The air between you shifted.  For the first time all night, you weren’t thinking about the game, the bruises, or the way your body ached. All you could think about was her. The way she was looking at you. The way she had showed up for you.  

Your voice came quieter this time. "Why?"  

She didn’t answer immediately.  

Instead, her gaze softened—just slightly, just enough for something unspoken to pass between you. "Because I don’t like seeing you like this."  

You swallowed, your heart hammering in a way that had nothing to do with the game.  

Alexia stood up slowly, taking a step back like she needed to put distance between you. "Go home, get some rest. And don’t be stupid about your recovery."  

You watched her, searching her expression for something—anything—that would tell you what this really was.  

But before you could say anything, she was already turning toward the door.  

"Alexia."  

She paused, glancing back at you over her shoulder.  

You held her gaze. "Thanks."  

She nodded once. "See you around."  

And then she was gone, leaving you alone in the locker room and with a whole new problem.  

Because now, you weren’t just pissed off about the game. Now, you were thinking about Alexia.

The locker room felt colder after Alexia left. You weren’t sure if it was because the adrenaline from the game was finally wearing off or if it was something else entirely—something to do with the way she had looked at you, the way she had shown up after a brutal game like this.  

You let out a slow breath, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, staring at the floor as you tried to process it all.  

Alexia cared.  

She shouldn’t, not like that, not enough to show up in your locker room unannounced, demanding to see your injuries. But she did. And now, she had left just as quickly, leaving behind an unmistakable tension that wouldn’t leave your chest.  

With a shake of your head, you finally forced yourself up, wincing at the stiffness in your ribs. You needed ice. A long bath. Sleep.  

You also needed to get your mind off Alexia.  

Easier said than done.

You woke up sore.  Your ribs ached, your back was stiff, and every bruise Madrid had gifted you last night throbbed as you sat up in bed. You groaned, running a hand over your face before reaching for your phone on the nightstand.  

Notifications flooded your screen—texts from teammates, messages from your coaching staff checking in, and, of course, social media blowing up with reactions to last night’s game.  

One unread text from Alexia.  

You stared at it for a second before swiping it open.  

Alexia: You alive?

A smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned back against the pillows, thumbs hovering over the screen before you typed a reply.  

You: Barely. You gonna keep checking on me like this?

The message was delivered, and almost instantly, those three little dots appeared.  

Alexia: If you keep playing like you don’t care about your body, sí.  

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the amused grin that formed.  

You: I do care. I just have a high pain tolerance.

Alexia: Or you’re stubborn.

You: You sound like my coach.

Alexia: Maybe your coach is right.

Your smirk grew.  

You: Didn’t know you cared this much, Capitana.  

This time, there was a longer pause. You could practically see her debating how to respond, which only made you more entertained.  

Finally, the dots reappeared.  

Alexia: Don’t get used to it.

You chuckled to yourself, locking your phone and tossing it onto the bed beside you. She could say that all she wanted.  

But after last night, you weren’t sure you believed her.

The bruises from the Madrid game were still fresh, but they didn’t stop you from hitting the gym first thing in the morning. If anything, they only fuelled you more. Pushing past the ache in your ribs, you increased the speed on the treadmill, jaw tight as you focused on each stride. The game still replayed in your head, every hard foul, every shove that went uncalled. It pissed you off all over again.  

Your phone vibrated on the bench next to you, but you ignored it.  

Another buzz.  

And another.  

With a frustrated sigh, you finally hit the stop button on the treadmill and grabbed your phone. Three notifications.  

Two from your teammates.  

One from Alexia.  

You swiped them open, starting with the first one from Maya.  

Maya: You cleared for the training session later?  

The second was similar.  

Claudia: You good after last night?  

Then, Alexia’s message.  

Alexia: Did you actually rest, or are you already being stupid? 

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head.  

You: Define stupid. 

Her response was instant.  

Alexia: If you have to ask, you already know.  

You bit back a smirk.  

You: You’re really keeping tabs on me now?

The dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Alexia: Someone has to.  

That one made you pause. The air between you both was changing, and neither of you had acknowledged it directly. It had been playful before, just online flirting and teasing. But now she was showing up at your games. Calling you out. Checking in.  

And you liked it. Maybe too much.  

Shaking your head, you typed back.  

You: Good to know I have Barcelona’s finest watching my every move. 

Her reply was just as quick.  

Alexia: Don’t flatter yourself.  

You chuckled, tossing your phone back onto the bench before grabbing a towel and slinging it around your neck.  

She could deny it all she wanted.  

You weren’t fooled. You weren’t the only one who noticed the shift. The fans had picked up on the lull in online interactions, but now that Alexia had subtly made her presence known again, you figured it was time to really give them something to talk about.  

After finishing your gym session, you took a mirror selfie drenched in sweat, muscles tense from the workout, towel draped around your neck. Muscles black blue and prominent on your torso and arms. You stared at the picture for a moment, debating, before typing out the caption:  

“Apparently, I need supervision. Any volunteers?” 

You hit post and locked your phone, moving on with your day, but it didn’t take long for the internet to explode.  

Thousands of comments flooded in within minutes, fans tagging Alexia, demanding a response. It took her a while, but when she finally caved, her reply was short.  

Alexiaputellas: Your decision-making is questionable. Supervision is necessary. 

That was all it took. The fans lost it, and your notifications became a never-ending stream of chaos.  

You smirked, leaning back in your chair as you typed back.  

Yourusername: Didn’t realise Barcelona offered those kinds of services.  

Her reply was instant.  

Alexiaputellas: We don’t. You’re a special case.  

That made you laugh.  

The comments kept rolling in—your teammates jumping in, her teammates fueling the fire.  

vickyylopezz._: Alexia, just admit you’re obsessed. 

MayaSmith: At this point, either date or shut up!

Random Fan: JUST DATE ALREADY! 

The engagement skyrocketed. Articles started circulating again. Even the club's official page liked the interaction, which you were excited to point out the to the PR director when you next saw him.

And you just sat back and enjoyed the show. Alexia wanted to play this game. You were more than ready to match her move for move.

Later that evening, you posted another photo—this time, a clip from your latest training session. Mid-shot, arms tense, expression sharp. The kind of picture that made it clear you weren’t just messing around.  

The caption  

“Still waiting on that supervision. Thought Barcelona was reliable.”  

You barely had time to blink before Alexia responded.  

Alexiaputellas: Some of us have actual jobs.

Your smirk grew as you fired back.  

Yourusername: Right, right. Must be tough sitting in the gym watching me train.

It was a bold move—one that let her know you saw her earlier in the day. That you knew she had been watching, even if she thought she was being subtle. And judging by the pause before her next response, you had definitely caught her off guard. She tried to hide at the back but by wearing a cap and sunglasses she stuck out like a saw thumb.  

When she finally replied, it was much simpler than you expected.  

 Alexiaputellas: Watch yourself.

It wasn’t her usual witty comeback. It was more like a warning. Which only made you push further.  

Yourusername: Or what? You’ll come supervise me yourself?

Again, the pause. The fans were losing their minds in the comments, but all you cared about was whether or not Alexia was going to take the bait.   

Alexiaputellas: Try me.  

Your breath caught for a second, but you covered it with a smirk.  

She was getting bolder. You were definitely not backing down now.

Alexia’s last message sat on your screen, daring you to make the next move.  

Try me.  

It was bold, even for her. You weren’t sure if she meant it as a challenge, a warning, or something else entirely. But one thing was clear—this game you had been playing wasn’t just harmless flirting anymore.  

You were both toeing the line. So, naturally, you decided to see just how close you could get.  

You typed back.  

Yourusername: Careful, Alexia. People might start thinking you actually want to supervise me.

The fans were already running wild with speculation, so you figured you might as well fuel the fire.  

For a while, there was nothing. No reply.  

Then, a notification popped up.  

Not a text.  

Not a comment.  

A like.  

Alexia had liked your message but said nothing.  

Which only made it worse. The internet exploded again, theories running rampant in your mentions. Was she ignoring you? Was she flustered? Was she plotting her next move? Had you taken it offline like the fans already speculated you had with the interactions fewer and further between.

Then, finally, a response. Privately

Alexia: Some things don’t need to be said.  

Your stomach did something it definitely shouldn’t have, but you ignored it. You refused to be the one caught off guard.  

You: So you’re admitting it?

Alexia: Admitting what?

You huffed a laugh. She was good.  

You: That you want to supervise me. Personally.

The three little dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.  

Then, finally—  

Alexia: You talk too much. 

That one hit differently. Maybe because you could almost hear her saying it, almost see the way she’d look at you if this conversation was happening in person. Maybe because, for the first time, it wasn’t just playful. There was something else underneath it now.  

And for the first time, you weren’t sure who was actually winning this game. You had her cornered.  Or at least, that’s what you thought.  

Alexia’s last message sat on your screen, just taunting you.  

You talk too much. 

It wasn’t playful like before. It was something else. Something heavier.  You weren’t sure why it made your skin feel warm or why your mind kept replaying it as if it meant more than just shutting you down. You could answer right away. Keep the back and forth going, keep the fans screaming, keep playing this game where neither of you admitted anything but made sure everyone knew something was happening.  

But instead, you waited. For the first time since this whole thing started, you made Alexia wonder what you were thinking.  

An hour passed.  

Then two.  

The internet had already dissected every interaction from earlier, debating what it all meant. But you said nothing.  

Then, late that night, a message appeared.  

Alexia: Cat got your tongue?  

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. She had cracked first. Now you had the upper hand.  

You: Just making you wonder. Seems like it worked.

The typing bubbles appeared immediately. Stopped.  

Started again.  

Alexia: Dangerous game you’re playing. 

Oh, this was fun.  

You: Good thing I like danger. 

This time, she didn’t reply right away. You imagined her staring at the message, deciding whether she wanted to take this further or let it settle.  

But Alexia had never been one to back down from a challenge.  

Minutes later, a new notification popped up. Not a text. A picture.  

You clicked on it, and—

It was a picture of her.  

A post-training one, similar to yours from before. Alexia was in a sports bra, abs tight, sweat glistening along her skin.  

No caption.  

No words.  

Just that.

Just to you.  

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.  

You had started this game, but now she was playing by her own rules.  

And for once…  

You had no idea what to say.

Part 9

[iwoulddieforher]

Birds of a Feather | Casey Novak × Alex Cabot

I'm back posting fics! Did anyone miss me? Probs not. Anyway, here: Set during the falling out when Liv was having trouble adjusting to the lack of Stabler, and Casey's beginning to dwindle. Very Casey-centric.

Warnings: Canon-typical case-related violence, Casey being super burnt out, minor references to Charlie/Liv & Case have big argument

Summary: Casey's exhausted from the uphill climb of returning to her former position of respect after being suspended, and Liv's becoming increasingly adversarial due to Stabler's resignation. A case involving a schizophrenic exasperates the problems between the two- and Alex shows up in the middle of Liv & Casey's blowout argument. ~13k words.

alternatively on AO3, which you can find here

“No, Sir, I know-” Casey tried to interject, pacing back and forth in her cramped, tiny office- they hadn't allowed her her original space back, and she had realized that was yet another form of punishment- and trying not to lose her sanity on call with her father.

“I’m not getting any younger and I don't like that you're still playing these legal games,” Major Novak barked, his voice the dry, scratchy cough it always was, “Casey, couldn't you have just let it be? You got suspended once, we all see the toll that took on you, and it's not like you're getting any younger either-”

“Daddy,” Casey let her voice break, finally, but it had been nearly half an hour of this back and forth and she was done, she was tired, and tears were starting to prick at her eyes. “Daddy, I know. I’ll- I’ve already asked about my work contract, I’ll…”

She moved the phone away from her mouth so he wouldn't be able to hear her sniff, forcing herself to swallow back the frustrated tears, before taking a deep breath.

Her admittance hadn't been a lie, either. She had checked what the circumstances of resigning her position had been, but- it didn't look particularly good. With a reputation like her’s, she wouldn't be able to be hired on to any sort of alternate use for her legal prowess like this, and she was far away from being able to retire properly. But her father wasn't wrong, as much as she hated to admit it, her job was starting to eat away at whatever sanity she had left.

At her submission, though, her father finally relented his beration, the line going silent for a long moment. “Good, Casey. And you mustn't worry about money, because your mother does need a keeper, and your siblings give us a share every month for that- we could fire her nurse, and you could replace her. I’m sure your brothers would be happy to support you.”

Casey grimaced, swallowing again, but with a hollow voice replied, “Thank you, Sir. I’ll consider it, really.”

She would be reduced from the formidable rising star protege prosecutor she used to be, replaced instead by being her father's failure of a daughter, the sibling who was at first so far ahead and then fell so far behind, designated ultimately to being her ailing mother’s keeper, because there was nothing else she was worthy of doing.

As she hung up the call, the darker part of her mind chided in bitterly that at this rate they shouldn't trust her to look after Mom- she’d probably fuck that up, too.

She ran her fingers through her hair, nails digging into her scalp a little more forcefully than need be, and sighed, deeply, as though letting the carbon in her lungs would cleanse her of the overwhelming feeling of filth.

Failure, she bit at herself, but her self deprecation was halted as her pager went off- she was being summoned to the precinct, evidently.

On the way there, Casey contemplated what had gone wrong in her life.

She stood at the side of the street, flagging down a taxi, and with a depressed sigh she remembered how she felt when she was youthful and energetic, eager to prove herself and ambitious, taking her bike where she needed before she had caved to those who told her it gave off an odd impression.

The fact she was about to be filled in at the precinct on the current case wasn't wasted on her demons either- she longed to show up at crime scenes like the used too, process evidence and witnesses and suspects herself, watch through the windows as detectives interviewed, jumping on leads to hound down individuals herself in the pursuit of ensuring justice.

She toyed loosely with her faux blonde hair as she climbed into the cab, her mind lingering on when it had been short and she had worn it in fiery, fierce curls that framed her face when she was back in white collar- how when she transferred to SVU, it became harder to get up in the mornings, and she defaulted to straightening it instead. Now it was long, and dyed lighter to be more what the others expected.

That sentiment- to be what others expected- hurt the more she thought about it. Over the years she really had lost that fire that used to be so central to the way she operated, and she wasn't sure if it had been tamped down or if she had simply lost it herself.

Coming back from her suspension was especially difficult. Those three long years of working odd, vague applications for her knowledge without being able to use any sort of licence were grueling and yes she had made it through but it had drained her an immeasurable amount.

She hadn't realized how much she had considered the squad some form of support system, or at the very least provided her a sense of stability, until during her suspension it was gone. Stabler, especially- Elliot had looked out for her, offered her a shoulder she had never accepted, but she liked knowing he was there. Catholics from a similar background, and he reminded her a lot of her brothers.

Casey had left New York entirely, traveled to Rhode Island, tried to find something that would make the nauseating guilt seep away. But nothing could. She had screwed up- honestly, that year had been a slow build to the climax of the violation, with the investigation into the juvenile sex offender operation, Saul Picard, and finally Officer Chase- it had brought her to an emotional epitome she simply could not bring herself down from, left lingering on cases now officially deemed closed, formulating arguments and motions she could never use.

Elliot had called her, a few times, to check in. He had been the one to see how broken the sex addict's rape had made her, and he was perhaps the only one of the squad to notice that build up. She liked talking to him, states apart, and he’d catch her up on the latest cases and complain about Greylek and how much he’d rather have her back instead of the stone-faced, impersonal ADA replacement.

She remembered the big smile he had flashed her when she first arrived back, and how it had momentarily comforted her.

Now she was back, but Stabler was gone- he had earned retirement, though, she couldn't argue against that, but still-, everything was different. Olivia was so much more adversarial, and Casey knew she was simply grieving the loss of Elliot and throwing herself nose-first into the depth of human depravity to fill the void, but it didn't help her enough to accept the jabs the older brunette shot at her without letting them build onto her growing insecurities.

Rollins seemed sweet but Casey had never interacted with her- the squad didn't get together like they used to after cases, the warm nature she had first been a jealous intruder into before eventually being accepted back in her youth was now gone. Perhaps she was too old for it now, anyway. But still, she missed the cold beers and clustered tables of cop bars, and Olivia and Elliot stopping by to invite her there. Olivia spending the nights with her in her office, grabbing coffee and chatting about the developments of cases.

She really, really missed the friendship, the solidarity that used to exist- gone, all gone, like her sense of self.

Amaro was Amaro. He followed Olivia around like Stabler used to, but it was obvious he was still fresh meat, and Olivia would not be able to bond with him the way she was seemingly tied to Stabler.

The judges were wary of her, the defense was always pleased because no judge would give her leeway and they could jab and object at whim, and she was hanging onto the DA and her job on a fine line that she felt like she would fall off any second.

Even if she didn't directly mess up, even if she never made a mistake again, she knew it was because she was playing it overtly safe, and overtly safe was no way to remake her name and image. She could be fired simply for not being interesting, for not securing the overhauling victories she used to be capable of.

But pushing the line the way she used to, to regain that feisty nature that used to make the defense’s jaw clench when she stood, required others to trust her in a way they didn't. She had forfeited that right to trust, and she had no way to get it back.

Maybe her father was right. Maybe she was getting too old for this- maybe the suspension was a sign this work wasn't what she was cut out for, and she was simply too stubborn to accept it wasn't worth it.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when the taxi pulled over, and after providing payment and exchanging courtesy she exited and tried her best to stroll into the precinct, focusing on long strides, not looking stupid when she pulled her coat off and tossed it over her arm.

Casey had started holding her jacket over her arm like that whenever she was here, so she’d have something to do with her hands, so she’d have an excuse to hold her arms tight to her body.

“So, what’s on the plate tonight, Captain?” She tried to sound cheerful, but not overly so, rearranging her face in the half-way-to-smug smile she used to flash so easily.

Cragen rubbed his nose and nodded, his broad shoulders sloped inward the way they always were. He nodded at her, and then motioned with one large hand towards an interview room, where a young man was speaking with Detective Amaro.

Olivia and Rollins were watching from the outside, staring intently, and although Amanda turned to jerk her chin up with a slight smile that Casey returned- nothing more than acknowledgement, but Casey could appreciate it- while Benson stayed still, her brow furrowed as she stared lasers into the ongoing interrogation. She did not move to welcome Casey into the space, and Casey had not assumed that she would. Regardless, she found her place standing beside her.

“A young woman was raped and strangled to death in Central Park,” Cragen said with a small sigh, “Our first suspect was the roommate, because of some suspicious texts we found on her cell, but he showed up himself willingly and agreed to talk.”

“Alright. So, he looks good for it?” She questioned, eyes on Olivia- she wanted some sort of glance, something, but Olivia did not look at her.

“She was a grad student working on a psych report on the condition of mental illness in the homeless population,” Amanda said, turning from the window and crossing her arms, shifting her weight from her heel to her toe in thought. “This guy- the roommate- goody two-shoes. Originally we thought he was so clean he must be hiding something, and he was, but just possession of marijuana. He’s real nervous about it, though.”

The young man inside the boxed room did seem beyond anxious, his shoulders angled inward, face tilted down at the table while he looked at Amaro with squinted eyes, shifting back and forth slightly. He looked ridiculously guilty, but not violent or suspicious for the crime that actually mattered- it reminded Casey of a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, who didn't understand what type of punishment they were about to receive. He didn't seem like a good suspect for rape and murder.

“So he wants a deal? What he knows about her research and I’ll take the misdemeanor off the table?” Casey glanced once again into the interview room, and Cragen shrug-nodded.

Casey lifted her shoulders and then dropped them, tilting her head with a slight sigh. She had expected more, something to actually grow invested in, hopefully something to spark her competitive nature- but this was nothing dramatic. “Should be doable, I can make a call.”

“But he’s asking for immunity,” Olivia mused, still not looking up, “So whatever he knows, he thinks he could be prosecuted for it. I don't think we should offer him anything until we really know what's going on.”

“It doesn't look like he’s capable of much,” Casey remarked, but Olivia just huffed.

“Like you’d know, counselor.”

Casey pursed her lips and made blank eye contact with the wall for a moment, feeling the burn of Cragen and Rollin’s eyes and the icy feeling of the lack of Olivia’s, before accepting the disrespect, and trying her best to shake it off.

“Alright, but he’s a spooked college kid. He might just be asking for what he saw on TV without knowing if he actually needs it- we could advise him to get a lawyer, and then I can discuss a deal with them. Depending on the reaction I’d get it’d be easier to tell if it's anything worth looking into.”

Detectives hate lawyers, and Casey knew that, so when Olivia’s frown deepened and Rollins looked vaguely dissatisfied with the suggestion, she wasn't at all surprised.

“Does he need a lawyer for this? Can't you just go in and talk to him?” Rollins asked, “He doesn't seem to have the funds needed to get a lawyer, and it always takes forever to get one of the community ones down here-”

“Can you handle that, Casey? It's been years since you spoke one on one with a suspect,” Olivia interjected, and Casey grit her teeth. A direct challenge, now, then. Okay.

“I’m sure I’ll find my footing,” She replied calmly, forcing a smile as though she and Liv were simply friends bantering like they used to be, before turning to the Captain for permission. When he nodded, she inhaled deeply and swung the door open.

“You, out.” She barked at Amaro, deciding how she wanted to play this on the spot. She got a little of a thrill when Amaro’s eyebrows raised but he otherwise agreed wordlessly, standing and leaving the interrogation room. She claimed the seat he had just left and settled in, leaning her elbows on the table so she could inject herself forward.

“Alright, I heard you're looking to talk about your options, here? I’m Casey Novak on behalf of the Manhattan District Attorney.”

She forced her voice to be softer, lower, and offered him a half-smile. This was a skittish little college teen, and she thought he might be receptive to a more gentle approach. Seemingly he was, because the tension in his spine eased a little and he looked at her tentatively.

“I know it's a crime, but I- I just, it's the only thing that can get me to sleep, sometimes, so I-”

“I know, I know.” She leaned back, then, spreading her shoulders comfortably, “I remember those college days, long nights, sleep schedules gone to hell, anything to take the edge off, right?”

“Yes, exactly-” He leaned forward, now, eager under her carefully crafted nonchalance.

“But listen,” Casey raised a hand, “If you know anything about who did this to your roommate, you need to tell me. You seem like a good kid, and I don't want to nail you when I’ve got bigger fish to fry, okay? We’re looking for a rapist, and you're just what got caught in the net, so to say.”

He hesitated, hard, but Casey knew the look in her eyes was powerful when she tried to make it be, and right now she was giving her best altruistic stare. He relented, as she expected.

“Listen, I- I knew it was wrong, so please-”

“Just tell me what you know,” She interjected, clasping her fingers together, leaning forward and placing her elbows back down on the desk, and giving him her best imploring head tilt.

“She was bribing them,” he blurted out, finally, “in exchange for interviews and check-ins she was- she was giving them drugs, and with a few even blowies- I told her it was disgusting and I don't even know if people like that can consent, but-”

Oh, okay. Casey felt tension leave her shoulders- this wasn't really worth pursuing in court. But for the sake of the case she didn't allow her face to reflect that, instead, she remained harsh.

“Well, we’ll have to look into that.” She said sharply, “Can you provide names?”

“No, but- but I know her password for her school laptop, I know what her’s is. I’m sure she’ll have reports and things in there…”

“Alright, good,” She said soothingly, offering her a slight smile, which he seemed to relax under. “Then turn that over to the detectives and I’ll see what I can do about the possession charge, yeah?”

With that, she stood, and exited the room, flexing her eyebrows triumphantly when she made eye contact with Olivia- who gave her a begrudging nod, but a half-smile.

“Alright, the victim was offering blowjobs to mentally ill homeless men in exchange for some storytelling,” Amanda scorned, “How.. studious.”

“I’m sure she left that part out of her paper,” Casey nodded, “but it’ll make great fodder for the defense counsel.”

She turned her head from side to side, and realized something that made her heart sink into her stomach uncomfortably. Olivia and Amanda were exchanging glances, and Cragen was waiting for his detectives to begin engaging-

They wanted to discuss, but not with her.

Rejection stung, but at this point Casey was used to it, so after she cleared her throat awkwardly she glanced in the direction of the door and sighed. Her steps had felt lighter when she managed to actually be helpful for once- she secured this guy’s information, saving them time and effort- but it wasn't enough to win back the squad’s affection. The joy she felt at the minor victory was now tamped down, the bitter taste of the scorn she was trying desperately to adapt too heavy on her tongue.

“I’ll get a search warrant for the laptop, need anything else while I’m over at the courthouse?”

The resounding response was not yet, so she tugged her coat back on and focused on long strides towards the door, not the looming, overwhelming feeling of discontent.

She tried not to spit out the taste of bile that lay heavy on her tongue.

The rest of that day passed with little excitement. She had motions to file, court cases to research, and an uneventful arraignment. It felt like she was following steps laid out for her, stepping carefully on the paved floor, nothing at all like how she had used to race through the woods, chasing elk and laughter like a wolf no man could bring down. She missed feeling fearless, feeling free.

Casey was always one to fight until she was breathless, a smile on her face as her chest heaved with exertion. To throw herself into the mix, to face danger and pain and laugh at it, to take people into her arms herself and ensure it would turn out okay. She couldn't do that anymore, not with the axe hanging over her head.

She couldn't keep working this job with the other shoe dangling, lace seconds away from snapping. She couldn't keep herself looking up and wondering how long, how many more seconds she had to retain dignity, until it dropped and stole the trajectory of her life with it.

If she was younger, if she had spirit and confidence in her ability like she used to- if she had the support she used to have, the trust others used to bestow upon her- maybe she could find it in herself to keep fighting the good fight.

But she was disillusioned and tired, and no one believed in her anymore.

Not even her family, evidently. Three days later, she received a follow-up call from her younger brother, the elder of the two twins that had been born when she was starting elementary.

“Casey,” he started in a curt yet languished voice the way he always did, the slight accent he had picked up since moving to the south and marrying a Texan not lost in how he spoke, “How are you holding up?”

“Just fine,” she lied casually through her teeth.

“I don't buy that. Dad told me about your conversation the other day- about how he wants you to quit.”

Casey paused. She had been in the middle of prepping for a hearing, but with this she put her pen down in defeat. If her father told her brother, the rest of her siblings either already knew about the conversation or would soon. He had probably called to enquire if they’d do good on his proposal to support her if she retired early to care for Mom.

“...I don't know what you want me to say about that, he wants me to resign my position, but I think I’m doing well here. I’m back in my old position and everything is operating just as they used too,” - but they weren't, and if she did retire out of desperation soon she didn't want her lie to bite her in the ass, so she tried her best to cover herself - “and although I am considering it for the sake of Mom, I…”

“Casey,” he implored, “I'm your brother. I can tell when you're lying, and you've been miserable lately.”

Casey sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and stared aimlessly down at the motion she was writing a rebuttal against, watching the inked words turn into meaningless gibberish under her eyes. She stayed silent, and listened to him sigh.

“You don't have to be such a martyr,” he said softly, and it hurt.

“I’m not,” she tried to defend, but it fell flat.

“Listen, it's okay to just- to admit it's gone far enough,” he sighed, and she tried to interject, but he didn't let her.

“You were the rising star, I get it. But after the suspension, Casey, I mean- I read the news, right? When you're mentioned in the columns now it's only ever criticism, and you're not happy like you used to be at reunions, even Benny noticed-” - referring to his son, one of Casey’s many nephews, - “it’s just..”

“Daniel,” she murmured softly, trying to get him to understand that she knew, she was completely aware, she was grappling with the evidence already and he didn't need to remind her of how far she fell.

“I just want you to know that it's okay. You were always the toughie out of all of us, but… Case, you were also the one to bring home the stray kittens and build birdhouses. You’re strong, believe me, we know that, but I know how big your heart is, and this … I don't like seeing you unhappy.”

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the iron grip she used to have, trying not to start getting emotional over the phone. Her head bowed without her noticing, and one of her paralegals glanced into her office as they walked by- great, another person as witness to her weakness.

“None of us would think any less of you,” he tried to console her, coax her, “it's a bad situation. The legal system sucks, we all know that. And I’ve talked it over with Rachel, and we’d be okay supporting you if you need it. To nurse Mom, or to find something else to do. You don't have to keep being somewhere that makes you so unhappy.”

Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks before she could realize, large glistening drops landing on the paper in front of her, her shoulders beginning to shake. She sucked the self disgust pooling in her mouth and swallowed, trying to keep her voice calm and even.

“Thank you, Daniel. I’ll see you when you all come up, okay? We can talk about this more then,” She offered, and he hesitantly accepted that motion to postpone.

If he realized there was an undercurrent of a sob in her voice, he didn't comment on it. Daniel hung up the phone.

Casey began to cry in her earnest, elbows driving into her table so she could conceal her face in her hands, shoulders shaking under the burden.

It wasn't so simple. Yes, yes, she was unhappy. She knew she was unhappy, and they were all right, she could leave, and honestly she thought that maybe she should.

But it wasn't just pride, ambition or stubbornness that kept her in this chair, it was the overwhelming drive to help. To do something, anything, to help the people who couldn't help themselves. To shield little kids from the men who wove their nightmares, to show women with red marks around their throats there was a shot at a better tomorrow, to fight, because God- she did really love fighting.

When she felt like she had power in her step, she adored the heady rush of a good debate, the smug victory of smashing a defense’s proposed story to bits. It had made all the issues in her life worth it, that knowledge that what she was doing was shielding the innocent from the evil. The validation a ‘guilty’ verdict after a hard case gave her was simply unrivaled.

Suffering through grueling law school, sleeping for hours she could count without the full use of a hand so she could instead pour her time hunched over laptops and law books full of enough legal jargon to kill a middle age man with confusion, waiting tables and odd jobs despite the exhaustion that nipped at her mind had all been considered worth it to her. Yes it was draining but the feeling of finally being able to pace on the courthouse floor and demand that justice be served to those in dire need of it had been entirely worth it. Just the knowledge she was commanding attention, she had authority, respect, and she could use it to help- that was all she had wanted.

What would she do with her words, if they weren't being used for that? What purpose could she possibly have?

It wasn't like resigning would mean she could help society in other ways, no, not like this. She couldn't find a place of worth with a reputation tarnished by her failure. Maybe if she had gone straight from reobtaining her licence somewhere else, then it would've worked, but she had craved SVU. Branch was right; she had grown to want it.

The slap on the back from Stabler, the way Olivia touched her on the upper arm, the chatter with Cragen. The victims stuck with her, but after those first few months it had turned from terrifying her with the weight of her own sympathy to a relentless drive to succeed and save more potentials. After her suspension, though, it was neither. The faces blurred together, because dull victories were the only way she could hope to keep the position at all, so her level of emotional involvement- her level of involvement at all, really, could not be regained.

Perhaps, if she was lucky, she might be able to be a teacher- one who her students would inevitably find the truth about and then laugh at- or volunteer somewhere where her fight to be recognized as powerful would simply continue until she really actually hit rock bottom.

If only she wasn't so exhausted, if only someone believed in her, if only. She would love her job if she wasn't marked by warning signs. She had known she’d need to rebuild her image and the dignity of her office but she had expected the trust from the people she had previously held stature with, but- no, they had forsaken her, and she couldn't find it in her to be upset with them around it, so all daggers she could throw turned inward.

As all it always did, time took care of her sobs, and she calmed herself down physically.

Her mental wounds were still wide open, but as she dried her face and blew her nose, she knew she’d be able to recompose herself so no one else could tell.

She had to start re-writing the same motion, as her tears had fallen on the paper and botched the ink, but that was fine. At least she was still filing motions- what used to feel mundane compared to the thrill of the active cases was now a solace, because at least she could do *something*. Soon she’d be able to do, and internally would be, nothing.

Daniel was right- there was no real reason for her to keep doing this to herself.

She’d be replaced by someone younger and feisty like she had used to be, or by someone wiser with reputation. They’d fight for justice the same way she was trying to, only they’d be successful, and they’d be applauded for it. They’d go back to squads to share the victory with, and go home to families. They’d have people who loved them, who watched and applauded them from afar.

But still. She wanted it so, so badly.

Desperation drove her when she thought the exhaustion would burn her out. She wanted to be good so badly, too badly. It meant every step felt like it was on a tightrope. She needed to feel like her work meant something, like she was winning some kind of fight, like what she did mattered to someone.

Her career was coming to an end, at some point desperation would turn into depression and she’d drown, but while she had a spark still flickering in her heart she wanted to use it on this.

A last few victories, please. A last shot to be appreciated for her life’s passion.

It was a couple days later when she was called back to the precinct on a development in that case, and Casey’s mind was consumed with pondering if her concealer managed to hide the eye bags she carried as she stepped inside, green eyes scanning for movement. Rollins, Cragen and Amaro were standing in a little triangle around the center of the squadroom, arms crossed.

“You called?” She said to no one in particular, and no eyes raised to especially meet hers, so she just glanced from face to face and chewed on the inside of her cheek. She just had to do whatever they wanted her to do, and then she'd be allowed to leave again.

God, she didn't even want to try anymore. She didn't want to keep attempting to prove herself to people who’d never give her the opportunity or the benefit of the doubt to do that. She missed Stabler and Lake. She missed when being called to the precinct made her feel energetic, like she was being helpful, like someone actually wanted *her* there, not just… whichever ADA happened to be on SVU rotation.

“So, we found most of the names on the list that kid gave us,” Amaro started, and Casey tried not to think about how Stabler would've slapped her playfully on the shoulder as a thank-you for helping acquire that list, “and this guy- this one whose spazzing out right now-”

She motioned into an interrogation room, where a very heavily disheveled looking man was pacing back and forth, dirty fingers running through locks of hair so filthy Casey wasn't sure if he was greying or if that was just the level of particles in it. He seemed very clearly to be homeless, suffering from some demons the detectives seemed not to care about to any extent.

“He seems to be the only suspect from it. His name is Peter Devilin, and he has a record for simple battery- he punched a librarian- a couple years ago, before psychiatric intervention. Diagnosed with schizophrenia which got him out of any real repercussions.”

“We have him on CCTV near the crime scene,” Rollins followed up, “and we’re pretty sure he did it- he keeps rambling, talking to someone, and he mentioned the victim’s name multiple times. We talked to the psychiatrist who worked with him back when he had medical insurance and he gave us these-”

The young blonde motioned to a stack of papers and Casey was momentarily upset no one had needed to ask her for a subpoena to hand over said documents, but then was distracted by the information on the small stack of leather-bound journals instead.

She picked up the chain of custody documentation Rollins must have filled out, scanning over the brief notes momentarily. The psychiatrist’s name and the address of his work place was jotted down- ‘Marc Mercer'.

A small light in Casey’s mind blinked on, recognizing that name from somewhere. Where was it? It had to have been in some of the case documentation she had been reading- but it couldn't have been anything major, or surely one of the others would've flagged it already.

Novak’s mind pulled out the helpful answer that it must be the work of false attribution. She read hundreds of names a day in research or in motions, on witness counts or on old incident reports- if one of the detectives hadn't realized anything strange about that name, they would've already found whatever was related to it.

But still, that small defiant spark burned in her throat. She knew this name from somewhere and she could feel the fire spreading to her gut, marking that sensation as important.

While pondering on that, she picked up one of the leather-bound journals and began to skim through it.

“He wrote about what he wanted to do,” Rollins added, not necessarily helpfully as Casey was already reading but Casey had lost the spunk that would've previously rewarded the younger detective with a sly remark.

Olivia announced her arrival into the space with an elongated sigh, running her fingers through her brow hair and taking space between Cragen and Amaro, leaning against a desk.

“That was the parents, again.” She told her fellow detectives with a dejected, flat voice, her eyes fixating on a spot on the floor as she shook her head. “They're really messed up over this.”

Amaro grimaced, tilting his head almost helplessly. “They're parents. I’m a parent- imagining your kid growing up, hearing how they're so desperate to be something, to do something grand, and then… then they end up in the morgue.”

Casey bit her lip. She hadn't any children herself, nor had she ever had any sort of attachment to any youngster other than her little siblings, so adding into that conversation seemed forced. But still, she could empathize, and she did. All those ambitions, all those dreams… It was a tragedy in every sense of the word.

“They're upset we haven't done anything yet,” Olivia murmured in a hushed tone, her voice heavy with the expectations of the victim’s family and associates.

Casey’s heart grew heavy- she understood the weight Olivia must feel, the pressure to achieve any sort of semblance of closure for the grieving individuals. But she knew the only way she could help was to understand and affirm justice, so she simply stayed quiet and kept her focus on the pages unfurled in front of her.

Reading the journals, even just letting her eyes flit over them as she was doing, was very disturbing.

The majority of it were surprisingly intricately detailed drawings and diagrams of human anatomy- bones, joints, muscles, blood vessels, major nerves. Diagrams of how what could bend, what would hurt and what wouldn't as much.

It digressed later into detailed sketches of women in painful positions, noting the extent to which muscle and bone could be manipulated. Women with their faces contorted in obvious fear, women trying to shield themselves.

Around the drawings were furious, insane scribbled notes in barely legitimate handwriting. Some were simply notes correcting anatomical mistakes in the drawings- ‘this joint wouldn't bend like that, not really’, ‘this bone would be longer’, and other things along those lines. Other notes seemed to be wondering what the pain would feel like, comparing it against other things. Some notes were readable but Casey could not comprehend what they were supposed to mean, just random strung-together words that didn’t make much sense in that order, and others were written in such poor lettering she genuinely would have to spend time trying to decipher the words, which she did not want to do.

“...and these journals were made while he was medicated?” Casey muttered darkly, biting her lip.

This would be difficult to prosecute- the squad would of course urge her to convict based off of premeditated intent to commit crime using the journals and the notes as evidence, but the scenario in which this man went off of medication seemed to be not be his fault- if he lost his job and lost his insurance, then winding up unmedicated and at the hands of an overzealous and exploitative psychology student who ended up just a bit too close at a bad moment would easily be plead away by a half-decent defense attorney.

Plus, making graphic drawings wasn't a crime. People drew violence all the time, and she’d have to argue with the defense that this proved sexual intent- none of the drawings, horrible as they were, included penetration or overtly sexual imagery.

As if reading her thoughts, Amanda shook her head slowly. “According to the psychiatrist, he actively decided he didn't want to see him anymore, and didn't want to take anything. He had medical insurance via his work, but he got fired due to erratic behavior after his prescription ran out. So, he took initiative in the ending of his therapy, and thereby..”

“..the cessation of his medication and therapies was entirely his decision, and I could book him for this.” Casey finished, closing the leather-bound booklet in his palms and holding it for a long moment before setting it back down with the others.

“Why didn't the psychiatrist report this? If he knew his patient had prior convictions of violence, he shouldn't have let him make the decision to go off medication like that-” Casey began, but Cragen shrugged.

“The system is overcrowded already. People like that slip through the cracks, and no one knows what a danger they really possess until it really happens.”

“But this-” Casey motioned to the stack of journals, “This is more than just…”

“It's sick, but it's not like we don't see this all the time, Casey.” Olivia replied gruffly, crossing her arms- not defensively, just in her usual stance. “Maybe your time off let you forget.”

Her voice was wry and flat and nothing about it came off as overtly mean or mocking- but Casey knew better.

She really couldn't be in the 1-6 for longer than five minutes without some sort of jab that would haunt her for the rest of the week, huh? Olivia couldn't let her have just a little peace? Some semblance of respect? But fine, if she wanted to be like that, to hell with it. Casey would be leaving soon anyway, her reputation was already soiled completely and if snapping at detectives let her feel just a little bit less like a dog backed into a corner, then that's just what she'd do.

“I want you to look into the psychiatrist,” she countered- well, that wasn't even a real counter. “I remember his name- he came up in a legal case before, and before I indict anyone I want to know why.”

She had wanted to snap, but after the ‘you’re off’ comment she had made the other day she couldn't find anything else worth saying. She would’ve had them investigate the psychiatrist anyway. But she made sure to say it in a voice that showed she wasn't submissive to Olivia’s comment, and Benson's nostrils flared in response, so that was good enough for her.

In the back of her head, she fantasized what it would be like if it was the old squad. Stabler would be standing there with his hands on his sides, glaring down at the pages of the journals as if reading to beat the pages themselves up for being a threat to any women in his life- including her, Elliot had been protective of her, and although they never spoke about it Casey had really appreciated the feeling that someone was looking out for her safety- and if Stabler were there, Olivia wouldn't be being so mean. Instead of biting at her, Olivia would've pursed her lips and nodded along at the belief this kind of neglect was unjustifiable, and would've volunteered to make sure nothing sketchy was going on herself before Casey even asked. Stabler would swing on his coat and they’d wave her goodbye, promising to call with an update within the next couple hours.

She missed Stabler.

She missed the version of Olivia who wasn't glaring so harshly at her that she felt as though two holes were about to be layered through her face. The version of Olivia who got drinks with her occasionally after cases, who softened up eventually and opened up to her. Who confided in her, who let her confide back in turn.

Well, that hadn't worked out at all, actually. Casey’s biggest secret- Charlie- even before Stabler's absence had been abused by this woman, so she supposed maybe she had been played for the fool this entire time. Maybe she was just dumb, and that's why she didn't deserve her occupation.

What-fucking-ever. She was too tired to care.

“On it, boss.” Rollins smiled and did a small fake-salute in her southern accent, and Casey huffed softly with appreciation at the lighter gesture.

If she was as enthusiastic as the younger version of herself, she thought perhaps she and Rollins would get along. She seemed sweet. But Casey just couldn't find it in her to try to bond with the squad anymore, not with one foot out the door.

Olivia, though, remained steadfast. With her arms crossed and her eyes harsh, she was an adversary that chipped away at Casey’s fragile psyche second by second, until Casey genuinely considered stepping away.

“What good is it going to do?” Benson questioned, her voice flat. “You’re worried you won't be able to book the schizo, so you're redirecting to an overworked doctor instead? Don't do that, Casey.”

That comment was worse, and everyone in the room knew it.

The lines of Cragen’s face contorted slightly, his face turning from the floor to Olivia’s face, and Amaro and Rollins mirrored the reaction of mild shock. That wasn't just a small remark anymore, that was an outright challenge to Casey’s ability to prosecute- that was disrespect no one could dismiss.

“I don't think it's up to you to decide what I can or cannot do, detective.” Casey responded, trying to mirror Olivia’s cold demeanour, bristling and straightening her back to her full height. “I’d advise you to stay in your lane.”

“I don't think you can advise me to do anything, counselor, not until you man up and remember what we do here.”

“Excuse me?” Casey flashed, her eyes burning, but Olivia began stepping forward and Casey had to physically freeze herself to not start stepping back. Olivia’s broad arm extended and a small part of the faux blonde’s brain wondered if Olivia was genuinely going to strike here, right here in the middle of the squad room, but Olivia was only pointing at the schizophrenic mess of a person pacing and babbling in an interrogation cell. Olivia snatched up a crime scene photo of the mess left of the young college student’s body in her other hand, dangling the image forward into Casey's face as if threatening her with it.

“This man defiled, degraded and ripped a young woman’s brutalized body apart,” Olivia snapped, “I won't let you throw another case because you're too- … too shrouded by your own personal failures to do what needs to be done here!”

Casey’s mind raced and she did ultimately step backwards- if only to be able to make eye contact with Olivia around the photo pushed into her face- her heart beginning to pound in her chest.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve-!” She snapped, trying to surge forward with the intensity she used too, but although Benson growled in her throat she didn't back down.

Casey forced herself to take a deep breath, to calm the adrenaline surging through her bloodstream like fire.

“Listen, Olivia,” She barked, the concerned faces of the others fading in the background of her vision as she focused on the furious expression before her, “I just know the name of the psychiatrist and want to make sure we cover all possible bases- it's not like we have any concrete or forensic evidence, everything you’ve provided me with is substantial at best.”

“We have just short of a dozen notebooks filled with anatomical drawings of torture!” Olivia snarled with poorly concealed indignation, and Casey scrunched her brow in response.

“Some sketchbooks, a record they knew eachother and the fact he was in the general area are not enough to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he murdered and raped that girl.”

“Casey, look at him!” Olivia pointed again, jabbing her finger in his direction, and the room went silent for a couple seconds as they watched the man’s erratic pacing.

The way his eyes darted from side to side, recognizing shapes and patterns no one else could see, was all too familiar. The look in his eyes resembled Charlie’s to a significant degree, the wary pupils and the bags beneath them, rimmed with red and purple and poorly cared for skin. But Charlie’s eyes were a warm, sunrise-on-ocean-water blue, and this man’s were a more submerged brown color.

He was snarling under his breath, his face set in a heavy, paranoid glare. As Casey watched he glared so fiercely at the glass separating them she thought he was shooting a path directly into her soul- but it was a one-way mirror, and he must be looking only at himself, or at someone between them Casey and the others couldn't see.

“I- I know, Olivia.” Casey hated the way her voice faltered, the way she had grown quiet and stared longer than the others had- when she had forced herself to look away, the others were already looking at her expectantly.

“But I’m telling you,” she continued, trying her best to still be stubborn despite the way her heart was fluttering uncomfortably, “I’ll draft the indictment while you search, and if nothing else turns up, I’ll try him for it. I just want all possible bases covered. Something is up with this psychiatrist.”

Because even though she wanted to let her own perception collapse under Olivia’s harsh gaze, she stood for the law first and foremost, and everything she learned from all her effort was that there was something wrong, something was missing, and she wouldn't be able to argue anything with the ferocity she tried to allocate to each of her cases until she believed fully there was a reason to do so.

Olivia exhaled slowly, and Casey’s heart sank in her chest, because the fire in the brunette woman's eyes was turning instead straight to ice, and she already knew her heart wasn't prepared to hear what Olivia was going to say next. The sense of doom was bad enough that Amanda leaned backward slightly and Cragen extended a hand outward as if to pause the conflict he had tried to allow in order to drive the investigation forward, but Olivia couldn't be halted.

“It's depraved,” she started, “I get that. I get you don't want to believe it's his fault- you didn't want to believe it was *his* fault, either-” the others looked mildly confused and Casey was so, so mortified that Olivia was airing her dirty laundry publically, even if the others didn't know what she was referring to Casey being beaten and bruised by her own fiance, “but so help me, if you're too weak to prosecute a case as transparent as this, just do us all a favor and resign before I call the DA to do it for you.”

Cold shock enveloped Casey’s body, even though in the back of her mind she wasn't at all surprised. Still, she could feel the now-familiar weight of exhausted panic pressing against the inside of her face, and she couldn't figure out how to respond to that, because what could she possibly say-?

“You better watch your fucking mouth,” She tried, the only possible response she could come up with, trying to sound like she was seething and not about to cry. It was disrespectful and mean and it fell flat immediately, it wasn't intensely debative like the previous portion of the argument had been, it was just a stupid completely empty threat that did nothing but signal Olivia had successfully hit a nerve.

“You’re out of line.”

The voice was loud, flat, stern and commanding. Even though it wasn't at all spoken with the same erratic volume as Casey and Olivia’s voices had been, it had effectively had both of them stepping backwards in opposite directions- making space for the speaker to enter rather dramatically into the scene.

Alexandra Cabot strolled into the space as if she owned it, her hair flowing around her shoulders with a golden hue like a battle angel come straight down from the heavens, or alternatively like a kindergarten teacher come to set some rambunctious child straight.

Casey bit her cheek and looked away, fully tilting her head in the opposite direction and closing her eyes with an unfiltered grimace on her face. As if Benson’s very overt disapproval wasn't enough, now she was going to get scolded by her own colleague- the woman she supposedly was on par with, although Novak had never been able to elicit the same respect as the Cabot name.

Instead of telling Olivia to bite her tongue she should've been minding her own- she was about to pay the price for her disrespect in the way of humiliation in the most mortifying degree. Dragged off by Alex, come to defend her friend (who didn't at all need defending, Olivia hadn't even blinked), or being berated by her in front of the majority of the squad- Casey briefly debated which one would be worse.

The embers of fury gnawed on her heart, through, and bitterly she wanted to lash out at her. Fuck them all for putting her in this position- how could they not tell that she was already through? She wasn't trying to be difficult, she just wanted to chase justice the way she always had- fuck, the way they did too. Why couldn't anyone see that? All she wanted was to do her job well, and all she got in return was being reminded that she was sick and tired and alone-

God, Casey was so alone.

Green eyes opened, expecting to find the icy depth of blue staring straight into her soul like a dagger forced through a ribcage, only to find the back of blonde hair.

Alex was standing between her and Olivia, but not facing her- and as Casey watched the elder attorney cross her arms and stiffen her spine, elongating to the full potential of her height, she grew momentarily confused.

“Liv,” Alex snapped, “If someone else told me you said what I just heard from your mouth, I would've slapped them for tarnishing your name.”

Casey couldn't see Olivia very well at all, since Alex was literally directly between them, but she heard the audible pause, the half-step backward.

Alex wasn't yelling, she wasn't berating and she wasn't cruel. She reminded Casey rather like a benevolent judge- one of the younger judges, more inclined to ensuring respect and decency in the courtroom, who naively attempted to get the prosecution and the defense to be respectful. They didn't understand- just like how Alex didn't really understand- that they were trying to mix oil and water.

Casey had been putting up with Olivia’s occasional disregard for her for years. The girl in the icebox, the side comments, the unsaid yet constant comparison, the usage of the worst secret she had as an act of revenge. It was tolerable in the years prior to Casey's suspension- it was just Olivia dealing with the stress of the job, Casey had acknowledged and accepted that. She didn't think Olivia ever forgave her for her inability to prosecute Lake’s perpetrator, and she didn't think she ever would, just like how Olivia would never allow her to fully prove herself, no matter how hard she tried. From the day they met, Casey had known she'd never meet Olivia's standard. Olivia’s standard, though, was the woman using her own body as a blockade between the two.

“Alex, I-” She heard a softened voice speak, Benson suddenly turning complacent in the face of her trusted friend.

“I’m not finished,” Alex said, raising a finger in the air- not taunting Olivia with it in the slightest, rather simply indicating she held the floor right now just like she did in court and was not planning on relinquishing it.

“I know the dealing with victim’s families is emotionally taxing, difficult and strenuous, I just got finished with them myself-” (Oh, Casey thought, that's why they weren't asking her for subpoenas or search warrants, they must be bypassing her to get Alex instead, choosing to let her get close to investigations the way they chose to keep pushing her out) “but that's not excuse to question the integrity of the DA’s office by accusing a senior assistant district attorney,”

Casey felt herself swallow, her heart clenching at the way Alex said her full title with a note of reverence, with regard- but then, why shouldn't she? Alex, noble and respected as she was, was still an assistant district attorney, and technically Casey did outrank her in that regard, even though no one ever acted like it. Alex was acting like it now, though, and suddenly Casey felt like she was standing on solid ground again.

“of responding insufficiently.” Alex was still talking, still commanding the rapt attention of everyone in the room- even some of the background officers who milled about had frozen to watch her speak.

“You conduct investigations under the directions of your Captain, who I have not seen make any sort of inquiry against Novak’s handling or suggestions-” she nodded respectfully at Cragen who blinked and then chose not to respond, favoring instead to let her play this out, “and at the digression of the ADA herself, whether it be me, Hardwicke or her. To question her decision to direct further investigation is to imply the DA’s office and the body we compose as your working prosecutors lack authority and I will not allow you to employ such blatant disregard. Attempting to threaten an attorney into indicting solely at your whim is an affront to all of us- myself included.”

Alex then let her finger drop, because she knew it was unnecessary to keep holding it, Olivia wouldn't dare interject again when Alex was using her prowess the way she was. She had the circle of people entirely subdued into silence. Casey felt her chest loosen, and her ability to breathe came slightly easier.

“And that's all ignoring the disrespect towards information that was personally confided to you,” Alex said this in a lower voice, still stern and commanding but intentionally directed in a way only the circle of people could hear- again, Rollins and Amaro and even Cragen seemed rather perplexed, although despite the way they seemed confused when Olivia had brought up things unbeknownst to them, when Alex did they seemed to detach, trusting that it was simply not meant for them to be aware of.

“Which, frankly,” Alex shook her head slowly, “As your friend, I'm appalled by.”

Casey bit her lip, her hands twitching by her sides as she heard Alex inhale again, letting the momentary pause ring heavy in the air before making her version of a closing argument.

“Novak is a brilliant prosecutor and her decision to investigate any possible motive into who will most likely be your star character witness, as well as the person who gave you the only key evidence you have, is perfectly logical- I would've instructed you to do the same. I’m not entirely sure why you're so affronted, but your irreverence is palpable and I won't have that. You know better.”

Olivia audibly exhaled and Alex moved aside, glancing between the two for a half second.

No one took the floor for a long second, Benson staring at Casey with an air of discomfort and Casey staring back blankly, her mind reeling with the words that had come from Alex’s lips.

Someone was in her corner?

Someone was in her corner. Why?

Alexandra Cabot was in her corner, and Casey had no clue how the universe had granted her that solace, but Jesus Christ.

It wasn't miraculous, and it wasn't as though the weeks of exhaustion and slow deterioration were suddenly reversed. Casey was not suddenly a new, refreshed person. But the ember she had fostered, determined to keep alive until something happened- that ‘something happened’ had just unfolded.

Alex had granted her the respect, the acknowledgement she had so wearily accepted to deprivation of. Casey felt seen, as though a part of her had been invisible for months- years- was finally opaque and recognized. The ember she had tried so hard to shield flickered back and then became again a small flame, not the bonfire it used to be, but suddenly Casey felt as though she had the strength to bring it back to that level.

Alex trusted her- Casey wasn't sure how much of the conversation she had heard, how much evidence she knew about, but- enough that she assumed whatever Casey was demanding was for the best interest of the case. Alexandra Cabot, the golden girl of the squad, trusted that Casey was acting in the best interest of justice.

Olivia realized it, too. Casey was really just trying to cover all aspects of the case, not redirect or play her own agenda this time. It was as though she had had cold water splashed in her fevered, sleep-deprived addled face, woken up and made to see straight. Threatening Casey wasn't going to get her anywhere.

“...I’ll start pulling files,” Olivia said finally, her voice tinged with regret. “I didn't mean to … I didn't mean to cross a line. You're right, I’m getting tunnel vision.” (and I miss Elliot, Casey filled in mentally for her, I’m not doing well because I hate working without the stability and support my partner provided, and I just wanted to speed the case up so I can bury myself in a new shocking tragedy so I don't have time to think about him, because this case reminds me of how scared I was he would have to stop working because of Picard, and now he is genuinely gone, and I’m not coping well.) Casey accepted the partially verbal apology.

“Actually, I think Rollins and Amaro can work on that,” Cragen spoke finally. “Take some time and think about what you need to do to approach this case clear-headed, Olivia. See me in my office in an hour.”

Olivia bristled at the dismissal, but after being scolded so thoroughly by Alex- especially with the blonde still stationed so close- she didn't disobey. With a last glance at Casey- one with softened, apologetic eyes- she turned on her heel and left presumably to the cradle.

Amanda and Nick seemed to jump at the opportunity to awkwardly scramble off, impatient to begin working again and leave the very vocal confrontation between their senior detective colleague and not one but two of their ADAs.

“This was … something,” Casey murmured, after the silence stretched on for a longer moment, now exclusively between Cragen, Alexandra and her, “but I'm… I have work to do.”

“I’ll give you a lift, I need to return to the DA’s office as well.” Alex offered, and Casey thought it would be rude to refuse- especially because refusing would mean hailing a cab while Alex drove her own car, or hiding in the bathroom until Alex left, which seemed pointless and also moderately embarrassing.

“I’ll try to rein Liv in,” Cragen said as a final note, which both attorneys nodded too but otherwise let hang in the air.

Alex walked a couple inches closer to Casey than she would've entirely preferred, but didn't attempt to glance at her as the two ADAs exited the precinct, which she did appreciate.

“I’m sorry, Casey.” Alex said, her voice suddenly smooth and soft like a blanket Casey could wrap herself in, “I didn't mean to fight your fight for you. It was disrespectful for me to step in like that- it's just, I’m friends with Liv, and I hated hearing her berate you like that. She can get really carried away.”

“It’s fine,” Casey responded in what she hoped was a curt, indifferent voice. “Liv’s having a tough time without Elliot, I expected it.”

“That's no excuse for how she was addressing you, though.” Alex murmured, but in an observational, light, almost conversational tone instead of a pressing argumentative one. Casey could only shrug in response, tugging her coat back on as the two exited the precinct doors.

Obviously, Casey felt guilty for her inability to help carry the conversation. It wasn't in her interest to spend the drive back to the DA’s office in a prickling silence. But her hands were shaking just slightly near her sides, and she was consumed trying to calm her sympathetic nerve system to an extent to which she just really couldn't try to formulate the kind of precise, intentional words she’d want to be using with Alex. Making a fool in front of the elder, esteemed attorney by stumbling over exhausted, nervous words while trying to make sure Alex knew Casey wasn't actually upset at Olivia wasn't what she wanted to deal with right now.

Her heart was still beating uncomfortably, not particularly fast, but strong enough to register in her neck and ears. Casey’s lungs seemed just constricted enough to be a nuisance, and her mind was still whirling through a variety of observations, thoughts and topics. She wished she could scream at her anatomy to just stop, quit it, so she could take a deep breath and pause the cortisol flowing through her.

The faux blonde allowed Alex to lead her to where her car was parked, and they remained in a mildly tense silence throughout the brief journey. Alex seemed more inclined to allow Casey her retreat into introspection and Casey couldn't force herself to make words fall from her mouth if she tried- that is, if she tried, such she currently was not attempting to do.

Alex unlocked the car and circled around to the driver’s side, and Casey mechanically settled in on the front passenger’s seat, staring ahead rather blankly as she waited for Alex to begin driving- which she didn't do.

Once both car doors were closed, the blonde attorney turned to Casey, her expression unreadable.

“Casey, I’m going to hold your hand now.” Alex said in a soft, authoritative voice, before reaching over and clasping two hands around one of Casey’s. Her hands were soft and without discernible temperature, but they felt comforting in a way that mildly surprised her.

Casey blinked at Alex with furrowed brows, but she didn't move to shake the elder woman’s hands away, which Alex half-smile at encouragingly.

“If someone were to yell at me like that,” Alex continued gently, “I’d be all kinds of broken up about it. I can't stand loud sounds and erratic movements. And I’d want someone to sit me down, hold my hand, and listen so I could talk it through. Is that what you’d want to do?”

“No,” Casey said hoarsely, feeling a sob bubbling within her lungs. “I don't want to talk.”

Alex speaking to her with that tone, soothing, low and melodic, was simply too much for her right now. She wouldn't be able to recover if she lost her composure in front of her colleague, and if she tried to speak, tried to explain anything, she’d begin crying- she didn't realize how close she was to tears until just now.

“Do you want me to keep talking?” Alex hummed, and Casey again shook her head in denial. She felt guilty she was rejecting Alex with no type of explanation, but she couldn't explain herself, and Alex seemed to understand.

Then, so soft it was almost whispered, “..Do you want me to hold you?”

She said it so softly, with such a note of emotion, that Casey almost thought it sounded like that was what Alex really wanted to do herself.

Casey’s head met Alex’s shoulder before she realized she was moving, and despite what the overwhelming fear that sank into her mind said the second she did so, Alex was entirely receptive, her hands raising to cradle her skull softly.

She’s just back from international work in the Congo, Casey thought to herself miserably, I’m sure she’s used to cleaning up people’s breakdowns. I’m sure she’s exactly the type of good person I’m not.

Casey’s shoulders were shaking and she couldn't stop them, and her arms were numbly pawing around Alex's sides to bring the other woman closer. Alex tightened her grip, sliding one thigh across the divider in a way that must be uncomfortable and her other leg beneath her, so she could lean across and make the embrace all that much easier for the other woman.

The younger attorney could feel Alex exhaled against her scalp, and if Casey pictured it she could see Alex’s eyelids fall shut with empathy, her slim fingers laced around Casey’s shoulders like thread that held ripped fabric together.

But as much as Casey felt horrible about letting the woman comfort her, she couldn't bring herself to pull away. The allure of Alex’s warm, inviting figure, the solace being embraced brought, especially after the years of feeling so utterly alone, was too much to reject- it didn't stop her from feeling guilty about it, though. She didn't want to accept Alex's pity, but oh, how she did need it.

“It's okay,” Alex said the second Casey opened her mouth to apologize, “I’ve got you. It's hard, I know.”

That notion rang clear in Casey’s disoriented mind. Alex had referenced something specific in her verbal takedown she had no clue how the elder woman would be aware of.

“How did you know about him?” Casey said suddenly, raising her head and pulling back, staring at Alex with bleary eyes, “About Olivia telling Branch about-?”

Alex winced, then, her shoulders tilting inward just the slightest bit, her hands flexing as though she wanted to pull Casey back.

“...Liv told me,” She breathed finally, after a pause. Casey’s mind went momentarily blank, so stressed everything faded out to void, and she rested her forehead against Alex’s shoulder again, exhausted beyond measure. She'd resign next week, she internally decided, she’d recuse herself from all her active cases and leave. This was too much, all too much. But she didn't make any move to pull away from Alex, if anything, she shifted just the slightest bit closer. Alex was still talking, she realized faintly.

“She mentioned you during your suspension, when she thought- when she thought I was getting too involved.”

“What?” Casey murmured, her voice seemingly heavy and far-away. “You? You get too involved?”

Alex chuckled softly. “Haven't you heard about how I ordered an illegal search?”

It caught Casey off guard that Alex would offer up information like that. That she’d care about this conversation enough to divest vulnerability like that. Casey swallowed, once, and then when Alex’s hands flexed again, she lowered her face back to the blonde's shoulder. Alex’s slight anxiety seemed to soothe in that instant, her hands able to regain their purchase on the back of Casey’s head.

Casey thought that if she wasn't so emotionally pent up, she’d think Alex’s slight discomfort at not being able to hold her was cute.

“No, I haven't. Tell me about it,” Casey murmured, and Alex fully turned her torso in her direction, settling into a more comfortable position as she regarded the window thoughtfully, composing her words for the impromptu bout of storytelling. She wasn't particularly proud of this moment, but if it made Casey feel better, she’d divulge.

“This boy was the victim of a pedophile,” Alex started slowly, “and I knew- I knew something was wrong when he said he’d be going home, but I.. I watched him walk out of my office, and that night I got a call he’d try to kill himself, and it was horrible. He was hooked up to all those machines, and the mother was screaming at me- I had been decked by another victim of the same guy, and I thought I’d get it again from her.”

Casey nestled a bit closer, a small exhale against Alex’s neck that signalled she was listening. If Alex looked down, she'd see a rounded green eye attentively focused on her face, but she didn't. Alex was partially zoned out the way Casey always felt when she was recounting her own prior cases to herself.

“We knew from another victim, one who had grown up and been incarcerated, that the boy would have tapes of the crime in his room, and the judge denied my search warrant to go retrieve them. But I sent the detectives anyway. Liv asked me if I had a search warrant and I…” Alex shrugged slightly, Casey’s head following the motion from where it rested. “I tried to steamroll my way right through it. Still remember how…” Alex paused to search for a word she couldn't find, “how I felt after.”

It was hard for Casey to reconcile the woman before her as someone who had broken the law, but somehow the knowledge she was human like her stopped the churning of her stomach slightly.

“This seems stupid to say,” Casey murmured in her low rasp, “but I never realized you were… that you could make the kind of mistakes I do.”

Alex chuckled again sadly. “I’m far from perfect. I can be insensitive, harsh, I get tunnel vision. I put people in danger.”

Casey bit her lip, hesitantly raising her head again.

“And I call in favors,” Alex continued, “My uncle… I leaned on him a lot early in my career. On his connections with other judges. Petrovsky called me out on that before. I made a lot of publicity mistakes, too, once I didn't- I tried to navigate a case and let a boy off easy, and he ended up,” Alex swallowed, then, “murdered in the street.”

“Before I was suspended, I almost got an assault charge.” Casey admitted softly, trying to add into the conversation, not wanting Alex to be the only one bearing herself vulnerable. “I pushed a juvenile sex detention facility head against the wall after I found out that- that abuse was ongoing within the facility. After I sent… a boy there.”

“It’s tough.” Alex sighed as a response, and Casey nodded slowly. She raised her head back up, pushing her head instead against the headrest of the leather car seat, watching Alex watch her.

They sat together in silence, although unlike during the walk to the car, it wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't bursting with racing minds and words not said, rather the budding sense of familiarity and camaraderie. Casey understood how Alex felt, and Alex understood what Casey wasn't saying. They were fighting the same fight, after all. Who would better comprehend the struggle than one who was in the same shoes?

“It starts to get exhausting,” Casey said slowly, her green eyes flicking upwards to scan Alex’s face, seeking validation in solidarity, “the politics of it all. I just …”

“... want to help,” Alex finished for her, tilting her head and raising her shoulder before letting it drop. “Want to make a difference, want to… ensure justice for people who need it. Provide solace to someone.”

“You get it,” was all Casey could respond with, but Alex nodded.

“Did you really need to go back?” Alex murmured, using her hand to motion to the steering wheel she wasn't using, and Casey pursed her lips.

“No,” she answered honestly. “I just didn't want to be in the precinct anymore. Did you?”

“No,” Alex responded in turn, and then blue eyes flicked up, studying Casey’s face as her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile. “I just … wanted the excuse to talk to you.”

Casey’s gaze slid around Alex’s features, taking in the softened gaze, the curve of her cheeks at her gentle smile, the tilt of her glasses, the slope of her hair. She noted how elegantly Alex always held her arms, but for once, she didn't try to compare herself against her colleague, rather just took in the fact a woman this gorgeous was trying to provide her with the solace she so desperately needed.

“Let's talk, then.” She murmured, and then in a rush of confidence, “It's been a while since someone tried to …”

She didn't know what she wanted to finish that sentence with. No one had stood up for her, no one had offered her a degree of companionship, no one had put in that much effort to engage with her. But that seemed utterly pathetic to divulge, so she bit her tongue. As always, as she was learning to understand through this brief interaction, Alex could tell what she meant without her needing to say it. It was comforting.

“Are we continuing this conversation in the parking lot, or am I driving you somewhere nicer, Ms. Novak?” Alex hummed, extending her arms to wrap around the steering wheel so she could lightly tap-tap-tap her fingers against it, and Casey chuckled.

“Somewhere nicer? What, are you asking me out?” Casey snorted, mirroring Alex’s turn to a proper sitting position and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“...Would you be more or less willing if it was?” Alex smirked, but it was obvious she was jesting.

Casey grinned, closed her eyes, and flexed her eyebrows with a bit of snark she found within herself she hadn't been sure still existed. “I’m not a cheap date, counselor.”

“Then we’ll get along, because I refuse to eat anywhere that doesn't have tablecloths and a separate wine menu.” The elder attorney shot her a small smile, turning on the car’s ignition and beginning to pull out of the parking space, apparently having decided on a place already.

“Never ask me to cook for you though,” she followed that up with, “I can afford a good cut of steak, but for the life of me I wouldn't be able to cook it.”

“Then you buy it, and I’ll cook. I’ve been told I know my way around searing steak.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alex chirped, removing one hand from the steering wheel to enclose the top of Casey’s hand, “I never did treat you to something after you saved my life. I wanted to.”

The teasing air morphed into something softer once more, warm and comfortable, as Casey’s eyes softened in Alex’s direction. The blonde was now focusing on the road, so she couldn't see the way Casey studied her features, which only created incentive for Casey to take her time doing so.

“Did you mean what you said?” She didn't like how timid her voice came out, but the words spilled from her lips before she could stop them. Alex shot her a brief glance, raising an eyebrow that signalled a nonverbal ‘about what?’.

“about … me being a decent prosecutor,” Casey pressed rather lamely, her voice not really full of conviction, because she didn't really know if she wanted the honest answer. She didn't want to hear Alex lie, and she didn't want to hear Alex struggle to justify it either.

To her surprise, Alex’s immediate response of “yes” was not hesitant or thoughtful. She said it as though it were an unarguable fact.

“I think you forget,” Alex added, “One of the people your legal prowess saved was me.”

That was before her suspension, Casey noted to herself with a sigh, back when prosecuting felt perhaps not as easy, but as natural as breathing. But maybe, possibly, with the knowledge at least one person wanted to put in the effort to support her, at least one person didn't struggle to decide if Casey was worthy of being an attorney- maybe that one person’s acknowledgement could satisfy her craving for validation. Maybe she really could climb her way back up again. Maybe it wasn't all lost.

But also, maybe that wasn't something she really had to decide ultimately in this particular moment. She could simply enjoy the company of another person who understood the intricacies of the life this job provided, chatter and storytell, and allow the drained battery to recharge. She didn't need to dedicate her life to SVU, and didn't need to start drafting her resignation forms either.

She could just choose on the simple decision of allowing Alex to take her for dinner, and worry about the rest when she could handle it, because it did now feel as though she would soon be able to handle it.

“You're really something, you know that?” She responded, turning back to face the road, and she could hear Alex smile in response.

“Just trying to repay the favor you did me,” Alex smoothed, “and… well, women like us, we should stick together.”

Casey nodded once in agreement, her lips curving into an easy smile as she replied, “that we should.”

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - 4

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. | prev part | next part

Chapter 4: Family Bonding, Festivals and Feelings?

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, mentions of hard substances, intoxication, mature language, real people (do not read if any of these makes you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: Things are gearing up 😮‍💨 (ik i said i was gonna take a break, but i couldn’t help myself, now ill take a break lol, happy readin!)

Word Count: 6k+

“No one’s going to get cancelled — it’ll be fun.” Colin Jost smiles curtly on your flat screen TV.

You sit on the bed with a spoon hanging from your lips, an eye on the bright screen having just finished watching a rerun of Jenna’s SNL episode. You made sure to buy it as soon as it was available; locking yourself away in your room.

Currently, you are watching this week’s episode of SNL and Colin and Che are giving their weekly news update.

“Las Vegas is opening up a pop-up vaccine site in a strip club and don’t worry the strippers say the vaccine comes with singer and actress Y/N L/N. This time she’ll be the designated driver – I heard she’s on a tight leash.”

Your smile instantly drops.

“Speaking of Y/N,” Colin bounces off, reading off the cue cards. “Did you see her last week sitting in the audience during Jenna Ortega’s episode… hey, I wonder if they’re a real thing.”

Colin and Che share a knowing glance, “Nah.” They say in unison then move on to their next bit.

Scowling, you turn the TV off, practically throwing your bowl of cereal on the side table. 

You supposed you can’t be too mad – all too familiar with the snide jabs and harmless jokes from others in the industry. This is what you signed up for, right?

Whatever, you’re sure people are loving it.

It’s been a whole week since you left New York and you haven’t spoken to Jenna. It seems how you two acted back in the Big Apple was a success because it got your managers to back off, for now. You didn’t see a reason to contact the actress so you let the silence pass — you see when she posts on social media. 

You don’t have time to think about it because Coachella weekend is coming up soon. For the first time since Vegas, you will be working and you have been itching – wanting nothing more than to dive head-first into work mode. 

It’s what you do best.

You are invited to do a guest performance on a big producer’s set for the festival. It would be your first ever time performing at Coachella but you were privy to the culture of the festival, having gone as an audience member to support your musician friends.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Link pops his head in your door, holding a phone up.

–

“Please don’t do this.” Your pleas go underheard.

“I don’t know why you keep trying, the answer is the same Y/N.” Link rolled his eyes, pointing to a house.

“I think this is the one.”

You scan the two-story typical American home tucked away in the boroughs of suburbia up in the desert, otherwise known as Coachella Valley.

Or well, Jenna’s parent’s house at least. 

After Link had dropped the most terrible news; you had to be seen with Jenna in Coachella. Liv and Jake had instructed your team to drive you to stay with Jenna as you prepare for the festival – it was convenient they said.

Convenient my ass.

“Relax... Marcus will be back to pick you up, he’s gonna drop off your bags at the rental house.”

“Why can’t I just go with you then?” You ask.

“Liv said to drive you to this address. Jenna gave explicit directions to drive you here.”

You frown pulling on a loose thread on your sweater.

What could Jenna possibly want that she’d want you here? She looked pretty upset at you, the last time you talked.

You really don’t have it in you to fight with her, again, especially after the long drive from L.A. up to the desert where you thought — you’d be staying in your villa for Coachella weekend.

“Now go see the girl, please.” Link reaches over to open the door.

When you step out, the car is already driving speedily down the street not even giving you a chance to change your mind. You hear a flurry of voices from the side of the house but it sounds far away. Toy cars and trollies litter the grass yard. 

Slowly, you walked up her porch, your shoes scraped as you ascend the concrete steps. Hesitating for a brief moment, you realize: Jenna is inside. Well duh.  But the thought of her on the other side of the door has your heart dropping out of nowhere. You see flashes in your memory of her frown as you explain why you have to leave New York so soon.

Unspoken words as she says ‘well I thought–’

What did she think?

You would probably never know.

The door opens with a creak breaking you out of your thoughts.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Aliyah leans against the doorframe, smiling.

You laughed, “Yeah, we do.”

She doesn’t say anything else and just yells over her shoulder, “Jenna, she’s here.”

Then walked off. 

“Hi…” Jenna appears, leaning on the doorframe with a hand.

She scans you for a brief moment; not having seen you since New York, a week ago. She had to make sure you’re still alive because she hasn’t heard from you since then.

You also practically ghosted her.

After feeling guilty about how she left things with you, Jenna sent you a text the next day, asking if you made it back to Los Angeles safely.

You liked her message with a thumbs up.

A thumbs up! Not responding would have been better, the actress bitterly thought.

“Hey.” You greet. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?” She answered quickly, smile sealed tight like an envelope.

“I’m… good. Yeah. Just working.” You answer honestly.

“Oh really?” Jenna asked.

“Yeah, something for Coachella actually.”

Jenna raised her brows in surprise. “Like what?”

You send a tight-lipped smile, “It’s a surprise. People don’t know I’m here yet.”

Jenna can’t fight her excitement; giddy about being in on a secret. But then she remembers that she’s supposed to be annoyed at you and not fascinated.

“Why haven’t you texted me?” Jenna sighed, her voice dropping to a lowly whisper, in case someone was walking by.

You raised your brows, surprised by her question. “Oh… um. I’ve been busy like I said, just working, trying to keep my head down and all that.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” She asked accusingly.

You missed her tone and shrugged, reassuring her, “Yeah. Of course.”

“But, I heard you were busy this week too, filming another movie with Barry Keoghan and The Weeknd?” You changed the subject, hoping to talk about something else. She takes the bait after scanning your eyes for a second.

“Yeah, it was just a short role. But it was a lot of fun. Abel actually talked about you.”

“That’s great, I’m happy for you Jen… and yeah he’s an old friend.”

“Sung your praises pretty high, I had to make sure he was talking about the right person.”

You chuckle, “Oh okay, I see how it is.”

Your laugh caused a sudden warmness to manifest in Jenna and she couldn't help but join along. “Come on, my family has been dying to see you again.”

“Really?” You asked, stepping inside her childhood home. “So you think I made a good impression?”

She turned to look back at you, surprised that you care. “Maybe… don’t let it get to your head, though.”

You laughed as you followed her through the house. “Is that jealousy I hear Ortega? Scared you won't be the only movie star around?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Shut up. You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot that may have impressed your family?” You cocked your head and grinned wide.

“Yeah, yeah. Like, I said. Don’t let it get to your head. They could care less about celebrities and Hollywood. They’re pretty grounded.”

You shrugged, looking at the various family pictures hanging on the wall. “It’s fine. There’s only one Ortega I want to impress anyway.”

You’re not sure where that came from and it seemed Jenna shared the same thought because she raised her brows at you – but didn’t comment.

Jenna blocks you from walking when you reached the sliding glass door. “What?”

Jenna chewed her lip anxiously, “My family can be a lot. In numbers and in the other sense too. There’s a lot of us.”

“Oh… that’s okay.” You answered. A bit confused as to why she is telling you this. When you see her genuine concern your gaze softens. “Jenna, relax. I can handle the family… and I can charm anyone’s socks off.”

She relented, rolling her eyes at your joke. “Okay, okay.”

"Wait..."

Jenna turns around.

"Why am I here exactly? At your parents, that is. Link told me that you gave my driver instructions to bring me here."

Jenna bites her lip in contemplation. "Um—like I said my family wanted to see you again and I heard you were going to Coachella anyway so you know, two birds one stone."

You nod, accepting her answer.

Jenna opens the door for you two to step out.

–

Sounds of laughter rang around as you and Jenna sat in lawn chairs in her parent’s backyard.

“What are Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya like in real life?” Markus – Jenna’s brother leaned forward to ask. 

“Markus!” Jenna scolded and threw her brother a glare.

The actress blushed as she sat beside you but all she felt was the vibrations of your laughter, indulging her brother’s question. 

Jenna can’t help but wonder if you have other family members that spend time with you like this. You look so carefree and genuinely happy; comfortable around her family — after knowing you for a couple months now; she guesses it’s a no.

“They’re cool. Just like everyone else to be honest. Especially, Timothee, sweet guy but he’s a bit of a typical frat bro.” You joked, “And Zendaya, well. She’s just as amazing as everyone says she is. Great work ethic, it’s inspiring when you work with someone passionate like that – makes you want to be better and work harder.”

Jenna’s sisters are eating your story up. Secretly she knew they enjoyed the tales of celebrities and pop culture. It’s nearly impossible to live your life without seeing a public figure pop up on an ad on your phone or on the side of a bus stop on your drive home. 

Jenna is barely home enough to be able to have moments like this where she can humour her sister's questions. But they all had their own lives to live. She's has been looking forward to this break for a while, knowing it was coming up after her long week in New York.

She still can’t describe New York.

Something seems to have shifted between you two by the end of the week. But she didn’t know if it was for the better. The two of you have this constant push and pull; where everything is fine one moment, then one of you says something and it turns tense and weird as you both stay silent or you just completely blow up on each other.

Jenna didn’t know if she had it in her to try to decipher what these restrained responses she gets from you could possibly mean.

You are an enigma; a defensive, hot-headed asshole that grinded every gear the actress had.

“Do you like Zendaya, buddy?” You bounced her niece in your lap, enjoying how the baby grabbed at your fingers. 

But then Jenna turns around and you act like this. Sweet, protective, charming. 

How are you the same person?

She can’t fight her smile as she watched the adorable sight.

Jenna didn’t know you were good with babies. 

“I think Z would think you’re just the most adorable thing. Oh my god, Jen, can I send her a picture of us?” You turned to her, with a bright smile.

Jenna didn’t know when you started calling her by her nickname but she certainly won’t say how she enjoys how it sounds when you say it. “Uh–sure, if it’s okay with my sister.”

“Zendaya’s gonna have a picture of my baby on her phone? Uh yes!”

Jenna laughed, nodding. “I’ll take the picture.” She took your phone, opening the camera.

“What are you doing? Get in here with us." You asked with an adorable scrunch in the nose, surprising Jenna.

“Oh, I just thought— okay.” She swallows her growing grin, sliding in beside you.

Her sisters share knowing glances.

You happily scooted in, pressing your chest to her back.

Jenna is suddenly reminded of her you and her, alone in her dressing room.

She presses back into you. 

“Say, cheese guys!” Jenna clears her throat.

With big bright smiles, you placed your head above her shoulder to get in the frame, repeating, “Cheese!”

Even her niece seemed to be enjoying the attention as she smiled brightly and toothless while standing on your lap with her chubby legs. Jenna snapped a couple for good measure, checking over the pictures. The three of you are squished together as she held it in portrait; you all looked cute Jenna can admit. 

Like a little family.

What?

“Oh Jenna, send me that, please. I want to post it on my Instagram.” Her mom spoke up already reaching for her phone. 

“Okay, okay.” Jenna rolled her eyes but sent herself the pictures first before airdropping them to – everyone – who begged for it. 

“This is adorable, I think I’m gonna make this my lock screen.” You grinned, staring at the photo. She sees you typing a message, indeed sending it to the actress like you said you would. “Just for your niece.”

Jenna felt her heart skip a beat. “Are you saying you’re gonna crop me out the photo?”

“No… but now that’s a good idea, thanks.” You mocked with a smile.

“Mom, how did you already post that picture so fast?” Mia asked.

–

“Don’t be mad.” Jenna begged.

“Mad? Jenna. This isn’t what I signed up for.” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

The two of you were standing in her driveway, in a discord of course. Jenna just forced you into another situation that you wanted no part of.

“You just told Link to call off my driver and now you’re saying don’t be mad. Of course, I’m mad! Why did you say yes to your Mom, Jenna.” You sighed, dropping your hand limply.

“I didn’t know she’d insist.” She groaned walking closer, “She said that you shouldn’t stay in that big house by yourself for the weekend when there is room here, next thing I know she’s forcing me to ask you in front of everybody.”

"I'm sorry." She grabs your arm. “Link said you might be mad.”

You stare at her for a couple of moments. Their hearts are in the right place, you guessed. Eventually, you rolled your eyes and sighed. “Thank you I guess… I appreciate that the sentiment.”

Jenna smiled in relief, “Yeah, of course.” Then scrunched her nose in thought.  “We actually really don’t have the room so I don’t know where she’ll put you.”

She should have known. This is so typical and cliche; sharing a bed trope? Please, can the universe be any more unoriginal? 

“Mom, are you sure?” Jenna whispered as she peaked her head out the small awning of the door – making sure you can’t hear. 

“Jen, go to sleep. We have a packed day tomorrow. Everyone’s coming over for the game.”

Tomorrow is sports night and her uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents are set to come over. It was a weekly tradition for the extended family to host a gathering to watch the game every Friday; with Jenna’s busy schedule, she hasn’t been to one in months. She’s grateful this one is hosted at her house but then inwardly sighed because she should probably warn you about that too.

“Mom…” She pleaded in a whisper.

“Goodnight and be responsible. I trust you two.”

“Mom!”

Jenna dropped her head in defeat as she listened to her Mom’s footsteps dwindle further away. 

“Hey, you should probably get in there before all the hot water runs out..”

She turns, seeing your freshly showered figure. For a moment, Jenna finds herself stuck. You’re rubbing a towel on your wet hair as grey sweats hung lowly on your hips and she was desperately trying to avert her eyes from the small patch of you skin exposed.

“I already showered.”

“Oh okay.” You shrugged walking over to grab your phone. 

“Which side do you prefer?” You asked absentmindedly,

“What?” Jenna blinks away.

“Of the bed. Which side do you prefer?” 

“Oh. The left.”

“Thank god. Every bed I’ve had to share I’ve had to fight for the right side. You’re perfect.” 

Jenna watched as you jump into your preferred side, getting comfortable under her covers.

She doesn’t know why she feels a mismatched thump fall out of rhythm with her heartbeat at seeing you in her bed. 

“Alright, are you gonna be weird about sharing a bed? ‘Cause I can just take the couch or call my driver to pick me up. I can get a hotel room or something.” You sighed sitting up. 

Jenna furrowed her brows, “What no. Can you please stop jumping to conclusions?”

“I’m not.” You mumbled but don’t argue further. Jenna gets in beside you. 

“You satisfied now?” She throws out but it sounds just shy of playful and maybe even flirtatious – definitely not how she meant for it to sound.

“Uh– sure.” You replied sliding the blanket up to your chin as you tried to get comfortable again.

There’s that weird tension again, Jenna thinks and she thinks it’s starting to annoy her.

“Okay, what’s your deal?” Jenna crossed her arms, turning to you.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not.” You sat up to face the other actress.

Jenna frowned, “Yes you are. You have been since New York. Did I do something? Because you still haven’t told me why you just left town like that.”

“I told you. Jake wanted me back for Coachella. Why else would I have just left all of a sudden?” You explained.

“I just– I just feel like you’re not telling me something.” She admits, a bit insecure. “I, at least, thought we’re friends now and when I didn’t see you in the crowd or the dressing room after SNL I was a bit… disappointed? I don't know if it’s dumb but you really did calm me down before my monologue and I wanted to thank you over dinner. But, yeah–” 

Jenna looks away, missing your guilty frown. “Jenna… it’s not dumb. God, I feel like an asshole.”

“Well, sometimes you can be.”

You laugh but it’s dry. “I’m so sorry. I–I should have been there.”

You grab her hands. “Look at me, please.” It gets her to look up, the light from the lamp is bouncing off your eyes making them look softer in the dim light. “I promise, I’ll always be there for the important moments from now on. Before, during and after – we are stuck together until the foreseeable future, so.”

Jenna snorts, looking down at your hands. You begin to rub lines with your fingers on her open palm making her shiver. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She whispers.

She doesn’t know when she makes the bold move to intertwine your fingers. But for the first time since SNL, you two hold hands and this time you don’t pull away. But she doesn’t miss the questioning glint in your eyes as you look down. Jenna ignores the attention and squeezes your hand to make you look at her again.

“You mean it though?”

Your eyes soften. “I mean it.”

–

“Where’s Y/N?” Mia asked over the breakfast table.

“Rehearsals,” Jenna mumbled sleepily shoving spoonfuls of food in her dry mouth – still trying to wake up.

When the actress had awakened, the sun was high above the horizon and the desert heat was already inching inside her cracked window. But she woke up, alone.

Differing from how she went to sleep the previous night with you barely pressed up beside her as you laid with your backs to each other. Jenna only found herself un-tensing after hearing your breathing fall into short even exhales.

When she turned over to grab her phone this morning, you had sent a text:

Sorry for not waking you up. You sleep like a rock but I had to go to rehearsals. I’ll be back by 3 :)

She couldn’t be too annoyed at the smiley face you leave with your occasional messages.

“She’s performing?” Mia asks shocked.

Jenna nods, too tired for words.

“The crowd is gonna lose their minds.” Aliyah laughs. “With who?”

“Won’t say.” Jenna muttered bitterly, thinking back to her incessant begging; you never caved.

“Okay… can we talk about it, now then?”

“Talk about what Mia,” Jenna sighs dropping her fork on her plate.

“You and Y/N.” She says like it’s obvious.

“There is no me and Y/N, it’s all for the cameras. Remember the NDA I had to beg you guys to sign?” The actress rolls her eyes. 

“Then why were you so upset after New York?” She challenges; tired of her sister’s silence over this whole situation. There’s no way she’s just unaffected by this.

“Mia drop it.” Her mom says.

“No. I’m serious, she’s literally staying under our roof, sharing a room with Jenna. And no one is still saying anything? Am I the only one who thinks there’s something going on?”

“Yes.” Jenna says quickly.

Mia rolls her eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question, Jen.”

Jenna crosses her arms, sitting up. “Of course I was upset. She just left town without a warning, if we didn’t catch her in the lobby she was just gonna a send a text. A text! Anyone would be upset at that — but it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

But her sister doesn’t buy it. She opens her mouth to refute but their Dad swoops in saving the day. “Leave your sister alone, Mia. I’m sure whatever is going on with Y/N and Jenna – they can figure it out themselves.”

Jenna groans, “Dad, not helping.”

He shrugs, sitting at the head of the table with his own plate of breakfast.

Eventually, her family scatters to their own corners of the house to get ready for the day. Her other family members would be arriving soon and the actress had to start getting ready. Crap, she forgot to warn you about game night because you left so early. Jenna decides she’ll send you a text after she gets out of the shower.

With the raucous of the day, Jenna forgets to send the text. Her cousins arrived much earlier than anticipated and she was already getting pulled out to living room to talk about her upcoming projects. She gets so lost catching up with her cousins that she doesn’t realize when you arrive.

"Jenna, your novia is here." One of her aunts shouts making her head snap up to you as the front door opens. "Oh wow, and she's brought the whole store!"

Jenna's jaw drops as you walk in, holding multiple large bouquets of different arrangements of flowers. "Y/N?"

"Hey!" You peek your head out from the large flowers. "These are for your family... but I may have overestimated how big these were and Link refused to help me."

"Oh god, these are beautiful Y/N." Jenna's mom gets up from her seat, grabbing as many flowers as she can. "You didn't have to..."

"Oh, it's nothing, really. You guys are letting me stay here, I just wanted to express a little gratitude." You duck your head, all timid now.

Jenna knows it's not nothing. Those flowers cost a fuck ton, she would know she gets gifted those whenever she has an event.

"Well, gratitude expressed. I don't even know where to put these. Mia, Aliyah help the girl, please!"

The two sisters grab all but one smaller bouquet from your hands, walking away with smug smiles.

"Jen, get up," Aliyah whispers in passing as all the women and Jenna's dad filter over to the kitchen to view the gorgeous flowers.

She still hasn't moved from the couch and briefly, she thinks she can feel her cousin's smirking at her reaction.

"You got my family flowers?" Jenna asks dumbly, walking over slowly; ignoring everyone's eyes on them.

"Uh—yeah. Sorry if it's a bit much. I wasn't sure what everyone liked so... I got them all." You scratch your head with a bouquet in hand, catching Jenna's eye.

"These are for you..." You smile, holding out a smaller albeit more personal? flower arrangement. It felt like Jenna, somehow.

“I picked it out myself.” Your smile turns shy.

Like, if she were to walk into a flower shop and see this bouquet, she would instantly grasp it and never let go.

We still talking flowers?

"Thanks..." Jenna mumbles, grabbing the flowers; your fingertips touching sends sparks down her arm.

"Um—you're back early..." Is all she manages to say.

“Yeah… they didn’t need me for a long time so I decided to come back.” You explained, glancing at the new faces in the room. “Uh– what’s all this?”

The actress sends you a sheepish smile, “Family game night, we watch the game every Friday and cook some barbeque, it’s a whole thing. I forgot to text you, I’m sorry. You can call your driver back if this is too much.”

You laugh, squeezing her shoulder. “And miss out on great food? No, thank you.”

Jenna scans your eyes for the truth, “Are you sure? I know this isn’t exactly your scene so I understand.”

“Jen.” Your hand slides down, softly grabbing her hand. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been since the last time I had a home-cooked meal. I’m so in.”

You squeeze her hand for good measure. “Guys close the door.” Someone shouts.

Jenna doesn’t let you drop your hands this time because she’s already gripping them, pulling you to sit with her cousins – introducing you.

She ignores the giddy feeling in her chest that you want to stay.

You don’t say anything even when you’re both sitting and she’s still holding your hand.

–

“Who are you performing with?” Jenna tugs on your arm.

You squint to see her through your sunglasses. The Californian sun was making its presence known today and there are crowds of people everywhere as you tried to find some shade. It’s just past 6 PM and people are already starting to get rowdy – before all the good sets are even on. 

Fish nets, sparkles and bedazzles are all you see in the sea of people and you just know you’re at Coachella.

“I can’t say…” You fight the smile on your face, finding her begging adorable. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“But Aliyah knows! I heard you whisper it to her.” She glares back at her sister standing a fair distance away from you two – who was talking to Mia and her boyfriend.

“I didn’t tell her anything, Jen. We were just fucking with you.” You laugh, sliding your hand in hers. 

An unspoken comfortableness has formed between you two. Light touches are a new development in this… situation Jenna had with you.

Whether it was knees touching under the dinner table, walking shoulder to shoulder on your daily walks around the neighbourhood (there wasn’t much to do as Coachella weekend approached) or leaning her head on your shoulder as she slept when you two watched TV before bed.

And now, it seems like things have escalated to a new level of comfort where you two willingly linked fingers whenever you walked anywhere. Neither of you make a peep when someone eventually reaches for the other’s hand. 

“Rude…” She pinches your side making you flinch away from her.

Jenna’s immediately tugging you back closer.

“Hey… I can’t get an injury before my performance. I’m legally binded to a contract.” You state.

Jenna snorts, “I thought you were friends with the performer? Are you really not gonna tell me who it is?”

“Nope and sure we’re friends but, I’m still contractually obligated to the festival and all that.”

“Come on Y/N!” She groaned unconsciously stepping closer to you. “I’ve been so nice to you, I haven’t called you an idiot all day!”

You laugh, “Is that supposed to win me over?”

“You tell me? Is it working?” The laugh dies in your lips when she tits her head in question.

Jenna misses the gulp you take because she was leaning closer, trying to find your eyes behind the dark-tinted glasses you had on. 

“No…” You replied with a vacant tone.

Jenna steps back when the sun blinds her eye. “You’re no fun.”

“I don’t know what to tell you… you’re gonna have to wait like everyone else.”

“Speaking of everyone else, I’m surprised we’re not surrounded by your groupies.” Jenna eyes the group of people hovering not too far away. 

You snicker, “They are not my groupies. I barely know those people but it happens at every music event. They flock over like geese. I let Link handle them.”

Jenna frowns, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?” You look down.

“That you can’t even enjoy yourself at a festival without someone hovering over your shoulder.”

Since Jenna’s started this PR relationship with you her fame’s only increased overnight. She hates to say it but Sarah was right, being associated with you has only made her more famous and well-known. She felt like a Kardashian or Tom Holland who couldn’t even step out of their own homes without a camera being shoved in their faces. 

It’s getting so bad that Jenna has security with her everywhere she goes. She stopped driving herself to places. A headline even dropped that you two are official and serious now and that you have met her family; paparazzi tried to camp at her parent’s house until they called the police.

“Sometimes.” You answer honestly, shrugging. “But it’s part of the job.”

Jenna’s frown deepens, looking around. “This is not part of the job. At least not what I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, but we learn to deal with it, right?” You nudge her shoulder. Seemingly unbothered that made Jenna bothered for you.

“How?” Jenna couldn’t help her curiosity.

“Surround yourself with people that genuinely care about you. That still picks you even after all your fuck ups. Only got me about three of those, so I try to keep them close.” Then you let out a sad laugh, “I make it very hard for them sometimes, though.”

Jenna looks at Link as he holds a bored hand up when a girl tries to walk up to you. Then he’s shooing her away and whispering to both of your security guards.

She wants to fight the urge to say that you have a fourth person in your corner with her.

Instead, she says:

“I think you got a good one with him.” She nods to Link.

You follow her sight, “Yeah, I do... He’s usually right about most things too.”

“What do you mean?” She looks up in questioning.

Maybe Jenna’s not so bad? Flashes in your memory but you don’t tell Jenna. “Nothing.”

Jenna squints her eyes. “Fine… keep your secrets.” Tone a playfully bitter.

Eventually, you, Jenna and her sisters walk around aimlessly from set to set, taking pictures and enjoying the atmosphere. Jenna would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself right now. Somehow you all managed to find an empty corner by the Artist section of the performances which meant you had loosened up a bit. 

Jenna decided she liked it when you’re smiling, carefree and happy.

It suits you better than your permanent scowl. 

You’ve been so stressed this last week, taking phone calls and Zoom meetings. She tried not to express her concern at seeing how you obsessively fretted over some project, consuming you some nights. 

Jenna knows obsessive. She knows anxiety. This was different.

She finds herself with more questions than answers when it comes to you.

Why are you so closed off all the time? Is this how you work all the time? Where did this recent streak of bad behaviour start? Is there more to it than what you’re saying?

Are you okay?

But Jenna can’t find the right words to ask, so she doesn’t.

Only offering her warm pressure on top of you to hopefully lull you to sleep when you both drift off in her childhood bed.

Somewhere along the evening, she finds herself close to you.

You've loosened up as the days progressed and somehow, you and Jenna have found yourselves wrapped up in each other's arms as you danced.

Jenna had her back pressed firmly against your chest; her head tucked under your chin as your arms wrap around her waist from behind; hands linked as you jammed along to the music.

“The Met Gala’s coming up.” Jenna speaks up after a few moments of silence. “I’m invited.”

“Me too.” You reveal. She perks up, looking back at you.

“Yeah?” She smiles, pleased with your answer.

“Mhmm. I’m actually a co-chair this year.” You send an embarrassed smile.

She turns in your hold, jaw-dropping. “You are?”

“Yeah… why do you think I’ve been taking those calls all week? I was getting ready for the Met.”

“I thought that was for Coachella?” She snorts but can't help but ask, "Do you ever stop working?"

“Says you. Miss Scream Queen.” You tease making her roll her eyes.

“Be my date.” She says all of a sudden. “and walk the carpet with me this time.”

You raise your brows at her bluntness. This time?

You remember the last time she said those words and a tiny part of you prayed she meant it differently this time. But you can't fight your smile because you couldn't even say no if you wanted to — overwhelmed with the sudden want, to show off the girl in your arms. “I would love to be your date.”

Jenna's eyes sparkled with delight, beaming at you widely.

"Great! I'll talk to Enrique and Thom Browne about it."

"But I'm a Prada Ambassador?"

"I'll handle it." She nods with finality.

But before you can say anything, Link slides in with a whisper in your ear and a knowing smirk in Jenna’s direction.

“Hey, I have to go.” You whisper into her ear, pulling away but Jenna tightens her grip.

“Wait.” She steps forward – much closer than she means to.

“Yeah?” You asked softly and suddenly Jenna can’t hear the loud thumping of the bass anymore.

“Good luck and break a leg.” She says in a whisper.

Her hand reaches up to brush your neck still looking into your eyes. Jenna feels the same overwhelming pressure in her chest that she’s recently felt around you and gives into her sudden impulse; leaning in, parting her lips; meaning for them to connect to your cheek but instead swerve and slot in between your lips instead, in a moment’s haste.

She feels you tense for a moment before giving in, cupping her cheeks too. Kissing her back. Jenna loses it a bit, not expecting your lips to feel so soft and smooth and perfect against hers. Jenna can't help but tilt her head to the side, allowing your lips to press harder.

She feels the same electricity from your first meeting – when you shook her hand. The same electricity she tries to fight off every time she's near you. Except this time, it's by tenfold.

Jenna is so lost in you that she can’t even hear her heart beating loudly in her ears anymore — only feeling your thumb softly stroking her jaw.

The sound of coughing breaks you two apart.

“Sorry but Y/N we need to go.” Link sends a sheepish smile but he's trying to fight his grin at having a front-row seat to the show.

When Jenna pulls away she looks deeply into your eyes searching for some kind of indication of your feelings.

You smile shyly, squeezing her waist and rubbing her back. “I’ll find you after the show?”  

“Yeah…” Jenna whispers, still staring into your eyes.

“I’ll find you!” You yell over her shoulder as Link drags you away.

“Holy shit, finally!” Mia slides in beside her. 

Jenna doesn’t have the energy to shrug off the arm Aliyah throws over her shoulder as she brings her fingers up to her burning lips. “I don't know why I did that...”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot. The both of you.” Mia rolls her eyes walking back to her boyfriend.

Jenna looks around, blinking, immediately catching the phones held in the air capturing her moment with you.

She walks off, following her sisters.

Unbeknownst to you and Jenna, a headline is about to drop:

New developments in Y/N L/N's Vegas case. Caught with cocaine! Las Vegas PD makes no official comments on possible charges or arrests. But is this the end for the bright star?

-

:)

The strip club and vaccine bit with Colin and Che is from a real line in one of their segments LOL.

yall happy now?

-

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley @chealsib @fanboy7794 @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @zelload @natashadeservedmoree @orang3-ish @friedryes @canyonyodeler @nahnahnahwhatt @be-missed @jjuncidio @fearstreetsoloyouandurmom @oksana-moods @theirishmanronan @r-ude @wokethefuxkup @bandaidss @skate-to-breathee @user173781 @frasersgf @natblidaclexa @justafoolinlove @bring-mecoffee @slu7her @haughtsauce21 @wheesunsangel @cyberexpertalienspy-blog @jennaortegasfootrest @zaza11sblog @omega-horus @heroofdeath11 @selluequestrian @justalittledissociation @imaloserbby @catswag22 @sorexhera @smjmgko @acutenobody @raven-ss @canceldevvi @sweetaimu @rockwyn @rwndsana @cheesybacon1 @cvluswnt @secretbackrooms @vixen1006 @zhasmindoesntknow @namesduntmatter @ulicebld @rozmrazaradelfinow @icarly23 @cartierdreamx @thenextdawn @annalestern