#*cough cough* liv

[florestalio]

GURL THE THIRD FIC IN YOUR PINNED IS WILD I SCREAMED WTF 😭😭

HELP DO YOU MEAN THE JAEHYUN ONE????? "FEELING FRISKY"?????

GIRL YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW SCARED I WAS TO POST THAT ONE BECAUSE OF HOW SELF INDULGENT IT WAS ASJADJWK

[ruby-sister]

I make 1 (one) accountability post and get a cold so bad that a week and change later I am still having mild respiratory problems. So we’re back! With another shoulders and rowing heavy day. Love rowing, especially with a lot of resistance. Baby steps!

[heich0e]

well know we need to know the ex lore 😬

i used to date this guy who would like proudly talk about how he hated reading books/how the last book he "read" was in high school. he did the bare minimum reading for school - skimming articles or using summaries online or whatever just to get the gist so he could do assignments. anyway i used to FORCE him to listen to me talk about the books i was reading/make him listen to me read whole passages from them and i called it our bookclub. he kind of sucked but he always tolerated it pretty patiently and just let me talk for as long as i wanted to.

anyway one time i was rereading TSOA at his apartment and i was fucking BLUBBERING and i crawled on top of him on his sofa and proceeded to (through my tears) read him an entire chapter near the very end of a book he didn't know anything about. his roommate walked in and was EXTREMELY confused. probably thought it was a weird kink thing.

anyway imagine touya is the bf and natsuo is the roommate.

[sunflowers-and-sweetviolets]

anyway - head over heels for that old man <3

[ultranerdygirl]

The hacking and coughing and obnoxious clearing of throats in this office is making me berserk. I’m going to start spraying these bitches in the face with Lysol.

[verfound]

Liiiiiiiv I saw it on the Disco but I missed it here? Don't mind me, still flailing over how perfect this is 🖤🖤🖤

Saw the new barbie trailer and instantly thought of these two idiots😂

(Dingo King belongs to @verfound )

[starsjulia]

falling for an athlete // leah williamson

a/n : decided to write something fluffy for a change, also this is set way in the future

warnings : none!!

———————

The dinner table was a war zone of cutlery and sarcasm, typical for a Williamson household meal. Ellie, your beloved daughter, sat cross-legged on her chair with a plate of half-eaten pasta in front of her, was giving her best mate Liv a look the kind of look that screamed, “I swear, if you ask one more question, I’ll disown you.”

But Liv, bless her, clearly couldn’t read the signs. “So, like,” she started innocently, eyes flicking between you and Leah, “how did you two meet?”

Ellie’s head snapped toward her friend, a fork clattering against her plate. “No. Liv, no. You’ve bloody done it now.”

Leah, sat across the table with a smug grin and one socked foot propped on the chair leg, looked like she’d been waiting for this moment all night. “Finally! Someone wants to hear a proper love story.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve woken the neighbours. “It’s not a love story. It’s a tragedy for me.”

You, sitting beside Leah, chuckled and reached under the table to squeeze her thigh. “Do you want to start, or shall I?”

Leah grinned, her accent getting sharper as her excitement grew. “Oh, I’ll start. Can’t trust you to tell it properly, you’ll skip all the best bits.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “I’m leaving home. I can’t do this anymore.”

“behave,” Leah teased, before turning to Liv with an exaggerated seriousness. “Right, so picture this I was twenty-four, still a baby, but obviously very fit—”

Ellie interrupted with a glare. “Oh my God, stop talking.”

Leah ignored her. “I’d just finished a match, and me and the girls went to the pub. And then in walks her.” Leah nodded toward you, her grin softening into something fond. “Leather jacket, perfect hair, like something out of a film. I actually choked on me pint when I saw her.”

Liv gasped, clearly entertained. “You choked?”

“Full-on coughing fit,” Leah confirmed proudly. “Nearly sprayed it everywhere. My mates were in stitches.”

You jumped in, smirking. “She looked like a right idiot. Bright red, coughing like she’d swallowed a fly.”

“Yeah, well,” Leah countered, shooting you a playful glare, “it was your fault for looking like a sexy lead singer of an indie band. I panicked.”

Ellie muttered, “I’m living with children,” as she slouched further into her chair.

“So,” Leah continued, ignoring her daughter entirely, “I worked up the courage, walked over, and said, ‘Alright, love, can I buy you a drink?’”

“And I said, ‘No, I’m alright, thanks,’” you added, grinning.

Liv’s mouth fell open as she looked at you. “You rejected her?!”

“Too right I did,” you said proudly. “I wasn’t about to fall for some cocky athlete with a cheeky grin.”

Ellie jabbed her fork toward you. “You failed miserably, though, didn’t you?”

Leah grinned like a Cheshire cat. “She did. But she held out for a bit hard to get, y’know? Proper challenge. I had to step up me game.”

“Oh, step up is a stretch,” you teased, narrowing your eyes. “She nearly died of embarrassment.”

Liv’s eyes widened again, practically vibrating in her seat. “Wait, what happened?”

Leah groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment. “This is where it gets slightly less smooth.”

You smirked, looking far too proud of yourself. “So Leah decided she’d pull some grand romantic gesture, very dramatic, very her. She found out which café I went to every morning for my coffee and pastry. I walked in one day, and the girl behind the counter hands me this bag.”

Leah muttered, already cringing. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Written on the bag,” you said, glancing at Liv with a gleeful smile, “in massive block letters, was: ‘FREE PASTRY BECAUSE I THINK YOU’RE FIT—LEAH W.’”

Liv choked on her laughter, clutching her stomach. “No! You didn’t!”

“She did,” you confirmed, grinning as you leaned back. “I nearly died laughing. She’d paid for the whole thing up front, too. Couldn’t even take the croissant back when I refused it.”

Leah groaned again, though there was still a fond smile on her face. “The worst part? I wrote the note with one of those thick black permanent markers Thought it looked bold. Turns out it just looked like a five-year-old wrote it.”

Ellie was curled up in her chair, face buried in her hoodie, muttering, “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

“I did try and make up for it,” Leah added quickly, looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “I bought her another coffee the next day. And, y’know, didn’t write anything embarrassing on it.”

“Very impressive recovery,” you teased. “But you still looked like a nervous wreck when you handed it over.”

Leah shrugged, unbothered. “Because I was. And I still managed to win you over, didn’t I?”

Liv, still laughing, wiped at her eyes. “That’s actually the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. I get why you tried so hard, she’s fit.”

Ellie’s head shot up in absolute horror. “Liv! That’s my mum! You can’t say that!”

“What?” Liv replied innocently. “I’m just saying…look at her!”

Ellie covered her face with both hands. “I’m never eating dinner here again. This is trauma.”

Leah laughed, grinning mischievously as she leaned closer to you. “She’s still fit now, though, isn’t she?”

“Leah,” you warned, though you were smiling.

“I mean, look at her,” Leah continued, purposefully loud and dramatic. “I married the fittest woman in England.”

Ellie flung a napkin across the table at her. “Stop. You’re both disgusting.”

Leah just grinned, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek. “Jealous, El?”

Ellie groaned. “I’m moving out. This is unbearable.”

——————

Later that night, you were curled up in bed with Leah, the house finally quiet. Leah lay on her side, her arm draped lazily across your waist as she looked at you with that soft, adoring smile, he one that always made your heart flutter, even after all these years.

“You know,” she said softly, her voice thick with her accent, “I reckon Liv’s got a little crush on you.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Oh, does she?”

“Mm-hmm,” Leah murmured, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip. “Can’t blame her, really. I’d still try and win you over with pastries if I met you now.”

You laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Still got a crush on me, have you?”

Leah’s smile turned impossibly soft as she leaned in to press a kiss to your lips. “Always, love. I’m still completely gone for you.”

You kissed her back, lingering for a moment before pulling away just enough to whisper, “Good. Because I’m still completely gone for you, too.”

Leah grinned, pressing her forehead to yours. “Worth every dodgy croissant and marker pen note.”

You laughed again, tangling your fingers in her hair. “You’re lucky I found you so endearing.”

“I know,” she replied, grinning as she kissed you once more. “But don’t tell Ellie. She’ll never let me live it down.”

And as Leah pulled you closer, her arm tightening around you, you couldn’t help but smile. Even after all these years, her love still felt as sweet—and as chaotic—as that first pastry.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Can You Stay?

Olivia Benson x fem!reader

Warnings: sexual assault/rape (not graphic or anything, this takes place after the fact), trauma, hospitals, rape kit, established relationship, hurt/comfort, some explicit language, brief mentions of self-harm

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: You're assaulted by a man the SVU just can't seem to convict. Olivia is used to victims, she's used to the aftermath of a rape. She's not used to walking through it with someone she loves as much as you.

“Let me see her!” Olivia yelled, shoving Fin so hard he slammed into a wall.

“Liv, you can’t be here as a cop,” Elliot argued, holding her back.

Olivia ran her hands through her hair, angry beyond reason and worried out of her mind. “I’m not, Elliot! I’m here because my girlfriend got raped. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can take care of her!”

Elliot lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, just… you gotta let us do our job, okay?”

Olivia shoved past him and into your apartment, desperate to find you, to see you, to hold you and protect you. When she found you, shaking and huddled in a corner of your bedroom, it shattered her, but she didn’t feel sad, not yet. That would come soon, she knew. What she felt now was blinding, white hot anger at the man who’d done this to you.

You were so traumatized you didn’t even seem to notice her. Your eyes were glazed over, and you rocked back and forth, your head banging lightly into the wall each time. Munch sat on a corner of your bed, and Olivia looked at him, silently asking if you’d said anything yet. John shook his head. So it had just been the 9-1-1 call so far then.

Olivia lowered herself onto the floor next to you, careful not to touch you, to frighten you. Your hair was dripping wet, and the water had blotched your t-shirt. Her stomach sank. It was him again–Cleary–she just knew it.

“Sweetheart,” she started, her voice soft, looking into your blurry eyes. “It’s just me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, but your eyes filled with tears, and you started banging your head against the wall with more force.

Olivia placed her hand between your head and the wall to soften the blows. You wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to hurt so much that you forgot what had come before. But you couldn’t bear to hurt Olivia. You put your head in your hands instead and when you finally spoke, your voice was small and hoarse.

“I can’t stop shaking.”

“It’s okay,” she soothed, still not touching you. She’d let you initiate touch if you wanted to. “That’s normal. You’re in shock, okay, baby? It’ll pass.”

“He came in my window, Liv,” you stuttered, unable to breathe deeply enough, your fingers tingling with the lack of oxygen. “He came in my window. I thought it was locked. It– it sh– should have– been l–locked.”

You scrunched your eyes shut and shrunk into Olivia, her arms wrapping firmly and protectively around you as you buried your face in her neck and gasped for breath. She rubbed your back, resting her chin on the top of your head.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Just breathe, baby, breathe.”

Elliot entered the room and sat on the bed with John. Olivia met his eyes, and she saw that he hated to do this. They were always aware of the ways in which an investigation might come off as insensitive to the victim. In fact, they did everything they could to be kind and empathetic and caring. But it had never been clearer than it was now that questions and probing, while necessary, would likely only make your horrific night worse. 

You coughed, trying to desperately get enough air, the room swirling around you. You tried, you tried so hard to fight the darkening edges of your consciousness, but you couldn’t breathe. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was grabbing onto Olivia’s jacket.

“Shit,” Olivia muttered, as your body fell limp against her. “El–”

“On it,” he said, pulling out his radio and walking to the living room. “Yeah, we need a bus at Mott and Spring. Unconscious female. Rape victim, panic attack.”

Olivia laid you gently on the ground, brushing your hair out of your face and placing her fingers on your neck to ensure you had a pulse. It was hard to pass out from a panic attack–which showed just how scared you were. She sighed and watched you, holding back tears, as she brushed her thumbs back and forth across your wrist. She wanted to feel your heartbeat. Just to be safe.

“You okay?” John asked her.

Olivia shook her head, biting her lip. “No.” She smiled wryly, her eyes wet. “But I am dangerously close to committing a felony.”

“We’ll get him, Liv,” John assured her.

“We haven’t yet.”

“We will.”

When you jerked awake, gasping, your heart still racing, Olivia squeezed your hands and bent down close to you. “Hey,” she soothed. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. I’m right here. Just keep breathing.”

She lifted your head onto her lap and you curled into yourself, your hand gripping tightly to hers. When the paramedics came, you shrank away from them and into Olivia, who might very well have assaulted an EMT to keep anyone from touching you and further traumatizing you.

“Can you walk?” she asked, and you nodded. “I got her,” she said forcefully to the paramedic who reached out for your arm.

Olivia walked you out of the room, out of your apartment, down the elevator, and into the back of the ambulance. She never once let you go, never once removed her arm from around your shoulder, glaring bullets at anyone who even came close to you.

Rape kits were always hard, no matter who the victim was, but it was excruciatingly hard now that it was you. Olivia almost couldn’t look at you as you talked the doctor at the ER through your assault. She wanted to cry, she wanted to shoot something, she wanted to hold you and never let you go. She would do anything, anything, to go back in time and have you stay at her place instead. Or, even better, to have been at yours so she could have shot the son of a bitch in self-defense. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive herself for not being there.

You cried when they swabbed you, your body tensing in panic, hand squeezing Olivia’s so hard that little half moons formed on her skin under your nails. Olivia looked at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry. She felt like her heart was being fed through a shredder. It hurt more than anything, hurt so bad she was nearly bent over with it, to watch you cry. To watch your body flinch away from touch and comfort. To watch you poked and prodded and examined under the harsh fluorescent lights, the smell of alcohol sterilizer permeating everything, when you had already been through so much.

When they finally discharged you, Olivia pulled your softest, most oversized t-shirt and sweatpants out of her bag. She’d brought them from your apartment, knowing that they’d take your clothes for evidence. She dressed you gently, carefully, your eyes bloodshot, face streaked and puffy from tears.

She had Elliot drive you both to her apartment in a squad car, knowing you wouldn’t want to see anyone else, that you wouldn't be able to stomach a cab or the subway.

In the apartment, you sat on the edge of her bed, face blank, terrified to go to sleep. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak. It was as if, after telling what had happened, your voice had switched off.

Olivia brushed your hair out of your face, bending down to look into your eyes.

“Do you think you can try to sleep, sweetheart?”

You nodded, exhaustion hitting you hard as the hours of adrenaline started to wear off. You crawled into bed, and Olivia pulled the covers over you. You struggled to keep your eyelids open, and Olivia gently kissed your forehead.

“Go to sleep, baby,” she whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

You grabbed her hand as she stood to leave, turning off the light.

“Can you stay?” you whimpered, tears welling up again, no matter how hard you tried to fight them.

Olivia wordlessly lifted the covers and pulled your body into hers, and you breathed easy for the first time in hours. Her arms were strong around you, her heartbeat sure and steady, hands soft as they ran through your hair. And you knew, you knew, that she would keep you safe.

[storiesofsvu]

Common Cold

Olivia Benson x reader warnings: minor language, that's about it. I did not read through this or edit it, so... not my fault if there's mistakes or its terrible LOL.

Olivia was pouring her coffee in the kitchen when she heard the small cough from around the corner of the hallway, glancing up in your direction as you rounded the bend.

“You coming down with something?”

“No.” You nearly shot her a glare, “my throat’s just drier than the desert.” You stepped up to the cupboard, pulling down a mug and shifted to the coffee machine only for Liv’s hand to wrap around your wrist, redirecting you to the fridge.

“You might want to hydrate first.”

“Fine.” You grumbled, pulling the Brita pitcher out of the fridge to fill the mug up, feeling Olivia’s eyes on you as you drained it in one go, filling it up again.

“I was gonna stop at the bodega for breakfast, unless you want something different?”

“I’m not really hungry.” You replied with a soft sigh and she raised a brow at you.

“What?” You asked.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner last night either, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Just a tickle in my throat.” You waved her off, slowly sipping your way through the second mug of water, “Carisi always has extra of that emergen-c stuff, I’m sure I can steal some, kick the ass of whatever this is before it has a chance to sneak in.”

“Alright.” Olivia surrendered, pulling you to her to press a kiss to your temple, “you let me know if you start feeling worse and need to come home early.”

“I’m fine.” You insisted, pulling down a travel mug from the cupboard to fill it with coffee, glancing up at your girlfriend for approval that she gave in the tiniest nod before you added sugar and cream and followed her out the apartment door.

By lunch time, vitamins weren’t the only thing you’d stolen from Carisi, his Fordham hoodie wrapped tightly around your frame as you shivered at your desk. Olivia was on the way back from the break room, glancing up across the bull pen to see you tugging the hood of the sweater over your head before returning your attention to your laptop. With a gentle sigh she wandered over to your desk, placing down half her sandwich.

“Have something to eat, you’ll feel better.”

“Still not hungry.” You replied with a yawn, running your hands over your face, rubbing at your eyes the best you could without ruining your make up.

“Sweetheart…” she perched on the side of your desk, “no offence but you look like hell.” Her hand snuck under the hood, smoothing back a few pieces of your hair. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home?”

“I just didn’t sleep well last night.” You yawned again, trying to keep this one contained.

“Yeah, cause you were up all night coughing.” Liv pointed out and you pouted, “and it’s nowhere near cold enough in here for that hoodie, it’s June…”

“Guess I’m just running cold today.”

“Let me take you home.” She rubbed at your shoulder, “get you some rest.”

“M’fine.” You protested, a small cough rumbling through your throat, “can’t have you taking off in the middle of the day.”

“Alright, meet me halfway then.” She slid off your desk, “I’ve got some Buckley’s in my desk, you take some of that, and go sleep it off in the crib. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”

“Fine.” You whined, pushing back from your desk as you followed her into her office, surprised when she followed you to the bunk room. She’d grabbed a couple of comfier blankets from her office, tucking them around you as you curled up on one of the beds, her hand coming to rest on your forehead.

“You really are burning up. If this doesn’t help I’m taking you home, understood?”

���Yes Ma’am.” You half teased back, yawning again as you nuzzled into the pillow, pulling the blankets and Carisi’s hoodie tighter around you.

“Get some sleep sweet girl.” Liv murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss into your forehead before she moved from the room, flicking off the light to hopefully give you a restful nap.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out; you just felt the bed dip with Olivia’s weight, a cool hand resting on your forehead and stroking your cheek. You groaned, slowly rolling onto your back as you attempted to stretch out your aching body.

“How are you feeling?” Olivia asked softly and you coughed in return.

“Sweaty.” You grimaced, “thirsty…sore…”

“Ready to admit defeat and let me take you home and properly take care of you?” She asked with a soft grin on her cheeks and you looked up at her and nodded. “Alright, c’mon.”

The entire trip home was honestly a blur, you could barely keep your eyes open, your head resting against the cool glass of the car window. Your body was burning, but you were shivering at the same time, your head throbbing and your throat on fire. Olivia’s hand was resting on your thigh, squeezing softly in assurance that you were almost home.

Back in the apartment she helped you change into comfier clothes, chuckling at the way you pulled Carisi’s hoodie back on, claiming it was fuzzier than any of yours. She sat you down on the couch, taking a make up wipe from the packet and cleaning your face before she urged you to bundle up in as many blankets as you wanted.

Your eyes fluttered shut, listening to her pad around the apartment while she collected whatever she deemed necessary. A few minutes later and she was perching on the edge of the couch, her hand soothing up your side, “sit up for me, take these.”

Groaning as you did so, your eyes cracked open, taking the pills from her and swallowing them down with the help of the large glass of water she’d brought you. She left the bottle along with the Buckley’s on the end table, the water on the coffee table so it was more accessible.

“That should help break the fever, help with your head. Try to get some more sleep and I’m gonna make you some soup for dinner, you need to eat, alright?”

You nodded bleakly, dropping back down onto the couch and Liv leaned over you, squeezing you gently and kissing the top of your head. You shivered slightly when she moved away, her body heat vanishing and she tucked another blanket around you in hopes that it would help.

Being as quiet as she could, she looked into the fridge, pulling out what she’d need for some semi homemade chicken noodle soup and was forever thankful for the leftover rotisserie chicken from last night. Vegetables were chopped up and then placed in the pot to sauté along with some garlic and she preheated the oven for some Pilsbury flaky rolls to go along with it, popping the tray in once it was ready. Broth got added to the pot, seasoned appropriately and once it was boiling and the delicious smells were wafting through the apartment she added in the noodles. Glancing over her shoulder she found that you were still dead to the world, curled around yourself on the couch snoring softly and she couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you were at least on your way to feeling better.

While she was waiting for everything to fully cook she opened the tea cabinet, searching through the boxes until she found the one she thought you would like the best that had the best benefits to helping a cold. She flicked on the kettle and pulled down a mug for you before picking a wine for herself and poured out a glass, taking a sip of it as she waited for the timer to go off. The soup finished first and she pulled it off the burner, tossing in the chicken, knowing it would heat fine as everything kept cooking, placing the lid on the pot to keep it going. A couple of minutes later and the rolls were being pulled from the oven and she was pouring out your mug of tea.

Behind her she heard a quiet groan, a shuffling of blankets and the slow padding of your footsteps as you paused in the kitchen.

“Smells amazing.” You commented, your voice hoarse.

“Well I couldn’t exactly let you go empty handed now, could I?” She asked with a smile, stepping towards you to cup your cheek, kissing your forehead. “Surprised you’re up already.”

“Have to pee.” You yawned, “but I was out long enough to start feeling better.”

“Good.” She pecked your cheek, “hopefully this is only a twenty four hour thing then.”

“Mmhm.” You nodded before disappearing down the hallway.

You stopped in the kitchen on the way back, offering to help and she simply shooed you away, telling you to get comfortable on the couch while she took care of things. First she refilled your water, making sure it was cold and crisp, then she brought over your mug of tea, followed by a steaming bowl of soup with a bun on the side. Finally she joined you on the couch with her own dinner and wine, settling in beside you.

“What’d you want to watch?” She asked, smoothing your hair back, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Grey’s.” You mumbled back, blowing on your tea to cool it off before taking a sip.

“Alright.” She replied with a smile, picking up the remote to figure out where you’d last left off on your favourite binge. She watched you curiously for a moment as you tried to navigate the bowl of soup without using the table or pulling both your arms out from under the blanket, “you need a hand?”

“I dunno how I’m supposed to do this without spilling it everywhere.” You whined and she chuckled.

“Here.” She reached for the bowl, “settle in however you want. I’ll hold the bowl; can you handle the spoon?” She asked with a tease and you scowled in her direction.

“I’d be mad at you if you hadn’t made me dinner.” You grumbled, coughing a couple of times before you finally managed to get comfortable and could start eating your soup.

Olivia was happy to see you finish the bowl completely, using the roll to soak up the remnants of the broth before she placed it back on the coffee table. She readjusted slightly, her arm coming to rest on the back of the couch, her heart warming as you immediately dropped into her side. Your head came to rest on her chest, her hand automatically going to your hair, softly playing with it as you curled around her.

“Thank you.” You murmured softly, letting out a little yawn as you refocused on the tv.

“Of course sweet girl.” She replied, kissing the top of your head, “whatever you want, you get. You know how much I hate to see you sick; you’ll feel better soon.”

“Promise?”

“I do.” She laid a kiss on your hair, her hand soothing up and down your back, “don’t fight the sleep alright, you’ve seen this show a million times, you already know what happens.”

“Alright, alright.” You didn’t have any energy left to even try and fight with her, your eyes fluttering shut as the strum of her heart lulled you to sleep.

Olivia had said it herself already, it didn’t matter what she had to give up, or how much extra work she had to do, she would do whatever it was you needed to make sure that you were happy and healthy. She loved you; she loved taking care of you and more importantly she loved seeing you shine and you couldn’t do that when you were sick.  She would happily sacrifice an afternoon at work, a dinner out on the town if it meant making sure you knew you were loved.

Even if that meant you passed on whatever bug you had to her three days later and the entire process began again but from the other side.  

______________________

@red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @lesbianspacecowboy @whispered-tear-drops @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @venablemayfairgoode @whimsicallymad @oliviaswifey @alexusonfire @screenee @mysticfalls01 @beccabarba @littlegaybabe @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @molllss @wosoimagines @brienneseveruscalawayfanfiction @solemnnova @infernumlilith @yourtaletotell @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @wandas-wife @emskisworld @newyorker14 @lawandorderuswnt @wandasbrat @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @sia2raw @ladysc @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @momlifebehard @holycrapraewth @alexxavicry @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @temp0rary-bliss @prentiss-theorem

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Distracted (Casey Novak x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Casey is particularly distracting when she wears her hair up.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Marking, trapped in an enclosed space

Porcelain white skin on display, the long column of her neck arched as she stretched. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the view, entranced. In the sunlight, without the strands of strawberry blonde hair you were used to obscuring your vision, you couldn’t stop looking. A hand came up, cupping around the back of her neck, thumb digging in.

You blinked, turning your face away from her. If you didn’t then you never would. Focusing on the file open on your desk, you did your best to focus on the words. You had a case, a perp in the wind and a victim recovering in the hospital. There was no time to get distracted.

Casey groaned and your eyes darted up. Your eyes trailed over the length of her neck again. She’d shown up twenty minutes ago, her hair in an intricate up do that left her throat on display. your fingers itched to brush over it, to feel the soft skin, to feel her pulse beneath your fingertips. They clenched in your lap.

So much for not getting distracted.

Green eyes were slow as they drag up to meet yours. Heat flashed over your face and you jerked your head down, back to your case file. The weight of her gaze settled on you and you squirmed in your seat. There was no need to be so obvious. You internally cussed yourself out for letting yourself get lost in the vision she presented.

You glanced up from under your eyelashes, trying to keep it sneaky. But she was still watching you, head tilted in a way that only made you want to sink your teeth into her. Instead, you let them sink into your bottom lip, tilting your head down again, hiding your eyes from her. She’d see too much there and you wanted to keep some secrets.

It took a while, enough time for you to feel breathless, for her gaze to move off you. Once you felt safe, you turned your gaze back up, wanting to catch another glimpse of her. Her head was turned away from you, listening to Liv, arms crossed over her chest. You, having not heard her to begin with, chose to trace your gaze up and down her neck.

It was so long, so perfect, calling out for your lips to find a home there. You could just imagine it, the feel of her pulse under your tongue, her soft sigh, the taste of her skin. You wanted to litter her skin with your marks, to curl your fingers around her neck in a pretty necklace, to hold her in place as you made her squirm for once.

You wondered what your name would sound like as she moaned it.

You coughed, shifting in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as you looked back to the file you’d spent an embarrassingly long time looking over. It felt as if there was no playing it cool when Casey had her neck on display to such great effect. She had to know what she was doing. She had to.

You were so aware as her heels clicked against the ground, moving around the precinct. From your peripheral vision, you could track her as she circled behind your desk, close enough the scent of her perfume brushed over you. You shivered just from the implication of being so close to her. You wondered how heady it might be if you buried your nose against her pulse point.

Shaking your head, you pushed up from the desk. Staying inside was only clouding your head. If you wanted a break in the case you needed the chance to think clearly.

“If anyone needs me, I’m going for a walk around the block,” you said as you passed by Munch.

You jabbed the button for the ground floor in the lift, staring out at the precinct. As the doors began to slide closed a hand slipped in, stopping the doors. You inhaled sharply as Casey stepped into your otherwise empty lift, the scent of her perfume wrapping around you. Pink lips curled into a smile as she lent over, pressing the button that was already lit up. You jerked back, the skin of her neck so close to your mouth.

She definitely knew what she was doing.

“Getting some fresh air?” she asked, both hands clasped in front of her, holding her bag.

She was standing just in front of you, enough for you to have unfettered access to gaze at her neck, right where her pulse would be beating beneath her skin. You purposefully turned your head away.

“Trying to,” you replied, shoving your hands deep in your pockets.

“It’s a tough one,” she said.

“Yeah.” Her perfume was making your head swim.

The cab of the lift shuddered before it came to a screeching stop. You cursed, leaning forward to press the button again, jabbing at it like it would do anything. The lights flickered above. You cursed again, slumping back against the far wall.

“So much for today looking up,” Casey said, sounding less than pleased.

“I’m sure it’ll be up and running in a minute,” you said. It had to be or else you might go crazy.

You closed your eyes, head leaning back against the wall as you tried to ignore the other woman in the confined space. There was no getting away from her, the scent of her perfume already engulfing you. She hummed, not a tune, but a frustrated noise.

“I thought these were meant to be regularly serviced,” she said.

“They are,” you replied.

“I’m putting in a complaint,” she said.

You opened your eyes to find her looking at you, a small smile on her lips, eyes twinkling. You shook your head, looking away again. She was dangerous when she looked at you like that. It would give you ideas about pushing her against the wall and turning her into a moaning mess.

“You doing okay today?” she asked.

“Fine,” you replied.

“Really? Because you seem off your game,” she said.

Your gaze snapped back to her, the spark of anger only seeming to make her chuckle. She dropped her bag, kicking it to the side of the space. Crossing her arms over her chest, she considered you, the tilt of her head cocky in a way that you enjoyed to see. Only it really accentuated how long her neck was. You had to look away again or be caught staring.

“Cat got your tongue?”

You huffed, kicking one foot up against the wall behind you. The air warmed up in front of you. You were slow to turn your head, finding her so much closer than you would have wanted. Her eyes swept over you, leaving fire in their wake. Your lips parted, liking the feeling.

It had been like this for a while now with Casey. Lingering glances, lingering touches, flirty comments. She kept you on edge, but never crossed the line. It left you feeling off balance, wanting more but not sure she did. From the moment you’d laid eyes on her, you’d wanted her, always finding her the most captivating person in the room. It didn’t stop you worrying that she was just stringing you along, liking the attention.

Or maybe she was testing the waters before making a move.

“Come on, tell me what’s really up with you today,” she requested, drawing just one more step closer.

She was everywhere, wrapping you in her warmth and her scent. You froze, swallowing past the lump in your throat. Green eyes watched your throat bob, pink lips pulling up into a smirk.

“Nothing,” you replied, but you sounded unconvincing to your own ears.

“Nothing, huh?” Her hand landed beside your head, “you sure about that?”

“Uh huh,” you said.

But with her so close, your eyes kept straying to her neck, so close to your eye line. There was no way she hadn’t noticed. She was close enough there was nothing she wouldn’t miss. Your inability to control yourself was growing embarrassing. So much for being a reasonable adult.

Her fingers brushed along the front of her throat, your eyes following like it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. Your mouth grew dry, so focused you didn’t see the way her smirk deepened and her eyes began to smoulder.

“I took you for many things,” she said, voice a low murmur, “but I never took you for a liar.”

Your eyes snapped back to hers. There was no missing it then, staring up into her face, the way she was looking at you. It was like you’d wandered right into her trap. The satisfaction was obvious on her face. You pressed back against the wall harder, a shiver going through you. The way she was looking at you was like the cat that got the cream.

“You’ve been distracted all afternoon,” she said, not letting you get away so easily.

“I…” You wanted to argue but you couldn’t.

“What’s had you so distracted, hm?” she asked, drawing closer.

If she was going to keep pushing, to keep asking, to keep taunting, you were going to show her exactly what her words got her. She gasped as your hands grasped her shoulder, spinning to push her against the wall. Even as her lips parted, her eyes were molten as she looked down at you.

“This,” you said, fingers stroking along the length of her neck, beginning right under her right earlobe, “this is driving me crazy.”

“You’ve seen it plenty of times,” she said, but there was a hitch in her breath as your thumb pressed down on her pulse point.

“Never like this.” Your nose followed the same trail your fingers had just taken, “it’s never been on display like this before.”

“And you find that distracting?” she asked.

She stopped asking questions as your tongue ran over her skin. You groaned, pressing closer, the taste of her making your head spin. Your lips were on her skin, doing exactly what you’d been trying not to think about since she’d walked in. She moaned, a low noise in her throat. You chased it with your lips, wanting to feel the sound against your mouth. Your tongue flicked out, feeling the vibrations as she groaned your name.

She didn’t stop you when your teeth scraped over her skin, nor when they sunk in, just for a moment, chasing the sweet taste of her. Her head tipped back, giving you more access. Your hips were pressing into hers, pinning her to the wall as you sucked at her pulse point. Her fingers had buried themselves in your hair, keeping you against her, while yours had landed on her waist. She was so warm, so soft beneath your touch.

“So very distracting,” you murmured, lips brushing over her skin.

“Not so distracted right now,” she hummed, “very single minded.”

Your kisses trailed up her neck again, finding the soft spot behind her jaw. She made such a delicious sound, fingers tightening in your hair. With her hair swept up, you had such easy access to the swathes of skin you wanted to taste.

“You keep going like this you’re going to have to buy me dinner,” she murmured.

“Deal,” you growled, still buried in her neck.

Her low throaty chuckle reverberated through you. You pressed closer, wondering what other noises you could draw out from her. You wanted to sink into her, to lose yourself into the warmth of her skin, the scent of her perfume, the feel of her body. The taste of her.

The elevator shuddered around you. Your hands pressed harder to her waist, shielding her even as your brain caught up. The lights flickered again.

And then, with another shudder, the entire lift began to move again.

You stepped back from Casey, letting her go. Your eyes swept over her, finding the hickeys already beginning to show on the skin of her neck. The satisfaction you felt at seeing them battled with your shame at having no self control.

What if she hadn’t wanted it?

“Sorry, I…” But even unsure, you were still unable to tear your gaze away from the long column of her neck.

“I should wear my hair up more,” she said.

The lift slowed to a stop, the doors sliding open. You were still staring at her, breathless and wanting, even as you knew you should turn away. She was doing that thing again. Saying a flirty comment but not letting you know what it was she really wanted.

Your hand shot out, grasping her wrist. Turning, you tugged her out of the lift, bypassing the crowd waiting to get in. Out on the street, you released her, spinning to look at her again. There was an amused expression on her face, the kind that made you feel like you were going mad.

“Were you serious?” you asked.

“About wearing my hair up?” One brow rose.

“About dinner,” you replied.

“Why? You hoping to get out of it?” She took a half step closer, entering your bubble of personal space.

“I’m hoping to do more than just leave hickeys on your neck,” you said, lowering your voice as you then stepped forward, closing any distance there still was between you, “but I think you know that.”

“Do I?”

“Casey.” You hardened your voice, needing her to take this seriously, “I’m telling you I’m interested in you. I would like to take you out on a date. I like you.”

“Pick me up at 7,” she said.

Your mouth fell open as she turned, looking very proud of yourself. Grasping her wrist, you spun her back around to face you, pulling her in. Your lips landed on hers, messy and a little clumsy. Your hand curled around the side of her neck, keeping her in place as you readjusted, kissing her with more skill than you’d first shown.

When you drew back she was slow to blink her eyes open. Her lips were still parted and there was a pretty flush on her cheeks. She was a picture of beauty.

“I’ll see you at 7 to continue this discussion,” you said.

You left her there, going for the walk you’d originally intended to take, feeling smug at the effect you’d had on her. Maybe you didn’t need to clear your head. Maybe what you really needed was to give in to your desires.

You caught a break in the case within an hour of returning.

[knightjpg]

landslide | chapter 4

chapter tags: alcohol mention, reader has a toxic boyfriend, implied cheating on reader by said boyfriend

prev | next

You dream of the ocean. 

Blue against blue, hot dry sand between your toes. The aftermath of salt under your tongue. You're swimming. You look, feet kicking, hands paddling, but there's no shore to break your line of sight. The horizon stretches until it fades, a blurry blue line as vast as the world. 

You don't feel afraid. You're just tired. Your arms and legs feel so heavy, and the water feels heavy, too. Waves are coming faster, weightier; you dip below and break through the surface— 

until you're pulled under. 

Buried alive under big heaving wells, swallowed down by surface gravity. You claw against the water, desperate, fighting for air— 

and cough yourself awake. Your chest hurts, tight with the remnants of your nightmare, and for a split second you feel panic when a weight presses on you; but it's just Kettlebell who curled up on top of you somewhere during the night. 

Upon feeling your hand in his fur his head lifts, big dark eyes blinking hello. Then he yawns and hops off you. Now that you're awake his job is done, and he can go annoy Mim in peace. 

When you swing your legs over your bed you groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. Your temple throbs, occasional pinpricks of pain shooting like stars over your eyes. 

Last night comes back to you slowly. 

The bar, the too-many drinks, no sight of Dave. The kind stranger who listened to your blubbering about your boyfriend. 

Hot shame rushes through you now that you recall your words in the wondrous, headache-inducing light of sobriety. God. You totally unloaded on a guy you'd never met before and then he... 

He called you a cab, didn't he? And made sure you were sent home. 

You bury your head in your hands and mouth the words what on earth is wrong with me. 

The mortification is enough to eat you alive. You vow you'll never let it get that far again—with alcohol or waiting for Dave that long. Speaking of which... 

You raise your head and grab for your phone. Predictably there's an apologetic text from Dave waiting for you: 

01:24 Srry missed your calls, smthing came up with a friend x 

You stare at the screen for a long moment. 

Slowly, like your fingers haven't quite made up their mind yet about replying, you type out an answer. 

08:50 I waited a long time for you. 

You chew your lip as you send it, feeling anxious and small. When Kettlebell returns to the bed to let you know his and Mim's food bowls are still offensively empty, you shake yourself out of it and go through the motions of your morning routine.  

Before you hop in the shower, however, you can't resist another peek: 

09:22 Make it up to you? 

You exhale.  

See? He doesn't say it explicitly, but he's sorry. He'll make it up to you. He cares about you.  

Life happens, things get in the way. You have to believe that. What is a relationship if you can't trust your partner? 

What is a relationship if not the feeling of throwing yourself off the tightrope and waiting for the other to catch you mid-fall? 

“Wear the sluttiest one you have,” Liv says. Her voice crackles on speakerphone; her face is out of frame on the video call, bending down to apply her eyeliner. 

You laugh. “The sluttiest—? God, I don't know if I even have anything like that.” 

You sift through your clothes again, slowly, pulling out one or two things that might make the cut. It's been a while since you've gone out with just friends, just for fun, just for yourself. 

Without Dave. 

He hasn't made good on his promise to make it up to you yet—says that with his holiday coming up he's extra busy, has to make sure things don't fall apart once he leaves. 

The reminder of the stupid Bora-Bora trip with his stupid marketing colleague has been enough to leave you on edge.  

And while you don't think Liv and you will ever become best friends she's been kind. When you texted her in a fit of tears about Dave flaking on you again you expected excuses for his sake— 

You're so lucky! 

—but instead she called him a cunt and said you should join her and some others to go dancing. Shake your ass and make him regret on losing out on time with you, she'd said, and even though it's not your thing you agreed. 

If only to feel like you could. 

“Wait, what's that one? The black one?” Liv peers into the camera. One eye is perfectly made up, smoky dark eyeshadow contouring an arched, pencilled-in brow. 

“This one?” You pull the dress off its hanger and hold it up for the camera to see. 

It was an impulse buy. On sale. The fabric felt soft and stretchy, and even though you could see your panties in the changing booth mirror when you bent down you loved the look of it too much to leave it. 

You'd just started dating Dave. You remember you were still feeling giddy and excited with that nervous kind of confidence that made you blush and smile and think maybe I'll wear it for him one time. 

It's been gathering dust in the back of your closet ever since. 

“Yesss,” Liv says. “That's what I'm talking about.” 

When she goes back to her make-up table you hold the dress up in front of the mirror. 

It doesn't feel like you. 

It feels like the person you once really wished you were, and even that wishful optimism is no longer part of your repertoire. 

You turn around. “Hey, do you think—” 

Your phone buzzes, covering Liv's face with a popup that says in big white letters incoming call! 

You grab it quickly, throwing your dress on the bed. “Hang on, someone's calling—” 

With one swipe Liv disappears, and you hold the phone to hold to your ear. Unknown number.  

“Hello?” 

“Simon.” 

“Nice to finally meet you,” you smile, and shake the massive hand held out to you. Simon runs warm; his grip is firm and brief. “I, um. I heard about your mother passing. From Beth. I'm so sorry.” 

He averts his eyes for a moment. They're a lovely warm shade of brown, starkly contrasted against his pale skin and blond lashes. Up close you see shadows of nicks and scars. Souvenirs from his work. 

“Thanks.” 

He hardly says another word all evening. At times it feels more like he's watching over rather than participating in your little party of friends gathered at Tommy and Beth's apartment; a hulking shadow brooding in the corner, shying away from the inner circle of light and laughter. 

It'd be easy to forget he was there, but you don't. 

You're a little fascinated by him. If Beth is like your sister, what does that make him? Family by-proxy-by-proxy. You've heard enough about him to decide he's got a good heart underneath his withdrawn demeanour, and it makes you eager to forgive what others might see as rudeness. 

You sneak looks all throughout the get-together, in between board games and salty snacks and bad jokes. Try to map his heavy brow, his serious gaze, the scar running over his chin that mirrors the one Tommy has on the back of his neck. 

After the first few times you chalk it up to coincidence. But when you look again, again—those brown eyes meet yours. It confirms: 

Simon's been looking at you, too. 

“I don't understand,” you say. 

You're not convinced this isn't a prank call. No, worse—a scam. Even when “John” reads out Joseph's place, date, and time of birth—even when he could tell you Beth's middle name or Tommy's last place of work. 

There's just no way. 

“Just... after eight years? Isn't that a crazy long time...?” 

A begrudging pause. “I can't tell you everything, sweetheart. Confidential. You understand.” 

You try to. Simon left you something, John said. Wouldn't say what. Couldn't say how. But it's for you, if you want it, just making sure— 

Of course you want it, you tell him. You have a P.O. box, he can send it anytime— 

“It was requested you receive it in person,” John says. “On base.” Paper is shuffled and shifted in the background. Faintly you hear a door open and close. “There's one not too far from your address.” 

“John” gives you the directions, and a quick google shows that he's not lying; there really is a base close by, and it fits John's description. 

“Okay. Um... Do I need to bring anything?” 

“Your ID should do.” John clears his throat. “I'll have one of mine handle it. Mention my name—John, Captain Price, whatever you like—and they'll sort you out.” 

“Alright. Thank you...” 

You end the call feeling dazed. Tonight was supposed to be for letting go of everything, for living in the now, in the moment—and suddenly the past comes knocking at your door. 

The anxiety returns like a wave crashing on your shore. 

You should be over this by now. It's been so many years. You've cycled through all of grief's vicious stages, and the sadness and loss has dulled to the point you don't think of it anymore every day. And even then—it was Beth who was your best friend, Beth who you cried for the hardest. Not Simon. Simon was— 

(family by-proxy-by-proxy) 

—special. 

But him leaving you something behind shouldn't be enough to derail the peace you've clawed out for yourself. 

Right? 

You tell Liv it was a family thing when she asks, but she's concerned, says you look pale; “Are you sure you're up for going, babe?” 

You open your mouth to say yes. 

Before you can, though, a notification pops up. It's Dave. You told him you were going out earlier today and received no response—more and more often these days, you remember thinking—and shrugged. Put it out of your mind. 

You open the text. 

Oh I was thinking we do chinese tonight and a movie marathon 

You bite your lip, hard. Text back, Sorry, maybe some other time? 

He's not usually one to respond so quickly, but the three dots pop up before you're even done typing. 

We can go out together sometime 

Just call and cancel 

I'll get your fav <3 

—you crumble. 

It's pathetic, but right now all you want is someone's arms to bury yourself into and to cry on a familiar shoulder. To not be alone in a crowd of strangers with girls that you don't know very well. 

You take a shuddering breath and try for your best apologetic smile. “Liv? Sorry. Um—I think the family call thing got me a little harder than I thought.”  

How do you explain what Simon was to you? What Beth and her family were to you? 

“I'm really sorry for flaking on you suddenly, but is it okay if I go with you next time?” 

“Of course, babe,” Liv rushes to assure you. “Take it easy, okay? You really don't look so good. We can go out dancing anytime—I'll add you to the groupchat.” 

“Thanks. Have fun,” you tell her, and she says she will before the screen goes dark. 

With trembling hands, you press the call button. 

“Um, sorry. Am I in the way?” 

“Not at all.” The guy before you flashes you an easy smile. “Want one too?” 

You nod yes, and watch him pour you your drink. He has nice hands; slender, nails neatly trimmed, a plain watch around his wrist. 

“I'm Dave,” he says as he hands you your drink. You accept with a smile and offer your own name, and go through the usual so what do you do for work, who do you know here, did you come with a friend, what food did you bring to the potluck? 

“Er,” he says a little sheepishly, “just drinks, I'm afraid. I can't cook to save my life.” 

“It's not so hard once you get started. They've got these food delivery boxes now, where you just get everything you need for a meal.” 

“Ah, I want to, but. You know.” Dave gestures with his hand. “Work keeps me so busy when I get home all I want to do is pass out.” 

You give him a sympathetic smile. You know that feeling too, all too well. “So that's why you're here, huh?” you joke. “To eat your fill and then leave before the cleanup?” 

Dave winks. “Oops. Saw right through me.” 

In the end Dave does stay for cleanup, though you suspect he only does so because he wants to talk to you after and ask for your number. 

You're a little surprised at yourself for giving it. 

It doesn't have to mean anything, you tell yourself later on the way home. It can just be practice. Getting back into the dating scene after disappearing from it for a few years. 

Worst case you try a one-liner on him and he ghosts you. 

Part of you hopes he doesn't, though. You enjoyed talking to Dave. He seemed nice. Normal. 

Uncomplicated. 

Beth would want that for you, too, you decide when you close the door behind you. A nice normal bloke you can live a nice normal life with. You can't hide yourself away forever; the excuse of work keeping you too busy to socialise is wearing thin.  

Who knows? You smile to yourself as you drift off. 

Maybe this could be the start of something really good. 

Dave leaves early in the morning when you're still half-asleep in bed. You don't remember getting there last night; he must've carried you over after you fell asleep on the sofa. 

You wrinkle your nose at the empty plastic containers littering the low table in the living room. It's messier than you remember it; Dave even forgot his jacket, still thrown over the back of the sofa. You pick it up and dust it off— 

...? 

You frown and lean in, sniffing the jacket. 

Traces of something sweet and fruity still cling to the fabric. 

You stand there, in the still morning light spilling through the windows, holding the jacket and staring at it. You're overreacting. You're reading into it. You're so sensitive. Jumping to conclusions. 

Dave doesn't usually wear scent, does he? 

crazy bitch, possessive cunt, stupid whore— 

...But maybe he's started to. You'll... you'll ask him about it. That should be okay, right? You'll ask him, and then he'll say oh, yeah, just trying out this new thing. 

And the world will be right again. 

Tears prick at your eyes and you blink them away, carefully hanging Dave's jacket onto the hanger in the hallway. You avert your eyes as soon as possible. 

You don't want to think about it. 

If you do, you'll just make yourself go crazy. Talk yourself into doing something stupid, like calling him and then blubbering accusations at him like a lunatic. 

You breathe out. No. This is your free day, and you're not going to spend in moping inside. You scoop up Mim, who's come out of his hiding place, and kiss his little head while he purrs in your arms. 

You're going to feed your cats, feed yourself, and then... 

Then you'll go to that military base. Get it over with. It'll get you out of the house, out of your head, make you think about something else than Dave wearing a woman's scent. 

Even if that something else is the dead brother-in-law of your equally dead best friend. 

[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 - 2

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. ♣ prev part | next part

Chapter 2: Lakers, Headlines… New York?

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, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: part 2 of legally binded! I hear yall and I see the comments! This will be a series, got a lot of ideas for this one. But of course, I am open to hearing what you guys think and want to see! A little bonding moment for R and Jenna 😮‍💨

Word Count: 6.3k+ (lol sorry, may have gone overboard!)

“So… what does this mean, exactly?” Jenna asks for both of you.

“We’re gonna make the two of you the talk of the town. And hopefully get people to back off on the allegations that Jenna is difficult to work with and that Y/N is entering her Justin Bieber phase — and not the good one.” Your PR agent, Liv, purses her lips.

Jenna can’t help the snort that leaves her lips, awkwardly coughing to hide it. But you catch it anyway, throwing her a glare.

“Difficult to work with huh?” You speak up — in faux interest. “Not hard to see why.”

This time Jenna is the one glaring at you. “You don’t even know me.”

“You don’t know me either.” You huff.

“Enough!” Jake yells. Anger steadily rose in the man’s bloodstream.

You and Jenna flinch at his loudness. Sliding down the chair, you feel ashamed again; ignoring Jenna’s piercing glare.

Liv is sighing but opts not to add fuel to the fire. “It’s going to take a few hours to get the paperwork and contract drafted —but once it’s done we’ll have it sent over to you. For now, get to know each other, I don’t know.”

You shoot Liv a scowl. She was making this already awkward situation so much worse.

She catches your look, sighing, “Just–pretend this is another job and you’re new castmates. Anything please. ” She rolls her eyes, already fed up with what disaster this morning has been.

“You can do that, right?” Liv crosses her arms, staring at you two in question.

“Yes.” Jenna mumbles.

“Mhmm.” You hum lazily, changing the subject. “Can we tell people? That this isn’t real?”

Liv glances at Jake and Sarah sharing a silent conversation. They nod at each other. “If they sign an NDA. Only family, your team and us. This cannot leave the room.”

You feel pale. You couldn’t even tell the people around you about this fake relationship without binding them to a contract? Suddenly, the situation starts to feel more real; the carpet of delusion being pulled from under you.

You’re standing up, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape that rings terribly against your ears. “I need some air.”

“You’re really leaving in the middle of a meeting?” Jenna questions with a snip, crossing her arms.

“Sorry your highness, I got better places to be. Liv you can send the contract to my assistant. Ortega, wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you… but well.” You trail off, shrugging.

Liv and Jake are fuming red in the face at your words, but you were still hungover and the comedown was begging to wreak havoc – your irritation getting harder to restrain. 

Jenna’s face scrunches, offended. You walk away, not bothering to listen for a response.

“There’s no way I can work with her…” You catch it anyway.

●●●

“I mean can you believe what they’re asking me to do!” You pace up and down your living room.

“Oh come on, I don’t buy the allegations that she’s difficult, you know they love to tear women down when they get their come up.” Link reasons tapping on his phone.

“I mean how can this face be rude?” He holds up a picture of Jenna at the SAG awards and you furrow your brows because you don’t remember seeing her there — you might have been late.

You were just nominated anyway. So you pulled a Beyoncé and only showed up for your category.

“Maybe Jenna’s not so bad?”

“Quit it.”

It was now mid-afternoon and the battering Californian sun was shining bright above clear skies and through your floor-to-ceiling windows. You bought this house in the Palisades for the peace it provided you. Not too far from central L.A. but still tucked away enough for a moment of solitude with a life like yours.

It was your own version of a sanctuary – like a home should be. 

“Okay, that sounds crazy, I agree. But dude, you fucked up. Big time.” Your long-time friend Link said. 

You and Link grew up together and when you got your come up, best believe you took your best friend with you. You offered to help him out while he lives with you as you achieve your dreams but ever the stubborn guy, he refused. Only agreeing to move to Los Angeles with you if he works as your assistant to earn his keep.

He’s a good guy like that. 

Since then, he’s been by your side. Through every disappointment, bad news, great news, red carpets, and movie premieres. You couldn’t do this job without him. 

He’s like your brother.

“I know!” You groan, dropping to the couch. Why the hell did you let your designer choose these couches? They were stiffer than a plank of wood.

“Look at this article online, 2-time Grammy winner and Academy Award Nominee, Y/N L/N’s fall from grace? Sin City indeed! The actress blacks out at a Vegas strip club! Click here to see exclusive mugshots.”

“They’re selling my fucking mugshots?” You lift your head above the headrest horrified, watching Link sit across the room on a bar stool reading his phone. 

“I’m pretty sure they’re public domain.” He refutes.

Falling back, you groan louder – hiding your face behind your palms.

“I don’t see how you have a choice, buddy.” He sighs, placing his phone on the bar top. 

“There has to be another way. Why can’t I just run away? I’ll fly back home for a couple of weeks, and let all of this shit die down. It’s worked before.” 

“Yeah, I told Jake and Liv you’d say that.” He rolls his eyes, walking to you. “I don’t think you can run from this one, Y/N.”

The softness in his voice has you sighing in defeat. He’s right, you know he’s right. This wasn’t just some tiny mistake you can brush under the carpet like all the other ones. This was serious. 

You got arrested. For blacking out with someone who had drugs on them. In a strip club, no less.

What a mess.

Something like this could seriously hurt your career. You could lose roles, relationships, connections, brand deals – the blood, sweat, and tears you poured in; everything you worked so hard for – gone.

“I know… Doesn’t make me wanna do it more though,” You mumble, distantly staring at the high ceiling.

He chuckles, “I know bud. But this is what we signed up for, right?” 

You frown. It’s what we signed up for.

It’s a mantra that you have adopted in all your years as a working performer. It certainly wasn’t the most comforting and loving thing to say, but it works because it’s true and there’s no greater motivator than a slap in the face to reality. 

You much preferred tough love anyway.

“Right.” You mutter.

“Come on, I think Jenna’s manager just sent me the signed contract, they’re just waiting for your signature.” He walks off to his office. 

You close your eyes, letting the sun warm you up through the glass panes. A few moments pass until Link comes back out with a tablet and pen. “Sign here, under Jenna’s signature.”

She has pretty handwriting – you note as you sign the electronic document. 

Call it weird but you had a thing for people with neat handwriting, steady hands and all that. 

But then you remember who the professional signature belonged to and forced yourself to snap out of it.

“Did you even read it?” He arches a brow.

“That’s what lawyers are for.”

He scoffs, “Okay, superstar. It basically says what you and Jenna need to do. Public spottings at first, then dates, appearances at each other's events. Maybe posts on social media, but the idea is to be discreet – we can’t have it seem like we’re using this to scrub away the Vegas incident.”

“But that’s exactly what we’re doing,” You sigh.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. And it’s your damn job to make sure they don’t ever find out either.”

You rub your forehead; a headache beginning to form. Not sure if it was from the hangover or from all this PR mess.

“Anways,” He takes the tablet out of your hands. “I’ll send these over to Liv. Now as for you. Go upstairs, take a shower because you smell horrendous and then put on what your stylist picked out.”

Wrinkling your nose, you ask, “What, why? I literally just got back, I already have to go out and show my face? The paparazzi will hound me.” 

“We have to beat the Vegas headline with a bigger story, so you need to be seen with Jenna ASAP. That means out for a late lunch at a well-known spot downtown. You have to act like the news doesn’t bother you – like you’re moving past it.”

“Who goes out for late lunch?” 

He sends you a pointed look. 

“I’ll be upstairs…” You mumble, dragging your feet as you ascend the steps.

●●●

You tap your fingers on the steering wheel, glancing up at the modest house through your sunglasses.

A mid-modern century house in Glendale. Not where you pictured her to live but whatever. Her front yard was bare but professionally trimmed. No signs of any plant life that made the space look a little… dull. The only signs of life in the house was the humble SUV that you assumed belonged to the young actress.

Your tapping grows impatient the longer you wait.

As if staring harder at the front door will make the actress come out faster. Another five agonizing minutes pass – you seriously consider pulling away to go home and sleep off this hangover but Link stood a good half-foot taller than you.

He’d lock your ass out of your own home. 

Eventually, the door opens and the short brunette walks down the driveway in confident strides. Dressed in jeans, combat boots and a cardigan; those headphones around her neck, again. Somehow, she looked consistently gothic and you pondered if she really was like her character in real life.

You see her scan your Mercedes-AMG GT3 for a moment before pulling the passenger door open; sliding into the cushy seats. “Nice car.”

You blink, “Thanks… you sure took your time though,”

You couldn’t stop the slight attitude that accompanied your words.

She gives you a sharp glance, “why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?”

“You had to unlock the gate to let me in, you knew I was waiting outside.” You huff, staring at her back. 

“Then would have waited in the living room if you had knocked. What difference does it make?” She shrugs.

“That’s not the poi–” You gruff but stop, inhaling a deep breath. The pounding in your skull was begging for you to cool down. 

“I think I much preferred waiting in the car… alone.” You whisper the last bit then shoot her a sarcastic glance; shifting the gear in reverse.

You don’t bother to check if she had her seatbelt on as you aggressively pull out her driveway; leaving skid marks on the pavement.

She jerks forward at the sudden movement. “Shit– a little warning next time?” She glares bracing herself on the dashboard.

“Hands off the leather,” You bite as you pull off her street and to the restaurant Link sent you the directions to. 

She scoffs. “My driveway!”

●●●

“Table for 2 under Ortega? Please follow me, can I be the first one to say how delighted we are that you two decided to dine here.” The host enthused a little too much.

“It’s our pleasure.” Jenna answers politely.

You plaster a tight-lipped smile keeping quiet; sliding a modest hand on Jenna’s back when he leads you past other patrons and to a secluded table – heads already turning in your direction. Jenna jumps, sending you a menacing glare and for a moment you feel slightly scared by the fire in her eyes – dropping your hand immediately. 

Okay, no touching. Got it.

“Here we are, the best seat in the house. We have complementary champagne on the table to start your evening. We’ll give you a few moments to get settled,” He sends a tight smile causing his wrinkles to show – definitely trying too hard but you’d never say no to free alcohol.

“Thank you,” You bid, pulling a chair out for Jenna.

She walks to claim the opposite chair, assuming you’re taking the one you pulled out. But she stares as you stand behind the open chair, awkwardly. Only then did she seem to realize that the seat was for her.

Raising her brows, she looked a little surprised but wordlessly and a bit awkwardly (she sends a tight-lipped smile) sits over to the chair allowing you to push it in for her, before taking your own seat across.

The first thing you grab is the bottle of champagne and the flute. 

You miss Jenna’s tracking eyes as you pour a hefty glass. “Is that really the best thing for you to have, especially after last night? Also, it’s like 4 PM.”

“I didn’t know you were the alcohol police and it’s 8 PM somewhere.” You take big gulps of the champagne, savouring the way it burned but also felt cool on the way down.

“Trust me, I’m not. But my ass is on the line here too and there are people watching.” She grits out the last part, signalling with her eyes. You glance up catching two girls from another table with their phones up, no doubt taking pictures and recording you and Jenna. 

Looking away, you place the glass flute down, sitting back in your seat with a slump. “Fine…”

“When are you going to take this seriously?” She whispers, tone: sharp.

“I am taking this seriously,” You fight to keep your face impassive knowing there are eyes on you both. 

“No, you’re not. You couldn’t even sit through the meeting this morning and now you’re acting like a child. Might I remind you, we’re in this mess because of you.”

You clench your jaw, trying your hardest not to blow up in this fine establishment. 

“I’m the reaso—“

“Are we ready to order?” The waitress cuts in.

“Yes, we are.” Jenna turns to her with that large, sweet smile that sells millions.

●●●

‘New Gal-Pals in Hollywood, Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega spotted out for lunch’

It was now the following day after your ‘lunch date’ with Jenna and you wish to say it only got better as time went on but that would be a lie. You two did not get along – at all. How was it possible for your management to find the one person on this planet that you just couldn’t get along with. 

You know difficult, you can handle difficult. You’ve worked with the likes of Shia Lebeouf, Gweneth Paltrow, Michael Bay… just to name a few. You’ve had your fair share of difficult colleagues.

But this girl? She’s something else. 

“Gal pals? Really?” Your nose scrunches in distaste.

“No wait, this one’s better! Wednesday star Jenna Ortega supports new bestie, Y/N L/N amid Vegas arrest.”

“Stop.” But Link’s loud laughter overpowers you.

“Oh! We got one that’s different, Trouble-maker, A-lister, Y/N L/N, will drag down rising-star Jenna Ortega!”

“Okay, that’s just bullshit.” You pique up.

“Rising star?” Jenna voices in disdain.

“Enough!” Liv’s voice echoes from your laptop speaker. “This isn’t the headline we wanted.”

You roll your eyes, scanning the candid photo of you and Jenna sitting at the restaurant.

The images look tame enough and can definitely be interpreted as just two friends out for a bite. News outlets don’t buy it, but the internet is already freaking out; spewing out unsolicited opinions on this new pairing. Some think you two are just friends, some think it’s a date, others think it’s for a movie role.

“I thought I did a good job,” Jenna speaks up on the other line of the Facetime call. 

“Clearly not…” You mumble, but she catches it anyway, rolling her eyes. 

“We need to up the ante, this is not good enough.” Liv sighs and you can hear the trepidation through the call.

“Like what?”

“There’s a Lakers game tonight and you two are making your first official appearance.” She grins with mischief.

“Lakers?” Jenna rouses, sounding excited.

“How would they interpret that differently than before?” Shaking your head.

“I got a plan already, darling. I have a guy in TMZ who’s going to break the first official headline that you two are in the ‘getting to know each other’ stage. Which is where you two come in… after the game headlines of your guys’ date night will be the number one trending topic.” She explains, eyes lighting up in excitement.

Liv loves to lay out her plans to whoever was willing to listen — you’re already tuning her out.

You are sure her plan is genius like she says it is.

“Are they versing someone decent, at least?” You ask tiredly. When were you going to get some time to yourself?

“Celtics.”

“I’m in.”

●●●

“Do you really have to wear sunglasses indoors? Everyone knows we’re here.” Jenna whispers from beside you.

“It’s part of the look.” You retort, sliding down the foldable chair. Why are courtside seats so uncomfortable for all the money I’m paying?

“What look.”

“We got two stars in the Lakers house tonight! Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega!”’ The announcer booms through the stadium speakers. 

Looking up at the jumbotron, you and Jenna are plastered big and bright on the screen. You flash a dazzling smile and force your body to untense – ignoring Jenna’s quip.

You embrace the loud cheers and applauds, waving and sending the camera that dazzling smile you have mastered. Jenna copies your movements.

Eventually, the camera pans away from you two and you finally feel like you can breathe again. 

“God, I think my eardrums ruptured.” She complains, clutching her earring clad-ears painfully.

You laugh, “Oh come on, you don’t have people shouting for your attention at you at every turn?”

She frowns, shaking her head, “Not at this level… I like to think I still have some anonymity.”

Snorting, you say, “Yeah well, just wait. That’ll all be gone — so enjoy it while you can.” 

You don’t see her frown deepen because you spot a familiar face. “Look who’s in the house!”

“Hey!” You stand briskly. Lebron James comes barreling over in large steps; greeting you with a hug and a pat on the back. 

“Feeling ready for tonight?” You ask, smiling up at the athlete. Being a big name in Hollywood definitely came with nice perks like knowing world-renowned athletes.

As much as you complain about your life – this is certainly a perk you can’t deny.

“You know it! We’re gonna mop the floors with your lil Celtics team.” He smirks making you laugh.

“Okay, save the trash-talking for the court... This is Jenna by the way.” You move to the side to reveal Jenna sitting; watching the two of you with a flabbergasted look on her face. 

“Nice to meet you, Jenna. My kids loved Wednesday, I think my daughter might dress up as you this Halloween.” He jokes; shaking her hand. 

It was quite an amusing sight to see Jenna crane her neck to meet the basketball player’s eyes. And you really tried your hardest not to snort when her tiny hands slide into his gigantic palms – her upper arm practically disappearing in his grasp.

They continue talking for a few more moments before the basketball player eventually bids his goodbye to continue warming up. 

“You’re friends with Lebron James?” She asked in disbelief when you sit back down.

“Yeah, is that surprising?” You arch a brow.

“Yes?” She asks like you were stupid for even asking.

You chuckle. “Well, now you know.” 

“Also… a Celtics fan, really? That’s just disgraceful.” She shakes her head.

You scrunch your face in faux annoyance, puffing your chest proudly, “Hell yeah the Celtics! We’re gonna wipe the court with your little Lakers in their own house.” 

“Don’t let people hear you say that, you’ll be stoned,” She laughs heartily. 

For a brief moment, you watch as she shakes in laughter at her own joke – unable to fight the infectiousness of her laugh. Her bangs shake with her movements as she attempts to hide her smile behind her hand.

Were you guys getting along? Nah, impossible. 

“I’ll just use you as a shield.”

“I’m like five-foot, I don’t think I’ll be much help.” She snorts. 

“Pocket-sized shield – makes travelling easier.” You shrug, smirking. 

She shoots you a side-eye but you see the smirk she tries to hide from you. 

Eventually, the national anthem is sung and tip-off begins. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying yourself right now. After the weekend disaster in Vegas, all you wanted to do was sleep away your fuck-ups. But this… isn’t so bad. 

Jenna seems to have loosened up and allowed herself to enjoy the game.

You cheer enthusiastically when the Celtics go on a 12-0 run in the fourth quarter. 

The score is 94 - 90, with the Lakers in the lead. You were standing now, your concession drinks and snacks forgotten under your chair. The energy in the stadium is infectious as everyone cheers for their respective teams.

“This is what I’m talking about, now we got a game!” You clap loudly, yelling.

“$100 Lakers win this one.” The sweet voice shouts over the crowd.

You turn, grinning. “That’s it? $1000, Celtics win.” 

The quiet contemplation is burning bright in her eyes, but eventually, she gives in extending her hand. “You’re on.”

Somehow, your grin stretches wider when she slides her hand in yours to seal the deal. “I can’t wait to be a $1000 richer.”

“In your dreams,” she clicks her tongue, focusing on the court.

“Come on ref, that was a foul!” She shouts at the checkered-shirt man as he runs past you.

She’s not looking at you but you find yourself unable to look away from her. 

Granted, you barely knew anything about Jenna before meeting her yesterday. But you think you like this laid-back version of her more than the one you met at first.

A whistle-blowing breaks your staring before it becomes too obvious.

Eventually, the game goes into overtime with the score being 104 - 104 when the Lakers gets both free throws in. You’re practically shaking in excitement as you watch from courtside.

You are bent over, hands on your knees like a soccer mom watching their kid get a penalty kick. You miss Jenna snapping a photo of the court with you bent over in the corner of the picture.

“Come on, Tatum!” You shout, a vein on your forehead protruding. 

“Did you say a $1000 richer?” She mocks, using your words against you.

“Don’t go on a victory lap yet,” You stand as the last time-out is called, “The score’s even and there’s still 5 seconds on the clock. It’s anybody's game right now.”

When the whistle blows signalling time-out is over, you are tense again. Jenna seems to share your sentiments as she absentmindedly grabs your jacket when the Celtics shooting guard walks behind the line to inbound the ball.

Anticipation getting the best of her.

You ignore the touch – unsure if you wanted to pull away or never move your arm again.

“Shit!” You yell when someone on the Lakers intercepts the Celtics attempt to inbound — sloppily passing it to another player in gold and purple. 

3 seconds remaining on the clock and a fast-break on the Lakers side ensues; green jerseys struggling to keep up.

“Schroder tips the Celtics inbound and manages to pass it off to Thompson, to James! James with a hail mary from half-court with 2 seconds, will he make it!” The announcer exclaims.

It was like the movies when everything goes silent and somehow you see everything in slow motion. You watch as the ball spins high above in the air with the powerful throw from the Laker’s power forward. The only thing you feel is Jenna’s fist gripping your arm, bunching the jacket in her hands. 

You unconsciously lean into her; the intensity of the room bouncing off you. 

The ball continues to spin until it amazingly flies through the basket with a satisfying swoosh and the buzzer rings loudly.

The crowd explodes – bursting into loud cheers. 

“Holy shit!” Jenna jumps, cheering.

“No fucking way.” You groan.

You feel her grab your shoulders to face her, still jumping up and down; a large smile on her face. You find yourself matching her grin despite your team not winning. 

Nodding in defeat, you admit, “Okay, okay… that was a pretty great game.”

“Great?” She shakes you like a rag doll, “That was the best game I’ve ever seen!” 

“Are you turning into a basketball fan, Miss Ortega?” You tease as she pulls away from you.

Still with a grin, she says, “Never… Football will always have my heart.”

“I didn’t peg you for an NFL fan but I guess I’ve heard stranger things.” You tease as she rolls her eyes.

“Soccer, Y/N.”

“Why didn’t you just call it the proper name then?”

“We are not starting this.” She holds a hand up, turning to sit back in her seat. The high of winning the bet, dwindling away.

●●●

“This is me…” Jenna says into the quiet night air. 

You shifted on your feet as you stood by your car. The night had been an unexpected…. success. After the game, you two made sure to stick around to chat and take pictures with fans in the crowd. 

The more eyes that saw you two together, the better. 

“Um… this was nice, I guess.” You mumble, feeling a bit awkward now that it was just you and her. 

She blinks up at you, surprised by your admission. “Uh – yeah, this wasn’t bad. Surprising, but not bad.” 

A small smile creeps on your face, “Okay, well I guess I’ll see you later… or whenever our managers say we need to be seen together again.” 

She laughs, nodding, “Yeah…”

A bright flash from your peripheral has you blinking, unfocused. “What the–”

“Paps…” She sighs. “Kiss my cheek.”

“What?” You asked bewildered.

She sends you a pointed look, turning her back from the direction of the flash so they couldn’t see her face. “Kiss my cheek, they’ll take a picture and then they’ll know we’re not just gal pals.”

Jenna is rolling her eyes but you’re still stuck in your spot. “Y/N.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you clear your throat, “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Something indecipherable shines in her eyes, but it disappears as she blinks, “You’re not asking for my hand in marriage, Y/N. Just kiss my cheek.”

Blushing, you lean down. Shyly placing your lips on her soft-dimpled cheek – she leans into the contact, placing a hand on your neck. Immediately, a flurry of bright flashes and sounds of clicking interrupt the moment. 

“Goodnight, Jenna.” You say softly once you pulled away; ignoring the goosebumps that rose on your skin.

“Goodnight.” She takes a moment to look at you before walking to unlock her gate.

You wait until she opens the metal door; not missing the kind eyes she shoots you as she shuts the gate. Only once Jenna’s out of your view did you let out a deep sigh, turning around.

“Y/N! Over here! Did you just kiss Jenna Ortega? What about the singer you were with in Vegas? Are you two over?”

You didn’t want to give the paparazzi lurking on her street more reason to stay, so you keep your head down ignoring their shouting and slip into your car.

●●●

“How was it?” Her sister’s voice can be heard on her phone. 

“Awful – she’s a menace, Mia.” Jenna replies as she opens her fridge, looking for a mid-afternoon snack. 

It was now Sunday afternoon and as predicted – you and Jenna are the top headline of every major news outlet in America. 

“Did you tell her that you loved her in Little Women?” 

“What? No, of course not! I’m not gonna tell her that.”

“Why not? You watched that movie like five times when it came out.” Her sister reminds.

“Shut up, Mia.”

“Okay, anyways…” She trails off, laughing. “I saw the pictures. You’re smiling pretty wide with her. Also the kiss on the cheek when she was dropping you off? Chef’s kiss. Just perfect.”

Jenna rolls her eyes, “It’s all part of the act. Of course, I look happy.”

“There’s videos of you jumping on her. I can barely scroll through my Twitter feed without seeing an edit of you two at the game.”

“Stop. I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” Jenna snaps.

“Okay, okay…” Mia laughs and Jenna can picture her raising her hands in surrender. “Let’s talk about New York, are you excited?’

Jenna lets out a repressed sigh. With all of this PR mess with you, she hasn’t had time to think about how busy her schedule is about to be. The Scream VI premiere and SNL is inching closer and the Coachella native is feeling the familiar phantoms of anxiety rumbling in her chest. 

“Yeah, of course, I am. It’s SNL…”

“But?” Aliyah, her younger sister’s voice comes out of nowhere.

“But it’s SNL!” Jenna exclaims, “It’s a big deal! What if… what if I fuck up? Or I break character?”

“Okay… let’s take a deep breath,” Mia speaks up. She recognizes her sister’s looming anxiety and knew she had to act before the young actress sends herself into a panic. “You will kill it, like you always do and you won’t mess up. It’s okay to be a little nervous.

“Right, right.” Jenna agrees but the weighted pressure in her chest was still to creeping in.

Mia hums over the line unconvinced, “Listen, the whole family is flying in before your premiere. So don’t worry, we’ll be there, cheering you on!” 

Jenna can’t fight the smile that creeps up on her face. The thought of her family being there on one of the most important nights of her career is all she needs. They always had her back, picking her up when she felt like she couldn’t do it anymore. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate that.”

●●●

“You want me to fly to New York, to what– be her personal cheerleader?” You dead-pan, watching as Link frantically throws clothes and shoes into a suitcase. 

It’s been about a week since the Lakers and Celtics game and news of you and Jenna’s night out in town are still abuzz. The two of you made a couple more subtle appearances over the last couple of days and the media is eating it up shamelessly. Pictures of you and the star are plastered on the front pages; be it grabbing coffee or grocery shopping or walking your dog at the park.

Now, you couldn’t even step outside without someone hurling Jenna’s name at you.

But you couldn’t lie. It was nice to have some company while you run your errands. Only yours though — you hated when you had to do hers. Jenna always thought too hard about which cereal to get, like she’s ever home to eat it.

‘New budding romance in Hollywood? Do we have a new power couple on the rise with Y/N L/N and Jenna Ortega? These two seem to be getting to know each other well… click here to read more’ 

Was the first thing you read when you turned on your phone this morning. 

Of course, it’s never that easy because there are still a handful of nobodies sending hateful messages about your criminal escapades – not everyone was convinced.

Some well-known people on social media – people you personally know are adding fuel to the fire; engaging in discourses of you and Jenna and if you are dragging her down just by being associated with you.

Fake-ass motherfuckers.

“Yes, I think those are the exact words Jake and Liv put in their texts, actually.” He reaches for his phone to read over the message; mocking you. 

“Stop, Link…” You run a hand on your face, “Tell them I’m not going. I have better things to do, Coachella is right around the corner and I literally have a song I need to send to my producer.”

He watches as you childishly cross your arms, scowling. 

If you weren’t his best friend he would’ve said goodbye to the Hollywood life – too rich for his blood. Link wasn’t sure how he still put up with your attitude after all these years. Could you have said those words any more snobbishly?

“Are you done?”

“No.”

“Well you don’t have a damn choice. Now, take a shower – Marcus will be here in an hour to drive us to LAX. And you can record in New York, no one said you had to be attached to Jenna’s hip.”

“What if I don’t want to.” You stand your ground. 

“Don’t do this today, Y/N.” He sighs. 

For a few moments, you hold your ground; contemplating if you should dig a hole and barricade yourself – metaphorically, of course. But never say never. 

Link raises a challenging brow – daring you to try him today. 

Wow, someone must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed…

Knowing what that look meant, you knew when to pick your battles and accepted the loss, trudging over to the master bathroom but not before slamming the door behind you.

“Don’t be slamming doors ‘round here! I don’t care if the house is under your name.” He shouts from the other side. 

“Fuck off!” You yell back, yanking your shirt off as the water turns hot.

He is such a dad.

–

“What are you doing here?”

“Hi to you too, Jenna. How was your day? Mine was great, the flight was a bit bumpy but I can handle a ‘lil turbulence. Thanks for asking.” You reply, ignoring the furrow in her brow hidden behind the silky fringe. 

You wonder what conditioner she uses to get her hair looking that soft.

“Y/N…” Jenna sighs, walking past you to enter your hotel suite. Walking into the living room to place her shoulder bag on the coffee table then she turns to face you, crossing her arms still waiting for an answer. “I’m serious, why are you in New York.”

You lean against a wooden panel, crossing your arms as well. “Didn’t your team tell you?”

Her frown deepens, patience thinning the longer you beat around the bush. “Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Okay relax…” You warn not appreciating her tone. You literally just landed an hour ago and it’s almost midnight East Coast time. The timezone switch is fucking with you and her attitude is the last thing you need. 

“Don’t tell me to relax.” She snaps. The young actress hated those words, it always made her more riled up.

You scoff trying your hardest not to snap back but controlling your anger has never been your strong suit. “Why do you think I’m here? Liv told me I had to show face for your premiere and SNL episode. Be your cheerleader or some shit.”

She drops her arms, frown still etched on her soft face. What? Ignore that.

“Shit, I think Sarah might’ve mentioned it but I was just so busy with rehearsal and fittings with Enrique that I didn’t see.” Jenna sighs, rubbing her forehead.

For the first time since she barged into your room – you take a moment to scan her. Her face is bare and makeup free but you can see the dark smudges from her eyeliner earlier today just under the lashline. She was dressed in a large sweater and mismatched sweatpants; the sleeves are so long it covers half her hands and her short wavy locks tied into a messy low bun.

Her clothes practically engulfed her tiny stature. You figure this is a pretty rare sight that most people aren’t privy to and suddenly you’re unsure as to why it’s so hard to look away. 

“I didn’t mean to snap… I’m sorry.” She says quietly, looking at you like she was genuinely apologetic. 

“It’s fine…” You shrug and pushed off the wall to sit on the couch. Everyone has their days, you thought.

“I didn’t mean to ambush you. I really thought you knew I’d be here.” You turn on the TV, not being to stand the silence in the large room.

Jenna sits down beside you, tucking her feet against her chest. When did she take off her shoes? “It’s not your fault.”

The sigh she lets out is heavy and something tells you there’s some meaning behind it too. But you didn’t feel like it was your business so you zip it and continue watching the TV drone on about a program you don’t care about. 

“I saw clips of your SNL promo… I thought it was hilarious – you were great and that reporter outfit? So cool.” You change the subject. It gets her to smile as her dimples poke out, a little shy now. 

“It’s so cringy.” She covers her face. 

“Awh, nah… the internet loved it.” You laugh, a little amused that the actress was all flushed by a single compliment. 

Call it big-headed, call it ego, call it whatever you want but you personally relished it when people fawned over you. 

“Of course they did. They’re the whole reason for the meme.” She rolls her eyes after dropping her hands but she still had a toothy smile. 

“I bet that dance follows you everywhere…” 

“Every. Fucking. Day.” She says then raises a brow at you, “How do you know about the dance, though?’

You send her an affronted look, “I’m not a grandmother, Jenna. I know what’s hip with the kids.”

She snorts, “You’re an idiot – I just mean, I didn’t think you were on TikTok like that with a schedule like yours. Also, that app is toxic.”

“Every social media app can be toxic.” You quip, “But get off your high horse, your majesty. I literally just saw a couple of edits on Twitter of it.”

“Uh huh…” She hums, unconvinced, if the side glance she throws you was any indication. “But yeah the writers wanted to do a bit with Wednesday and this is what we came up with.”

“Well, I think it’s genius… from a business standpoint.” You offer up, nudging her shoulder then turning back to the TV.

You miss Jenna’s bothered frown. “Business standpoint?”

“Yeah,” You say off-handedly, “It’s smart, good for you.”

“Are most things a ‘business standpoint’ for you?” She asks, genuinely curious about what you could mean.

“Hmm. I guess I never thought of it like that but now that I’m saying it out loud, yeah, kinda.” You shrug, thinking about it. 

Most of the interactions in Hollywood that you have had are based on transactions and is usually for your own self-interest.

“...That’s kinda sad.” She says getting you to turn.

“What does that mean?” You frown.

“I’m just saying… there’s more to this industry than business deals and brand offers.” This time Jenna offers up a thought but it sounds a bit judgemental to you, shrugging.

You’re furrowing your brows, sitting up straight. “Look, you don’t even know me. Just forget what I said.”

But the laugh she lets out grinds your gears in the most unpleasant way.

Jenna holds up her hands in surrender but it feels mocking. “Clearly…” She emphasizes. “But I’m just saying, there’s no need to get all defensive.”

“Okay, I don’t know what kind of shit you were dealing with today but don’t take it out on me. Don’t come to my room talking about things you know nothing about.” You glower.

She matches your frown, standing. “It kinda sounds like you’re the one dealing with something, actually.”

“I think you should leave.” Your glare turns sharp and cold, standing too.

“Already on my way out.” She scoffed, snatching her bag aggressively off the coffee table then turns to walk to the front door. 

You follow to make sure the door hits her on the way out but she stops abruptly by the hall causing you to trip on your own feet to not tumble over her. 

“I think you should go back to L.A.” She glares up at you, tightly clutching her shoulder bag.

The laugh you let out is humourless, stepping back to create space between you and the other actress. “And get my ass handed to me by Jake, Liv and Sarah? They’re like four horsemen of the apocalypse – just searching for their last member. No thanks. You got a problem with me here? You deal with it.”

She clenches her jaw, “Done. Leave it to me.” Then turns and leaves making sure to slam the door shut. 

Those hotel doors weigh a fuck ton, how did she do that? And what did she mean leave it to me?

“Can I come out now?” Link peeks his head out from the adjoining room; fear present on his features.

●●●

:)

-

tagging who comment so far:

@alexkolax @ladey @jjsmaybank20 @werewoofrobinbuckley

[bellysoupset]

Sick at Home - Part 3

@beanizsmol

----------

Vince slept past his alarm. He never did that, no matter how tired he was, the noise always managed to wake him up. But this time, he slept past it and then past a phone call from Wendy at seven thirty and then past one from his mother at 8 AM.

He woke up with coughing, eyes peeling open like they had been glued down and for a second he just sat there, rubbing at his face and trying to pinpoint what exactly was going on.

He was freezing and his stomach hurt like he had swallowed nails. His head was pounding and there was an incessant noise that took Vince a second to realize was Sophia heaving over her bucket.

He jumped up and immediately regretted it when the room spun around him and caused his knees to buckle. Vince grabbed her desk, bringing a bunch of glittery pens and notebooks to the ground, but managing to stop himself from faceplanting her floor.

Behind him, Sophia let out a wet belch and he heard another heave, followed by her hyperventilating. Vince swallowed a heave of his own, stumbling towards her bed. He wasn't able to stand upright, so he crawled on it and flinched as he saw just how red Soph's face was. There weren't tears running down her cheeks, but she was clearly sobbing, a rope of saliva hanging from her bottom lip and her blue eyes all bloodshot.

"Vin-" Her voice came out hoarse and Vince scooted up on the bed so he managed to sit almost behind her. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but he managed to hold back her hair with one hand, the other one rubbing her back up and down.

"My head is killing me, Vin..." Sophia whined, turning so she could bury her face against his chest. Normally he'd be over the moon with such affection, but at that moment all that the gesture caused was more pressure on his stomach and Vince pressed a fist to his mouth, muffling a gag against it.

"Water," he grumbled, squeezing her, "you need water."

"Can't- Won't stay down..." Sophia sniffled pathetically and Vince pressed his eyes closed, trying to muster up energy to force her to drink something. Hell, he needed to check on Livia, the panic was starting to cling to him like cold sweat and making him claustrophobic.

"Stay- Stay here..." Vince rolled off the bed and stumbled up, bracing against her wall and taking shallow breaths.

"Vin?" Sophia called in a little voice and he forced his eyes open, ignoring the little colorful pulsating spots that were dancing around her head. His sister was curled up as much as she could, frowning at him and he wasn't entirely sure why she was angry. He hadn't done anything- "are you okay?"

"Liv," Vince answered instead, taking deep, steadying breaths and forcing his legs to keep moving, "gotta check on Liv, high fevers are dangerous with little kids," and if something happened to Livia because he was too sick, he'd die.

Vince nearly went down to his knees when he entered Livia's bedroom and she was starfished in bed, peacefully asleep. Vince sat at the foot of her bed and let out a relieved sigh when he touched her and she felt cold to the touch. The seven year old had sweat through another set of PJs, but she seemed sound asleep and Vince grabbed the thermometer abandoned on her bedside table, holding it to her ear.

"How high is it?" Sophia asked, startling him. Vince stomach soured up even more at the mild jump, causing him to gulp down.

"Hmm-" he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, "101ºF.... That's good, right?"

Sophia nodded, then let out an exhausted sigh and climbed Livia's bed, wrapping herself up around her little sister as if the kid was a teddy bear. Vince felt almost envious, that was exactly what he wanted to do, but his stomach had other ideas.

"Give me that," Soph opened her hand to grab the thermometer, then held it to her own ear, "you look like shit, Vin."

He huffed out a breath, staring at his shoes. The room was pulsating, he wasn't sure how that was even possible.

"Uhm... A little under 102," Sophia announced, holding the device for him to read, but Vince couldn't even begin to put the numbers together, "your turn."

Vince shook his head, then ignored Soph's complaints as his belly flipped. He slammed a hand to his lips, but didn't have any strength to get up.

Instead, he collapsed out of Livia's bed, to his hands and knees, and gagged fruitlessly. His senses were tricking him, his stomach felt full and his head was swimming, he was freezing as if he had dipped into a frozen lake and Vince wanted to cry...

"Shit, you're super warm," Sophia was draped on his back all of sudden, her voice filtering through the ringing in his ears. Vince coughed, managing to bring up a splash of bile, all over the floor. What a mess.

"Sophie..." Livia sounded pitiful and terrified and he had no idea when she had woke up, "Soph, I don't like this, I want mamma-"

"I don't like this either," Sophia scoffed, shaking Vince a little, "Vin? Vin, please, I'm scared, what do I do? I'm going to call mamma-"

"No," Vince managed to say, shaking his head. He dizzily reached behind him, grabbing the bed to pull himself up and Livia promptly latched on his wrist as if she could be of any help. He took a breath, wiping his mouth, "get my phone, please."

Sophia was happy to be bossed around and she bolted out of the room, while Livia crawled on his lap, puke be damned, her little fingers all over his face, "Vin?"

"I'm'kay," he turned his head to kiss her palm, closing his eyes for a second-

"Is he passed out!?" Sophia's voice was too loud and Vince frowned, forcing his eyes open. He was flat on his back now, although he didn't remember lying down at all. Livia was sitting by his side, curled up, bottom lip trembling, face all red as she was clearly crying.

"Not-no..." Vince squeezed his eyes shut and open again, staring at the ceiling, "call Max."

He wanted Wendy, but she was 4 hours away and even feverish as he was, Vince knew they needed someone now.

"Who?"

"Max," Vince rolled on the bed, his face met Livia's lap and he couldn't bring himself to move when his baby sister wrapped her arms around his head like an octopus, "Daniels."

"Mr. Daniels?" Sophia held the phone to his face, so she could get the face ID, before snatching it back, "my chemistry teacher?"

"Yea-" Vince muffled a sick burp against Liv's lap, "tell him to come over."

He was floating in and out of consciousness. Half listening as Sophia stammered and nearly died of embarrassment as she called Max, then as she peeled off Livia from him, ignoring the kid's complaints.

He was drifting, sinking into the dark, when suddenly he was shaken harshly, "Hey, Monacelli," Max's voice was rough, alarmed, "man, wake up. C'mon, don't have me call an ambulance."

Vince frowned, forcing his eyes open.

Daniels was standing over him, looking more than a little pissed off. His blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail, so the undercut was showing, and he was wearing what Vince assumed were gym clothes, although he'd never peg Max as the type to frequent one.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Max huffed, "can you sit up?"

Vince nodded, although he wasn't so sure. He looked around the room, dizzily, "where- Where-"

"Livia and Sophia are in your bedroom. The bed is bigger and its not as messy. Livia is having breakfast, I got her some cereal. Sophia is sleeping."

"Fever-" Vince slurred, trying and failing to push himself up. He was flooded by a sense of relief that his sisters were taken care of, which was a bad thing, since panic was the only thing holding him together. It was suddenly much harder to keep his eyes open.

"Livia's fever is almost gone," Max moved and grabbed Vince's hoodie by the front with both hands, using all his force to pull the other man sitting up, "Sophia took some Tylenol, I'll check on her in a second. None of them are half as bad as you- You're burning up."

"Hmmm," was Vince's sleepy answer, all fight leaving him. Max slapped his cheek, not too kindly.

"Wake up, don't pass out on me-" he pushed something against Vince's lips and the man frowned, forcing his eyes open again. He didn't remember closing them. Max was suddenly really close, forcing a straw in his mouth, "drink up, you're super dehydrated. Sophia said you didn't drink anything."

"Snitch," Vince scoffed, then took a gulp and immediately groaned as it settled like a punch in his stomach. He didn't even quite swallow it down, before his belly was squeezing with a retch, rejecting it. Max barely had time to scramble back, as Vince puked the little splash of Gatorade on his front and let out a sob, "fuck-"

"Shit, Vince," Max chewed on his lip, worried, "I think you need a hospital, man."

"No," Vince shook his head, grimacing at the wet spot on his hoodie, "help me-"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sorry-" Max cringed at his own lack of action, helping Vince strip off the piece of clothing, "don't go anywhere, I'll be back in a second."

Vince let out an amused huff at the prospect of him moving, when he could barely stay awake. He closed his eyes once again, hating the way the room was spinning and the heavy weight in his stomach... Something like ice touched his face and Vince scrambled, only for Max to grab him by the shoulder.

"HEY! Stay put!" Max's bedside manners were atrocious, as he all but shouted at Vince in order to snap him out of the fever induced panic. Nevertheless, it worked. Vin settled back down against the pillows, his heart hammering, eyes darting around in a paranoid way until he realized Max was simply holding a wet towel to his face.

"Christ, you're a mess," Max pouted, wiping him face and chest, "we need to cool you down, your brain is probably melting..."

The visual caused Vince to grimace and gag and the blonde widened his eyes, "oh, for fuck's sa- Vince!" he snapped his fingers in front of the other man's eyes, "stop that. No more puking."

"Check on the girls," Vince rasped out, "Sophia's in bad shape..."

"Sophia is fine," Max glared at him, "her fever was going down and she managed to keep down water, unlike you. Livia-"

"She doesn't like cereal," Vince let his eyes slip closed again, turning his head so he could press his forehead to the inside of Max's wrist, "she'll puke again."

"You're insufferable," Max scoffed, draping the wet towel over him like a blanket, "I'll be right back."

Next time Vince woke up, he was alone in the room. The towel draped over him had changed into a different one and it was dry by then. He could hear giggling down the hall. Vin's throat was scratchy and he had a killer headache, but the floaty feeling from before had diminished.

He stumbled up, using the wall as support and forcing himself to get out of the room.

Max was sitting with his legs crossed, boots gone and just in his socks, in Vince's bed. Livia was sitting on his lap and Sophia lying down, rolled on her side, they were playing UNO cards.

Vince braced against the threshold, squinting at how bright the room was. All windows were open in the house, which caused him to shiver.

"You're such a cheater, Daniels," Sophia said in a raspy voice, although it sounded amused. Max rolled his eyes, noticing Vince in the doorway, but all he said was:

"No, I'm not," he kissed Livia's head, "are we cheating, Liv?"

"No, we're not!"

"See," he grinned at Sophia, smugly, before grabbing Livia's waist and planting her sitting on the mattress, "keep kicking your sister's ass. I'll be right back."

Vince moved out of the doorway before the girls could see him and Max met him in the hallway, planting his hands on his hips and looking a whole lot like a worried mother, "the fuck are you doing out of bed?"

"Thirsty," Vince whispered and Max rolled his eyes.

"You could've asked for water," he said, grabbing Vince's arm and shoving him in the direction of Livia's room, only for the other man to stop moving altogether.

"Tired of the bed," he rubbed at his forehead, grimacing at his greasy hair, "need a shower."

"You're gonna slip and die," Max glared at him, "you can barely stand."

"I feel gross," Vince groaned, wrapping an arm around his stomach - Since when he was shirtless? - "I wanna shower."

Max stared at him, seemingly not sure of what the hell to do, before sighing and nodding, "okay... You're gonna leave the door open," he steered Vin back in his own bedroom, where the girls were.

As soon as they stepped inside, Livia was rushing up, squealing "VINNY!" and hugging him by the legs. He wanted nothing more than scoop her up, but just the idea of bending to pick her up was enough to have his head swimming again. Max's grip around his arm was iron tight.

"Hey bambi," he messed Livia's greasy curls, she needed a shower as well. Sophia didn't get up from the bed, but she sat up, staring at him worriedly.

"You sure you should be standing?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I'm fine," Vince said, at the same time as Max answered:

"No, he shouldn't."

"I'm fine," Vin insisted, stroking Livia's face when she hugged his stomach, "I just need a shower and some water."

Daniels scoffed, but didn't say anything, only crouching down and grabbing Livia by her armpits, stopping her from attempting to climb Vince like a cat would, "c'mere, little monster," he threw her up, hugging her closer, then pointed at Vince, "keep the door open, go."

"He's bossy," Sophia giggled from her spot and Vince nodded, stumbling forward.

Showering proved to be a bigger challenge than Vince was expecting and he was panting and dizzy by the time he managed to wash his hair. He didn't have any energy to get out of the shower, so he only braced against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cold tiles and trying to will his stomach to stay in place as the nausea returned with vengeance.

He ended up stumbling out of the shower in order to lean over the toilet, still naked, and retch weakly until his body managed to bring up a splash of bile and trickle of red. Vince's head swam and he slumped forward, hugging the toilet, just as Max said, "What the- Is that blood?!"

"Uhm," Vince answered unhelpfully, as Daniels stepped around him to close the shower and threw a towel over him. The blonde crouched down next to him, a hand squeezing Vince's nape.

"God, Vince, how- Yeah, I'm dragging your ass to the emergency room," Max decided, "c'mon, get up. Hope keeping your curls pretty was worth it, you idiot."

"No- No'spital..." Vince slurred, leaning against Max's arms and nearly sending the blonde flat on his back, "I'm not... Not puking blood," his stomach flipped once more and he groaned, swallowing down the nausea, "scratched throat."

"Yeah, I don't believe you," Max sighed, forcing him to sit up right, "up, get up. You need some clothes, I don't want you to catch pneumonia on top of this plague."

"Gon... Gonna be sick again," Vince groaned, feeling dangerously close to tears. He was tired of being strong, he wanted to be in bed and feeling fine, "sorry."

"You don't have anything to bring up," Max's voice was strained as he threw one of Vince's arms around his neck and used his whole body to pull him up, "Girls, close your eyes."

Vince cringed in embarrassment as he stumbled in the room, naked, the towel had already slipped down his waist and was on the ground, and saw Sophia with her eyes shut and covering Liv's with a hand.

"Sorry..."

"Vinny," Livia grabbed Sophia's wrist, "are you-"

"I'm not dying," he scoffed, already knowing what she was going to ask. He was going to find whoever taught his baby sister about death and strangle them.

"He's just stubborn and annoying and-" Max dropped him on the bed, causing the whole thing to jostle and Sophia to let out a squeal, "really fucking heavy."

"I keep telling him to go on a diet," Soph said unhelpfully, causing all three of them to let out a scoff.

"He doesn't need a diet," Max said, at the same time that Liv exclaimed, "Vinny is fluffy! Stop being mean!" and Vince answered, "fuck off, Sophia."

She let out a little whine at all three answers and Vince struggled to sit up as Max let go off him in order to dig up a fresh set of sweatpants.

"We're getting way too friendly here, Monacelli," Max teased him, as he had to crouch down and help Vince slide up the pants. He straightened up, patting Vince's thigh, "alright, you can open your eye- Livia!"

Livia had jumped Vince the second Sophia let go of her, causing her brother to let out a groan and squeeze his mouth in a tight line. Max let out a tired sigh, feeling a wave of sympathy for his...Friend? Yeah, Vince was his friend, he decided. He had just hauled the guy around naked, they were more than acquaintances, they were friends.

He had been in the house for around six hours now and he was already done for, he couldn't fathom how Vince was able to keep up with the girls while so sick himself.

"It's okay," Vince breathed out, moving on the bed so he was in the middle of it and Sophia, for all her attitude and bark, promptly curled up against his side, just like Livia was, "I'm alright, Max, relax."

"You're insane," Max breathed out, circling the bed to grab the Tylenol and a bottle of Gatorade. He figured it was fine if Vince shared with Sophia, since they were both sick, "drink."

"No, man, I don't-"

"Drink," Max's patience was gone, "drink or I'm calling an ambulance, do not try me."

Vince let out a groan, but gave in as soon as Livia lifted up her head from his chest and said, "no hospital, Vinny."

"Fine," he said sourly, taking the pills with a small sip and planting the bottle on his bedside table, "happy?"

"Ecstatic," Max replied just as sharply, then sat on the foot of the bed, fishing out Vince's phone from his own pocket, "you should call your girlfriend, she called like 3 times already. And your mom-"

"Did any of you tell mamma about this?" Vince looked between the girls and they all shook their heads, "good. We're not gonna."

"Very smart," Max said dryly and Vince opened a sheepish smile.

"It's their anniversary, man, I don't want to ruin it. Besides, everything is fine here, right?"

"Now that Daniels is here," Sophia scoffed, but didn't move her head from where she had her cheek pressed to Vince's bicep, yawning. Vince let out an amused huff, noticing Max's face turning all red.

"You hear that? She likes you better than me," he said, then his call connected and he said, "Hey, honey-" and Max could clearly hear Wendy going frantic over the line.

He lied down on the foot of the bed himself, looking up at the ceiling and rubbing his face, trying to fight the horrible warm feeling that was washing over him. It shouldn't feel this nice to be surrounded by three sick people.

[kryptonitejelly]

nick amaro x reader // law and order SVU

yes, we are going there - what have i done 😭 no plot, really. just a moment.

-

The last thing Nick had expected to find when walking back into the SVU bullpen was you; and yet, here he was, eyes fixed on you as his strides quickened. He notices Fin’s smirk that finds itself aimed his way as he weaves his way between Amanda and Liv to get to you, but he ignores it.

He lets his gaze drag itself over your form, head down on his desk, the lamp on his desk casting a soft glow around your features; the extra suit jacket he leaves hanging on the back of his chair draped over your shoulders. You have a laptop open in front of you, a case file and note pad within reach, all topped off by an uncapped pen lying caged between your curled fingers. He sees the pair of heels which you had shed, one standing, one lying on its side peeking out from under his desk. A dip of his gaze reveals the deep green of the dress which you had on, one of his favourite dresses on you - one that he knew you had worn in to work today in anticipation of Friday having supposed to be date night.

Nick slows his pace as he approaches you, content in the few seconds to allow himself to watch the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders. The sight stirs a mix of emotions in his chest - the swell of emotion that came rushing in whenever he set his eyes on you, and a heavy tinge of guilt. Guilt that he had to cancel the first date night you both had managed to plan after weeks of clashing schedules, guilt that you taken it so well, and guilt that you had somehow found your way here, to the SVU bullpen so that you could both head home together.

Nick drops to a knee, bringing himself to eye level with your face. He raises his hand to cup the side of your face gently. His touch on your skin is light, soft, but it makes you stir immediately.

“Hey,” Nick’s voice grounds you as you let your mind grind to a start, your surroundings shifting into focus. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought we could go home together,” your lips furl up into a gentle smile, voice soft, your eyes, still hazy with sleep, locked onto Nick’s. You forget your bearings for a moment until you hear a cough from behind Nick as various footsteps shuffle into the bullpen. You straighten up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes, legs stretching out beneath you as you offer a wave to the rest of the team trudging in.

“An ADA slumming it at Amaro’s desk?” Fin muses, voice joking and light.

“What would Barba say,” Munch follows, expression deadpan.

“Unbecoming isn’t it?” Liv continues with a quirk of one end of her lip.

“What can I say,” you play along, “not all of us have Barba’s flair.”

“Clearly,” Amanda states, looking pointedly at Nick which earns a series of chuckles from the rest of the team and yourself.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick waves a hand in the air dismissively, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. You tilt your body downward slightly, hands reaching for your discarded heels. Nick notices and he is back on a knee in one fluid motion.

“Nick,” you protest as he places a hand along your calf, his other propping your heel up, helping you back into your heels. You hazard a glance behind your boyfriend, only to find the rest of the team, tactfully busying themselves with their desks. “I’m not Cinderalla,” you state, but with no real protest as you let him guide your other heel back on.

“I’m not your Prince Charming?” He teases, not caring who else heard, giving your calf a gentle squeeze before winking at you and straightening back into a stand.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” you pull a face as you turn to gather your belongings, making quick work of shoving them into your bag with Nick’s help.

“Way to hurt a man,” he places a hand on his chest as you shrug his spare jacket off your shoulders; Nick takes it from you, hanging it back on his chair.

“She could hurt you more” Fin cuts in again with a sing-song voice. It makes you chuckle, as you catch a wink Amanda throws in your direction.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be Detective Tutuola,” Nick asks all while shrugging off the jacket on his shoulders to place it over yours, letting it hang off your frame. He flicks off the light switch on his desk and picks your bag up.

“If I say no, will you let me tag along?”

Your yes comes at the same time as Nick’s absolutely not, and it earns you another series of chuckles around the room.

“Don’t call me till Monday,” Nick calls out, while threading his fingers through yours as he starts to guide you towards the lift. You barely manage to call out a goodbye, before the lift doors shut on you both.

“I didn’t-” your protest is cut short by Nick’s lips on yours, his free hand circling your waist, going over the fabric of his jacket on your shoulders. You let yourself sink into the kiss, hand sliding up his shoulder and behind his neck as the lift descends to the parking garage.

“I’m sorry I had to cancel today,” he says, forehead resting against yours as he breaks the kiss. His eyes are closed, but you flicker yours open as you run your hand from the back of his neck to cup the side of his jaw.

“You have nothing to apologise for Detective Amaro,” you end with the professional term of address in attempt to diffuse some of the guilt you see in his eyes. “Work,” you continue with a light shrug - Nick was a victim of you cancelling on him as well, and you understood.

“I was really looking forward to tonight,” he says, still apologetic as he finally opens his eyes while leaning his face into your palm.

“I can think of a few ways you can spend the rest of the weekend making it up to me,” you say, dropping your voice to a lower, almost sultry tone as you lean into him, pressing the front of your body into his. Nick responds by pulling you in closer, his hand dipping down the hem of his jacket on your shoulders to slide down onto the curve of your ass.

“Take me home Detective Amaro,” you say as the lift door dings open.

“Your wish is my command,” Nick says in response, taking the opportunity to sear another quick kiss onto your lips before tugging you out of the lift.

[specialinterestshows]

minor spoiler if u havent see raw 7/22

yeah sorry i went insane for a few. Yea oh lord yea im re reading. Idk if youve seen raw yet but if so the clip of rhea licking doms face😭❤️🫡

it wont lemme insert the vid i have i can dm it to you so likeeeee

Like gn!afab!reader and dom yella at liv and then rhea does that little lick thing and she then takes reader and dom back stage and fucks them? And like raging mommy kink (idk if you could tell but i LOVE mommy/daddy kinks /sarc) and but like POSSESIVE SEX like they get handsy back stage a damian is like “take it easy” the they fuck at the hotel.

holy fuck i love this woman lmao

You got it!

The following is a gender-neutral!AFAB!reader x Rhea Ripley x Dominik Mysterio oneshot, based on the incident in the aforementioned episode of Raw (which I have been mentally calling “the face-lick that launched a thousand fics.”)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, mommy kink (for reader; Dom still calls her Mami), possessive dirty talk, choking, face-licking, voyeurism, groping, orgasm control, biting, blindfolding, body writing, possessive sex, begging, edging

-

Squared Circle Triad

“Wepa!”

Damian quickly averted his eyes, having walked into the Judgment Day locker room to see Rhea with you and Dom. She had half-stripped the two of you already, black lipstick prints covering you both. She ran her nails across you for a moment longer before turning around.

“Just reminding both of them who they belong to,” Rhea smirked, “Mami’s been gone so long, hasn’t she, loves?”

She was right. Three months without Rhea had left you and Dom scrambling trying to get the title belt away from Liv and avoiding her increasingly uncomfortable advances toward you both. It had all come to a head tonight, when Dom started yelling at Liv.

You were surprised at first, never having seen him have an outburst quite like that before. But the more he spoke, the more you agreed and, eventually, both of you were yelling across the stadium for Liv to stop trying to interfere with your relationship. She ran away crying - but the moment she did, Rhea grabbed both you and Dom by the throat in that passionate, possessive way you both missed.

You watched his goofy grin as Rhea slowly licked the side of Dom’s face and kissed him, before doing the same with you. A thrill ran up your spine and you were left a bit dazed as she whispered something about wanting both your tongues next, pulling the two of you out of the ring and into a more private setting - but not completely private.

“Yeah, well, take it easy,” Damian suggested, looking at the three of you now, “Carlito walks in here and I guarantee he’s gonna make it weird.”

“Relax,” Rhea chuckled, “Never thought you’d mind getting a free show so much.”

Her lips brushed your shoulder as she played with Dom through his unbuttoned pants, her teeth sinking into your skin and making you moan loudly. You felt your face get warmer, knowing you were being watched.

“That’s cool,” Carlito’s voice made you look over, realizing your audience now included the entirety of the rest of the Judgment Day and company, all watching intently.

“Perverts,” Rhea sighed, letting go of you and Dom, “Alright, alright, we’re leaving for the hotel.”

Grabbing what clothes you recognized as quickly as you could, a sigh made you look up. Dom locked eyes with you, disheveled and visibly aroused. He seemed hesitant to leave, despite the crowd.

An insistent cough and tilt of her head from your girlfriend told the two of you to hurry up. There was no hesitation after that, both of you re-dressing in record time.

“Coming, Mami!” Dom said as he walked over, not appearing to realize his shirt was on inside-out.

“Not yet,” Rhea teased, grabbing his jaw as you caught up, “Not without permission.”

She let go and you grabbed Dom’s hand, pulling him along with you as you followed.

As you exited the room, you swore you could faintly hear:

“That’s… cool?”

-

Once the three of you entered the hotel room, both you and Dom were told to strip down to nothing. Eagerly following orders, it quickly became a sort of competition as to who could strip faster, Dom playfully throwing his clothes your way as soon as he removed them until you were doing the same.

“Behave for Mommy, darlings,” Rhea warned, trying not to laugh at your antics, “Go on, kiss and make up.”

Dropping the underwear you still had balled up in your hand, you threw your arms around Dom and the two of you giggled as you kissed.

“That’s better,” she said, slowly taking off her belt and undoing her pants, “Family shouldn’t fight. Family” - she let her pants, belt and all, fall to the floor before running her hand along the small wet patch that was already soaking through her panties - “should love each other.”

Once her underwear also laid on the floor in a heap, Rhea turned around and bent over. While you and Dom were distracted by the mouthwatering view, her hand disappeared into one of her bags for a moment, pulling out a purple bandana and a shiny, silver marker.

“You, on your knees,” she ordered, pointing at Dom, then the floor underneath her, “You’re mine, which means your mouth is too. Get to work.”

While Dom did as he was told, Rhea folded the bandana.

“You, come closer,” she was speaking to you now, beckoning you forward with one finger.

Rhea was already biting her lip and sighing at the touch of Dom’s tongue when you stepped forward. She placed the bandana over your eyes, tying it into a makeshift blindfold.

“Can you see?” she asked, breath hitching at the end of the question.

“No, Mommy,” you replied, mesmerized by the sounds of her restrained pleasure.

“Good,” you heard the smile in her voice before she moaned, “Fuck, that’s it, Dom-Dom.”

A cool feeling slithered across your chest as the acrid marker smell reached your nose. No matter how hard you tried to concentrate on how the marker moved - and what she might be writing - you were distractingly wet and aching with desire. Listening to both of your partners enjoying each other wasn’t making it easier.

“Hold still,” she instructed when you squirmed, “Mommy wants to make sure everyone can read what she’s writing on you.”

After what felt like far too long, you finally heard the click of the marker cap snapping back into place.

“Yes… fuck yes… smile for the camera,” Rhea said before the sound of her phone taking photos clicked over and over, “Mmm, fuck, now turn around” - her hand gently touched your waist to make sure you did as you were told - “So good for Mommy.”

The moans that rang in your ears were getting louder as the blindfold was untied and lifted away from your eyes. The look on Rhea’s face told you she was close to coming. She confirmed your suspicions when she pulled you in for a deep, passionate kiss and your lips buzzed, her grip on you tightening as she trembled, letting the sensation engulf her. Your body screamed for the same pleasure, but you knew trying to touch yourself would only delay it further, so you kept your hands at your sides and melted into the kiss.

After riding out her orgasm, Rhea let go of you and giggled. Looking over, you saw Dom serenely licking cum off his mustache before looking down at yourself. You could only read some of what Rhea had scrawled across you. Then, you remembered her taking photos.

“What is it, darling?” she asked, eyes searching you for a hint at what you might be thinking.

“Can I see the pictures?” you asked shyly, watching her slight worry turn to amusement.

“Of course you can,” Rhea cooed, “Look at all the lovely things Mommy wrote on you, baby.”

You looked through the pictures of you on her phone as you felt Dominik’s eyes reading what he could see of you.

There were several that made you smile:

“I love my Mommy” across your chest,

“Pretty little plaything” on your lower back,

Yours, Dom’s, and Rhea’s initials inside a heart on your side, separated by little plus signs,

“Rhea’s forever” on your shoulder.

By the time you were done reading, you were practically dripping down your own thighs.

“Get a good look?” Rhea asked, smiling when you nodded and handed back her phone, “Perfect. Now switch places, both of you.”

A gentle peck on your cheek sent you on your way. A second later, Dom pulled you in for a kiss, the familiar taste of your girlfriend still on his lips, before grabbing your ass and taking your place - standing, ready to be blindfolded.

Kneeling down between Rhea’s legs, you greeted her with your open mouth. Her body responded as soon as you started to move your tongue, the melody of her ecstasy beginning once again.

The orders she gave Dom became background noise as you focused all your attention on pleasing Rhea. You hummed against her, delighting in how good she tasted. Losing yourself in the rhythm of your own movements and your girlfriend’s moaning, your mind reached a point where your thoughts melted into muscle memory.

Even without having payed attention to any of the words exchanged between your partners, you knew when Rhea was done with Dom when she suddenly started moaning louder. Your mouth moved faster and faster, tongue flicking wildly, until Rhea filled the room with the sound of her climax. She tasted even sweeter when she came, and it took her yanking you away to stop you from trying to push her through to yet another orgasm.

Grinning, Rhea turned, reaching into her bag once more as you and Dom took a moment to examine what she had written on him. The two of you compared similar ones; his said “Mami” where yours said “Mommy,” among other slight differences. Each of you was so busy pointing out what was written on the other that it wasn’t until Rhea said “Your turns now” that the two of you turned to look at her again.

She was stanced powerfully, naked except for the strapon fully snug against her hips, thighs, and ass. The purple toy she had on was one that the three of you had picked out together; thick, with a series of bumps around the base that drove you and Dom wild.

“Lay down on the bed, babe,” she told you, giggling at how quickly you followed instructions. Then, once you had, “Scoot down a bit.”

You did so, but apparently not far enough.

“Here, let me help,” she said before pulling you closer to the edge by giving your ankles a sharp tug, “There we go. Now Dom-Dom, you get on top of them, facing each other.”

She pushed him down once he held himself over you, making his elbows buckle and his torso press against yours. You gasped at how hard he was, the pre-cum dripping down his shaft smoothing the friction against your clit as he squirmed.

“Good boy,” she praised, “You’re going to stay there, just like that, and you’re not allowed to come until they come twice.”

Dom whined pathetically at this news, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Aw, don’t worry,” Rhea told him, “You’ll still get to feel Mami fucking them while I tease you.”

Saying this, she pressed the tip of the toy against your wet, needy hole.

“You’re not allowed to come without saying you belong to me first,” she pushed a bit further inside you for emphasis, “Understand?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you whined, desperate to feel her fill you all the way.

“Let’s practice,” Rhea suggested, drawing out your anticipation, “Pretend you’re getting close. What do you say?”

“I belong to you, Mommy,” you recited.

“That’s right, just like that,” she praised.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head the moment she slid so deep inside you that you felt the texture at the base of the toy.

The first few thrusts released your unrestrained moans into the air, feeling like almost too much all at once - just the way you liked it. Dom obediently remained on top of you, making needy noises as he kissed your neck. Your fingers gripped his hair as you rapidly approached your first orgasm.

“I’m close,” you moaned. Then, remembering your orders, “I belong to you, Mommy.”

In response, she started fucking you harder; but you still didn’t have her verbal permission.

“I’m yours!” you cried out, so close you were worried you might come whether you had permission or not, “I’m yours!”

“Come for me,” Rhea purred, praising you as your body automatically responded to the command. She had trained you well, and a few months away hadn’t dulled that training in the slightest.

As you rode out your pleasure, Dom suddenly began squirming on top of you, noises growing more desperate.

Once you had fallen into aftershocks, you opened your eyes and moved your head to see Rhea teasing Dom’s asshole with the pad of her thumb.

“Mami!” Dom moaned.

He sounded so cute when he was desperate that you couldn’t help but want to tease him a bit too. You nibbled on his ear as Rhea stopped moving the toy inside you, both of you having too much fun torturing Dom. He whined your name next, knowing he shouldn’t even think about coming until you had done so again.

“Aww, he’s confused,” you joked, “You don’t need my permission, babe.”

“Mami, please,” Dom begged urgently, “Please make them come again.”

“Oh I will,” Rhea said, “But I’ll take my sweet time doing it.”

She gradually started thrusting in and out of you again, the sublime motion making you cling to Dom. He whimpered against you as you grew closer and closer to your next orgasm with every movement. But, just when you were getting close enough to confess Rhea’s ownership of you once more, she stopped entirely. Both you and Dom groaned in frustration, making her laugh with delight.

“You’re both so cute when you want it this badly,” your girlfriend said, a twinge in her voice betraying the sadism behind her sweetness.

Before either one of you could try to beg, Rhea began fucking you and touching Dom at the same time. Your moans and his echoing each other as you both writhe against one another, a fervent mass of flesh chasing release.

But the moment the word “Mommy” escapes your lips, Rhea stops, leaving only the tip of the toy inside of you. The whine of defeat muffled by your shoulder tells you that both of you have been left at the edge.

“Please, Mommy,” you hear yourself say, so needy your words are running into each other, “Please, I’ll do anything-“

The heavenly sensation of Rhea sliding all the way back into you made you lose your train of thought, the loud sound of how wet you were punctuating each push of her hips. It wasn’t long before you were close once again.

“I belong to you, Mommy!” you cried out hopefully.

But rather than giving you permission, she slowed her pace instead.

Dom started begging her not to stop. Soon, the both of you were pleading for her to let you come.

“Alright, alright,” she finally conceded, “Mommy can’t say no to both of you.”

Rhea started thrusting again, showing you just how much she had been holding back by putting her weight behind every bruising, carnal thrust pounded into you this time, until the hotel walls resonated with your cries of pleasure. She fervently fucked you past your peak, until you whimpered a breathy “thank you, Mommy.”

Rhea pulled out of you then, immediately sliding the head of the toy into Dom. Your cum must have made excellent lube, judging by the way he was moaning on top of you.

Once the toy was all the way inside of him, Dom came embarrassingly fast, all over your torso and his.

“Gracias, Mami,” he breathed as she pulled out.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Rhea says, leaving you and Dom in a warm, sticky embrace as you kissed each other.

She appeared by the bed again a moment later, handing you both warm, damp towels to clean off with. Dom rolled off of you with a sigh and began cleaning off.

“You two did so good for me,” she praised, loosening the straps on her harness before climbing out of it, “Need anything else?”

“Just you,” was your reply as you wiped the last bit off your chest. Dom agreed, motioning for her to join the two of you.

She turned off the light, crawled over, and sat down on the bed. Her arms were around you both before your eyes even had time to adjust. The three of you moved and shifted into each other until you had all found maximum comfort.

“Te amo,” Dom mumbled sleepily, tapping Rhea’s hand with one finger.

“Te amo,” he said again, doing the same with you, “Buenas noches.”

“Good night,” you said to your partners, “I love you both.”

“And?” Rhea asked, gently grabbing hold of your jaw to get her point across.

You understood immediately.

“And I’m yours.”

[end]

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@domripley , @falloutboy-lover , @emogoblin-666 , @teganc , @sinderellanightwolf