Law And Order SVU: Season 3, Episode 16: Popular

Diane Neal’s dog, Father Ted🕊️

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!" :)

Clerical Error | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

one bed trope because why tf not fluff? they start making out. nothing explicit. that's what your imagination is for. freaks.

Casey Novak checked her watch for the third time as the train began to slow. Outside the window, the upstate landscape blurred past: amber trees, lonely fields, gas stations clinging to the highway. It was colder here than in Manhattan, the kind of air that bit the edges of your coat and promised a long winter.

Across from her, Alex Cabot barely glanced up from her copy of The Giver..

Casey cleared her throat. “So… What exactly is this conference again?”

Alex turned the page. “Cross-District Prosecutorial Strategies for High-Risk Witnesses. Hosted by Albany. They run it every fall.”

Casey nodded. “ And we’re on the same panel?”

Alex finally looked up. “It’s more of a roundtable. They want real-world insight into inter-bureau cooperation—especially with organized crime cases. Your recent fraud case had a trafficking component. That’s why you’re here.”

“Oh. So I’m the newbie they invited to make the room look diverse.”

A small smile ghosted across Alex’s face. “Don’t flatter yourself. I fought to get someone from White Collar on that panel. Your case actually had teeth.”

Casey blinked. She wasn’t expecting that. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Alex said simply, then leaned back into her seat. “Just don’t bomb. We’re both representing Manhattan.”

The hotel was the kind of place that advertised “Free WiFi” on a plastic sandwich board near the door like it was a luxury. The carpet was an aggressive maroon with gold swirls, the kind found in chain hotels with more ambition than budget. At the front desk, the clerk looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“One room under the Manhattan DA’s Office,” Alex said crisply.

The clerk typed something into her ancient computer. “Yup. Got you here. Cabot, right?” She slid a single keycard across the counter. “Room 219. One queen.”

Casey blinked. “Wait—one bed?”

“Should be two,” Alex said, already frowning. “We requested two.”

The clerk gave a shrug that said ‘not my problem’. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re at capacity. Hockey tournament in town. Last-minute changes screwed up a few reservations.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “There’s nothing else available?”

“Nope. Fully booked.”

Casey glanced sideways at Alex, lowering her voice. “We could take turns on the bed. Or I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve survived worse.”

Alex sighed and snatched the keycard. “Let’s just get upstairs. It’s been a long day.”

The room wasn’t terrible. Clean. Smelled faintly like lemon disinfectant and decades-old air conditioning. One bed in the center with stiff-looking pillows and a wooden nightstand on either side. There was a welcome packet on the dresser from the Albany DA’s Office beside a TV that probably hadn’t seen cable news since the Clinton administration.

Casey hovered near the window, arms crossed. “Well. This is cozy.”

Alex placed her briefcase down, unbuttoning her coat. “We’ll deal. I’ll call down in the morning. Maybe something will open up.”

“Or maybe we’ll both develop an aversion to personal space,” Casey muttered.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’re not that interesting.”

Casey smiled, surprised. “You’re funny when you’re tired.”

“I’m always funny. You’re just too new to notice.”

Casey moved to plug in her phone and unzip her suitcase. Alex’s eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary before she turned away and reached for the remote.

“Great,” Casey said, staring at the tiny flatscreen TV. “Maybe we can catch Top Chef before bed.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “God help us.”

The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the heater and the occasional creak of old plumbing. The lights were off, leaving only a thin sliver of orange glow bleeding through the curtains from the parking lot outside.

They lay on opposite sides of the bed, backs turned at first, but slowly, they both ended up staring at the same cracked ceiling tile, blanketed in silence.

Casey broke it first. “This is so weird.”

Alex turned her head slightly. “What?”

“Lying in bed next to you. I’ve known you for, what, a month? You don’t even like me.”

Alex huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t dislike you.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“You’re competent,” Alex said finally, like it cost her. “You care. Most people don’t. That earns you some points.”

Casey turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “Wow. I might blush.”

Alex’s lips twitched. “Please don’t.”

They both smiled in the dark. It felt strange and unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

After a moment, Casey asked, “Did you always know you wanted to do this? Law, I mean.”

Alex didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. My mother was a judge. My uncle was on the Second Circuit. It was sort of… expected.”

“Wow,” Casey said, flat. “That’s casual.”

Alex glanced over. “Let me guess. First-gen?”

“Third. But I’m the first to finish college without a baby or a felony in the middle.” She meant it lightly, but her voice dipped, just a little. “My mom cleaned houses. Dad was always deployed. I waited tables all through undergrad and law school. Worked the 2 a.m. shift at a 24-hour diner in Queens. I still hear ‘Pancakes, table six!’ in my nightmares.”

Alex turned to face her more fully now, expression unreadable. “That’s impressive.”

“It was exhausting.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex said softly.

Casey looked at her. “I know.”

Another pause. The kind where the silence feels heavy but not uncomfortable.

“You ever get tired of pretending it’s not hard?” Casey asked.

Alex blinked. “What?”

“This job. The people. The pressure. All of it. You ever get tired of acting like you were built for it?”

Alex hesitated, then said, “More often than I’ll admit out loud.”

Something softened between them. Casey didn’t smile, but she looked less guarded. “Well, for what it’s worth… you make it look easy.”

“I don’t,” Alex said, voice quiet. “I just learned how to hide the cracks.”

They both lay still for a moment, staring into the space between them.

“I think I like you better like this,” Casey murmured.

Alex quirked a brow. “In bed?”

Casey snorted. “Tired. You’re less terrifying when you’re half-asleep.”

Alex chuckled, the sound low and surprisingly warm. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” Casey whispered, eyes already drifting shut.

Alex woke slowly, pulled out of sleep by the unfamiliar weight of something warm draped across her.

She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, breathing in the scent of cheap linen and Casey’s shampoo. Something citrusy, sharp. Casey was tucked behind her, one arm draped lazily across the blonde’s waist, breath soft and steady against the back of her neck. Her legs had tangled somewhere during the night, one knee bumping against the back of Alex’s calf. She was completely, shamelessly asleep. Alex exhaled slowly. She hadn’t been held like that in years, maybe. Not without expectations. Not without cost.

She blinked her eyes open slowly, adjusting to the early morning gray that filtered through the thin curtains. Her mind was foggy with sleep, but her body was still, cautious. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling and feeling something foreign bloom in her chest.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Casey Novak was new. Rough-edged. Too young, too idealistic. All grit and no polish, yet somehow cutting through red tape like she’d been born to it. She asked too many questions. She spoke without permission. She looked at Alex like she didn’t see the name, the legacy, the curated perfection.

She looked at Alex like she was real.

And now she was wrapped around her like it was nothing. Like it was normal. Alex didn’t know how to hold that.

Carefully, she lifted Casey’s arm and slid out of bed.She stirred faintly, but didn’t wake, just sighed and turned over, her hand falling to the empty sheets beside her. Alex dressed in silence, pulling her blazer over her blouse and smoothing down the sleeves with a practiced hand. The mirror showed her what she expected: composed, sharp-eyed, untouchable.

But her hands hesitated when she picked up her watch.

She glanced over her shoulder. Casey had curled into the space she left behind, her hand resting on the pillow, brow furrowed slightly in sleep. She looked younger like this. Softer. Like someone who hadn’t been clawing her way up for years.

Alex crossed the room and stood beside the bed. For a moment, she did nothing. Then she reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair from Casey’s cheek.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Time to get up.”

Casey stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. She squinted up at Alex, confused and sleepy. “Wha—time is it?”

“Six fifteen,” Alex replied smoothly. “We’re due downstairs at seven-thirty. Thought you might want a head start.”

Casey groaned, flopping back on the mattress. “You already got dressed? God, you are a robot.”

Alex smirked faintly. “And yet you were practically using me as a body pillow all night.”

At that, Casey sat up, blinking fast. “Wait—what? Did I—?”

Alex didn’t look up from her bag. “Don’t worry. I survived.”

Casey flushed, scrubbing her hands over her face. “I swear I’m not usually like that. I just—uh. Long week.”

Alex finally looked at her. “It’s fine, Novak.”

Casey covered her face with her hands. “Kill me now.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate that at the conference.”

“Do you?” Casey asked, peeking at her through one eye.

Alex’s mouth quirked. “Not today.”

There was a long pause. Casey sat up, pulling the sheets around her. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I don’t sleep like that normally.”

Alex studied her for a moment. “I didn’t mind.”

Casey blinked.

Alex turned toward the door, her lips twitching into a smile she didn’t let Casey see.

“Get dressed,” she said. “I’m not carrying you to the conference.”

The hallway was a blur of gray suits, clacking heels, and rustling folders. A table near the wall offered lukewarm coffee in flimsy paper cups, and the buzz of pre-panel chatter filled the space like static.

Alex stood off to the side, one arm crossed as she tapped through emails on her phone. Her posture was as crisp as ever, but her eyes were a little less guarded than usual. She didn’t say anything when Casey appeared beside her, coffee in both hands.

“Coffee,” Casey said simply, handing her a cup.

Alex accepted it without looking. “If you can call it that.”

Casey smirked. “Better than nothing. Though barely.”

Alex shot her a glance. Casey looked infuriatingly fresh-faced, hair pulled into a low ponytail, a pen already clipped to her notebook. “How’d you sleep?” Casey asked, too casually.

Alex sipped her coffee. “Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone who sleep-kicks.”

Casey grinned. “I told you I don’t usually do that.”

“You also said you don’t usually latch on like an octopus.”

“Okay, ouch. I was having a vulnerable moment.”

Alex gave her a sidelong glance. “You were unconscious.”

“Exactly. The purest form of vulnerability.”

Alex tried not to smile and mostly succeeded.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that would have been unthinkable even a few weeks ago. Casey broke it first.

She tilted her head slightly, studying the banners hung along the wall. “You think they make us come to these just so we can meet people and pretend we’re not drowning?”

“I think they make us come so they can say they did something productive about inter-bureau communication,” Alex replied, deadpan.

“You’re such a ray of sunshine.”

Alex glanced over. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Casey laughed softly, then sipped her coffee. “You always this charming before nine a.m.?”

Alex arched a brow. “You’re the one who insisted on sitting next to me.”

“I didn’t see a ‘reserved for emotionally distant career women’ sign.”

Alex almost choked on her coffee. “Novak.”

Casey grinned, eyes sparkling, but said nothing more. The silence that settled between them wasn’t awkward. It felt earned. Easy.

Alex’s gaze drifted to the wide conference doors ahead. “First panel starts in fifteen.”

“Joint prosecutions. You excited?”

“I’m prepared.”

Casey bumped her shoulder lightly. “That’s what I meant.”

Another long pause. The kind that could have been filled with small talk, but wasn’t.

Finally, Alex spoke again. “You did well the other day.”

Casey blinked. “Thanks.”

“You had command of the case details. You were… direct.” She hesitated. “In a good way.”

Casey’s voice softened. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

But there was warmth behind it. Not teasing. Not cold. Something else.

The PA system crackled overhead: “Session A is now beginning in Room 4B.”

Casey shifted her coffee to her other hand and straightened her jacket. “Let’s go, Cabot. We’ll wow them with our coordinated cynicism.”

Alex gave her a sideways glance. “Don’t trip over your sarcasm on the way in.”

Casey walked beside her. “No promises.”

They entered the conference room side by side, and if Alex’s hand brushed the small of Casey’s back as they passed through the door, neither of them said a word about it.

They didn’t say much on the walk back from the little Italian place down the block. The air was cool and sticky with humidity, the sky above them smudged with clouds that didn’t quite commit to raining. The restaurant had been cozy, warm-lit and cramped, with red-checked tablecloths and bad jazz spilling out of battered speakers overhead. The pasta was passable, the wine strong enough to make them both quiet in that way that wasn't quite uncomfortable, just... careful.

Now, back in the hotel room, everything had gone still again. The soft glow of the bedside lamp turned the beige walls golden, and somewhere down the hall, a door slammed, muffled and faraway.

Casey dropped her keycard onto the dresser with a clatter that sounded louder than it should have. She kicked off her heels, letting out a soft groan as she rolled her shoulders, the motion lazy and feline. She looked tired in that sunkissed, wine-loosened way—cheeks flushed, lids low. “Shower’s calling my name,” she mumbled, voice already trailing off. “If I don’t come out in twenty minutes, assume I’ve drowned and avenge me.”

Alex, perched at the desk in one of those stiff hotel chairs, barely looked up. Her blazer was slung over the back of it, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, glasses slipping down her nose as she absently flipped through her notes from that afternoon’s legal ethics panel. “If you drown in a Marriott bathtub,” she said dryly, “I’m not sure vengeance would be my jurisdiction.”

“That’s cold, Cabot,” Casey called over her shoulder, her voice tinged with mock betrayal as she disappeared into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut. A second later, the water started, a soft rush behind the wall.

Alex didn’t move. She just stared down at her notes, eyes unfocused now, words blurring into meaningless lines. Her pen hovered above the page, unmoving. In the quiet, she could hear the sound of the water running, steady and gentle, and under that, the silence stretching long between them. There was something about Casey’s laugh, that fake-dramatic tone she used when she wanted to pretend she wasn’t tired or hurt or thinking too much, that tugged at something Alex couldn’t quite name.

She sighed and leaned back in the chair. The wine lingered faintly in her bloodstream. Just enough to take the edge off, to soften the sharp corners of her usual restraint. Her head buzzed with a gentle warmth, not quite a fog, but enough to slow her down. To let her drift.

She should be reviewing their notes. Or catching up on emails. Or reading something dry and dense to anchor herself back into focus. Something that didn’t have cheekbones or a crooked smile or legs for days.

Instead, her gaze slid over the edge of the desk and toward the closed bathroom door. Her mind wandered, reluctantly at first, then with more boldness.

Not in the usual way, the disciplined way, where her thoughts clicked into place around case law and procedural nuance. This was slower. Warmer. Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with physical risk.

She imagined the steam curling around Casey’s bare shoulders, softening the sharp lines of her silhouette until she looked more like a dream than a person. The kind of image that lived behind closed eyelids at night.

She pictured the flush rising high on Casey’s cheeks, blooming across her skin from the heat of the water, not embarrassment or nerves. The way her ponytail would unravel, strands slipping loose one by one until it gave up entirely. Damp gold clinging to the curve of her neck, the slope of her spine, until it settled along her back in a messy sheet that demanded no polish, no artifice. Just honesty.

And that laugh.

The one Alex had only heard a few times, and always by accident. Never in a courtroom, never at work. A snorty, unfiltered thing that crinkled her nose and lit up her whole face, like she'd forgotten to care how she looked. It was never calculated. Just joy. Undeniable and rare.

Alex bit the inside of her cheek, hard.

She could almost see Casey stepping out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, skin still damp and glistening in the lamplight. Hair dripping onto her shoulders. Her expression open, lazy with warmth, grinning at some dumb offhand comment Alex hadn’t even meant to be funny.

Alex sat up sharply, spine stiffening as though she'd been caught.

Absolutely not.

She exhaled hard through her nose, dragged a hand over her face, and crossed her legs tightly, trying to root herself back into something practical, something safe. She stared down at her notes again, willing herself to focus, but the words smeared and reassembled in unreadable patterns. Nothing stuck. Nothing helped.

The shower kept running. The quiet in the room filled up like fog.

She glanced toward the bathroom door again—just a flick of her eyes—then turned her head back so fast it felt performative, even though no one was watching. She hated this. This need. This aching, irrational want that had nothing to do with justice or duty or any of the clean, orderly things she’d spent her life clinging to.

Because Casey Novak was supposed to be a junior colleague. A sharp-tongued ADA with too much nerve and a reckless streak she tried to hide behind long hours and coffee. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. She wasn’t supposed to crawl under Alex’s skin and settle there.

The water shut off with a sudden clunk of finality. Alex rose too quickly, almost knocking her knee against the desk, and crossed the room in three brisk steps.

The window offered a view of the parking lot. Rows of sedans under humming streetlights. A Waffle House neon sign flickering somewhere in the distance. It was all blessedly uninspiring and bland. She stared out into the nothing, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Behind her, the bathroom door clicked.

Casey emerged in a baggy sweater and plaid boxers, hair damp and curling at the ends. She looked… small. Not in stature; she still moved with that restless energy, like her bones were wired for motion. Softer now. Blurred around the edges, like the day had finally worn her down and there was no point pretending otherwise.

Alex, still standing at the window with her arms crossed, glanced over her shoulder. Just once. Just long enough to register the sight before turning her gaze sharply back to the parking lot like it had something urgent to offer.

“Shower’s free,” Casey mumbled, rubbing the towel through her hair in lazy circles.

She crossed to the bed and flopped down face-first with a grunt, limbs sprawled wide like she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. “I swear to God,” her voice was muffled against the comforter, “if I ever have to sit through another three-hour PowerPoint on interdepartmental task forces—”

“You’ll what?” Alex replied without turning, her tone cool as glass. “Stage a rebellion?”

“No,” Casey said, rolling onto her back and letting the towel fall to the floor. “I’ll fake a seizure and take myself to urgent care just to get out of it.”

Alex's mouth quirked slightly. “Your commitment to public service is inspiring.”

Casey giggled and reached blindly into her overnight bag. “How are you not exhausted? You were like, scary alert all day.”

Alex turned away from the window at last, fingers moving to the buttons on her blouse with clinical precision. “Discipline,” she said. “And caffeine.”

She didn’t look at Casey as she unfastened the last button, nor as she turned to grab her toiletry bag from the chair.

It wasn’t avoidance, exactly. It was survival.

But Casey looked. God, she looked.

No better than a man, really. Eyes followed the line of Alex’s spine as she moved, drinking in the pale stretch of skin that peeked between shirt and waistband. The slope of her shoulders. The fine, deliberate motion of fingers undoing one button after the next like none of it meant anything.

Casey knew she shouldn’t stare. She should look away. Say something. Do something other than sit there on the edge of the bed like her tongue had gone heavy and her thoughts had short-circuited.

But she didn’t.

Because Alex moved like a quiet kind of violence—elegant, restrained, devastating in the details. Every flick of her wrist, every sharp inhale, every goddamn ounce of composure just made it worse. Made Casey want to unravel her.

She swallowed hard and let her eyes trace the curve of Alex’s neck, the faint dip of her spine as she bent to grab her things. Her bra strap slipped slightly down one shoulder, and it took everything Casey had not to let out a sound.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her a moment later. She sat up slowly, hands braced behind her on the bed, staring into the warm wash of lamplight on the carpet. Her skin was still flushed from the shower, and her hair clung to the back of her neck, cooling in the air.

Her eyes drifted to the bathroom door. Steam curled at the edges beneath it like the ghost of something private, something unseen. She rubbed at her face and looked anywhere but the door. Anywhere but the space Alex had just vacated. But it didn’t matter. She could still feel her there. In the air. In her own chest.

It was ridiculous, this thing between them. Quiet and unnamed but present, like a low hum just under the floor.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe twelve.

Alex came back out quieter than she’d gone in. She wore a soft long-sleeved shirt and loose pants that clung slightly at the knees. Nothing revealing. Nothing intentional. Still, Casey looked up like she couldn’t not.

Alex didn’t say anything. Just crossed the room, slow and careful, and slipped onto her side of the bed like the space between them wasn’t full of static.

“You good?” Casey asked, her voice barely a thread.

Alex paused. “Fine.”

“You say that like you don’t mean it.”

“I say it like it’s all I’ve got tonight,” Alex said softly, pulling the blanket up to her chest.

Casey lay back beside her, stretching out. Their shoulders didn’t touch. But they could have.

For a while, there was only the hum of the heater and the faint clatter of a distant ice machine.

“I forgot how draining these things are,” Casey murmured eventually, her voice muffled by the pillow.  “All the smiling. The note-taking. Pretending to be interested in panelists who haven’t practiced law since the ‘90s.”

Alex gave a soft hum of agreement. “And the subtle competitiveness. Like everyone’s measuring everyone else’s ambition.”

Casey turned slightly toward her. “You play that game?”

Alex was quiet for a moment. “I used to.”

“You don’t now?”

“It’s not about winning anymore. Not the way it was when I was younger. Now it’s about… impact.”

Casey turned her head slightly, eyes skimming the shape of Alex in the dark. “You always seem like you know who you are. What you want.”

“I used to think that was the same thing,” Alex said.

A silence settled. Not awkward, but charged. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re becoming someone you don’t want to be?” Casey asked.

Alex’s reply was quiet. Immediate. “Every day.”

That landed hard in the space between them. The bed creaked as Casey shifted onto her side, facing Alex’s back. Not touching. But there.

“You don’t have to keep proving anything,” Alex said after a while. “Not to them. Not to me.”

Casey blinked at the dark. Her throat felt tight. “You saying that, like you mean it, might ruin me.”

Alex didn’t move. “Then I won’t say it again.”

She let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They didn’t touch. But they didn’t drift apart, either.

The minutes stretched, and the quiet got heavier, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Alex lay still, eyes open in the dark. She could feel Casey’s presence beside her, close enough that the warmth bled across the mattress. She didn’t mean to roll over.

But she did. Slowly, carefully, like a secret. She shifted onto her side and let her eyes fall on Casey, half-shadowed in the low lamp glow. Her face was relaxed now, the kind of softness Alex almost never got to see. The usual spark, the restlessness, was gone, replaced by something quieter. Casey’s hair had dried into a soft halo of waves against the pillow. Her lips were parted just slightly. Her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks.

Alex let herself look. She didn’t rush it. Took in every inch like it might be taken from her if she blinked too long. The slope of her nose. The faint scar near her brow. The way one of her hands had curled into the blanket like she needed something to hold.

Casey stirred slightly, brow knitting. Not asleep, then. She blinked once. Turned her head a little.

Their eyes met. She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t ask why Alex was watching her, didn’t joke or flinch or roll away.

She just looked back. Steady. Curious. A little amused.

Then she closed her eyes again, deliberately, and let out a breath that sounded like permission.

Alex stayed right there. Eyes wide open. And for the first time all day, she let herself want. Quietly, silently, with reverence.

Casey didn’t open her eyes again. But Alex could tell she wasn’t asleep. There was a shift in her breathing, slow, but conscious. Measured. Like she was waiting.

Alex watched her a moment longer, the curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her chest beneath the old sweater. She knew she should look away. Knew this wasn’t fair. But something in her had cracked open, just a little.

She spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “You always sleep this still?”

Casey’s mouth twitched. “Only when someone’s staring at me.”

Alex huffed a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

She wasn’t.

Alex’s hand was just inches away on the blanket. She could feel the temptation like gravity.

Casey broke the silence this time, voice husky with sleep or something heavier. “You ever wonder what this would look like if we weren’t who we are?”

Alex swallowed. “I try not to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to want something I can’t have.”

Casey turned her head again, eyes open now, clear and unflinching. “You already do.”

The words hit like a bruise. Not cruel, just true. Alex didn’t answer. Didn’t need to because the space between them wasn’t empty anymore. It was thick with everything they weren’t saying.

Everything they were too smart, or too scared, to speak upon.

And still, they didn’t move. Didn’t reach across the inches between them. But they didn’t look away either. And that was almost worse.

Casey had never been patient. Not with things like this. So she moved. Just her hand, at first. Slow. Barely brushing the back of Alex’s knuckles beneath the blanket.

Alex didn’t flinch or speak, just let out the smallest breath, like something inside her had cracked from the pressure.

Casey’s fingers slid over hers, palm to palm, tentative but deliberate.

“I won’t make you say it,” she murmured. “But I need to know I’m not imagining this.”

Alex turned her hand, laced their fingers together.

“You’re not,” she said quietly. “You never were.”

That silence came back, but now it was warm. Alex’s thumb brushed slowly over Casey’s knuckles, grounding, anchoring, unbearably gentle.

Casey leaned in, only a little, close enough to feel the heat of her, but didn’t close the distance. She waited.

And Alex?

Alex finally looked at her like she couldn’t not anymore. Like maybe, for once, she didn’t want to be careful.

That, more than anything, unraveled something in Casey. Because Alex always looked away when things got too close. 

So Casey shifted, slow and uncertain. Her knee brushed Alex’s hip beneath the blanket. She hesitated for half a second, heartbeat thudding in her ears, then climbed awkwardly over her, bracing herself with one hand near the pillow.

Alex went still, eyes wide but soft.

Casey hovered there, close enough to feel the heat of Alex’s breath, but not close enough to drown in her.

Her voice was quiet. Rough.

“Tell me to stop.”

She meant it. Every word. But Alex didn’t object,

And so Casey leaned in, and kissed her.

It wasn’t confident, and it definitely wasn’t perfect. It was careful. Hesitant. The kind of kiss that asked a question instead of answering one.

Alex made a soft, startled sound against her mouth—something between a sigh and a sob—and then her hand came up, fingers curling into the hem of Casey’s sweater like she needed something to hold onto.

Casey pulled back just enough to look at her. Alex’s eyes were glassy in the low light, her voice barely a whisper.

“You didn’t imagine it.”

“I know,” Casey said, so quietly it almost wasn’t sound.

The second kiss was fuller, hungrier. Casey shifted her weight, deepening it without thinking, her fingers tracing the curve of Alex’s jaw, holding her like she was afraid she’d disappear.

 Alex didn’t disappear. She kissed back like she’d been waiting for permission, like she’d spent weeks starving this feeling and was finally letting go.

 She moved beneath Casey, one hand curling around the back of Casey’s neck, the other still tangled in her sweater.

 It wasn’t smooth—their noses bumped, and Casey’s damp hair fell onto the pillow. Neither seemed to care. Alex’s hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands.

 “Casey…” Alex breathed her name like a warning, but her mouth kept chasing hers, her fingers tightening at Casey’s waist.

 “I know,” Casey whispered, forehead resting against Alex’s. “I know.”

 “You okay?” Casey asked, eyes searching.

 Alex nodded—a small, sharp motion. Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t stop.”

 Casey’s thigh slipped between Alex’s legs as she shifted—awkward at first, then deliberate. Her hands moved to Alex’s waist, tentative but wanting. The fabric of Alex’s sleep pants was warm beneath her knees. She leaned down again.

 “Are you sure?” she whispered, their foreheads brushing.

 Alex reached up, brushing a thumb over Casey’s jaw like a secret. “Are you?”

a/n this is the stupidest thing i have every created

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.”

vigilante shit except it’s casey talking about love of her life alex cabot who’s FINALLY divorcing her shitbag finance bro husband

like ou (c) jogodoamor

i could add a second chapter to Clerical Error, but it won’t be what the people want

:p

SVU 7x02

Every day I mourn what we lost:

Masterlist

so it's easier to find my work in a sea of reblogs

i have posted a whopping three fics here. is this necessary? nope nope nope

Full works

You are my Sunshine | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey and Alex are married and trying to hold onto a sense of normal. But when Alex begins to withdraw, Casey’s world begins to crack at the edges. What starts as subtle changes spirals into something irreversible: a devastating diagnosis Alex has kept secret for months. Hurt/ Comfort, angst without a happy ending major character death... 9k wc Completed

Maroon | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey brings home flowers on a random afternoon, and it stirs up more feelings than either of them expect. Just a quiet moment between two people still figuring each other out. based on Maroon by Taylor Swift hurt/comfort, flowers as a metaphor, angst 5k wc abandoned oops

Oneshots

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. apology for yams. fluff. lots of it. mention of needles and iv's 2.3k wc

One Week | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

Casey brings home a cat. fluff

Temporary Guardians | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

accidental baby acquisition fluff