Stop Voting Cabenson.

maroon

calex !! 2k wc

first time posting a fic on here YIKES

i was going to make this longer but i got through one part and got bored

updated!!

inspired by Maroon by Taylor Swift

sue me

The first rays of pale sunlight seeped through the windows of Alex Cabot’s loft, illuminating the incense ash that sprinkled across the oak floor. 

Casey Novak, with her rumpled hair and wine-flushed cheeks, tucked her legs beneath her and knelt beside the record stand. She gently brushed the sandalwood from cardboard jackets: Rumors, Tusk, Mirage. Faint creases on sleeve corners told their own quiet stories of late‑night needle drops long before she’d moved in, long before Alex had made space for another toothbrush beside hers.

From across the rug, Alex tipped the soiled incense holder over the small trash bin, grimacing as the ash slid from the ceramic in a hush of gray. Her borrowed Harvard Law crewneck hung just past her thighs; every time she shifted her weight, Casey’s gaze caught on the swing of fabric, the easy way Alex occupied her own home—and now, somehow, Casey’s too.

They’d meant to review witness statements and crash early. Instead, Alex had put Fleetwood Mac on the turntable, and Casey cracked open some cheap‑ass screw‑top rosé. Everything after Blue Letter dissolved into laughter—burned popcorn, a debate over hearsay exceptions, Casey’s terrible impression of Judge Petrovsky that made Alex choke on wine and clutch her ribs.

Steam drifted from a single mug on the coffee table—the blonde’s jasmine tea. Casey had already stolen a sip, her lipstick print glowing a faint maroon on the rim beside Alex’s own. She lounged back against the couch, idly brushing her toes against the loose hem of Alex’s sweater, a slow, playful sweep that made the burgundy fabric sway and Alex glance down with a half-smirk. 

“How’d we end up on the floor, anyway?”

Alex asked, voice still rough with sleep. Casey, knees drawn up and heels resting in Alex’s lap, tugged her hair down from its haphazard bun and let it encompass her shoulders. “Easy culprit,” she said, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth. “Your old roommate’s bargain-bin wine demolished our sense of time management. 

Alex’s laugh was a quick, unguarded burst, sharp and melodic, filling the loft with the kind of warmth that made everything feel brighter. The sound bounced off the brick walls, then sank into Casey’s chest, stirring something she hadn’t realized had settled there. It was a sound she didn’t know she’d need this much. One she’d come to crave more than anything. Three weeks had passed since Casey moved in. Boxes were still haphazardly stacked in corners, a lone lamp perched on the dresser with no shade. But mornings like this, with Alex beside her, had a way of making everything feel rooted in place, as though they'd shared this space for years, not just weeks.

A faint draft slipped in from the fire escape. Smoke from the incense curled and spiraled, pale and gentle against the glass, wrapping the room in its quiet calm. For a few moments, they simply listened. The soft popping of vinyl static, the ticking radiator, the steady, almost shy rhythm of two heartbeats learning the same tempo. Outside, Manhattan kept its frantic pulse, taxis groaning across the wet pavement, but from up here, the noise felt decades away. 

Alex reached for the kettle, poured a second mug, and handed it over. Their fingers grazed and Casey’s pulse thrummed, not with urgency but with a grounded certainty that surprised her.

“So,” Alex said, voice soft enough that it nearly blended with the crackle of the record, “when we finally unpack those boxes, where do you want your books?”

Casey leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder. “Somewhere close. I’m tired of looking for things I’ve already found.”

Outside the window, snow began to fall, the first flake landing on the wrought‑iron rail like a single note on an open staff. Inside, two women sat amid incense ash and album sleeves, finishing lukewarm tea and memorizing a silence that felt, for once, like home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Two nights later, winter hovered indecisively above the city, unable to choose between sleet and snow. The courthouse steps were slick and gleaming when they stepped off the curb, breath visible in the cold.

“You didn’t even call,” Casey said, not looking at her. Her heels clicked down the sidewalk. 

Alex tried to catch her pace. “I was buried in witness prep, Casey. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“You don’t even have to ignore me,” Casey shot back, then stopped, folding her arms tight across her chest. Her shirt was damp, her curls frizzing at the edges, and her voice came out low. “You just forget.”

The words landed like a slap. Casey wasn’t raising her voice, but that calm, steady tone was worse. Alex opened her mouth, closed it again. They stood in the glow of a streetlamp, faces half in shadow.

“I didn’t forget,” Alex finally said. “I just… lost track of time.”

“You always do.” Casey’s voice broke, just a little. “And I wait. And I forgive it. And I keep showing up.” She was calm, but underneath her voice was that quiet, brittle kind of sadness that never announced itself until it was already settling in.

Alex ducked into a bodega, the kind with flickering lights and a handwritten sign for oranges out front, without a word. When she came back, she had a bottle of wine (actual cork, not screw-top) cradled in her hands. “Come on,” she said. “Walk with me?”

Casey hesitated. Then, she stepped out of her heels and scooped them up by the straps. “Only if you promise not to talk about depositions.”

“I solemnly swear,” Alex said, and Casey gave her a tiny smile.

They walked under a dull streetlamp that made everything look a little more golden. Casey tipped her head back and gave a spin on the wet sidewalk, hair flying. “Tell me again why we don’t just quit and move to Barcelona.”

Alex laughed, startled and bright. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“You do,” Casey teased, and twirled again, before handing the bottle back over. “Problem solved.”

A cab tore past, catching a puddle, Alex jolted to protect the wine, but the bottle tilted just enough to splash a crimson streak across Casey’s white blouse.

“Oh my god,” Casey gasped.

“Oh my god,” Alex echoed, horrified. “Casey, I am so sorry—”

“You spilled Rioja on the one thing in my wardrobe that didn’t already look like a crime scene,” Casey said dramatically, but her grin was spreading.

“I’ll replace it.”

“You can’t replace white-collar ugly,” Casey said, eyes dancing.

And then she started laughing. Real, unguarded, throw-your-head-back laughing. It bubbled out of her so easily that Alex couldn’t help joining in, half-doubled over with relief.

“I choose you,” Alex said between gasps, holding the wine like it was sacred. “Always. Even when I’m an idiot.”

“Especially when you’re an idiot,” Casey said, still breathless. “You’re kind of my favorite idiot.”

Then Alex tugged her closer, gingerly, because the wine bottle was still open, and Casey dropped her shoes and wrapped both arms around her neck. They swayed there, in the middle of the sidewalk, tipsy on nothing but each other.

No music. Just the soft rhythm of laughter, the spill of streetlight, and the way the world seemed briefly, wonderfully, theirs.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Casey dropped her bag. Too hard. Alex winced at the sound.

“You could’ve backed me up,” Casey said, not looking at her. “You didn’t have to cut me off like that.”

Alex, already toeing off her heels by the couch, sighed. “It wasn’t personal.”

“It never is with you.”

Alex turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You treat me like your intern. Like I’m lucky to even be in the room.” Casey’s voice cracked, too loud for the space between them, but still too small. Inferior.  “I’m not your assistant. I’m second chair. I earned that.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Alex snapped. “You think I asked to work with someone who—” She stopped. Bit the rest off and swallowed it down.

Casey stared. “Someone who what?”

Alex said nothing.

“Jesus,” Casey breathed. “You’re unbelievable.”

She shifted nervously. She knew she was getting ahead of herself but the words were coming out too fast for her mind to stop it. “You don’t even see it, do you? You walk into a room and everyone listens. You speak and people shut up. You don’t have to prove yourself every goddamn day.”

There it was. What Casey could never quite say out loud. The burden that loomed between them. A brick wall. That she felt like a shadow beside Alex. That even when they were laughing, touching, kissing, part of her never stopped wondering how long it would take for Alex to realize she could do better.

Alex crossed her arms, spine straight as a ruler. “You’re being emotional.”

That did it.

Casey’s eyes went glassy, but her jaw locked tight. Alex’s gaze flickered. Just for a second. But it was enough. Enough for Casey to see the wall slam into place behind her eyes. Cold. Controlled. Done.

“I love you,” Casey said, a last-ditch effort, her voice ragged. “But I’m tired of feeling like this. Like I’m chasing after someone who won’t even turn around.”

Alex blinked, but didn’t move. Didn’t answer. The silence pressed in so hard Casey thought it might crush her. She turned and stormed down the hall. And when she reached the bedroom, she didn’t hesitate, just slammed the door so hard it rattled the frame. Then came the sobs. Messy, awful ones, muffled into the sheets of their shared bed,

Out in the living room, Alex stared at the door for a long minute. Then she picked up her heels and her keys and walked out. Quiet. Composed. Like she hadn’t just left a wreck behind her.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

Crammed into the single‑stall bathroom at the office, whisper‑laughing like schoolgirls at a sleepover instead of two ADAs with open case files and coffee breath.

“Stop moving,” Casey hissed, blotting at Alex’s collarbone with a wet paper towel that wasn’t helping at all.

“I told you not to use teeth,” Alex whispered back, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Her button-down was already halfway open, revealing a smudged scarlet mark just peeking over the neckline.

“I didn’t use teeth,” Casey grinned. “Not exclusively.”

Alex glared but her lips twitched. “You’re a menace.”

The mirror caught the flush on both their faces, the way Alex leaned into Casey’s touch like it was gravity. Somewhere outside, footsteps echoed down the hall, but the moment stayed quiet, warm, dizzy with stolen time.

“We should probably get back,” Alex said, though she didn’t move.

Casey’s fingers brushed the mark one last time. “Too late. Everyone already saw your scandalous hickey. The entire floor knows you’re getting railed by your second chair.”

Alex snorted. “Jesus.”

“Don’t worry,” Casey murmured, eyes soft now. “I’ll make sure you win your next case. For…reputation’s sake.”

And Alex, against all her instincts, let herself laugh, really laugh, and pulled Casey in by her stupid tie.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

She didn’t even hear the front door close. Just the quiet afterward, thick and mean, like the apartment itself was holding its breath. She slid down the side of the bed until she hit the floor. Her coat was still buttoned, hair still pinned, makeup smudging with every wipe of her sleeve. Her sharp composure was gone, replaced with a mess of hiccuped sobs and red eyes, knees pulled up to her chest. 

There were no more hickeys now. No giggles. Just silence thick as grief and the echo of Alex’s voice saying nothing at all when it mattered. She’d cried herself sick and quiet, tucked under her blanket with the door still locked, but it hadn’t helped. The ache stayed put.

Why did it always feel like this with Alex? She wanted to be chosen. Wanted to be seen. She loved her. God, she loved her.

But she couldn’t keep bleeding just to prove it.

In another part of the city, Alex poured herself a drink she didn’t want, stared at a text she couldn’t send. She wanted to call. To say I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Come home. 

Maybe she thought Casey needed space. Maybe she was punishing herself. Maybe she didn’t know how to be soft without breaking. She told herself she didn’t slam the door because she was composed. That she left because she needed space. Because Casey was being unfair.

The words echoed in her mind, muffled by the way her chest ached, tight and quiet. 

I love you.

She didn’t mean to hurt her. She never meant to. But closeness always came with edges. And love, real love, scared the hell out of her. Casey wanted all of her. But Alex didn’t know how to hand herself over without losing the pieces she spent years keeping safe.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

my favorite thing will always be casey forgetting how lesbians work

Casey Chronicles out of context:

Casey: My life is over. Im done. Tell Judge Taft and Dani Beck I hope they burn in hell-

Olivia:...Can I ask what happened-? Alex, rubbing her forehead: You don't want to know.

Casey: MY LIFE IS OVER IS WHAT HAPPENED. I think I'm pregnant. olivia:..

Olivia: Casey. Humor me. Why?

Casey: Im late! I just cried over a dog commercial! EVERYTHING LOOKS EDIBLE-- Alex: Thats just because you're an emotional person and adorably food-motivated, Casey. AND ITS 3 DAYS NOT 3 WEEKS LATE- Casey: I CAN NOT RAISE A CHILD—I CANNOT EVEN REMEMBER TO FEED MYSELF! I NEED MY BOURBON TO SURVIVE WORKING IN THIS UNIT! Olivia: Casey you're LITERALLY A LESBIAN. You PHYSICALLY CANNOT HAVE A SCARE.

Casey:...Oh- right.

Casey: False alarm guys! We're good.

Alex, deadpan: Unfortunately this is who im in love with. This has to be a form of insanity- I deserve financial compensation. Casey: You're the father. Alex, on the verge of homicidal ideation: Oh. MY GOD-

SVU 7x02

fluff out of context #1

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.”

added a new part !!

maroon

calex !!

first time posting a fic on here YIKES

i was going to make this longer but i got through one part and got bored

updated!!

inspired by Maroon by Taylor Swift

sue me

The first rays of pale sunlight seeped through the windows of Alex Cabot’s loft, illuminating the incense ash that sprinkled across the oak floor. 

Casey Novak, with her rumpled hair and wine-flushed cheeks, tucked her legs beneath her and knelt beside the record stand. She gently brushed the sandalwood from cardboard jackets: Rumors, Tusk, Mirage. Faint creases on sleeve corners told their own quiet stories of late‑night needle drops long before she’d moved in, long before Alex had made space for another toothbrush beside hers.

From across the rug, Alex tipped the soiled incense holder over the small trash bin, grimacing as the ash slid from the ceramic in a hush of gray. Her borrowed Harvard Law crewneck hung just past her thighs; every time she shifted her weight, Casey’s gaze caught on the swing of fabric, the easy way Alex occupied her own home—and now, somehow, Casey’s too.

They’d meant to review witness statements and crash early. Instead, Alex had put Fleetwood Mac on the turntable, and Casey cracked open some cheap‑ass screw‑top rosé. Everything after Blue Letter dissolved into laughter—burned popcorn, a debate over hearsay exceptions, Casey’s terrible impression of Judge Petrovsky that made Alex choke on wine and clutch her ribs.

Steam drifted from a single mug on the coffee table—the blonde’s jasmine tea. Casey had already stolen a sip, her lipstick print glowing a faint maroon on the rim beside Alex’s own. She lounged back against the couch, idly brushing her toes against the loose hem of Alex’s sweater, a slow, playful sweep that made the burgundy fabric sway and Alex glance down with a half-smirk. 

“How’d we end up on the floor, anyway?”

Alex asked, voice still rough with sleep. Casey, knees drawn up and heels resting in Alex’s lap, tugged her hair down from its haphazard bun and let it encompass her shoulders. “Easy culprit,” she said, a lazy grin tugging at her mouth. “Your old roommate’s bargain-bin wine demolished our sense of time management. 

Alex’s laugh was a quick, unguarded burst, sharp and melodic, filling the loft with the kind of warmth that made everything feel brighter. The sound bounced off the brick walls, then sank into Casey’s chest, stirring something she hadn’t realized had settled there. It was a sound she didn’t know she’d need this much. One she’d come to crave more than anything. Three weeks had passed since Casey moved in. Boxes were still haphazardly stacked in corners, a lone lamp perched on the dresser with no shade. But mornings like this, with Alex beside her, had a way of making everything feel rooted in place, as though they'd shared this space for years, not just weeks.

A faint draft slipped in from the fire escape. Smoke from the incense curled and spiraled, pale and gentle against the glass, wrapping the room in its quiet calm. For a few moments, they simply listened. The soft popping of vinyl static, the ticking radiator, the steady, almost shy rhythm of two heartbeats learning the same tempo. Outside, Manhattan kept its frantic pulse, taxis groaning across the wet pavement, but from up here, the noise felt decades away. 

Alex reached for the kettle, poured a second mug, and handed it over. Their fingers grazed and Casey’s pulse thrummed, not with urgency but with a grounded certainty that surprised her.

“So,” Alex said, voice soft enough that it nearly blended with the crackle of the record, “when we finally unpack those boxes, where do you want your books?”

Casey leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder. “Somewhere close. I’m tired of looking for things I’ve already found.”

Outside the window, snow began to fall, the first flake landing on the wrought‑iron rail like a single note on an open staff. Inside, two women sat amid incense ash and album sleeves, finishing lukewarm tea and memorizing a silence that felt, for once, like home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Two nights later, winter hovered indecisively above the city, unable to choose between sleet and snow. The courthouse steps were slick and gleaming when they stepped off the curb, breath visible in the cold.

“You didn’t even call,” Casey said, not looking at her. Her heels clicked down the sidewalk. 

Alex tried to catch her pace. “I was buried in witness prep, Casey. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“You don’t even have to ignore me,” Casey shot back, then stopped, folding her arms tight across her chest. Her shirt was damp, her curls frizzing at the edges, and her voice came out low. “You just forget.”

The words landed like a slap. Casey wasn’t raising her voice, but that calm, steady tone was worse. Alex opened her mouth, closed it again. They stood in the glow of a streetlamp, faces half in shadow.

“I didn’t forget,” Alex finally said. “I just… lost track of time.”

“You always do.” Casey’s voice broke, just a little. “And I wait. And I forgive it. And I keep showing up.” She was calm, but underneath her voice was that quiet, brittle kind of sadness that never announced itself until it was already settling in.

Alex ducked into a bodega, the kind with flickering lights and a handwritten sign for oranges out front, without a word. When she came back, she had a bottle of wine (actual cork, not screw-top) cradled in her hands. “Come on,” she said. “Walk with me?”

Casey hesitated. Then, she stepped out of her heels and scooped them up by the straps. “Only if you promise not to talk about depositions.”

“I solemnly swear,” Alex said, and Casey gave her a tiny smile.

They walked under a dull streetlamp that made everything look a little more golden. Casey tipped her head back and gave a spin on the wet sidewalk, hair flying. “Tell me again why we don’t just quit and move to Barcelona.”

Alex laughed, startled and bright. “You don’t speak Spanish.”

“You do,” Casey teased, and twirled again, before handing the bottle back over. “Problem solved.”

A cab tore past, catching a puddle, Alex jolted to protect the wine, but the bottle tilted just enough to splash a crimson streak across Casey’s white blouse.

“Oh my god,” Casey gasped.

“Oh my god,” Alex echoed, horrified. “Casey, I am so sorry—”

“You spilled Rioja on the one thing in my wardrobe that didn’t already look like a crime scene,” Casey said dramatically, but her grin was spreading.

“I’ll replace it.”

“You can’t replace white-collar ugly,” Casey said, eyes dancing.

And then she started laughing. Real, unguarded, throw-your-head-back laughing. It bubbled out of her so easily that Alex couldn’t help joining in, half-doubled over with relief.

“I choose you,” Alex said between gasps, holding the wine like it was sacred. “Always. Even when I’m an idiot.”

“Especially when you’re an idiot,” Casey said, still breathless. “You’re kind of my favorite idiot.”

Then Alex tugged her closer, gingerly, because the wine bottle was still open, and Casey dropped her shoes and wrapped both arms around her neck. They swayed there, in the middle of the sidewalk, tipsy on nothing but each other.

No music. Just the soft rhythm of laughter, the spill of streetlight, and the way the world seemed briefly, wonderfully, theirs.

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

i just ran my hands through my hair and a Big Ass Chunk fell out

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

My heart!!

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH