Yes Fr

thank you polly very cool

cute puppy and stupid cat P.2 ig

One Week | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey brings home a cat.

fluff

“It’s just for a week,” Casey said, cradling a scrawny, orange creature in her arms like she was holding a human infant (which wasn’t too far off, because the thing had been screaming since she left the shelter).

Alex gave the cat a once-over. It looked like it had recently fought God, lost, and now lived with the consequences. Its fur stuck out at odd angles, it was missing a small chunk of one ear, and it was currently trying to climb into Casey’s jacket.

“She looks like she eats drywall,” Alex said.

“She’s perfect,” Casey cooed, stroking the cat’s crooked whiskers. “Her name’s Pickles.”

“Of course it is,” Alex sighed. “One week.”

Casey’s face lit up. “I love you so much.”

“One. Week,” Alex repeated, pointing.

“Totally.”

“No exceptions.”

“Absolutely.”

“She’s not sleeping in the bed.”

Three hours later, Pickles was curled up between them on the bed, snoring, her matted tail flicking over Alex’s bare leg.

Alex blinked at the ceiling, deadpan. “I hate you.”

Casey, already half-asleep with a smile on her face, murmured, “Love you too.”

Day Two started with the distinct sound of ceramic shattering on hardwood.

Alex bolted upright in bed. “What was that?”

Casey, groggy and wrapped in the comforter, barely opened one eye. “She’s just exploring.”

“She’s committing crimes,” Alex said, storming into the kitchen.

There, on the counter, sat Pickles—smug and entirely unbothered—next to the broken remains of Alex’s prized espresso mug. The one from Florence. The one Alex had bubble-wrapped and hand-carried back through airport security because “you can’t trust checked luggage with art.”

Pickles sneezed directly into the open sugar bowl.

Casey appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “She’s got spirit.”

“She’s got a death wish,” Alex muttered, sweeping up the shards.

Pickles leapt down and immediately attempted to climb Alex’s pant leg like a tree.

Day 4.

Alex returned home to the sound of running water and the distinct, unmistakable sound of something being violently splashed.

Alarmed, she dropped her briefcase and hurried toward the bathroom.

“Casey?” she called out, knocking once before pushing the door open.

The scene inside resembled a crime scene. The floor was soaked. A towel hung halfway off the shower rod like it had tried to escape. Shampoo bottles littered the ground. In the center of the chaos, Casey sat on a tiny plastic stool, soaked from the neck down, with a defeated look on her face.

Pickles sat beside her in the tub, completely drenched and looking like a very wet, very pissed-off meatball.

Her fur clung to her bones in angry spikes. Her eyes were wild, pupils fully dilated, as she clung to the porcelain tub wall like she was scaling it to freedom. The water was shallow, barely enough to soak her paws, but Pickles made it sound like she was being boiled alive.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Alex demanded, eyebrows raised so high they nearly reached her hairline.

Casey looked up like a prisoner of war. “I thought she had a flea,” she said weakly. “She kept scratching and I panicked. I Googled it. It said to try a bath.”

“You Googled it?” Alex repeated, stunned. “You didn’t call a vet. You didn’t ask me. You just threw the cat in the tub like you’re washing a pair of jeans?”

“I gently lowered her in,” Casey said, defensive. “She launched herself out.”

As if on cue, Pickles made a sound like that of a kettle and tried to leap onto the windowsill. She missed, skidded on a bar of soap, and landed in Alex’s lap.

Alex screamed.

Casey screamed.

Pickles hissed, scratched, and bolted out of the bathroom, leaving wet paw prints and chaos in her wake.

There was a long pause.

Alex, frozen, slowly looked down at the claw marks on her thigh. “I’m bleeding.”

“She didn’t mean it,” Casey said, reaching for a towel and trying not to laugh.

“She’s a menace,” Alex muttered, yanking toilet paper off the roll to dab her leg. “You bathed her like she’s a golden retriever. She weighs five pounds and runs entirely on spite.”

“I panicked,” Casey said again, standing up and wringing out the ends of her hair. “I just—I wanted her to feel clean and safe.”

Alex gave her a look, but her expression softened. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

Casey stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist, and buried her wet face in her shoulder. “She’s kind of growing on you, though.”

Alex sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

From the hallway, a wet mrrp echoed like a vengeful ghost.

Alex groaned. “She’s plotting her revenge.”

“She just wants a cuddle.”

“She wants my soul.”

Day 6.

Alex had gone to the store for one thing: oat milk.

Just oat milk. Maybe a box of herbal tea if they had the kind Casey liked. A quick, efficient stop on her way home from court. In and out.

She did not plan to spend 18 minutes in the pet food aisle.

Yet there she was, dressed in slacks and a tailored coat, crouched on the linoleum floor comparing cans of cat food as if they contained ancient scripture.

“Why are there so many flavors?” she muttered to herself, holding up a tin of “Tuna Florentine in a Delicate Sauce” and squinting at the ingredient list. “Why does she need Florentine anything? She eats her own tail.”

A woman with a stroller passed by and gave her a sympathetic smile. Alex straightened abruptly, tucking the can under her arm like it was contraband.

Eventually, she walked out with three different flavors of “gourmet” wet food, a new ceramic food bowl shaped like a fish (because the current one was ‘depressing,’ Casey had claimed), and, inexplicably, a catnip-infused plush mouse.

She sat in traffic for twenty minutes afterward, staring straight ahead and re-evaluating her entire life.

When she opened the apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sound of Pickles yowling. Not her usual war cry. This one was lower, more drawn-out. Sadder.

“Casey?” Alex called.

“In the bedroom!”

Alex toed off her shoes and followed the noise to find Pickles sprawled dramatically on the bed, head on Casey’s pillow like a Victorian widow. Casey stood at the dresser, folding laundry.

“She wouldn’t eat the chicken pate,” Casey said as Alex entered. “She stared at it like I’d offended her ancestors.”

Alex blinked. “That was the expensive kind.”

“She looked at me like I was a disappointment. Then she licked my leg and sulked off.”

Alex dropped the bag on the bed and pulled out the new cans. “What about Tuna Florentine?”

Casey gasped. “You got her a fish bowl.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Pickles perked up at the sound of the bag rustling. She rose slowly, suspiciously, and approached Alex.

Alex knelt down. “Look, demon. I brought you the kind with gravy. You better appreciate this.”

Pickles sniffed the air, bumped her head gently against Alex’s knee, then curled up against her side like it was no big deal.

Casey froze.

Alex stared down at the creature now purring like a chainsaw in her lap.

“She’s using me for food,” Alex said flatly.

Casey’s face was splitting into a grin. “She cuddled you.”

“She thinks I’m a vending machine.”

“She loves you,” Casey sang, grabbing her phone. “Smile for the ‘Alex Is Soft Now’ album.”

“I will end you.”

Pickles lifted her head and licked Alex’s hand once.

Alex blinked. “Okay… that was almost cute.”

“Admit it,” Casey said, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “You love her.”

“I—” Alex looked down. Pickles was now curled tightly in her lap, snoring. “I think I’m being emotionally manipulated.”

Casey walked over, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, “Welcome to cat ownership.”

Alex sighed and gently stroked a patch of Pickles’ fur that wasn’t sticking up like a cowlick.

“She’s still not sleeping in the bed.”

“She definitely is.”

Alex didn’t argue.

Day 7.

Casey was crying.

Not the cute, watery-eyed sniffles that made Alex melt a little. No. This was full-on, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. She’d clearly given up on tissues and was just using the sleeve of Alex’s hoodie, which she’d stolen again. Pickles was curled in her lap, purring gently and blinking in that vaguely condescending way only cats could manage, like she didn’t quite understand what the fuss was about.

“I just—she trusted me,” Casey hiccupped, pressing her cheek to Pickles’ bony side. “She’s finally not screaming all the time and now I have to take her back? She thinks she lives here, Alex.”

From the door, Alex said nothing. There was a brief scraping noise.

“I mean, I know it was supposed to be a week, I know, I know, but she’s mine, okay? She’s weird and loud and shaped like a brick and she bites you for no reason but—” Casey broke off with another sob, wiping her nose on the cuff of her sleeve. “I love her.”

There was a grunt. More scraping.

Casey looked up blearily, snotty and red-faced, just as Alex emerged from the hallway dragging in a cat tree the size of her.

It had platforms. Ramps. A tunnel. A little flower-shaped perch at the top.

“What… are you doing?” Casey asked between gasping sobs, brow furrowed.

Alex set the tree down with a thud, wiped her hands on her jeans, and looked Casey dead in the eyes.

“I signed the adoption papers three days ago,” she said casually.

Silence.

Pickles let out a single, satisfied squawk.

Casey stared at her, mouth open, blinking rapidly like her brain had short-circuited. “You… what?”

Alex walked over, knelt in front of the couch, and gently wiped a tear off Casey’s cheek with her thumb. “You really thought I was going to make you give her up after you made her a little hat out of yarn and sang her a lullaby last night?”

“That was private,” Casey whimpered.

“I know,” Alex said, smiling faintly. “I came out for water and heard you rhyming ‘Pickles’ with ‘tickles.’ It was disturbing.”

Casey laughed, then immediately hiccuped and cried harder.

“She’s ours?”

“She’s ours,” Alex confirmed. “Congratulations. You’re now legally responsible for a sentient dust mop with abandonment issues.”

Casey clutched Pickles to her chest, who tolerated it with a quiet wheeze, and reached out with her free hand to pull Alex into a hug.

Alex let herself be folded in, buried her face in Casey’s hair, and whispered, “She’s still not sleeping in the bed.”

From her new perch, Pickles blinked slowly, smug as hell.

She knew.

sawdust flavored sandwich

when i was fifteen, i rode my bike home from work and stopped at a pumpkin patch. it was one of those shitty seasonal pop-ups. i had stopped by before my shift to see the animals, and one rabbit had caught my eye. she was bigger, yet more timid. she had this beautiful black fur with little grey spots around her face.

it was almost 37 degrees out and they were just in a pen on the pavement with no water.

i knelt by it and reached my hand in to feel the one i found earlier. nothing. i tried to shake her awake but i was too late. she was cold and stiff, even in the heat.

i ran for the owner and showed her what I’d found. she wasn’t sympathetic or remorseful, there wasn’t an ounce of guilt in her expression. she grabbed the rabbit by the hind legs and threw her in the dumpster behind the concessions.

her body was so stiff it kept its form the whole time. so i took her. and i held her in my arms. it was difficult to balance my bike while holding her so tight but i took her to the park and i dug her a little grave.

i still see her. still feel the dirt under my nails. maybe if i had come sooner.

pwp or like… a fic with actual effort…

Benched | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey faints at the batting cage. Alex panics. There’s urgent care, tears, IVs, attempted soup arson, and cuddles. consider this my formal apology for yams. too tired to edit. fluff. lots of it. mention of needles and iv's 2.3k wc

“Come on, it’s not that hot,” Casey said, rolling her shoulders as she stepped up to the plate again. Her cheeks were flushed, hair frizzing beneath the helmet, and she looked determined, which, Alex knew, was Casey’s default setting, even on a Saturday.

Alex sat primly on the bench, legs crossed at the ankle, sunglasses fixed in place, and a book in one hand. She looked entirely unbothered, like someone who had not been dragged to a dusty batting cage on her only free afternoon. “You say that like you’re not about to pass out in front of suburban dads and ten-year-olds.”

Casey swung and missed. Then again. Then—thwack. A clean hit that cracked into the chain-link fence.

“There’s the overachiever I know and put up with,” Alex said, sipping her drink.

“I’m relaxing,” Casey shot back, panting slightly. “This is cathartic.”

“You prosecute creeps more gently than you treat that ball.”

But Casey didn’t answer. She stayed still after her next swing, bat slipping from her fingers. Her knees wobbled.

Alex was standing before she even realized she’d moved.

“Casey?”

Then Casey slumped to the ground.

Alex was through the gate in seconds, her stride purposeful despite the uneven turf and the useless wedge sandals she’d insisted on wearing. A teenage staffer reached out to help, but Alex brushed past him with a lawyer’s practiced authority.

“Move,” she said calmly. “I’ve got her.”

She knelt beside Casey, immediately checking her pulse, her voice steady despite the panic crawling up her spine. “Casey, hey. Talk to me.”

Casey groaned, eyes fluttering open. “M’fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Alex’s tone was firm but measured. “You just passed out mid-swing like a melodramatic heroine.”

“I didn’t faint.”

“You did. And we’re not arguing about it.” She adjusted Casey’s head onto her knee and glanced at the staffer. “Get water. Cold. Please.”

Casey squinted at her through bleary eyes. “Don’t yell.”

“I’m not yelling,” Alex said, already helping her sit up slowly. “You’re hearing the sound of barely restrained panic in an extremely competent tone.”

The kid brought a bottle of water. Alex held it to Casey’s lips with one hand and dialed her phone with the other.

Casey caught sight of the screen. “No ambulances. Alex, no.”

“Yes ambulances,” Alex said coolly.

“No! They’ll charge me six hundred dollars to sit in traffic and I’ll end up in the ER with some intern who thinks I’m hungover.”

Alex paused. Calculated. She weighed her options like she would a plea deal. “Urgent care,” she decided. “But I’m driving.”

“Against my will?”

“You fainted. You don’t get a vote.”

“You’re kidnapping me.”

“I’ll get off with probation,” Alex muttered, already looping Casey’s arm around her shoulder.

Alex helped Casey through the sliding doors of urgent care, her grip steady, her expression composed. The air conditioning hit them like a wall, and Casey immediately sagged against her.

“Try not to smack your face on the tile,” Alex murmured gently. “I don’t think your dignity could survive two concussions in one day.”

Casey managed a weak glare.

Alex sat her down in the waiting area before approaching the front desk.

“Hi, good afternoon,” she said warmly to the receptionist. “Novak, Casey. She fainted at the batting cages. She’s conscious, but dizzy, lightheaded, and pale.”

Casey made a strangled noise. “Don’t say pale.”

“You are,” Alex replied sweetly, “but in a very charming way.”

The receptionist glanced at Casey, who gave her a miserable little wave from where she was slumped against the chair.

“We’ll get her checked in right away,” the woman said, handing over a clipboard. “Just fill this out.”

“I can take care of that,” Alex offered smoothly. “She’s not in any condition to write her name right now.”

“Still standing right here,” Casey mumbled, eyes closed.

Within twenty minutes, they were in a small exam room. Casey sat on the edge of the bed, looking like she was trying to disappear into the wall. Alex sat in the visitor’s chair beside her, legs crossed neatly, reading a pamphlet titled Hydration and You like it was a Supreme Court brief. “It says here that coffee is not a hydrating beverage.”

“I’ll sue,” Casey muttered.

“You’ll lose. Science is against you.”

Casey groaned. “Don’t joke. I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying. You’re dehydrated.”

“Same thing.”

There was a soft knock, and the nurse entered. “Alright, Ms. Novak, your blood pressure’s a little low, and your heart rate’s up, which tells me you’re still pretty dehydrated. We’re going to start you on some IV fluids, okay?”

Casey stiffened. “IV?”

The nurse smiled kindly. “It’ll just be a little needle. We’ll put the line in your arm, and it’ll take about thirty minutes.”

“Wait. Wait, no.”

“Just a small IV in your arm. It won’t take long at all—”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Casey’s voice cracked. “Alex, I can’t—” She started shaking her head, eyes wide, panic flooding her face. “Needles—I can’t—no. No. Can’t you just give me, like, Gatorade?”

Alex stood and stepped in gently, putting herself between Casey and the nurse. “You sued the U.S. military. You can handle this.”

“Alex.”

Her voice was small now. Embarrassed. Her eyes were glassy.

Alex sat beside her on the table, slipping her arm around her waist. “Hey. Look at me.”

Casey did. Just barely.

“Breathe. You’re okay.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.” Alex kissed her temple, voice low and steady. “But you’re braver than you think.”

“I’m not just scared, I’m—I’m terrified.” Her hands trembled, and tears filled her eyes, slipping down her cheeks.

Alex’s heart cracked. She cupped Casey’s face and brushed her thumbs gently under her eyes. “I know. But you fainted, sweetheart. You need fluids.”

Casey sniffled. “Will you hold my hand?”

Alex stood and pressed the call button. “Always.”

The nurse returned moments later with practiced grace. “We’ll make this quick,” she promised.

Casey whimpered as the nurse prepped her arm. “Talk to me. Talk about anything.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time I accidentally set off the courthouse metal detector because I had a fork in my purse?”

Casey let out a wet, hiccuped laugh. “A fork?”

“Leftover cake. It was strategic.”

“Of course it was.”

The needle went in. Casey squeezed her eyes shut, gripping Alex’s hand like a lifeline, a tear sliding down her cheek, but it was done before she even noticed.

“All finished,” the nurse said, securing the line with tape. “You did great.”

Casey sagged against Alex, still sniffling. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Alex murmured into her hair. “You were brilliant.”

“Did you really bring a fork to court?”

“With intent,” Alex said gravely.

Casey let out a soft, exhausted laugh.

Alex kissed her hair again and tightened her hold. “Next time, we’re going to the bookstore.”

By the time they got home, Casey was groggy but stable, her color returning and a blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. Alex had insisted.

“Stop looking at me like I’m a ghost bride,” Casey grumbled as she flopped onto the couch.

“You passed out in public and cried over a needle. You’re getting pampered whether you like it or not,” Alex said, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “Blanket stays.”

“Fine. But I draw the line at hot water bottles. I’m not a reptile.”

“Noted,” Alex called from the kitchen, already rifling through the pantry. “Now. Sit back, relax, and let your competent, nurturing wife handle dinner.”

There was a long pause.

“You’ve never cooked a day in your life,” Casey said warily.

“I have. I just choose not to.”

“You tried to make toast once and set off the smoke alarm.”

Alex sounded very dignified. “It was an old toaster.”

“You tried to microwave pasta with the water already drained.”

“That was an experiment.”

“Alex.”

“I’m making soup,” Alex declared. “You can’t ruin soup.”

This, of course, was a lie.

Within minutes, chaos was quietly erupting in the kitchen. Alex had put a pot on the stove and dumped in a can of tomato soup without reading the part about adding water. Then she added garlic. And pepper. And half a bottle of basil because, as she whispered to herself, “that’s what chefs on TV do.”

Casey stayed curled on the couch, listening to the clinking of metal and muttered curses.

Then the inevitable:

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The smoke alarm screamed to life.

Casey didn’t even flinch. “So... what stage of the culinary process are we in now?”

“There is... a small issue,” Alex said as calmly as possible, waving a towel at the ceiling.

“You started a fire, didn’t you?”

“It’s contained.”

“You burned canned soup.”

“I enhanced it.”

Casey dragged herself off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, still wrapped in her blanket. She stared at the pot, which was bubbling with thick, violently red sludge.

“Alex.”

Alex looked at her, helpless. “I wanted to take care of you.”

Casey’s heart squeezed in her chest. “You’re a disaster.”

“I know.”

“But you’re my disaster.” She reached up and smudged some tomato off Alex’s cheek. “Let’s order takeout before you burn the building down.”

Alex sagged in relief. “Bless you. Chinese?”

“Obviously.”

They ended up curled on the couch twenty minutes later with lo mein and soup that didn’t require a fire extinguisher. Casey had her head on Alex’s lap, the blanket still wrapped around her. Alex carded gentle fingers through her hair as they watched some nature documentary narrated by someone very British.

“Hey,” Casey murmured. “Thank you. For today.”

Alex looked down at her. “For dragging you to urgent care?”

“For holding my hand. For kissing my forehead. For ordering me egg rolls instead of feeding me spicy tomato cement.”

Alex smirked. “It had potential.”

Casey yawned. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“And you're lucky you're dramatic enough to keep life interesting.”

“Mm. Let’s go to bed.”

“Will you faint on the way there?”

“Only if it gets me out of washing the dishes.”

By the time the dishes were ignored and the leftovers safely stashed, Casey was already half-asleep on the bathroom counter with a toothbrush dangling from her mouth. Alex leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with the fond exasperation of someone deeply in love with a woman who could argue down a judge but couldn't stay awake for a full hygiene routine.

“You’re foaming at the mouth like a rabid raccoon,” Alex said softly.

Casey pointed at her with her toothbrush.

“You love this raccoon.”

“Tragically, I do.”

Casey made a pitiful whining noise and swayed forward a little too dramatically, nearly bonking her head on the mirror. Alex caught her just in time, steadying her with a hand on her back.

“Okay, come here,” Alex murmured, easing her upright.

She plucked the toothbrush from Casey’s hand with practiced efficiency, dabbed a bit more toothpaste on it, and turned the water back on.

“You’re not brushing, you’re just… foaming and dozing. This is a liability.”

“I’m very tired,” Casey slurred, leaning heavily on her shoulder. “You have no idea.”

Alex smirked and gently tapped the toothbrush against her lips. “Open.”

“You’re brushing my teeth? What am I, five?”

“Yes. Five, dramatic, and currently a biohazard.”

Despite her protests, Casey parted her lips with a tiny huff, letting Alex guide the toothbrush across her teeth in slow, careful strokes.

“Wow,” Casey mumbled around the bristles, “You’re very gentle. Did you miss your calling as a hygienist?”

“I’m adding it to the list,” Alex said. “Right between ‘terrible cook’ and ‘expert wife.’ Spit.”

Casey did, then leaned her cheek against Alex’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Okay,” Alex whispered, guiding her toward the door. “Bedtime.”

Eventually, after much blanket arranging and flopping and one brief moment of panic when Casey realized she left her phone charging in the kitchen, they settled under the covers. The lights were low, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the street outside and the occasional creak of the old building.

Alex lay on her back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other curled protectively around Casey, who had wasted no time sprawling half on top of her.

Casey rested her cheek against Alex’s chest, fingers lazily tracing little patterns on the fabric of her top. “I was really scared today,” she said quietly.

Alex kissed the top of her head. “I know.”

“Like, really scared. I hate that it got to me so much.”

“It’s not weakness,” Alex said gently. “Fear isn’t a flaw. It’s just… real.”

“I cried in front of a nurse.”

“You also made some good hits before fainting. It balances out.”

Casey laughed softly. “You really were going to call an ambulance, weren’t you?”

“You hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and then tried to argue with me about consciousness. Yes, I was going to call an ambulance.”

Casey looked up at her, eyes warm. “I love you.”

She reached down and brushed her thumb over Casey’s cheek. “I love you too.”

“Even when I’m dehydrated and sobbing?”

“Especially then.”

Casey leaned up and pressed a slow kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth. “You’re the only person I’d faint in front of twice.”

Alex smiled against her lips. “If you do, I’m buying you a CamelBak and taping electrolyte packets to your blazer.”

They kissed again—soft and slow and sleepy.

Then Casey burrowed back into her side with a yawn. “If I die in my sleep, tell the nurse she was very nice.”

“She was.”

“And that I want to be buried with egg rolls.”

Alex ran her fingers through Casey’s hair, a quiet, rhythmic motion. “Noted.”

A few minutes passed in silence.

“You know,” Casey murmured, voice drifting, “you’re actually kind of good at this.”

“At what?”

“This. Comfort. Caretaking. Love stuff.”

Alex looked down, a little stunned. “You think?”

“I know. Even if your soup skills are a crime against humanity.”

Alex huffed. “Go to sleep.”

“Make me.”

So Alex did by holding her closer, tucking them together beneath the covers, and pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

alex being avoidant and casey being anxious is SO real

CALEX headcanons — the series

part 1: running back to each other after breaking up and cursing each other out of their own lives

they have different attachment styles. toxic but they persevered long enough to last two years.

alex being an avoidant attachment and casey being an anxious attachment. both obtained from their own past — unhealed trauma that they carried with them.

they both healed each other but overtime, alex would catch herself relapsing and casey would always be there to catch her and coax her.

alex called the break up and casey cursed her out of her life, repeatedly yelling the sentences “i wish i never met you!” and “i hope you end up alone forever!”

alex spent her days regretting what she had done. drowning herself in work, purposely forgetting to eat, abandoning her feelings, and drinking and crying herself to sleep.

casey spent her days crying over alex. she would occasionally stare at her phone blankly hoping that maybe, just maybe, alex would call and apologize to her.

one night, alex, drunk, called casey. of course, casey picked up. she was waiting—longing for alexandra’s return.

“we we’re doing so well and i messed us up. i’m sorry my love. i really tried. i know you won’t forgive me. so, if not in this life, then maybe in the next one. i’ll be the best you’ll ever get”

sniffling, casey replied with a raspy voice. “why not now? why not in this lifetime, lex?”

there was no response from alex, only soft whimpers that could be heard from the other line. so, without any hesitation, casey grabbed her keys and rushed to their old apartment.

there, she found a cried-out alexandra. weeping, nursing a beer bottle. face red, eyes puffy, and voice raspy. “i don’t deserve you” she cried out as she saw casey’s figure.

casey sighs and walks over to her, sitting by alex’s side. “you’re all i ever wanted, you know?”

“but i’m shitty”

“so what? we all are. except you’re nice to me and you love me — deeply, endlessly.”

“if anything, we deserve each other. we’ll make it work. we already did. we can do it again”

alex, rubs her nose, smiling as she lays her head on casey’s shoulder. “i love you and i love that we’re in love”

i thought of this and giggled

Alex: “I’m pregnant.”

Casey: (blank stare) ”…Is it mine?”

Alex: (equally blank stare) “We are both women, Casey.”

Casey: (turning red) “Right. Yes. Correct. Sorry. I just… I don’t know, I panicked.”

Fanfiction writers be like:

"here's the immensely time consuming 100K word novel-length passion project I'm working on between my real life job and family! It eats up hundreds of hours of my one and only life, causes me emotional harm, and I gain basically nothing from it! Also I put it on the internet for free so anyone can read if they want. Hope you love it!" :)

The fact Cabenson is canon to Stephanie and Mariska is just…

My heart!!