a-spectacle-in-the-morning

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“A Whole Lot Left to Lose” -- Rafael Barba

Summary: You slept over at Barba’s place after turning up the night before embarrassingly drunk. Now you have to deal with waking up in his bed, further workplace awkwardness, and serious arguments about coffee.

Notes: Follow up for this, which is a follow up for this. I’m still unwilling to admit this is becoming a series even though it definitely is turning into one. Catch me on the sixth part saying “a follow up for this, which is a follow up for this, which is a follow up for this…”

And sorry my posting has been so sporadic. School and life caught up to me and I had a nasty case of writer’s block.

--

You awake to mid-morning sunlight and unsettlingly soft sheets. For a sweet second your brain idles, still half asleep, and you relish in the softness of your unknown surroundings. Then your thoughts snap into focus. You’re in Barba’s bedroom, curled up in Barba’s bed, absolutely tangled in Barba’s sheets. And you’re still in last night's clothes. Incredible. Nothing adds to waking up with an increasingly pounding headache like remembering how you made an idiot of yourself in front of the guy you’re catching feelings for.

The analog alarm clock on the nightstand reads around 9:30 and you let out a sigh of relief. You’re not scheduled to go into work until noon, and for a brief moment you consider trying to apologize to Barba before you leave. But then a vague memory of stumbling through his living room and spinning like a toddler unexpectedly comes back to you. Sneaking out without confrontation is clearly the only option. 

The door to the room is slightly ajar and you lay silently for a second to listen for sounds of movement. All you hear are the faint sounds of morning traffic, so you force yourself out of Barba’s bed. You spot an acoustic guitar resting on a stand as you tiptoe across the floor. If you ever shake off the embarrassment of this whole ordeal you’ll have to ask him about it. 

When you get to the living room you find the couch oddly empty. You had assumed after Barba had given you the bed he would have slept out here. Curiosity outweighs caution, and you wander in search of his office. He said he had a lot of work to do last night, you had just assumed he would’ve been finished by now. There’s light coming from underneath a door near the front foyer and you risk cracking it open to peek inside. 

Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba, who you’re accustomed to witnessing completely decimate opposition in the courtroom while wearing stupidly expensive three piece suits, is asleep at his desk. An array of paperwork is splayed out beneath his head. You have a weird urge to step fully into his office to place a chaste kiss on his forehead or maybe wrap a blanket around his shoulders. You’ve clearly been watching too many rom-coms. Instead you just take a few more seconds to appreciate the sight in front of you then gently shut the door. 

When you get home you are instantly happy for the familiarity, but the couple of hours before your shift are not as relaxing as you’d hoped they would be. You try to catch a few more hours of sleep, but your bed doesn’t seem as comfortable as it usually is. You try to mindlessly watch something on your phone, but you keep checking to see if Barba has texted you. By the time you finally settle, make yourself a box of mac and cheese, and finish eating it’s time to head into work.

-

If there were to be an action figure for Barba it would come with about twenty pairs of suspenders and some form of a cup of coffee. Possibly a white mug, like the ones he uses with the machine in his office, or something disposable from a local coffee shop. Either way there is no way his favorite caffeinated drink would be in the kind of over-sized thermos you used to take to class with you in college. Bizarrely, that’s exactly what Barba’s currently carrying with him as he makes his way towards Liv’s office. 

Instead of striding past your desk like he usually does, Barba slows before fully passing you and stops. The hairs on the back of your neck raise and suddenly his hand is flat on your back; right between your shoulder blades. His fingers press just a bit deeper into your back and you realize that he’s leaning over you to place something on your desk. The thermos that caught your eye just a few seconds ago now sits between your computer and a newton’s cradle your dad got you as a graduation gift. 

Before you can look over at him or turn or even say thank you Barba’s hand is sliding off of you. His middle finger traces a line from the center of your back just below your neck, all the way off your shoulder. Intentionally or not the action sends goosebumps down your entire arm. You don’t realize you were holding your breath until you hear Liv’s office door shut and you let out a massive sigh.

The world around you returns to focus. God, when did it get so out of focus? And you immediately wish you were anywhere in the world than at your own desk. Carisi has the most dumbstruck look you’ve ever seen. You’re afraid his jaw might drop off if it dangles that low for much longer. And when you try to avert your gaze elsewhere you land on Amanda’s devilish grin. The two of you aren’t amazingly close, but you’ve gotten a few drinks together and without even telling her she’d picked up on the tension between you and Barba. You’d told her that even if he was into you you weren’t ready to dive into a relationship with him. He was a lot and you were busy.

But now Barba had walked straight up to your desk, touched you intimately enough, and handed you coffee like he knew you hadn’t slept well. Like he was the reason you hadn’t slept well. That’s what every other member of the SVU seemed to be thinking, at least. Except for Fin who looked to actually be falling asleep at his desk.You can’t blame him. You certainly could use a bit of unconsciousness yourself right now.

-

It’s nearing five and your thoughts are churning in your head. A massive storm is sloshing around up there and leaving you with absolutely no energy. You’re one of the last ones left; Sonny and Amanda having left for dinner about an hour ago. Fin packed up shortly before them and Liv shortly after him. Normally you would’ve finished your work before everyone else. Tonight the paperwork is taking twice as long to get through as normal. You want to blame it on your hangover, but the headache is nothing compared to the onslaught of distracting thoughts about Barba.

After reading each sentence you’re bombarded with an even lengthier montage of the ADA. You’re just getting the image of him in pajamas out of your brain when you remember the weight of his hand on your shoulder this morning. At this rate the thirty pages you have left to get through are going to take hours.

You would throw it in for the night and head home, but you’re afraid the distracting thoughts will get worse. And probably more graphic. With your focus completely shot and a whole lot left to lose you decide to head over to One Hogan Place. You make sure to grab the thermos before you leave.

-

“What the hell were you thinking Barba?” you remain surprisingly monotone as you practically slam the thermos onto his desk. 

Barba sits looking at you wide eyed for just a second before a little sly grin ghosts his face. You’d rushed over from the SVU, making sure to get here before Barba left. Your face is probably flushed from the cold and the slight jog you just did. The jog also got you a bit worked up, hence the aggressive placement of the thermos.

“That you would be hungover and need a pick me up?” Barba offers.

“You can’t do this kind of shit. People talk.”

Barba remains seated behind his desk with the smuggest look. He isn’t responding. Why isn’t he responding? He always has the wittiest comebacks and he’s just sitting there looking at you. You take a chance and make your way around to stand next to him. He doesn’t rise from his seat, but he swivels in his chair to face you.

“You don’t want them thinking we’re something we’re not, right?”

Barba laces his fingers together in his lap and leans back in his chair. “Let me make sure I have this right: you want me to be… meaner to you?”

“No, you-” you squint down at him. “Will you just shut up for a second?”

Barba’s smile grows, but he stays quiet.

“I couldn’t think straight because of you. Do you know how frustrating that is?”

“I think I have an idea-”

“Hey! I said zip it, counselor. You don’t have an idea. No idea. Because every five minutes it was back to you up here,” you tap at your temple for emphasis. “And then I’m finally focused enough to read a sentence or two in the unholy stack of paperwork in front of me, I glance up, and this,” you hold out both of your hands, palms upwards, and direct his gaze at the thermos, “this is sitting there.”

Barba’s smile has dropped. It’s been replaced by something unreadable. Wonder? Amusement? Confusion? Maybe a bit of annoyance? You can’t quite place it and it’s incredibly frustrating.

You let out a deep sigh and turn to lean against his desk. “Sorry. I’m not usually like this. I don’t make these grand” you wave your arms around, “whatever the hell this is…” 

Barba stands and moves to wait in front of you, but remains silent.

“Sorry for busting in here and verbally attacking you,” you shrug. “And for dumping this on you. And for probably making this uncomfortable. You know what? Maybe I should just leave and we can forget about all of this. Go back to whatever bizarre, semi-flirty thing we had going on before.”

Barba clears his throat, putting his hands into his jacket pockets. “Are you finished?”

You nod. 

“Can I speak now?”

You roll your eyes, but nod again.

Instead of making a counterargument he takes his hands back out of his pocket and steps closer to you. Then his hands are on either side of your hips pressing into the wood of his desk. Maybe this is his counterargument: being this close to him is otherworldly. Everything comes down to the green of his eyes and then his lips are on yours. Before you have more than a second to process what’s happening he’s pulled away again. 

He pats his desk once then steps back. “I think I have an idea.”

If you had asked yourself this morning, with your pounding headache and mountains of overwhelming embarrassment, how your day would end, kissing Rafael Barba would be the last thing you would’ve guessed. 

You stare at him for a few seconds, unable to breathe, then awkwardly say, “Sorry for making you sleep at your desk last night.”

Barba lets out a sheepish laugh. “You saw that, huh?”

“Happen often?” you glance over at the coffee machine, already knowing the answer.

“More than I’d like to admit.”

There’s a beat of silence. You glance up at the framed Harvard Law degree that you noticed on the first day you met him. Still ostentatious. 

“How about you make up for those drinks you owe me by taking me out to dinner?”

“Oh, so the coffee counts for nothing?” Barba jabs.

You reach out, emboldened by the kiss, and straighten out the lapel of his jacket. “Coffee is its own thing, Barba. This is about whiskey.”

“Ah, I see,” his gaze follows your hand as it drops from his chest. “It might take more than one dinner to make up for the tab you racked up last night.”

You squint at him, stepping away from his desk and towards the door. “If you’re gonna be a dick about it I’ll ask Carisi instead.”

Barba pushes his chair in and starts packing up his things. “Just give me a minute. Where do you want to go?”

--

I know I said there would be some smut with my next Barba fic, but I really wanted to continue this story and these two ain’t ready for it yet. It was enough work to get them to kiss, goddamn it. I’m thinking of continuing with at least one more part though, so high probability of smut adjacent stuff soon!

And apologies for the growing fixation on coffee in my fics. I’m not a huge caffeine addict, but I’ve recently been really missing my favorite coffee shop in one of the libraries on my campus. I can still remember the last dark roast I got days before classes were moved online…

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

please do another Barba fic!!! your first one was so good 🥺

This is a veeeerrryyy old message, but I wanted to (insanely belatedly) make sure I said thank you! This message was one of the reasons I wrote more Barba after the stress I felt about my first fic. And I’m so glad to hear you enjoyed some of my stuff☺️ I have another follow up for Macallan Isn’t Cheap/ Woeful Wins that should be ready Friday. After that we just have to hope that the spirit of Raúl Esparza continues to move me to challenge myself with writing Barba. Will the day ever come that I feel fully comfortable with how my fics turn out? We may never know...

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Two Days of Brightness” -- Sonny Carisi

Summary: Your apartment has no air conditioning, it’s 90 degrees out, Sonny comes over to bother you like all good boyfriends do. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

Notes: I’m back with some Sonny stuff! This is inspired by the fact that my apartment also has no air conditioning and I am suffering. 

--

This morning your weather app said it would rain. Lying bastard. You haven’t seen a single cloud in the sky, let alone any showers. Over the next couple of hours it’s going to get up to 94 degrees and you’re a little afraid you’re going to roast alive. Luckily it’s just you in your sweltering, air conditioner-less apartment so being fully clothed is optional. Well, it was supposed to be just you today. Sonny seems to have other plans.  

You received a text about fifteen minutes ago: Sonny informing you he’d be at yours in half an hour. You sent a text back reminding him that your lovely one bedroom apartment had no AC and didn’t he have work today? Sonny responded that yes, he did have work today and he got to leave early. Plus, he has a gift. And that gift may or may not be flowers. It may or may not wilt if he doesn’t deliver it soon. 

All of this was followed by that one sad, big eyed emoji with its eyebrows all tilted downwards. 

It worked every time.

Fifteen minutes pass and Sonny arrives right on time. You hear your spare keys jingling in the front door, but refuse to rise to greet him.

“Where are you?”

“In here,” you shout back from your spot on the sofa.

As Sonny rounds the corner he’s greeted by the sight of you reclining as absolutely splayed out as you can possibly be. You’d forgone putting on normal clothes today, only able to suffer a sports bra and a breathable pair of pajama shorts. Even with your eyes closed you can sense him swallowing hard. 

“Are you tryin’ to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?” 

“Not to be that asshole, but it’s actually Mrs. Robinson you’re trying to seduce me.” You open your eyes to look at Sonny. He’s frozen in the doorway to your living room, a bouquet of flowers actively wilting in his left hand. “And no. I’m doing whatever the opposite of trying to seduce you is.”

Sonny chuckles and moves towards you, setting the flowers on your coffee table. “Well then, you should work on not bein’ so breathtakin’.”

“Stop. If you’re too charming I’ll want to have sex with you and I’m already covered in sweat.”

Sonny laughs fully at that and grabs your legs, lifting them just enough to slide under and sit beside you. 

“Thanks for the flowers. They’re lovely,” you say, looking over at the bouquet of carnations. 

“You’re welcome.” Sonny absentmindedly rubs one of your shins, then lifts his hand and looks at it dramatically. “You are sweaty.”

You squirm your legs so they rub on his work pants.

“Come on, doll!” 

“You asked for it.”

“What if I still had to go back to work tonight, huh?” Sonny shoots you an accusatory squint.

“You know I know that you don’t.”

“I know.”

There’s a second of silence, the heat, and contented breathing then, “You know you can buy air conditioners, right?” Sonny points out. 

You respond with a tired hum.

“Or you could just come over to my place when it gets this hot.”

You usually would. In fact, you’d practically spent the whole week at Sonny’s. Which was why you were toughing today out at your own place. You felt like you were crowding him so you’d planned a night in with yourself, Netflix, and a pint of frozen yogurt. Leave it to Sonny to get the evening off and want to see you anyways. 

“I should put those in some water,” you dodge answering him. He gives you a look as you shift off of his lap and grab the bouquet, making your way to the kitchen. The last thing you want today is to get into a fight because you like someone too much. You’re kneeling on the countertop to reach the back of your top cabinet when you feel Sonny’s hand press into your lower back.

“I’ll never forgive you if you make me take you to the hospital when I’ve got the night off. Especially if it’s because you were climbin’ in here when I can reach whatever you’re goin’ for.”

You can’t help but smile. You grab a hold of a pitcher and hand it down to Sonny. 

“No vase?” Sonny asks.

“No vase,” you echo as you turn around and hop off the counter. 

Sonny holds the pitcher out to you and you move to fill it with water.

“So,” Sonny starts, “are we gonna talk about why you’re bein’ weird right now.”

“Not being weird,” you shrug, facing away from him. “Just hot.”

The second you finish speaking Sonny’s fingers are on your elbow. You freeze and his hand traces down your forearm, eventually taking the pitcher from you and setting it on the counter. You turn to face him with a deep sigh.

“I’ve uh... You know what, it’s stupid. Let me finish up with the flowers and we can head over to your place instead.”

But Sonny just waits, eyebrows raised and head tilted.

“I worry-” you cross your arms over your chest, “I’ve spent every night the last couple days at your place. I figured that you would need a break at this point.”

Sonny steps back and also crosses his arms. “Do you need a break?”

“No! God- I mean, sorry. No. I want to be with you every day, but I don’t want to annoy you or have you get tired of me or-”

“Annoy me?” Sonny interrupts, smiling slightly and uncrossing his arms.

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t keep askin’ you over if you annoyed me.”

You reach out and gently pinch at his side, feeling some of the tension leave the conversation. “Alright.”

The two of you stay standing in the kitchen, your hand hovering by his side. A small bead of sweat starts to roll down your exposed stomach catching Sonny’s gaze. He instinctively reaches out, brushes the back of his bent pointer finger up your skin, and catches the drop. 

“I’ll buy an air conditioner this week,” you blush.

“I may know a place” Sonny says, moving his hand to your waist and pulling you closer, “that already has it. Ten minute drive.” His other hand finds your hip. “Comfortable bed and all the pasta and wine you want.”

You let out a small hum and throw your arms around his neck. “Shower?”

“Amazing,” Sonny smiles. “Great water pressure and temperature control.”

“Not at your place,” you laugh. “I was asking you if you wanted to join me now.” 

You slide your hands down and rest them on his chest. He leans into you, placing a kiss to your neck. Then one to your jaw. He finally kisses your lips and you melt even further. He pulls back with a smile and nods as a response. 

Before you follow Sonny to the bathroom you remove the plastic wrapping on your flowers and place them in the filled pitcher. They sadly won’t last more than a couple days in the heat, yet something about their impermanence makes you smile. Sonny went out of his way to bring you just two or three days of brightness. Now you’d likely spend the rest of the week at his place and they’d die without you watching. You started to weigh the option of suffering the stagnant heat of your apartment just to glimpse occasionally at the flowers when you hear the shower burst on.

“You comin’?” Sonny shouts over the water.

Without responding you pull your bra off, head towards the bathroom, and forget about the carnations altogether.

--

The writer’s block has been insane, y’all. I’ve really missed writing for Sonny so I’m hoping this will get me back into it.

How’s everyone doing? Dying from the heat? Sleeping comfortably w/ AC? Let me know.

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Like What You See?” -- Angel Reyes

Summary: When EZ was released from prison you decided to roadtrip home to see him in Santo Padre. You ended up staying longer than you had planned. The two of you were close friends in high school and not long after seeing him again you allowed yourselves some casual intimacy - a particularly relaxed friends with benefits kind of situation. But tonight EZ has left you in his trailer to go help Emily with something. Bored and a bit irritated, you wander into the clubhouse and strike up a conversation with Angel. 

Set some time before season 2.

Notes: There are mentions of EZ x reader, but this particular fic is Angel x reader. 

On the Spanish- If you notice anything is off/wrong please let me know! It’s been a couple years since I had to write anything down in Spanish so I wouldn’t be surprised if I messed up somewhere. Otherwise I think the few phrases I’ve included are pretty self explanatory.

This is my first time writing something semi-smutty, so let me know how I did. Oh yeah, I guess that means WARNING: slightly steamy, semi-smut. 

--

You’re laid out in EZ’s bed, legs resting over his own, when his phone rings. He shifts under you to answer. 

“Yeah?”

You can hear a woman’s voice on the other end, but can’t make out who it is.

“Oh hey. Yeah, no, what’s up?”

EZ pushes you off of him and stands, mouthing ‘give me a second’. He leaves to finish the phone call in the front part of his trailer and when he returns he’s awkwardly hopping to pull on his boots.

“Everything okay?” you ask, propping yourself up against the headboard.

“Yeah. That was actually Emily…” EZ slows to a stop and gives you an apologetic look.

You just shrug and pull your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “If she’s calling it must be serious.”

“I think she just needs someone to talk to. That’s alright, right?”

“Of course. I should probably head home for the night anyways.”

EZ finishes buttoning up his clothes and leans across the bed to reach you. “You can stay if you want.” But you just shake your head and smile. 

“Te llamaré,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. And with that he grabs a hoodie and is out the door before you know it.

You’d come over in the morning to say hi and ended up staying for the whole day. Being around EZ again was like being back in high school. The two of you have always just clicked. And now that you’re both older and he isn’t with anyone your relationship has taken an unplanned turn. Most days you don’t think about what could go wrong with having casual sex with an old friend.

It’s so casual, in fact, that he’s leaving you in his trailer to go talk to another girl. Not just any girl either: Emily. An ex. You aren’t necessarily jealous, but your relationship with EZ is complicated. You have a complicated friendship, surface level uncomplicated sex, and feelings that are all over the place. You need a drink. You should just go home. The clubhouse is so close though, and the guys are comfortable enough with you coming and going. Fuck it.

You’d been hanging out in EZ’s trailer in just a pair of gym shorts and a bralette. Not really appropriate for wandering into the clubhouse. Instead of wasting time digging around for the top you’d worn here you pull on the first of EZ’s that you can find. It’s almost comically big on you. You tuck a bit into the front of your shorts so you don’t look pantsless and head out. 

When you reach the front door to the club you enter without pausing. You aren’t really in the mood to talk. Bishop is the first to make eye contact with you as you step inside. You mouth ‘cerveza’ and point at the bar. He nods and raises his own beer. You know he’s comfortable with you being around, but it still feels necessary to get his permission before doing anything. As you’re making your way to the bar you notice Angel sitting in the corner couch with a girl in his lap. She looks like she might be one of Vicki’s girls or in a similar line of work. You just roll your eyes, smile, and make a beeline to the fridge. 

Being friends with EZ meant seeing quite a bit of Angel when you were younger. The two of you even partied together a couple times. These days you had the friendly vibe of people who were once childhood friends. Friendly enough that you decide, as you stand from the mini-fridge with your miller lite, to say hi before you leave. Despite the woman on top of him.

All you wanted was to let him know you were heading out for the night, maybe even tell him it’s nice to see him. But as you walk over Angel notices you and lightly hits the girl’s left hip a couple times, whispering something into her ear. She turns to look at you, pouting, but removes herself from Angel’s lap.

“Oh, no,” you start, “you don’t have to-”

“Nah,” Angel interrupts, “we were just finishing up.” He pats the couch next to him and you instinctively move to sit.

“She’s pretty,” you nod after the girl as she walks away. Angel reaches out to pinch your thigh.

“Hey!” you slap his hand away and slump down beside him. You throw your feet onto the coffee table and lean further into his side. “Lo siento... At least one of us is probably getting laid tonight.”

Angel gives you a look, plucking the bottle from your hand and taking a sip. “Where’s EZ?”

“Con su novia,” you shrug. When Angel looks at you, confused, you add, “Ex.”

He nods and continues to drink your beer. You can’t help but stare at the dark, bold print on his right arm. 

“Y tú?” you ask. “Dónde está tu novia?”

Angel huffs and keeps his gaze forward. You imagine he’s trying to work out if he wants to play along with your game. He does. “Adelita está ocupada.”

“Aren’t we lucky,” you let out a small, almost sad sigh. When Angel looks back to you you take the opportunity to steal your beer back. Laying your forearm against his chest near his shoulder, you push off and reach for the bottle. You successfully snatch your drink away, but keep your face in front of his, wiggling your eyebrows. For a second you catch Angel looking at your lips. 

“Want your own?” you ask, still only inches away from him.

Angel nods and you get up to head back to the bar. As you grab four more bottles you notice a full bottle of El Tesoro practically begging to be opened. You jog the beers over, setting them on the table, then go back for the tequila. Angel raises his eyebrows as you saunter to the couch slowly waving the bottle.

“Reminds me of high school,” you say, sitting and turning to throw your legs over Angel’s, just like you’d been sitting with EZ an hour earlier. 

“You couldn’t afford this kind of shit in high school,” Angel points out, taking the tequila and turning it in his hands.

“You would know. You were usually the one buying.”

“Wish I wouldn’t have. Had to find out the hard way how much trouble you are when you’re drunk, guapa.” He sets the bottle on the table, grabbing a beer for each of you instead.

Angel keeps his hand on your knee as the two of you drink. You let him talk vaguely about club business and he lets you reminisce about the old days. You get nostalgic about skipping school and drinking in the bed of your truck. Angel starts to absentmindedly rub his hand back and forth on the skin of your thigh, just above your knee. The feeling of his fingertips on your skin distracts you more than you’d like to admit. What would it be like to feel his hands on your face? Or under your shirt? What would it feel like to run your hands over his thigh? When you refocus you catch Angel looking over your body. 

“Like what you see?” you venture, a little drunk, and hold out your arms like you’re presenting yourself. Despite all the flirting nothing physical has ever happened between you two. You know you’re going to kick yourself tomorrow when you remember doing this.

You wait for Angel to awkwardly clear his throat or blush. Instead he just gets this small, smug grin.

“I think I know a way we can both get laid tonight.” Angel moves his hand further up your leg, but stops before reaching your shorts. 

You’re at a loss for words. When they finally come all you can manage is, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You and EZ are just friends. I’m in too much shit to be serious with Adelita. It’s just fun,” he leans into you. “Sé que te gusta divertirte.”

You give him a long look and think it over as seriously as your tipsy brain can manage. You have a gut feeling that EZ will be pissed when he finds out, but Angel is right: you two are just friends. You never set any boundaries on whatever the fuck it is you two are doing. And he should be happy for you. You’d always had a crush on Angel when you were younger and you weren’t particularly quiet about it.

“Alright.”

“Sí?” Angel asks.

“Sí, but I need to grab my stuff first,” you start to move, then pause again. “Are you sober enough to ride? This,” you gesture between your bodies, “isn’t happening here. We’ve gotta go to your place or something.”

“Only two drinks, querida. I could shoot someone right between the eyes if you needed me to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you laugh, finally removing yourself from Angel’s space and making your way back to EZ’s trailer.

-

The ride to Angel’s place is torturous. Pressed up against his back like that the only thing you could smell was the leather of his kutte. He’d convinced you to head back to your place instead of his and it was a bit of a longer ride. You didn’t mind. The extra fifteen minutes holding him like that, feeling his warmth, it just got you more excited. By the time you’ve locked the front door you’re ready to pounce. But as you take a step towards Angel he takes a step back. He holds out his hand, palm a few inches from your chest, and you stop in your tracks. 

“You know I want this. I gotta know you want this too. Cien por ciento,” he nods at you. 

“Cien por ciento,” you whisper back and reach up to wrap your fingers around his wrist. You move his hand down towards your waist and let his fingertips brush your shirt up to expose just a sliver of your stomach. Angel ghosts over your skin before gripping your side and pulling you into him. For a fraction of a second the two of you still a centimeter or two apart. Then his mouth is on yours and you lose all track of time. 

When you first kiss someone you usually like to take it slow. Little brushes across their lips, sweet things, maybe a bit of a lingering lean if you’re feeling adventurous. With Angel it’s all heat on first contact. You have him pressed up against the front door and his tongue is instinctively tracing your bottom lip. Your hands have a mind of their own: gripping at his forearms, pressing against his chest, pulling at his kutte. Angel’s hands roam similarly. He’s just reached the fabric of your bra when you pull away.

Before Angel can ask if you’re okay you simply say ‘bedroom’ and make your way further into your house. You slow as you pass through the bedroom door to pull your shirt off and turn, watching Angel follow you like a puppy. This time Angel gets you pressed against the wall. He watches you watch him strip out of his kutte and flannel with a smug grin. 

“Like what you see?” Angel jokes, mimicking what you’d said earlier. You smile back and reach up to thread your fingers through his hair. 

“Me gusta lo que veo.” You press back into Angel with a kiss and try to maneuver your bodies to the bed. Once you have Angel’s knees against the edge of the mattress you stop one last time to catch your breath and enjoy the view. You run your nails gently down each side of his exposed torso, then brush your hands around to his back. Instead of letting them wander back up to his hair you slip them down into his back jean pockets. 

“Shit,” Angel mutters, “I’m starting to see why EZ keeps you around.”

You immediately yank your hands from his pockets and punch his arm. Angel frowns dramatically and rubs at his bicep while you try to keep a straight face. “Don’t start, cabrón. If you want this to happen-“

He cuts you off by wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the floor. A little squeal escapes you as he spins you around and drops you on the bed. Something you never would have assumed about Angel was that he would be quick with anything in bed. You’re proven unequivocally wrong when Angel has you out of your bra and shorts in a couple swift movements. Angel takes his time with other things, though. He takes his time getting to know your skin with his hands. He takes his time getting to know your skin with his mouth. He takes the most time making sure you’re squirming by using both his hands and mouth between your legs. 

He lets you ride him slowly and tenderly until you’re both covered with sweat. There was something almost biblical about having Angel Reyes slick, reflecting the yellow light of your bedroom and trapped between your thighs. But if this was the one time you were going to have Angel at all you were going to feel him from as many angles as possible. You finish with him on top of you, pressing into you zealously, and with your nails digging into his shoulder blades.

Before Angel accidentally falls asleep he lights up a smoke and throws his free arm behind his head. 

“I’ll head out soon.” 

You nod, moving to press into his side and place a hand on his still exposed chest. You fall asleep with Angel’s heart beating rhythmically beneath your head. 

--

Is it morally wrong to sleep with both brothers? Yeah. Probably. This is the first thing I’ve written in over a month and my brain is fried from my summer classes. Forgive me. 

I’d love to hear what anyone that read this thinks! I’ve never written for Mayans MC before, so I’m ready for any and all comments and criticisms. 

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

Masterlist

A very small collection of my writing to keep myself semi organized. Series/ pieces with a second part are separated with a vertical bar. 

Law and Order: SVU

Sonny Carisi

Two Days of Brightness

Church Bells at Noon | Off the Playground | When | Boxing

A Halo of Silver in the Sunlight

You’re Lucky I Love You So Much | Part 2

A Cup of Coffee

Rafael Barba

Woeful Wins and Whiskey | Macallan Isn’t Cheap, You Know | A Whole Lot Left to Lose

Right in Front of You

Star Trek

Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy

Midnight, the Stars and You

Montgomery ‘Scotty’ Scott

Even if We’re Just Sleeping

Mayans MC

Angel Reyes

Like What You See?

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Even if We’re Just Sleeping” -- Montgomery ‘Scotty’ Scott

Notes: This is my first time writing for Scotty (thank you kind anon for suggesting it) so be wary of me probably messing up the accent and characterization.

Summary: You’ve been tirelessly working with Bones in the sickbay since several crew members were injured in an ambush. Your thoughts are completely tied up with work until you learn Scotty wants to speak with you.

--

“Nurse?”

“Bones you know I don’t like-“

“Yeah, yeah. I know you don’t like it when I just call you nurse.” Bones makes his way over to your station in the sickbay.

You finish typing your sentence and turn in your chair so you’re facing him. “Did you get any sleep?”

“No. I’m guessing you didn’t either?” Bones nods his head in your direction and flops a bit dramatically onto the nearest empty bed.

“Nope. But I got most of the ‘post-traumatic-incident’ paperwork done.”

Bones closes his eyes and throws his arms above his head. “Good. That’s why we let you on the ship.”

You grab the nearest throwable object and aim for Bones’ head. 

“Hey!” he shouts on impact. 

“I have other, heavier things if you wanna keep being mean.”

Bones holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m done. You know I can’t handle these idiots without you. Speaking of idiots, Scotty’s looking for you.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” you ask, already swiveling back around to shut your computer down. “I would’ve been a lot nicer.”

Bones just chuckles as you collect your stuff and stand.

“Is he in his quarters?”

“Still down in engineering. Apparently he’s been working about as non-stop as we have.”

You idle where you stand, shifting a bit on your feet and feeling guilty that you haven’t thought about checking on him sooner.

“Well get goin’ kid! Man looked like he could use a good smooch when I was down there and I sure as hell ain’t gonna be the one giving it.”

You roll your eyes and as you make your way towards the door you throw over your shoulder, “Remind me to kill you when I get back.”

“Will do.”

-

As you work your way through the busted interior of the Enterprise your chest starts to tense up. Kirk had decided to respond to a distress signal which Uhura had warned may not be genuine. It wasn’t. The ship was ambushed and brutalized. Nobody died, but by the time Kirk maneuvered his way out of the mess there were some serious injuries both to the crew and to the Enterprise. The attack left the ship immobilized, which was seriously concerning at first. There was no way to know if that first vessel had been acting alone. But it’s been almost a week without incident. Kirk is still on edge, but Spock is almost certain that the attacking vessel was independently operating pirates. 

You hate seeing the Enterprise in this state. Being a medical officer doesn’t mean you have any less appreciation for the intricacies of the starship. Dating Scotty only makes you more aware of them. By the time you get to engineering you’re starting to think it may be more difficult to pry your boyfriend from his work than anticipated.

You approach Scotty as he stands slumped over a particularly exposed and torn section of the interior. There are wires crossed and frayed in ways that you cannot even begin to track. When you get close enough you hear Scotty talking over his comm, probably with Kirk by the sounds of it.

“Aye, sir. No, she'll need more time. If we can just sit tight for- I know. I’ll let ye know when she’s ready.”

When you hear the comm beep you take a few more steps forward. “You weren’t just talking about me, were you?”

Scotty visibly jumps a bit, but when he turns to you he has a big, tired grin on his face.

“Because,” you continue, “I could certainly use a few days of sitting tight.”

“Finally got a break?” 

“Mhm.”

Scotty sighs and his gaze drops to the scattered metal and tools in front of his feet. “You’ve earned it. Did Bones say I was askin’ for ye?”

You nod your head and begin to maneuver your way towards him, stepping cautiously between scraps. 

“I told him not to say anythin’. I’m fine and I’ve still got a lot of work to do. You should just go rest.”

When you’re finally standing right in front of Scotty you reach up to rest your hands on either side of his head. “I have a better idea.” Scotty nods almost imperceptibly under your touch. “How about we both take a break.”

Scotty grimaces and begins to turn his head to look at the mess around you. Before he can spout out some excuse you direct his gaze back to your face. “That way we can both get some rest and spend some time together, even if we’re just sleeping. I think we’ve earned a few hours off.”

Scotty’s eyes soften a bit, but you can tell he still isn’t fully convinced. 

“I may even be up for a nice, hot shower,” you offer and catch Scotty’s eyebrows raise. “But only if my boyfriend is willing to join me.”

You punctuate your words by dropping your hands from his head and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Willing, eh? I’d say I’m more than willing…” Scotty says, leaning in and kissing you lightly. And you realize, with his lips against yours, that you’ve really missed him. 

You pull just a millimeter away, mouth still close to his, and whisper, “Well if I’d known all it took was a shower to get you moving I would have offered sooner.”

You feel, rather than see, him smile against you and he kisses you once more before pulling away.

“Aye, a shower is all it takes. Before we go, though, I should really-” Scotty reaches towards the exposed wiring again, but you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Montgomery Scott, if you don’t come with me right now I’m going back to the sickbay to give Bones the same offer.”

Scotty freezes, then turns to squint at you.

“And you know I’m a hundred percent serious, too. I’ll do it. You know I will.”

A big smile spreads across Scotty’s face. “Well, if the choice is between the ship and losing you…” he shrugs and finally steps away from his work. He grabs your hand and before the two of you start making your way to the elevator he presses a kiss to your temple.

Scotty squeezes your hand and simply says a small, “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

--

Will all of my Star Trek fics involve the reader being an overworked medical officer? Perhaps.

If the anon that asked for this is even still out there, I hope this is alright! I really just wanted something tender with Scotty. He deserves it. 

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

I’d really love to see you write for Star Trek. I’m so in love with Scotty and there’s so little content for him

We are definitely on the same wavelength anon because I, too, am very sad about the lack of Scotty love out there. There’s also a general lack of Simon Pegg love in my opinion, but I won’t unpack that unless you want me to. Thanks to this message I now have a Scotty fic in the works that should be ready tomorrow. Keep your eyes peeled for it.

And please let me know what you think!

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Boxing” -- Sonny Carisi

Summary: Sonny stops by your place and is shocked to find you with a bloody nose and an ice pack against your cheek. 

Notes: Just a tiny addition to my Sonny series. Sorry this is so short. I haven’t been watching much SVU recently so I’ve been kinda out of it. Fingers crossed I’m inspired to write more soon.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

--

“What the hell happened?”

Sonny reaches up and his hand hovers over the ice pack you have pressed to the side of your face. You step back and away from him, letting him into your apartment. His reaction isn’t unjustified, to be fair. You look like you were beat up. There’s dried blood still painted around your left nostril. And, to be fair again, you were technically, actually beat up. Sonny stops just inside the door and looks at you with big, concerned eyes. 

You look back at him for a couple seconds then groan and turn, walking over to sit on your couch. Sonny follows close on your heels and sits beside you. He rests a hand on your shoulder, just barely putting any pressure into the touch.

“Who did this to you?” he whispers.

For just half a second you’re incredibly confused. Then- oh shit, you look like you were beat up. 

“No! Nobody! Well, I guess somebody did, but-” you turn to face him on the couch and are cut off by his own confused look. “Didn’t I tell you I was taking boxing classes?”

He just stares at you some more. His eyes soften and then flash with a bit of anger. “If you’re just takin’ classes they shouldn’t be hittin’ you hard enough to make you bleed.” he says, removing his hand from your shoulder and wrapping it over yours against the ice pack. He pulls back and you hear his little sharp intake of breath. Sonny’s eyebrows press together as he takes in the purplish-red, splotchy spot on your left cheekbone.

“It was my fault, really,” you offer. “Craig, my instructor, put me in the ring with this huge dude. I’ve been mostly working with the bag so I got a little eager when I got up there. Craig left for two seconds to check on someone else and I told the other guy not to hold back,” you pause, thinking back on the sick, cracking sound that rang out when his fist made contact with your head. “He didn’t.”

Sonny shakes his head and sighs, “And you didn’t tell me you were boxin’.”

“Sorry,” you shrug. “Must have slipped my mind.” Sonny’s hand is still holding yours which is still holding the ice pack. You drop the ice pack and flip your hand to wrap your fingers around his palm. Without hesitating you pull his hand up to your lips and press a kiss to his knuckles, just like you’d done after the first time he kissed you. You whisper another ‘sorry’ against his skin and try to give him your best puppy dog eyes. Sonny struggles to stay stoic, but his countenance quickly softens. 

“You don’t have to apologize, doll. You know with my work I just imagine the worst.”

You want to apologize again, but you stop yourself before the word slips out. You simply nod instead, kissing his hand one more time and letting it fall from your hold. 

“I’ll kick his ass next time,” you say, returning the ice to your face and getting up to get something to eat.

“Not if I kick his ass first,” Sonny grumbles behind you.

You turn before you enter the kitchen and grab onto the doorframe, leaning back and hanging to look at him. “I know you’re a cop Dominick, but this guy was massive. I haven’t seen you in a fight, so I can’t really judge, but I have seen you run. And if that’s any indicator of your athletic ability...” you trail off and swing into the kitchen while he sits, eyes wide and mouth gaping, on your loveseat. 

You hear the faintest ‘hey’ and then a full ‘HEY!’ and some shifting as Sonny stands. You smile, shake your head, open the fridge, and brace for impact as he rounds the corner.

--

Just some sweet misunderstandings with our boy. I think we’re gonna have to reveal this relationship to the SVU team or the parents v soon.

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Midnight, the Stars and You” -- Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy

Summary: You and Bones have just finished recovering the entire crew from an unknown illness. Even after being aboard the Enterprise as a medical officer for more than a year the work remains overwhelming and exhausting. Luckily your sweet, southern co-worker and boyfriend is there to look out for you.

Notes: Sorry to all of you that are used to me writing Law and Order stuff. I wanted to try something new and an anon sent me something about Star Trek which sent me down this path. A rabbit hole of distracting myself from school work, if you will. I DIGRESS… This is my very first attempt at writing for Bones, so please let me know what you think!

--

Everyone seems to finally be asleep. You’re exhausted too, but unlike the rest of the crew you’ve got a long night of work ahead of you. The illness that just finished sweeping the ship meant many days treating people and working to find a cure. Now that the cure is found and seems to be functioning as intended, all that’s left to do is lots and lots of research into what the hell happened. If you have to be awake for the next ten hours you’re definitely going to need some music. 

Unfortunately, the library of music secretly stashed at your workstation isn’t particularly expansive. You need something upbeat enough to keep you semi-conscious, but anything too loud or aggressive will certainly wake someone somewhere on the ship. There’s no way you’re dealing with another disgruntled crewmate at this hour. After way too long shuffling through such a small collection you pick an Earth song from the 20th century and try to focus back in on your work.

“What’re you listening to?” you hear from behind you in a familiar southern drawl. 

You glance backwards and spot Bones as he leans, also utterly exhausted, in the doorway to the sickbay.

“Something from Earth. I can turn it off if you need to get some work done too.”

Bones doesn’t say anything in response. He just pushes off of the doorframe and makes his way towards your desk.

He stops when he’s leaning over your shoulder to look at the screen in front of you. “Al Bowlly, huh?”

“Yeah,” you struggle to keep your eyes forward with Bones’ face so close to your own. “My dad was a fan of this weird, super old stuff. It grows on you.”

Your father had spontaneously purchased an old music player one summer when you were real young. Every day that whole summer there was something jazzy echoing through your small house. It pissed your mother off to no end, but she relented quickly when she saw how happy it made your dad. If he was listening in the living room and you walked past he would scoop you up in his arms and twirl you around. “Midnight, the Stars and You” reminds you of cool air through open windows, creaking floorboards, and your father’s grip as he held you and danced. But all of that was too much to explain with your tired brain and ‘it grows on you’ sounded good enough.

Bones is silent for a bit too long so you chance a look up at him. His eyes are shut and at first you think he might have fallen asleep on his feet. But he lets out this little happy hum and opens his eyes again to meet your gaze.

“It’s nice. Reminds me of home.”

Bones straightens up and pivots so he can lean against your desk. He just rests there looking you up and down, so you reach out to start working again.

“When’s the last time you slept, kid?” he interrupts as you press down the first button.

It’s a fair question. Neither of you have taken a break in about four days and, to be honest, you aren’t really sure you have an answer. Judging by the way the world is kind of fuzzy around the edges it’s been a while.

“Does a microsleep or two an hour count? If not I’m not sure.”

Instead of responding Bones reaches across you to shut off your computer screen.

“Wow,” you say a bit sarcastically, “that was kind of mean. I could’ve been in the middle of some amazing discovery. You may have just destroyed some serious progress in my research.”

“I didn’t,” Bones replies deadpan. “You wanna know how I know that?”

“I think you’re going to tell me whether I want to know or not.”

“Because I’ve been standing in that doorway,” Bones points back to where you initially spotted him, “for almost ten minutes. You know what you were discovering before you picked out some Al Bowlly?”

You open your mouth to answer but Bones continues.

“How to enter, erase, and re-enter the same sequence of numbers over and over again.”

“Well then you missed me staring at the same report for about an hour before that. Riveting stuff. You’re an excellent writer.”

Bones glares at you. You try to glare back, but you’re too tired to muster an equally intense look.

“Alright, you win,” you relent. “But four hours max. We’ve still got an insane amount of work to do.”

Bones hesitates, but eventually nods. He stands up and holds out an arm, ushering you towards the hallway.

You let him lead you to an elevator and don’t even pay attention to the floor he enters. Now that you’re outside the sickbay your exhaustion is beginning to overwhelm you. It didn’t help that the hallway was completely void of other people. The emptiness made the Enterprise feel weird. It made you feel weird. You only come back to reality as Bones guides you far enough into his quarters for the door to slide shut behind you. 

To say you’re comfortable in his quarters would be an understatement. These days you spend just as much time here as you do in your own. Bones starts to move around the room, pulling on pajamas and straightening up his bed, but you remain stuck in place. One of your favorite parts of Bones’ quarters, aside from the presence of the man himself, is the oversized window that graces a majority of the far wall.

Ordeals like the one you just went through can sometimes make you question why you joined Starfleet in the first place. Since your first mission with the Enterprise you’ve seen some horrible things. The universe, much to your dismay, wasn’t always as welcoming as you thought it would be. But as you stand still, looking out into the black, you feel oddly grounded. Even with all the sleepless nights and terrifying encounters you know you’re where you’re meant to be. 

“I didn’t think I’d have to pull you all the way into bed,” Bones cuts into your reverie, “but I will.” You turn and catch him sitting on the side of the bed. 

“Not necessary,” you shake your head. As you make your way over to him you begin working your uniform off. You yank the fabric over your head and realize every muscle in your body is aching.

“You have a shirt or something I can-” you begin to ask, but stop as Bones points at a long sleeve shirt he already laid out at the foot of the bed. 

“Thanks.”

The empty side of the mattress absolutely calls to you, but you notice Bones watching you as you pull your head through the shirt. He’s admiring you, and not just for your body. He always does this when you sleep with him. As you wind down and make your way to bed he looks at you like he can’t believe you chose him. Like your presence is some incredible gift. So, instead of crawling under the covers and immediately passing out you move to stand in front of him.

Bones is still sitting on the edge of the mattress and he spreads his knees apart as you approach so you can stand as close as possible. He reaches out and places his hands on either side of your waist. You respond by running your fingernails through the hair above his left ear. He lets out the quietest, contented groan and you only stop when you rest your hand on the back of his neck. Without saying a word Bones leans forward and presses a kiss to your stomach, just above your belly button. He releases his grasp on your waist and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his head. If it were up to you, you would be spending the rest of the night just like this. But before too long he gently pushes you back and reaches over to pat your side of the bed. 

“Come on. You promised me four hours.”

You make your way around and get under the covers without complaining. In all honesty you simply don’t have the energy for it. You turn onto your side, facing away from Bones, and he instinctively shuffles over to drape his arm over you. He presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and as you fall asleep you hear him whisper the softest “g’night” against your skin.

--

*Doesn’t post anything for two weeks and comes back with something nobody asked for*

How’re we feeling about me writing Star Trek/ Bones stuff? More? Less? Please, God, never write anything like this again? Let me know. 

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“When” -- Sonny Carisi

Summary: More morning shenanigans (why do I keep writing about breakfast and things that happen before noon? I am NOT a morning person). Frantically late Sonny, lots of kisses, and a step forward in the relationship.

Notes: Part 3 of a newly conceived Sonny series. I was having a bit of writer’s block until I suddenly had the urge to write this, so sorry if there are more grammar/ spelling issues than normal. I was just thrilled to finally be writing something again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Part 1 | Part 2

--

“Your hair’s getting long.”

Sonny does one final hop and stills to button his pants. He’s been sprinting around his room frantically pulling clothes on. The two of you had overslept the alarm and he was late for work. Again. Because of you. 

“Yeah?” he questions a bit breathlessly. “You weren’t complainin’ about it last night.”

The observation makes you blush. You had been particularly vocal just a couple hours ago about how nice it was to pull on. You flip over to lay on your stomach and rest on your elbows. The sheets slide down off your back, exposing your skin to the early morning sunlight and Sonny. You can just faintly hear his little intake of breath.

“No, I wasn’t complaining. Still not. Just pointing it out.”  

There’s a second of silence and you can suddenly feel the sheets being pulled back up over your shoulders. You look to the left in time to see Sonny squatting beside the bed. His hands splay in front of you on the mattress so he can balance himself.

“You’re killin’ me, doll.”

You reach out and grab one of his hands. As you guide it towards your face you flip it so his palm faces upwards. The tips of his fingers brush just under your chin as you press the softest kiss into his palm near his wrist. Sonny lets out a small sigh and closes his eyes. 

“And you’re late for work,” you say, squeezing his hand but letting it go. 

He opens his eyes again and you notice how they’ve become a kind of grey in the dim light. Instead of waiting for him to think you lean over and kiss the corner of his mouth. You feel him smile against you before you pull away. 

“Get goin’ detective,” you whisper. Sonny rolls back off the balls of his feet like he’s going to stand, but before he does he rocks forward and kisses you fully. His kisses push you back onto the bed and you flip onto your back to make the angle more comfortable. Just when you think he may join you again he separates from your mouth and plants a kiss on your forehead.

You watch as he steps over to his dresser to throw on a suit jacket. You sigh saying, “Just leave the key where you usually do and I’ll catch you in a couple hours.”

This was only the third night you’d slept over at Sonny’s, but the two of you had a sort of system worked out after the first. He had to leave for work ridiculously early most days. Instead of forcing you to leave with him he’d leave his keys behind for you to lock the door whenever you got yourself up. Then on your way into work you would stop by the SVU and give them back to him. You usually brought a box of donuts with you too to quite any questions the rest of the squad might have. For now you were just a childhood friend of Sonny’s curious about where he worked. At least, that’s what you hoped it looked like. You had a feeling from the way Sonny’s coworker Amanda smirked at you when you stopped by that you weren’t as sneaky as you’d like to think.

“Actually,” Sonny idles by his dresser and absently taps his finger against the wood, “wait there a second.”

He walks out of the bedroom before he can catch the puzzled look on your face. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” you shout after him.

You hear some rustling from the living room and Sonny is jogging back in before you know it. He’s got the key in his hand and he’s holding it out to you like a present.

“Um, thanks?” you try not to sound completely confused as you take the key from him. “I think I could have found it on my own, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Sonny shakes his head and chuckles, but you can sense he’s nervous about something. “No, it’s uh, I had that made for you. Your own key.”

“Oh.” You sit up holding the key in one hand and pressing the sheet against your chest with the other. 

When you stay sitting, looking at the key for a beat too long Sonny starts to worry. “I don’t mean anythin’ serious by it. I just thought it would be easier if you’re gonna be spendin’ nights here more often. You don’t have to take it. It’s just an offer.”

Sonny moves forward with his hand out, waiting for you to give the key back, but when he gets close enough you just turn to him with the sweetest look on your face. Your eyes are scrunched up from how big your smile is and his breath catches in his throat. 

“My own key, huh?” you ask.

Sonny’s lungs aren’t really working with him so he just nods.

You want to say something sarcastic or funny about how nervous he is. A joke about domesticity and marriage floats around in your head, but you eventually chose to say a simple “thank you”.

You collect the sheet around you and twist to throw your legs off the side of the bed. Sonny’s close enough that you can reach him, so you wrap his tie around your hand and slowly pull him down to you. You whisper another thank you against his mouth before kissing him once more. He lets a sigh out through his nose and leans into you.

This time you’re the one to pull away first. You kiss his forehead, just like he’d kissed yours minutes ago, and let go of his tie. 

“You’ve really gotta get going. Amanda already suspects something. Don’t throw more fuel on that fire.”

Sonny gives you a perplexed look, his eyebrows all pressed together. “No she doesn’t.”

“Sure.” you smile as you pull your legs back onto the bed. “Let me know what she says when you tell her about us so I can say ‘I told you so’.”

Sonny shakes his head as he turns and makes his way out of the apartment, but your use of the word “when” keeps him from being annoyed with you. When you tell her about us, not if. If Amanda wasn’t onto him before she certainly will be after Sonny spends the day grinning at his desk. 

--

I know I skipped some other ~firsts~ in this relationship, but this was what I really wanted to write. I figure I can always go back to write the in betweens if I get inspired.

How’re we feeling about this as a series?

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

Part 2 for your Sonny fic was amazing, do you think you’ll write more and make it into a series? Would love to hear more about their relationship developing 🥰💕

Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed it☺️ I wasn’t planning on making it into a series, but I also fell in love with their relationship while writing. Series it is! Part 3 should be posted some time tomorrow.

I’m gonna use this lovely anon’s message to also say that I don’t have official requests or set in stone characters I write for yet, but I’m happy to get these kinds of messages with suggestions. They are super helpful when I can’t decide what to do next.

And if anyone reading this has also sent a message that I haven’t gotten back to yet, know that I’m working on your ideas right now! I have two fics halfway completed that should be posted within the next couple of weeks.

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Off the Playground” -- Sonny Carisi

Notes: Part 2 for this as promised, though I think it works as a standalone as well. 

Summary: Sonny comes over to help you unpack. He notices something he gave you when you were younger that he didn’t think you’d have kept.

-- 

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me,” Sonny sighs as he takes in the state of your apartment.

“Hey, I told you you didn’t have to help if you didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, sure. You know I don’t have a choice with those puppy dog eyes.”

You give Sonny a wink as you shut the front door behind you. You’re making your way further into the kitchen and living room area when you hear him exaggeratedly clear his throat.

“Forgettin’ somethin’?” he asks, facing you but pointing his thumb back at the chain lock left dangling on your door. 

Begrudgingly, you head back to the entryway. “You know I actually did live in this borough for eighteen whole years, right?” Sonny hasn’t moved from his spot by the door so you’re forced to push him a bit to get full access to the lock.

“You’re not actin’ like it.”

“Well,” you slide the bolt into place, “excuse me for being distracted by the big, strong man that I thought would protect me if a burglar got in.”

“I would,” Sonny leans into you, “but I’d prefer not to on my day off.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning as you once again make your way into the living room. As Sonny follows you he notices an odd organization to your collection of moving boxes. A majority of them are scattered around the space and tucked in corners. One large one is acting as a sort of coffee table in front of your loveseat. What caught his interest, though, is the pile set semi-neatly against the wall to his left.

As if picking up on what he’d just noticed you point to the pile of boxes and say, “You can start over there. I tried to get all the boxes with my bookshelf together, but it’s in about five thousand pieces so some parts might be missing. There’s a toolbox by the window.”

“I’m gonna need tools?”

You grab the toolbox and set it at his feet. As you straighten back up you get close enough to kiss him, but instead you whisper, “The Allen wrench’ll be near the bottom.” Then you leave his space to sit in front of your own pile. 

After half an hour of sifting through boxes you’d un-helpfully labeled just ‘junk’ you stand to stretch out your legs. The sound of fabric being wiped across something then hitting the ground catches your attention. You dare a glance over your shoulder and see that Sonny has removed the unbuttoned flannel he’d arrived in. Just the sight of him in a white t-shirt and jeans has your stomach twisting. The bookshelf is nearly finished with just one box still unopened.

“You, um.” So, all it takes is a sweaty Sonny in a tight shirt for you to drop the flirtatious act? “You hot?”

He gives you a look, one eyebrow raised at your sudden lack of words. Your eyes involuntarily flicker to his chest a couple times. He notices, of course. With a little lop-sided grin he just replies, “I hot.”

There’s something caught in your throat so you just nod your head and shuffle over to the window. It’s already open, but you pound on the side jambs and make enough space to heft the nearest box fan into the opening.

“Wait is this…” Sonny trails off and you turn around to see what’s up.

The second you recognize what’s in his hand you rush over and try to snatch it. But Sonny pulls his arms up and away, just out of your reach.

“Sonny I swear to God-”

“Ay! Don’t make me tell your ma that you took the Lord’s name in vain.” Sonny tries to sound serious, but his massive grin exposes the fun he’s having.

Jerk.

You step back and slump your shoulders. “Go ahead and ask.”

“Is this the troll doll that I won for you?”

You can’t help the deep sigh of embarrassment that escapes you. “Yes.”

-

On a similarly hot day in the late nineties your family and the Carisis had driven forty-five minutes out of town to go to a fair. It started out as one of the worst days of your life. The sun was unrelenting, you kept getting static shocks from the rides, and everyone kept asking Sonny about college. It was the summer before he left. He was abandoning you and everyone was so happy and the air smelled like cotton candy and sweat. It was torture.

You spent half the day wandering by yourself as far from Sonny as you could get. Every once in a while you would stop to waste some money on something. You were stuck at a duck hunt-esque game when you realized someone was watching your shots.

“You’ve gotta aim a bit ahead of the target or you’re not gonna get it in time.”

Sonny’s words bang around in your head as you miss your last shot. “You messed me up.”

You turn to face Sonny, squinting in the sun. He’s all long legs and bright blond hair. 

“Oh sorry. Didn’t realize my good advice would ruin your incredible score of two.” 

“If you think you’re such a good shot, prove it,” you challenged.

He does. For a lanky kid Sonny had great aim. He beat your score in a couple seconds and did well enough, much to your chagrin, to earn a prize. As you kept your gaze directed at the bumper cars you noticed Sonny holding something out for you. 

“I don’t want your pity prize, Sonny.”

“It reminded me of you.”

You hadn’t actually looked to see what he was offering until that moment. His sweet tone had you imagining a teddy bear or some other stuffed object, but when you saw what it actually was you had to stop yourself from punching him. 

“Seriously? A troll doll? Nice, Sonny. Thanks,” you snapped. But before you had stomped off you had aggressively snatched the toy from his hands. You were pissed, but it was like a going away present from Sonny and you had cherished it dearly after he left.

-

“You know I’m terrible with throwing things out.”

He nods but gets quiet. The troll doll is still in his right hand and it's making you nervous. 

“You know that whole summer I kept tryin’ to work up the nerve to tell you how I felt. This day, when I gave you this,” he shakes the doll a little, “I was holdin’ my breath the whole afternoon. You wore this little olive green sundress that made you look warm and bright. Made me lose my damn mind watchin’ you walkin’ around in it. But you were also wearin’ black sneakers with sharpie all over ‘em and your knees were scuffed up. Like you’d just skipped off the playground or somethin’. You looked so young I felt wrong for just thinkin’ of you that way.”

The revelation is bittersweet. You love knowing that he had also liked you long ago, but it tears you up to think of how complicated you had made things for him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sonny sets the troll doll down on a completed level of your bookshelf. “For bein’ born a couple years too late?”

You shake your head and step forward to lessen the distance between you and him. Your eyes stay focused on his hands and arms, unable to make eye contact. Without thinking you reach out and rest your fingertips on one of his elbows. “But it’s not too late for us now, right? This isn’t too weird after knowing each other so long?”

Sonny very lightly grabs your chin and directs your gaze back up to his face. “I think we’ve finally got it right.”

The sunlight sets half of him aglow and you feel like your heart has stopped beating. He reaches across his body to grab your hand still idling by his elbow and gently places your palm on his chest. Oh, there it is, you think. That pounding heartbeat beneath your touch gets your own drumming again. 

You lift up onto your tiptoes and brush a kiss on Sonny’s lips. He smiles against you at first, but then presses your hand more securely against his chest and kisses you fully. Everything gets heated quickly: the sun on your shoulders, the feeling of only cotton separating your hand from his skin, the way his mouth opens to deepen the kiss. By the time you’ve stopped a new, thin layer of sweat sits on your bodies. 

Sonny breaks the silence first. “Maybe I can finish helpin’ you unpack another day?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod, pulling him back towards the couch a few feet away. As you step backwards Sonny stumbles over something. His brow creases and he reaches down to pick up whatever tripped him.

“Yoga to Relax the Mind and Body? Why on Earth is this unpacked, but not your toaster?”

You grin and snatch the DVD from his hands, tossing it back to the floor. “Don’t ask.” 

--

You guys I apologize if this was more of a mess than usual. I have an unholy amount of papers to write for finals and I am overwhelmed. I’m hoping to get my groove back in a couple weeks when the semester is over.

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

Wow, absolutely loved “Church Bells at Noon” 😍😍 will you be doing a part 2? 🤞🏼

Part 2 is in the works, anon! It should be finished tomorrow or Friday.

And thank you for the lovely feedback 🥰 Knowing that people like or even just read my stuff totally warms my heart. I’m still new to writing fanfiction so it’s super helpful to know what you guys think!

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Macallan Isn’t Cheap, You Know” -- Rafael Barba

Notes: I wanted to give writing for Rafael another go. He makes me so nervous though, man. Fingers crossed with this one.

Kind of Summary: You’re a detective with the SVU that gets a little too drunk and winds up at Barba’s place. Sarcasm and sweetness ensue. ALSO there’s some very brief mentions of sexual assault and murder below that goes along with a case, so just be cautious if that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable. 

--

Tomorrow you will probably wake with bruised knuckles, but tonight it seems worth it. That’s what your drunk brain keeps telling you. It’ll be worth it. It’ll be worth it. Don’t worry. This is a good idea. Ow.

You’ve been knocking on his door for at least several seconds. It’s only two in the morning; there’s no way he’s asleep. You hear the lock click and brace for impact.

“What are you doing here... and how did you get through the front door?”

Fair enough.

“I have a badge and I’m very convincing. And I need to talk to you,” you can’t seem to stop your mouth. “You own pajamas?” 

Barba just stands in his doorframe looking at you. “Of course I own pajamas. Did you think I slept in dress pants?”

You look down to the floor as you ponder your own question. “I guess?”

When you look back up to Barba’s face you see a glint of laughter flash in his eyes. “So, back to my earlier question- what are you doing here?” And when you can’t form a rational answer he continues, “Are you okay?”

You reach over to his doorframe and run your fingers down the wood. “Can I come in?”

He sighs, but steps back holding the door open for you. 

As you step inside your remaining functioning senses are overwhelmed. The living room is wide and minimalist. There’s a coffee table, a grey loveseat, and a wide window that opens the space up to the lights of the city. It all smells of dark roast coffee and oak. It’s beautiful and very, very Barba.

“Of course your apartment looks like this.” You can feel his gaze on your back as you slowly make your way across the wood floors.

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”

You start to meander in circles.

“How did you get my address, by the way?” You can tell Barba is trying to piece together what you’re doing at his place without bringing up the fact that you’re clearly inebriated. It’s kind of sweet. You turn to face him, a solid five feet between you two, and catch him taking a sip of coffee from a mug you didn’t notice him holding earlier. You aren’t surprised at all to discover he’d be brewing it so late. 

“I asked Liv and she gave it to me right away. She must reeaallllyyyy want you to get laid.”

Barba chokes on his mouthful of coffee as you finish the last word . He sets his cup on the nearest surface and rubs a hand at his chest. “Is that so?” he croaks.

“Mhm.” You do a full 180 turn, extending your arms. The little semi-sober part of your brain begs you to stop. You’re in Barba’s apartment. He’s being kind and you’re acting like an idiot. But also, you feel like a helicopter. 

When you stop you say, “Sorry. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“That’s good because that’s not going to happen tonight.”

You tilt your head and smile, pointing a finger at him. “Not tonight, huh? Maybe some other night, though?”

“Sit down. I’m going to get you some water.”

You follow his command and flop onto his expensive looking couch saying, “Yes sir.”

Barba stops in his path to the kitchen, shakes his head, and you’re pretty sure you catch him muttering something expletive as he starts moving again. 

The lights out the window to your left are fuzzy and breathtaking. You pull your legs up and wrap your arms around them, still looking out to the city. 

“Here.” Barba gently places his left hand on your shoulder and offers you the glass of water with his right. 

You accept it with a quiet thank you. The couch is big enough that you can squish up into one corner as Barba sits on the other end without touching. An unknowable amount of time passes as you sit sipping your water. You fall in love with the cool feeling of it on your tongue and you fall in love with Barba and the way he patiently watches you. Then you fall out of love again. By the time the glass is empty your feelings for him are somewhere in the middle, and you know you’ll have to process that in the morning. 

“I’m sorry,” you say as you set your glass on the coffee table. “Sorry for just barging in. It was unprofessional.”

You can’t make out his expression as the lights behind his head surround him in a dull sort of halo. 

“Good thing we aren’t at work then,” he offers.

You untuck your legs and let them fall off of the couch. Best to be sitting like an adult for a serious conversation. 

“I uh,” you try to choose the right words, but they keep slipping around in your head, “I waited for you.”

Barba’s countenance is still unreadable in the darkness, but what you just said makes his face scrunch so much you can see the lines on his forehead from your side of the sofa. “Did I miss something? I don’t remember making any plans.”

“No, we didn’t- there weren’t plans. I just went to Forlini’s tonight and I waited for you to show up. I wanted that drink that you promised me a couple weeks ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to text you. I kept typing it up and deleting it.”

“As you ordered drinks anyways?”

“Yes, jackass, as I ordered drinks anyways. We both had another shitty day so I hoped that you would be there. I waited for an hour.”

“I’m sorry. Today’s shitty day left me with lots of paperwork. I wanted to finish it as soon as possible, which meant no drinks for me.”

“You owe me fifty bucks.”

“Fifty bucks?”

“Yeah. Macallan isn’t cheap, you know.”

Barba lets out a huff and stands, picking up your glass as he makes his way back to the kitchen. “I do know.”

When he returns, but stops to stand near you as you bounce your feet, you ask, “Do you mind if I stay over? Couch of course. And I'll be gone before you wake up.”

The case you two just finished had involved a girl walking alone late at night. You were confident in your abilities to make it home, but sometimes things got to you anyways. With this case it was the image of the twenty-two year old girl thinking she could handle herself too, only to get raped and murdered on her way to a friend's house after dark.

“I can give you a ride home if you want,” Barba says, probably picking up on the source of your anxiety.

“Don’t want me to stay?”

“That’s not what I said. I want you to be comfortable. If that means a late night road trip, so be it.”

“Hm.” You stand to be equal with him. The tables have turned, and his face is now lit by the blues and yellows of the buildings behind you. You’re happy to think that he can’t see the tender and open look on your own. “I think I’ll be okay here, but thanks for the offer. You’re a real sweetheart under all that ego.”

“Alright, that’s it. Bed time.”

You laugh and instinctively follow him as he leads you further into his apartment. By the time you realize where he’s taking you he’s already flipped the lights to his bedroom on and started folding the covers down. 

“I’m perfectly happy on the couch. Promise. Please don’t make me feel like even more of an asshole by taking your stupidly large and soft looking bed from you.”

He walks back to where you’re stuck by the entryway and stops in front of you. “I’m not going to get any sleep tonight anyways. One of us should get to enjoy it.”

“Not planning on joining me, Counselor?” 

Oh my God. I’m never drinking again, you think.

But Barba just rolls his eyes and moves to return to his office. You catch his hand as he steps past you. Before he can say anything you press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”

You can’t read the look on his face and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the booze or the fact that five thousand emotions seem to be racing behind his eyes. You shrug and make your way over to his bed, flipping and falling into it so you’re laying on your back. 

He switches the light off with the smallest “goodnight” you’ve ever heard.

“Goodnight Rafael.”

And you swear as you slip off to sleep that you see Barba fail to hold back a smile as he shuts the door.

--

Yes, this is another attempt at a follow up for this. I wasn’t happy with how my other follow up turned out and I wanted to give it another go. I feel like this fits the vibe of “Woeful Wins” a bit better. At this point I also feel like I have to admit that I actually hate whiskey. I really do. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn and not in the nice, warming way I wrote about in the first part.

The things we do for Barba…

Would you guys be interested in some semi-smut in the near future? I think I might try to do something a little smutty the next time I write Barba. Not full-on smut, but perhaps smut adjacent. 

Sorry for this excessively long note after the fic. As always, massive thank yous to those of you that read my stuff. Every single like, comment, and reblog fills my little pessimistic heart with love. See y’all soon.

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Church Bells at Noon” -- Sonny Carisi

Notes: This is what I imagine trying to workout and just generally exist while having a crush on Sonny feels like. Plus breakfast (which is apparently, unintentionally becoming my thing now) and a tender moment with our favorite SVU detective. Because I don’t know about you guys, but I needed some sunlight and happiness today.

--

“Okay, now take a deep breath in and slowly let it out.”

You hold your body tight for a few more seconds as you try to breathe, but when you release your breath your body collapses under you. There’s a discarded DVD case to your left and you reach over to re-read the cover.  

“Yoga to Relax the Mind and Body, my ass,” you mumble, tossing the case back onto the ground. The DVD was buried in one of the moving boxes you’re slowly unpacking. It seemed like a good distraction at first. You should have known nothing good could come from a workout DVD from the 2000’s. Or any time before then.  

Instead of getting up and doing something productive you remain on your back. The apartment around you is small and unfamiliar, despite the fact that you officially moved in over two weeks ago. The only things outside of boxes are the big pieces of furniture. Bed, couch, and kitchen table. What more does a person really need?

So you’re putting off actually finishing the move. It’s not like you have anyone coming over to judge your lack of motivation.  

You grew up in New York but moved away for college and stayed out of state for graduate school. Being back was far more uncomfortable than you imagined it would be. You somehow felt like more of an outsider because you knew your way around the city. And you were terrified of running into someone you knew. Like clockwork your phone dings.

You should have told me you were back in town! When are you free?

Your cheeks flush at just the thought of seeing Sonny again. How did he even know you were here? Oh right, definitely because of your mother. Your mom and Sonny’s go way back. She probably sent a group text to all of the Carisis the second you told her you had moved.

You toss your phone back onto the carpet and throw your arm over your eyes. It’s been a little over six years since you’ve seen Sonny. The two of you were close when you were young. Family friends. He’s a couple years older than you but it never mattered back then. At least, not until he left for college. You started talking less and less, and by the time you left for college yourself the two of you had lost contact completely.  

There was the occasional happy birthday message or mentioning in the family Christmas card. That was it though. A lot changes in six years. Sure, you weren’t particularly thrilled to see anyone else you knew from when you were younger, but it was Sonny that you were dreading the most.  

There had always been tension between you two. Not necessarily bad tension just confusing tension. The kind that felt like snapping when you were close to him. The kind that tugged at your stomach when he talked about a girlfriend or a crush. The kind that, no matter how many years or miles were between you, still found a way to mess with your head when you thought about him.  

And now he wants to meet up.  

You sit up slowly to not strain your already aching abs and slump onto the couch. You reach down and grab your phone. After staring at Sonny’s text for a couple more minutes you say, “Fuck it.”  

I’m free tomorrow

And then realize that that might seem blunt.

If that works for you on such short notice

Now you sound passive aggressive. Great. You flip your phone face down and press it into the cushion next to you. Instead of stressing over his response you hop off the couch, leaving your phone, and head to the bathroom. Nothing a steaming hot shower can’t solve.

When you’re happily clean and dressed in pajamas you return to the living room to the sound of your phone vibrating. You cautiously flip it over to find:

Tomorrow works for me:) What’s a good time?

I have the whole day off. It's like a fifty fifty shot I get called in for a new case though

Not that that’ll happen tomorrow

How about breakfast? I remember you used to like pancakes

I know a great place on 42nd

They’re all spaced a couple minutes apart and you kick yourself for leaving your phone out here. You just accidentally ghosted your longest standing crush for a solid hour.  

You quickly respond that breakfast would be great and to just send a time and place.  

You have no clue how you’re going to sleep tonight.

-

Your parking spot is a couple blocks from the restaurant giving you plenty of time to second guess yourself. When you finally get there (ten minutes early, of course) you realize that you definitely made a mistake.

Sonny is already leaning against the front glass looking at his watch. Damn it, he aged insanely well. He’s learned how to style his hair and he’s in a suit. A suit! Since when do people wear suits to breakfast?  

You take a deep breath, unstick your feet from the cement, and head his way with a grin.  

“You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me,” you say as a greeting and with a bit of feigned confidence.  

Sonny looks up from his watch and his eyes widen for just a second. Then he cracks a smile that takes you back to the fifth grade.  

“Who says this getup is for you?” Sonny teases, reaching out and pulling you into a tight hug.

He even smells amazing.

He releases you and walks over to open the door, gesturing inside. “After you.”

-  

“So,” you start between mouthfuls of pancake, “what is with the suit?”

Sonny rests his silverware on his plate. “I actually do have to go into work today. Amanda, my partner, had to stay home with her daughter. She was supposed to be on desk duty so I’m coverin’ for her. Not until noon though. Plenty of time for you to finish your massive stack of pancakes.”

“Hey!” you reach across the table and lightly punch his shoulder. “You know I can’t turn down endless pancakes and you know I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Sonny laughs. “I’m not judgin’. Whatever it takes to see you, I’m all for.”

There’s that twisting tension in your stomach again and your heart is suddenly thudding against your rib cage. To distract yourself you ask, “Do you enjoy it? Working in the special victims unit, that is.”

You catch him pausing to think. “Enjoy might be a strong word. It’s not a fun job, not like yours.”

“Right, because editing all day long is fun,” you say sarcastically.

“You’re part of bringin’ more art into the world. I figure that makes all the borin’ stuff worth it.”  

“That’s uh,” you shake your head to clear up your thoughts, “that’s kind of beautiful Sonny. Thanks.”

“Any time. I’ve grown into a very wise old man.”

"Old? Maybe. Wise?” you say, your voice lilting.

“Please do not finish whatever mean thing you’re plannin’ on sayin’. My heart can’t take it.”

You chuckle as you push some scrambled eggs around your plate. “That’s what your job is like too, though, isn’t it? You see a lot of terrible things, but it’s all so you can help people.”

“I suppose so,” he says, giving you a look that you feel deep in your still swirling stomach. “Sometimes it’s not enough though. And I’m actually- well I don’t know if I ever told you, but I’m not plannin’ on bein’ a detective forever. I’m kinda in school right now. Law school.”  

“Law school? Wow. Sonny that’s incredible.”

“Nah, it’s just night school. I still have to work-”

“Stop Sonny. It’s really, really amazing. You’re going to be a great lawyer.”

Sonny gives you the biggest smile and you swear you can feel your erratic heart burst right out of your chest. Before you can stop yourself you say, “Man, the scrawny kid from Staten Island I always had a crush on is gonna be a lawyer...”  

And then you realize what you’ve said and you panic. Sonny isn’t saying anything, he’s just looking at you with his mouth slightly open. God, he probably thinks of you like a little sister and now you’ve made it weird. You can’t bring yourself to correct yourself, so you just duck your head, fiddling with the edge of the napkin on your lap.  

The waitress brings the check over and you and Sonny bicker about who will pay the bill. He ends up paying, claiming that if his ma found out he let a girl pay on the first date he would be in big trouble. Your heart is pounding so resoundingly in your ears you miss his use of the word “date”. And Sonny does it all with a grin, which you can only imagine is to cover up how awkward you made things. You stop outside to say goodbye, but you can’t find the right words.

“So uh,” you start, looking at your phone as if you’re paying attention to what time it is, “thanks for taking me out to breakfast. It was good to catch up. And, uh, have fun with desk duty. Or not fun, I guess, just, uh. Yeah.”

You nod and wait for his response. Instead of saying anything Sonny reaches up and tucks some hair behind your ear. His hand lingers and he takes a step forward. Before your brain can unscramble to ask him what he’s doing he closes the distance between you with the softest kiss.  

When he pulls away a few inches you notice how intently he’s looking at you. Like he wants to be sure he didn’t overstep. You pray to God that your eyes are showing even a fraction of the joy you feel inside.

“Sorry I didn’t do that sooner,” Sonny finally says.

“Well,” you say, lightly clearing your throat, “I was kind of busy inhaling that place’s entire stock of pancakes.”

Sonny laughs and you can feel his fingers moving at the back of your head. It’s a simple thing, but it sends shivers down your spine. “I didn’t mean today. I meant that I should have done that years ago.”

You’re so swept up in the moment that when some church bells ring across the street you nearly jump out of your skin.

Sonny tenses too, and you realize that it’s not just because of the noise.

“Shit, that’s a Catholic church which means-”

“It’s noon,” Sonny interrupts, “and I’m late for work.”

“Sorry.”

His hand slips from your hair and rests on the back of your neck. “Whatever trouble I get into for bein’ late will be nothin’ if it’s because I finally got to kiss you.”

“Oh man,” you groan. “If I had known you’d become such a smooth talker I wouldn’t have agreed to breakfast. Men like you are trouble.”

“Really? You been out with lots of guys like me?”

You pull his hand from your neck and bring it around to your mouth to kiss his knuckles. “None. I’ll talk to you later.”

As you abruptly turn to head back to your car you hear him call out behind you, “How am I supposed to focus on paperwork after this?”

You turn to face him, taking a couple steps backwards and shrugging with the new confidence you’ve gained from his returned affection. “You get used to it.”

--

I’m pretty sure this has been my longest fic yet at around 2,000 words. Great work if you made it all the way down here!  

Hopefully you guys are all doing alright. I have some ideas I’m working on that’ll possibly be ready by the end of this week. Could be Barba or Sonny. Or Marvel? I’ve been re-watching a lot of Marvel movies. Would any of you want Marvel stuff? I don’t know. It’s all a matter of what I get inspired to finish first. 

Anyways... I am still insanely appreciative for the comments/likes/reblogs you guys have been kind enough to leave. I see and read all of them and they totally make my day. I’ll be back with more soon!

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“Right in Front of You” -- Rafael Barba

Because I’m in the mood for some sweet stuff here’s a date with Barba that doesn’t go as anticipated, incredible street food, and Barba being the grumpy gentleman that he is.

Notes: This is a *sort of* follow up for this fic (not a necessary read for this one!) since people had very kind things to say about it despite all the grammar errors. Not that this is in any way free of grammar errors. Is this a weird jump in the relationship from the last one? Perhaps. Are you suddenly and inexplicably more sardonic in this one? Mhm. Did I give myself the time or have the energy amidst all my school work to fix these discrepancies? No, not really. In other words: apologies in advance.

--

It takes you a while to decide what to wear when you go out, and that decision is only worsened by the fact that your nights are usually unpredictable as a professional bar hopper. It’s a science, really. The block you start on, the weather, the friends you’re with; all factors. Tonight, however, you know exactly what to wear.  

Mostly because Barba sent you a very detailed itinerary for the evening. Dinner at a ridiculously expensive restaurant, Broadway show at six thirty, and home by ten. You both have work tomorrow and that means an early bedtime. After sorting through your pile of button-ups and dress pants there was really only one option.

It’s a gamble of an outfit and could easily be over the top, but it’s the most expensive thing you own. And if you’re being honest with yourself you’ve been hoping for an opportunity to wear it.  

Despite how incredible you look on the outside you’re a complete bundle of nerves on the inside. By the time Barba rings the doorbell to your apartment you feel like you’re going to throw up. Who takes a raincheck on drinks and turns it into dinner and a show? The kind of man that waits outside your building in a three-piece suit with flowers, apparently.  

“Hey,” you say, nodding your head towards his suit. “You look nice.”

“That was going to be my line,” he replies, standing a bit stiffly. He holds the flowers out for you to take.

“Thank you, sir.” You take the bouquet from him and press it up to your nose. “I’m a little afraid to ask how you knew that I like dahlias more than roses.”

Barba reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck as he says, “You just seem like a dahlia kind of person.”

“What? A little spiky but with beautiful and deep coloring?” you joke.

“Something like that,” he smiles and relaxes a bit.

“I’m gonna run these up and put them in a vase. Do we have enough time?”

“You’ve got five minutes,” he says, fiddling with his watch like he’s going to set a timer.

“I’ll be back in four,” you nearly yell over your shoulder as you rush back up to your building. “I ran cross country in high school!”

You’re back in seven and out of breath, but Rafael wasn’t really counting. He just grins when you return and the two of you begin the walk to the restaurant. When you get about a block away you start to worry.

“Is that a line for the place we’re going?”

“Probably, but I made a reservation weeks ago.”

So that’s why this date was so delayed.

When you get indoors Rafael goes up to the hostess and confidently says, “I have a reservation for two under Barba.”

The woman scrolls through her tablet and shakes her head. “Sorry, nothing under that name.”

Barba presses his brows together. “Oh, well, they should have been made around two weeks ago.”

She shakes her head again. “Sorry, sir. I don’t see anything here.”

He nods curtly and thanks her, turns, and leads you back outside by the small of your back. Once you’re on the sidewalk again he starts to rub at his right temple.

“I’m sorry. I thought I made the reservation. Damn it...”

He starts to mumble something about Carisi and intrusions so you grab both of his hands and squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens to everyone.”

When he nods his head but doesn’t respond you add, “That was nice of you not to badger the hostess. Harvard douchebags have a tendency to do that when things don’t go their way.”

He shakes his head at your quip. “I’ve worked plenty of part time jobs. I know not to be an asshole when someone doesn’t deserve it.”

“But you were an asshole to me the first time we met,” you shoot back.

“Exactly.”

“Hey! I was perfectly-”

“I know, I know. There's another place I’m thinking of, but it’s in the Bronx. We’ll have to take a cab.”

“Lead the way.”

In under half an hour you are once again following Barba’s lead as he swiftly presses through the streets. He walks like everyone you pass is trying to get in his way even though the foot traffic isn’t particularly bad tonight. The smell of garlic and spices suddenly overwhelms you and your stomach grumbles.

“I hope that smell is coming from wherever we’re going and I hope it’s close,” you whine a bit exaggeratedly.

He laughs. You’ve never heard Barba laugh enthusiastically. It’s kind of beautiful. “Right in front of you.” He points to a food cart across the street.  

La Kubanita, you read. There’s a short line, but nothing like the one from earlier.  

“How do you know about this place?” you ask, making some conversation as you wait.

“I grew up a few blocks from here. My mom would give me some money every once in a while and I would bring her back tamales.”

You give Barba a sideways glance. “I didn’t know you grew up in the Bronx.”

“Well, that’s because I didn’t tell you,” Barba says sardonically. “And nobody ever asks.”

“Rafa!”

Rafa?

“Dios mío,” Rafael mutters. “Cómo estás, Isabel?”

You look up a bit to the window of the truck to find an older woman absolutely beaming at Barba.

“Tú sabes que estoy bien. Quién es?” she asks, pointing in your direction. “Por fin conseguiste una cita?”

“Stop it Isa,” Rafael lightly scolds. “This is my coworker.”

“Alright,” she relents with a grin. “You want the usual?”

“Por favor,” Rafael responds.

You’re handed a couple take out boxes of warm food within minutes and you thank Isabel with a smile. You find a picnic table to sit at nearby and open the food to find three steaming hot and perfectly wrapped tamales.

As he opens his own box Barba says, “I’m not a huge fan of street food-”

“Shocking.”

Barba squints at you then continues, “But, I love this cart. I even brought some of their arroz con pollo home to my abuela once and she gave it her stamp of approval.”

“Alright, that is really high praise. I don’t think my grandma has approved of anything I have ever cooked or bought her. Or really anything I’ve ever done. You should have seen her face when I told her I wanted to work in law enforc-”

“We can unpack that later,” Barba interrupts, “but right now you’re going to stop thinking about your problems and try that tamale in front of you.”

You throw him a look, but pick up your fork and dig in. It is, undoubtedly, the best tamale you’ve ever had.  

“You win this round, Barba,” you concede between bites.

He looks up from his food. “I wasn’t aware this was a competition.”

“It’s always a game with you.”

“Is it?”

You pause, trying to decide if you want to maintain your nonchalance or admit something a little more personal. Fuck it.

“You’re tough to keep up with sometimes. Everything is in order. No nonsense. You’re effortlessly and brutally sarcastic- which is very sexy, by the way. Every conversation is a mini battle. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s just new. I’m not used to guys like you.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer, then busy yourself with unwrapping your second tamale.  

“Very sexy, hm?”

You snap your eyes back up to him to catch his shit-eating grin. “Really? That’s what you picked out of that?”

His smile somehow grows, and you can’t help the one spreading on your own face.  

“You should know after today that I don’t have it all put together,” he says, going back to his meal.

You gently kick one of his feet under the table. “Yeah, I finally have some proof that you’re human.”

“Aside from the fact that I’m fueled entirely by coffee like the rest of you?”

“Yes,” you nod in agreement. “Aside from the coffee.”

The two of you finish your meal while making casual conversation. When Rafael returns from throwing the garbage out he stops to look at his watch.

“It’ll take us about 30 minutes in this traffic to get back to Manhattan. We should probably head out. Are you ready to go?”

“Damn. I was just starting to get comfortable being totally, inappropriately overdressed. Maybe we should just skip the show.”

Barba rolls his eyes but holds out his arm for you to take. “I’ll leave you here if that’s what you want. I’m not missing Anastasia.”

You laugh, taking his arm and walking out towards the street to hail a taxi. As you wait you notice the sun is beginning to set and is casting the loveliest shade of yellow over everything. You catch Barba looking at you with an entirely contented expression and a slight smile ghosting his lips.  

That look alone is better than all the whiskey in the world.  

--

Here’s the thing folks, I haven’t written anything in Spanish in probably three or more years. I know there have got to be mistakes. I apologize. Blame my senior year Spanish teacher for making us watch soap operas more often than actually teaching us anything. And the name of the food cart is borrowed from a real Cuban food cart that I have never been to. I wasn’t creative enough to think of my own.  

Hopefully this was a decent follow up for “Woeful Wins and Whiskey”. I’m trying to get more confident with writing Barba. Trying being the key word. I’m always happy to read feedback, comments, and criticisms. And if anyone wants a third part let me know! I’m thinking more shenanigans with the SVU, maybe some struggles with defining the relationship..... 

[a-spectacle-in-the-morning]

“A Halo of Silver in the Sunlight” -- Sonny Carisi

Notes: Some more Sonny, as promised. Waking up with him, warm and pleasant smells of breakfast, and the pain of discussing a terrible break up. All essential parts of a good fic if you ask me. 

--

It’s a brisk Friday and the sun has yet to fully rise on the renaissance painting laid out in your bed. To your left the curtains are drawn open just a few inches and the dawn is casting a hint of bronze on the floor. To your right: your own statue of David bare and stretching in his sleep. Maybe not quite as ripped as David, but nearly as tall.

In less than an hour the light will shift to a brighter orange and rest more completely on his form. And then the silver spreading at his temples will practically shine. The thought of staring at him a while longer to see that shine almost keeps you awake, but the steady sound of his breathing has you asleep again in no time.

You wake a few hours later to the smell of Sonny cooking breakfast. As you slowly stretch out you realize the blinds have been closed. Sonny, you think. He wants you to sleep in as late as possible. With a content sigh you pull yourself out from the warm covers. Last night you’d fallen asleep naked and the air on your bare skin has you nearly shivering. You pad over to the window and open the curtains once more. Sunlight pours across your chest and, with the faint sounds of Sonny cooking behind you, your heart warms as much as your skin.  

Before you join him in the kitchen you throw on one of his oversized shirts.

“Whatcha cookin’?” you ask, stopping to lean against the bedroom door frame.

He looks over his shoulder at you, his hands still occupied with the frying pan and spatula, and graces you with one of his goofy grins. “French toast.”

You walk over to him and wrap your arms around his stomach, laying your cheek against his back. After a few moments of contently holding him you turn your head to press a kiss between his shoulders. He lets out a little happy hum that you can feel beneath your lips.

“I thought you worked today?” you question as you pull away to stand to his left.

“I uh,” Sonny starts. Suddenly the French toast has become very interesting to him. “I took a sick day.”

Your hand instinctively reaches out to lay on his forehead. It’s warm from standing over the stovetop, but not hot. “Dominick Carisi lying to get out of work. I guess anything really is possible.”

He’s still glaring at the French toast when he simply responds, “I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“You could have woken me up earlier,” you note.  

For just a second a pained look crosses his face. His lips press together then release. His nostrils flare then relax. He lifts the pan off of the stove and slides your toast onto a plate.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” he tries to shrug, but his voice waivers.

-

Last night was the first time you two had been together in about two months. You’d been dating for a little over a year when the break up happened. He had come home one night from work practically dead on his feet to find you asleep on the couch: a spread of food and wine laid out on the coffee table in front of you.

Your anniversary.  

He had completely forgotten and, seeing as it was almost three in the morning, he had missed the day entirely. It broke his heart to keep disappointing you. He would miss a dinner and you would tell him you could always reschedule. He would be gone before you woke up and you would just send him a text an hour later to wish him luck with his case. He would drag himself to your apartment at the worst hours without even enough energy to kiss you and you would let him rest his head on your stomach as he fell asleep.  

And he had just missed the one day of the year he was required to show you his appreciation for your love. He felt like a parasite: taking and taking from you and giving nothing in return. He had woken you and in the semi-darkness of the living room told you he needed a break from the relationship. He explained that he was an unacceptably negligent boyfriend and that he thought being away from you would force him to work on being kinder. You assured him that he was an amazing partner and his gut twisted even further at your forgiveness. Before you could argue any further he pulled his jacket back on and before he exited he choked out that you deserved better.  

And you hadn’t spoken to him since. You’d had more forceful breakups: ones with lots of yelling and doors slamming. But Sonny had pulled door shut behind him so tenderly when he left that it didn’t make a sound. Somehow, the quiet separation was exponentially more painful than the loud ones. You found his copy of the key to your apartment slid under the door the next morning.

You showed up at his place last night in a moment of desperation and forced your way in by heatedly kissing him as soon as he opened the door. You missed him too much to keep giving him space. Maybe it was selfish of you, but he clearly missed you too by the way his fingers instinctively threaded through your hair.  

-

“I woke up before the sun was even fully out, Sonny. I wanted to stay.”

“Why did you stay?” he asks, turning to face you.

“Waking up in bed with you... It’s like I can’t even remember why we took a break in the first place. I actually had to stop myself from writing an aubade poem from just the sight of you.”

The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “You know I don’t know what that is.”

“Yeah, there’s no time for poetry reading in law school,” you retort, stepping into his space so you’re only inches apart. “You were so beautiful, and I was so in love with you, that I wanted to stay in bed forever. That’s why I didn’t leave.”

"I was right,” he laments, his eyes glistening a bit with tears. “You deserve better than me. You’re too good. Too kind.”

“Sonny,” you reach out and intertwine his hand with your own. “I stayed because I love you and I can’t just stop loving you because you think you’re not enough. You are. For me you are. If you don’t believe me that’s fine. We'll work on it together. No more leaving.”

A tear rolls down his cheek as he shuts his eyes at your words. You wipe it away and lean in to delicately place a kiss on his eyelid.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper. “And this time, I’m not letting you go anywhere either.”

--

A little bit of angst for you all. This one got away from me. It was supposed to just be waking up and happily laying in bed, but then it got sad. *insert shrugging emoji* 

I’ve got a Barba fic ready to go for Monday and a Sonny idea that’s forming as we speak. Hope you’re all prepared for some sweetness this coming week...