#Carisi is protective over reader

[x-bluefire-heart-x]

Mr Right

So, anonymous requested this request. And not gonna lie it was hard to write in so far as making Rafael a dick but otherwise I loved writing adoring Carisi caring for pregnant reader.

Warnings: Swearing, threat of violence, angst

Master List

Prompts

You casually walked through the squad room, smiling at your fellow detectives as you made your way to Liv’s office. You paused briefly as you saw them all look at each, their smiles not quite convincing. You shrugged before continuing on, thinking that they were just concerned with how you were handling the baby Drew Incident. Which…fair, you probably weren’t handling it as well as the others, and Rafael hadn’t answered your calls or been at home when you went by his place. The two of you had been dating for around six months and you wanted to check on him and not being able to tell if he was okay was worrying you. You hoped that he had at least talked to Liv which was why you were making a beeline for her office.

“Hey, Liv,” you leaned against her doorway rapping your knuckles against the glass.

“Y/n,” Liv waved you in, you noticed her smile was forced as well and you could see the strain around her eyes. “Come in. I wasn’t expecting you to be in today.”

“Oh?” you asked tilting your head as you stepped through, closing the door before taking a seat in-front of her desk. “Why?”

“I thought maybe you might take some time off or even request a leave of absence,” Liv sounded confused. “Maybe even talk about a transfer once you two had discussed where Rafael was moving to.”

“Moving?” you asked even more confused. “Rafael, is moving?”

“He hasn’t told you?”

“We haven’t talked since his trial, he said he needed some time, and I gave that to him but when I tried to call him or go by his place there was no answer,” you could feel your heart speeding up, as a burning sensation built at the back of your throat. “Rafael talked to you?”

“Yes, he said he had put in his papers and was thinking of leaving,” Liv’s voice turned to steel as she put together the pieces you were still missing but were slowly putting together.

“He…he’s leaving, and he didn’t even tell me,” your voice quivered as your vision became blurred as your eyes filled with tears. “He’s left me.”

“I am so sorry,” Oliva stood up and moved around to you. She wrapped her arms around you holding you close to her as you cried. Your chest felt tight as you tried to get your breathing under control, but it was difficult as the buzzing in your head got louder.

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t even call me,” your voice was soft but measured as the buzzing in your head slowly disappeared. You could feel your body slowly starting to heat, you took in a deep breath before letting it out in a shaky exhale. Anger started to fill your veins, pushing away from Liv you started to pace, your hands running through your hair. “I mean what the fuck?! We were together six months we were even talking about moving in together, getting a place. I-if I ever see him again I…I’ll…fuck!”

“Your anger is understandable,” Liv stood up watching as you paced. “Take the day, more if you need.”

You spun around to face her, your chest heaving as you tried to get control, not wanting lash out at your friend. Just as fast as the rage hit you it was gone as your body sagged as if someone cut your strings. Tears filled your eyes again as you nodded. Liv’s eyes softened as she watched you switch emotions so quickly; she couldn’t believe Rafael wouldn’t even call you. She was going to kill him for hurting you.

“I’ll get Carisis to drive you home,” Liv’s voice was gentle as she reached for you again. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

You just nodded, following her out like a lost puppy. Now you understood the looks the others gave you. They knew. They bloody knew. Great so everyone but you knew that Rafael left you. You braved a look at the others, and was a little surprised. Finn looked murderous; it seems Olivia had enough time to tell them that you had in fact not known that Rafael had left. Amanda looked torn between helping Finn commit a crime and comforting you. Carisi, well, Carisi looked like someone had kicked his dog as he came towards you, his jacket in hand.

“Hey,” his hands started reaching for you but aborted their movement before they dropped to his side. You tried to smile at him but you were sure it came off a little more like a grimace. “Come on, let’s get you home.” Once again you followed after one of your friends like a lost little puppy.

--

It had been over a month since you found out that Rafael had left you like the bastard he was. And your sadness had almost completely been replaced by rage. The others had taken to be careful not to mention his name around you. It wasn’t that you would start frothing at the mouth in rage but rather you would shut down and that apparently made the others uncomfortable. Well, Carisi got more concerned then uncomfortable. He had started bringing in an insane number of baked goods and would also show up at your place with ingredients to cook dinner.

It was probably the best you had eaten in that month, or well ever apparently. Your favourite pants had gotten a little tight, actually, all of your pants had gotten tight. And that didn’t make any sense, because you were throwing up randomly throughout the day, which also tended to coincide with when someone mentioned Rafael. The throwing up just made Carisi even more concerned for you, which had him making you even more food. It was a little vicious cycle. You stared down at your pants that you were currently struggling to do up. You pouted as you tried once again to get the two sides of the pants to come together, your eyes narrowed as they once again did not come close to touching.

“What the fuck?” you whispered frowning as tears started to fill up your eyes, chest heaving as a sob crawled up your throat. “Great now I’m crying. Again.”

Giving up on your pants you fell back onto your bed allowing the sobs to run their course. You couldn’t wait for whatever this was to end. Hopefully, it would be soon. You couldn’t take much more of this. It was ridiculous. It was worse than the ups and downs during your cycle. Wait. You bolted up into a sitting position. Your sobs stopping just as quickly as they started.

“Not possible,” you whispered, grabbing your phone and opening your calendar. The date stared at you, like some big massive joke. “Nope, nope, nope.” And, yep, there are the sobs again. Flopping back onto the bed you threw the phone to the side, covering your face with both hands you sobbed harder. “Maybe if I ignore this, it will go away.”

Your little session was interrupted by a knock on your front door. Groaning you sat up, glaring down at your jeans before aiming the glare in the direction on your front door. The knock came again, dragging out another groan from you as you forced your body up tugging your shirt down as much as you could to cover your undone pants.

“I’m coming,” you called out as the knock sounded again. “Don’t be so god damn impatient.” You yanked open the door, glare firm on your face even as you continued to cry.

“Hey-woah, are you okay?” Carisi stood on the other side, the smile freezing on his face as it morphed into a concerned frown.

“Do I look okay?” you demanded turning away from him and walking back towards your kitchen leaving the door open for Carisi to walk through.

“I mean…no?” Caris seemed unsure if he should answer that question honestly. You huffed reaching to get a glass, Carisi’s eyes zeroed in on your undone pants and the swell of your stomach. His eyes slowly moved up, taking in any other changes he could see. Only to stop when he caught your eyes, your puffy, wet, red eyes that were currently glaring at him.

“Can I help you?” your voice was cold, almost seething, as you set the glass down and tried to tug your shirt back over your pants again. “I am aware that my pants can’t do up at the moment, but that is no reason to look at me with judgy eyes.” You voice broke as the tears started falling again. “And fucking hell, can I stop crying for five minutes please?!”

“Trust me I was not looking at you with “judgy” eyes,” Carisi promised, arms twitching as he resisted the urge to hug you. “I was concerned. And I think I may know what is going on.”

“Of fuck off, with your knowledge because you have sisters,” you cursed. “I am not…I can’t be…pregnant.” Your voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear you but it broke his heart. You sounded so scared.

“You’ve been throwing up a lot, and your body has changed,” Carisis thought better of using the phrase “gained weight”, his sister did not appreciate it one bit. “Not to mention how you’re switching between emotions really fast. It might be a good idea to take a test. Just to be sure.”

You looked up at him, all the anger fading from your face as you heard someone else voicing the thoughts that ran through your head once you realised it had been nearly two months since your last period. Shaking your head, you closed the distance between the two of you and fell against his chest. Carisi was always an affectionate person with his friends and right now you needed his hugs and you knew he wasn’t going to offer, not after the last time. Where you may have bitten his head off. Which you now at least had a theory as to why you reacted the way you did. Even if you really didn’t want to entertain the idea, you knew taking a test would be the smart thing to do.

“Can…I mean, will you be here, when I take it?” you asked in a tone so close to broken that Carisi wanted to hunt Rafael down.

“Of course I will,” Carisi soothed, running his hand up and down your back. “I’ll go out and get a test. You stay here, want me to maybe also get you some different pants?”

“Yes,” you nodded, hiccupping as you refused to let him go. “But just...stay here for a moment.”

“I won’t leave until you want me to,” Carisi promised, arms holding you tight to him.

“You promise?” you couldn’t help but ask him. You couldn’t help but fear that one day everyone you cared about would decide to leave you, with absolutely no warning. “You won’t leave?”

“Never,” Carisi pressed a kiss to the top of your head, heart finally shattering. It was then that swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to help you believe he wouldn’t leave, that there were people in your life who cared about you and would never leave you. It doesn’t matter what it will take, or long it will take until you believed him.

--

“You have to come out of the bathroom eventually,” Carisi called knocking against the door. “It’s been long enough, what does the test say?”

“I think the fact that I am in here having what is most definitely a panic attack should answer that!” you tried to sound angry but the sobbing and fear in your voice did not help.

“A panic-I’m coming in,” Carisi frowned, opening the door he found you sitting on the floor against the bath tub, the test in your hands. At the look on your face, he once again found himself wanting to hunt down a man he once considered a friend. You were so pale, your chest heaving as your breath came out in rough pants, your eyes looked unfocused.

“Oh, darling.” He couldn’t help the pet name as he kneeled beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. His other hand carefully took the test out of your shaking hands, noting the positive result before setting it aside so he could rub your arm in comfort.

“What am I going to do?” you asked, voice shaking. “I can’t, I’m pregnant.”

“It’ll be okay,” Carisi whispered.

“How?! How the hell is this going to be okay?” you demanded pulling back from him, eyes blazing, panic seeming to fade as the anger at your situation hit you full force. “I’m pregnant, and the bastard of a father left without even so much as a good bye! I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Carisi assured you. “You are so insanely strong, not to mention brave. You would be an amazing mother. Whatever decision you choose I will support you.”

“You will? Why?” you asked confused.

“You’re my friend and I care about you,” he answered, voice firm.

“Regardless of my decision?” you wanted to confirm, knowing that Carisi had his faith. “Even if I decide I don’t want to keep the baby?”

“Yes, it is your decision,” Carisi nodded. “But, again, regardless, I will support you through it. Now come on we need to get off this cold floor and you need to eat something.”

“Carisi, I can’t,” you whined, mood switching again. “My pants don’t fit.”

“I got you new ones remember?” he gently pulled you up off the floor, pulling out a handkerchief and wiped away the tears that had started to fall down your cheeks again as your rage ebbed away at the thought that your pants don’t fit.

“Oh, right,” you bit your lip as your eyes drifted up to Carisi’s face, taking in his features as he wiped away your tears. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” he smiled tapping you on the nose. “I also got some ingredients for a pasta dish.”

“Ooh, can we have that garlic bread you made the other week?” you asked brightening. Carisi’s food always made you happy, even if at first you thought it was making you gain weight.

“Yes, of course I got ingredients to make that garlic bread,” Carisi couldn’t help but laugh at not just your quick change in emotion, he was use to that, he thought it was adorable you got so excited about his food.

--

Amanda, Liv and Finn all stood around staring. Watching as Carisi handed you a container with what looked like homemade food, and he then placed a bottle of something on your desk.

“You need to remember to be taking your vitamins,” they heard him scolding you. “The Dr said your levels were low.”

“…they tasted funny,” you pouted, hand settling a little on your stomach that had started showing.

“I know that is why I went and got some different ones, apparently they taste like orange, which I know if something you are currently craving,”

“Is Carisi smiling differently?” Amanda asked, head tilted to the side.

“Yeah, he looks like y/n hung the moon,” Finn huffed.

“It’s kind of adorable,” Amanda muttered.

“She looks happy,” Liv smiled softly. She was glad to see it, you hadn’t looked so happy in months. And she was worried about what being pregnant with Rafael’s baby would do, but apparently Carisi had it all under control.

“Carisi, never brought me home made food when I was pregnant,” Amanda complained.

“That’s cause he wasn’t in love with you,” Finn chuckled as he walked away leaving the other two to watch Carisi moon over you. It was sickeningly adorable and for Carisi’s sake Finn hoped nothing went horribly wrong between the two of you. Finn would hate to have to add a list to the names of those he would shoot on sight. It currently had one.

--

You pouted. And pouted some more. Staring up at the poor man through your lashes. Said man was trying, rather admirable, to ignore you, blue eyes looking anywhere but at you. Your eyes narrowed as you stepped closer to him, puffing out your cheeks.

“Please?” you asked.

“No,” Carisi sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Carisi,” you whined. “Please.”

“It’s nearly midnight, I am not going out to get you ice cream,”

“But I want pickles and ice cream,” you huffed. “And we only have pickles and no ice cream…oh and sprinkles! With peanut butter, that sounds sooo good. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”

“Sure,” Carisi laughed, this was the fourth time in two days that you had started out wanting something only to find several things to add to it.

“So, you’ll get the stuff?” you bounced lightly on your feet, hands moving to hold your stomach. You were entering your second trimester, and the cravings were only getting stronger.

“Fine, but you are coming with me,” Carisi tapped you on the nose, grinning when you scrunched it up.

“Good idea!” you nodded. “We can get pizza as well.”

“Pizza?” Carisi asked, face scrunching in confusion as he led you out of your apartment. You nodded, grabbing his hand without thinking and tugging him along.

“Yes, now come on.”

--

You weren’t entirely sure when your feelings for Carisi changed from friendship to wanting to always be around him. On the odd night when he wasn’t at yours you missed him, when he went out into the field and you were stuck at the desk doing paperwork, you missed him. And also worried about him an insane amount. You weren’t sure what you wanted to do with this change but you were happy to let things happen when they happened. And you didn’t wanna read into too much but he had been spending more time with you lately, it was very rare that he wasn’t over at yours or you weren’t over at his.  Like right now, the two of you had just finished an amazing dinner that Carisi had made you, and were now watching tv. You had curled up against him resting your head against his chest as his arm wrapped around your waist. You felt content in a way you hadn’t for the longest of times, and you didn’t want anything to change.

Just as you were reaching for the popcorn, your separate bowl that was drizzled with salt, sugar, caramel and chocolate, you felt a pressure in your stomach. You gasped sitting up hand pressed against your stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Caris moved with you, the arm wrapped around your waist tugging you to his side as his eyes moved between your face and your stomach, his other hand hovering over yours. “Are you in pain?”

“No, that’s not it,” you shook your head. “Oh, oh!” you grabbed his hovering hand and placed it where yours was. “The baby is moving.”

Carisi’s whole body felt warm as he felt the light pressure against his hand. His chin came to rest on your shoulder as he looked down at your stomach where your hands were joined together. He tried so hard to ignore the feelings that were building the longer he was around you, this wasn’t suppose to be anything more than a friend helping a friend but the more he watched you bounce happily when you ate his food. Or every time you looked at him with those soft eyes, pouting at him to get your way. It was near impossible to do anything but fall for you. That small little crush of his that had started when he joined the team, that he tried to ignore when he saw you liked Rafael, came back full force about two months into helping you.

“Look at that,” he whispered, his voice directly in your ear causing a small shiver to run through your body.

“Our baby has a strong kick huh?” you asked turning your head a little, nose rubbing against his cheek.

“Our baby?” Carisi felt his brain screech to a holt. You jolted, eyes wide as your own words repeated themselves through your head. Echoing a little in Carisi’s head as well.

“What?”

“You called the baby, ours,” Carisi moved his chin from your shoulder so he could look at you properly, trying hard to keep the smile from his face but there was no way to keep those blue eyes of his from shinning.

“I guess I did,” you nodded slowly licking your lips, suddenly finding it difficult to look at those eyes.

“Did you mean it?”

“I…I did,” you nibbled on your bottom lip, stomach fluttering. “I mean, you’ve taken me to every appointment, you’ve gone with me when I needed to get new clothes, you put up with every little craving I have and…you’re always here for me. Just like you said.” Your hand shook as it rose to cradle his face, thumb stroking just under his eye.

“Darling,” Carisi lent into your hand, those eyes burning bright with hope. “Can I kiss you?”

“You better,” you demanded leaning close to him.

“Gladly,” Carisi chuckled as he closed the distance between the two of you.

The feel of his lips brushing yours made your heart quicken, your hand cupping his cheek moved to cup his jaw as you angled your head, moving your lips against his. His hand on your waist stroked up to hold the back of your head, lightly tangling with your hair and tugging it gently as his tongue swiped out teasingly. You gasped into the kiss when you felt a slightly stronger kick, pulling away from the kiss you looked down where Carisi was stroking your stomach.

“Someone’s a little excited,” you smiled, pressing a kiss against his cheek before leaning back and putting both hands against your stomach. “Do, you wanna stay the night?”

--

“I want this baby out,” you groaned lowering yourself onto the couch next to Carisi holding your shoes in your hand. “I can’t put my shoes on.”

“Give em here,” Carisi rolled his eyes grabbing your shoes and kneeling in-front of you. “It won’t be long now before you give birth.”

“Thank fuck,” you rubbed your stomach giggling at Carisi when he raised an eyebrow at your comment. “Hey, you try growing a baby in you, carrying it for nine months, getting cankles, craving the oddest combination of food ever, having your body change in ways you never even thought about, your back constantly hurting, and finally needing to pee every five minutes.”

“Fair enough,” he focused on putting your shoes on, knowing already not to comment on anything that you just said. Last time he did, you cried. Although when you were crying about having cankles and he tried to be supportive you threw a pillow at him. So really, it was a fifty-fifty how you would respond.

“Come on, let’s go,” you held out your hands making grabbing motions at him.

“Alright, up you come,” Carisi grabbed hold of you and helped you up. You grinned up at him and took a step just before a sharp pain radiated from your stomach. You gabbed hold of it wincing in pain. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you waved him off. “It’s just my stomach trying to kill me, been happening on and off for like the day.”

“Wait, you said your back was hurting?”

“Yeah so, I’m carrying around a watermelon,”

“Normally, constant back pain can be a sign that you are going into labour,” Carisi said. “And you are getting cramps?”

“Well, I’ve gone nearly two decades with getting cramps and while those where definitely painful these are something much different and are coming closer and closer together,”

“Um, honey,” Carisi started. “I think you might be in labour.”

“What like three weeks early? Pfft, unlikely, my family has a history of being like either exactly nine months or like two weeks late,” you shrugged just as your felt a gush of something wet leaving you. “On the other hand, I think you might be right…my water just broke.”

“Oh shit!” Carisi started to panic. “We don’t have your hospital bag ready and we don’t have our route to the hospital!”

“Dominick!” you shouted lightly tapping him on the cheek. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just go, we can always ask one of the others to get me some things.”

“Right, right,” he nodded. “Let’s go.” His arm automatically wrapping around your lower back to help support you as he offered his other arm for you to take as he led you carefully to the car.

--

“Dom, look it’s our daughter,” you whispered breathlessly staring down in wonder at the beautiful little girl in your arms. You had been worried that she would noticeably look like Rafael but thankfully your baby girl had inherited nearly everything from you, and you hoped that it stayed that way. But it truly didn’t matter. Carisi was her father in every way that counted, and every way that mattered.

“She’s gorgeous,” Carisi’s breathed, eyes wetting with tears as he carefully reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “Just like her mother.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. Your eyes drifted to the bag that Olivia had brought in for you, when she came in to say hello to your beautiful baby girl, and leaving with a wink.

“Sweetie, can you get something from my bag? It should be right on top,” you nodded towards it, breaking Carisi’s little mutterings that he was making towards your daughter.

“Oh, sure yeah,” he nodded distractedly. You grinned down at your daughter in secret, leaning to press a kiss to her soft little forehead.

“I’ve got a little surprise for your daddy,” you told her.

“Um, babe, is this? Is this what I think it is?” Carisi turned around holding a ring box in his hand, the lid opened to reveal a man’s ring. The band a gorgeous mixture of black, gold and silver intertwining with a hint of blue.

“Dominick Sonny Carisi, you have been my rock for the past near nine months, bringing so much happiness and light into my life,” you started, feeling yourself getting choked up. You blinked furiously. “I fell for you without even noticing. You are the father of my daughter, and without a doubt you are the love of my life. We’re already a family but I think we should make it official. Will you marry me?”

Carisi’s mouth was open, his eyes welling up with my tears as he stared at you, sitting there in the hospital bed holding his daughter. Looking more radiate than he had ever seen you. And all he could do was nod silently and take the ring out of the box and put it on his finger.

[masorciereviolette]

can i request part 3 for oh captain please?!? your olivia benson fics are top tier!!!

Oh Captain, My Captain Pt.3

Pairing: Olivia Benson x Reader

Warnings: Sick Reader, Protective Olivia, Fluff, Comfort.

Word count: 5k

A/N: This is technically gonna be a merger of two different requests I received, this one above asking for a part three of the series and a previous one asking for a fic of Olivia taking care of the reader when she’s sick.

Previous part in the series Link To Masterlist

It’s been a few weeks since that awful case . Since Olivia collapsed in your arms, broken and shaking. Since you held her like the world was fllling and promised it wouldn’t, not on your watch. And the truth is… she’s doing better now.

You can see it in the way she smiles again—slowly, softly, like it doesn’t hurt quite as much. In the way she wraps her arms around Noah during bedtime stories instead of just sitting at his side. In the way she reaches for you in the middle of the night, instead of turning away.

You and Noah helped her find her footing again. Gave her the space to grieve. Gave her love in its most patient form. That part feels good. What doesn’t feel good is… well. You. It started small. A headache here, a sore throat there. A little fatigue. Easily brushed off—something in the air, too many late nights, maybe allergies.

But then came the nausea. The bone-deep aches. The way your entire body feels like it’s moving through molasses. You’re freezing cold one hour, sweating through your shirt the next. Nothing sticks in your stomach right. You wake up with pounding temples and a rolling gut, and even you can’t pretend it’s just stress anymore.

Not that it stops you. You keep going, even as your body begs you not to. Long nights at the office, even longer days. This case—whatever the hell it is—has crossed state lines and political wires. You’re lucky you haven’t had to fly out. Yet. Carisi wasn’t spared either. You’re both neck-deep in the legal mire of it. Inter-district debates, policy disputes, strategic breakdowns with the DA and half the governor’s people.

Today is the second-to-last meeting in a week full of them. And you feel like absolute shit. You’re seated across from Carisi in one of the DA’s private conference rooms, nodding along to someone’s presentation about jurisdictional authority while trying not to actively lose consciousness.

Your stomach rolls. You shift in your seat, willing your body to just hold out a little longer. Carisi looks up, mid-sentence, and his brow furrows. “Hey…” he says under his breath, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

“You sure? You look a little…”

“I’m fine,” you repeat, reaching for the water bottle beside your laptop. “Probably just the Chinese we ordered.” He gives you a look. One that says he knows you’re full of it. But he nods anyway, dropping it for now. The minute there’s a break in the discussion, you quietly excuse yourself and slip down the hallway, ducking into the private bathroom.

You lock the door, drop your bag by the sink, and immediately sink to your knees beside the trash can. Your stomach heaves once, violently. Nothing comes up, but the pressure in your throat makes your eyes water. You fold your arms over the lid, resting your head there, panting.

God, you feel awful. You sit there for longer than you realize. Not crying, not exactly. Just there. Drained. Aching. Praying your body gives you a break before you collapse in front of your coworkers and make headlines for all the wrong reasons.

You don’t hear the footsteps. Don’t hear the door open down the hall. You’re too busy trying to breathe through your nausea and the sharp, steady throb blooming behind your eyes. Your cheek is pressed against your crossed arms, draped over the edge of the trash can, and you’ve stopped pretending you’re fine. You’re not. The door knocks once. Firm. Familiar.

You freeze. “[Y/n]?” Her voice makes your stomach turn—but not from the illness. From guilt. From knowing what’s coming.

“Liv,” you rasp, not moving.

“I know you’re in there,” she says, more gently this time. “Open the door.” You squeeze your eyes shut. Of course Carisi told her. That bastard was too quiet when you brushed him off. And she—Olivia—of course she came. You drag yourself up, using the counter for balance, and shuffle to the door. You hesitate, hand on the lock, then flick it open.

She’s standing there in jeans and that fitted black jacket she always throws on when she’s in fix-it mode. But it’s her eyes that get you—soft and furious and terrified all at once. She takes one look at you and exhales like she’s been punched “Oh my God,” she whispers. “You look like hell.”

You manage a crooked smile. “Thanks.”She doesn’t laugh. Instead, her hand lifts immediately to your cheek—warm fingers against your clammy skin. You lean into it without thinking. Her thumb brushes across your cheekbone, tender and trembling.

“How long have you felt like this?” she asks.

“Few days,” you mutter.

She pulls back just slightly, eyes narrowing. “Days?”

“Could be a virus. Or—flu maybe. I’ve been working a lot, it’s probably just—”

“You’ve been collapsing into a trash can,” she says, voice sharp with emotion. “You’re pale, clammy, shaking—and don’t tell me it’s stress. You’re scaring me.”

That lands. The words hit you square in the chest. You press a hand to your stomach as another wave of nausea rolls through you. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

She takes a step closer, gripping your arms now, her brows drawing together. “You are worrying me. Do you think I’d rather find out from Carisi that my girlfriend is falling apart in a bathroom while trying to power through a multistate legal crisis?”

You look away, throat tightening. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just… didn’t want to be one more thing on your plate.”

She goes quiet. Then her voice drops, barely above a whisper. “You’re never just one more thing.”

You look at her then, really look at her—and what you see guts you. Her eyes are glassy. Lips parted like there’s more she wants to say but can’t find the words fast enough “Liv—”

“No,” she says, stepping forward again, wrapping her arms around you. You fall into her immediately, your face burying in her shoulder, the smell of her shampoo grounding you more than anything else has in days.

“You don’t get to do this alone,” she murmurs, holding the back of your head, thumb stroking gently at your nape. “You take care of everyone—Noah, me, the damn DA’s office—and you don’t even flinch. But you don’t let anyone take care of you unless you’re bleeding or unconscious.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body slumping further into hers. “Let me take care of you,” she says again, more fragile this time. “Please.” You nod against her collarbone, and that’s all she needs.

She steps back just enough to cup your face again, her thumbs brushing along your jaw. “Let’s go home,” she says. “You’re not going back to that meeting. You’re going to get in bed, and I’m going to make you tea, and if you try to argue I will sit on your legs.”

Despite everything, your lips twitch “There it is,” she murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “There’s my girl.”

You close your eyes, leaning into her touch, your heart so full it aches “Okay,” you whisper. “Take me home.”

And she does. With one arm around your waist. And all the love in the world in her eyes. She leads you out of the building, not stopping for pleasantries or loosening her grip on your waist. She tells Carisi, with a clipped nod, that she’s taking you home. In the car one of her hands stays curled around yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in rhythm with the road.

You sit slumped in the passenger seat, exhaustion washing over you like waves. Now that the fight to pretend is gone, the weight of how bad you actually feel settles in. You ache in places you didn’t know could ache. Your head pounds. Your stomach is a mess of dull, slow-burning nausea.

Olivia keeps glancing at you when she thinks you’re not looking. Her grip tightens on the wheel whenever she sees you wince or curl slightly in on yourself“You okay?” she murmurs at one red light, her voice softer than the silence. You hum something that’s not really a yes. But it’s not a no either.

When she pulls into the parking spot, she doesn’t wait for you to move. She unbuckles your seatbelt herself, leans in, and presses a kiss to your temple before whispering, “Stay put.”

You nod, head resting against the cool window. She’s back around to your door in seconds, opening it gently and offering both hands. You take them, even though your pride itches. But it fades the second she kisses your knuckles and tucks you against her body like she’s trying to shoulder the weight of you for you.

You barely register the apartment around you as she guides you inside. The familiar warmth, the scent of home “Go lie down,” she says gently, helping you out of your jacket. “I’ll bring you water and something light for your stomach.”

“I can help—” She gives you a look. That look. The one that says sit your ass down or I swear to God, woman. You manage the smallest smile as she tugs the sleeves of your shirt back into place. “Fine. Bed.”

She watches you head toward the bedroom, her eyes never leaving you. By the time you settle under the blanket, curled on your side with the room spinning just slightly, she’s already walking in with a glass of water and a cool cloth for your forehead “You’re lucky I love you,” you murmur hoarsely.

She sits on the edge of the bed, setting the glass down and laying the cloth across your forehead with a tenderness that makes your chest tight “No,” she whispers, brushing her fingers across your temple. “I’m lucky you let me.”

You close your eyes, overwhelmed—not by the illness, but by her. By how easily she steps into this role when it’s your turn to fall apart. She smooths your hair back, leans down, and kisses your forehead “I’ve got you,” she whispers. “Now go to sleep.”

And this time, you don’t argue. You let her hold you. Let yourself be taken care of. Because for once—you know you don’t have to be the strong one. Not when she loves you like this. You drift in and out of sleep, the cool cloth soothing your forehead, the sheets warm with Olivia’s scent. You don’t know how much time passes before you feel her fingers lightly brushing your cheek. “Hey,” she murmurs, her voice low and careful, “I need to go pick up Noah from Amanda’s.”

Your eyes flutter open, just barely. She’s crouched beside the bed now, eye-level with you, her thumb stroking across your temple. Her expression is soft, but there’s a crease in her brow that only deepens when you wince at the light or try to shift “I’ll be right back, okay?” she whispers. “He stayed later than usual—Amanda had them baking cookies and apparently making a mess out of her kitchen.”

You manage a faint, lopsided smile. “Sounds like him.”

“He made extra for you,” she adds, brushing a kiss to your hand. “Told Amanda you ‘weren’t feeling like a superhero today.’”

That pulls a soft laugh from your sore chest. “I’ll be back in twenty,” she says, standing and pulling the blanket up around your shoulders. “Don’t move. Don’t even think about getting out of bed.”

“I won’t.”

She leans down, kissing your temple. “Try to sleep.” Then she’s gone. By the time she returns, the apartment is quiet again. Noah’s chattering softly about the cookies in his bag, his voice bouncing around the entryway as he kicks off his shoes. Olivia hushes him gently. “She’s sleeping, buddy. Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?”

“Is she really sick?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he follows her down the hall.

“A little,” she says, ruffling his hair. “Just worn out. But she’s going to be okay.” They brush teeth. Wash up. She helps him into his pajamas and lets him pick two bedtime stories, even though it’s already later than usual. She tucks him in with extra blankets, kisses his forehead twice like she knows he needs a little extra reassurance tonight. And when he finally snuggles under the covers, yawning around his smile, he asks, “Can I give her my stuffed dinosaur? It helps me when I feel icky.”

Olivia’s chest aches “We’ll leave him by the bed,” she promises. “That way he’s there if she needs him.” He nods solemnly and hands her the well-loved little plush before closing his eyes.

When Olivia finally pads back into the bedroom, the lights are dim, and the soft sound of your breathing meets her ears before anything else. You’re out cold now—curled into the pillow, one hand resting over your stomach, brow still faintly furrowed in discomfort.

She sets Noah’s stuffed dinosaur gently at the foot of the bed. Then she just watches you for a moment, heart aching at how small you seem when you’re not holding yourself upright for the world. She changes quickly, slipping into one of your soft tees and a pair of sleep shorts before climbing into bed behind you. Her hand finds your waist instinctively.

She pulls you into her chest with the kind of care that says this is where you belong, and presses a kiss to your shoulder. But as soon as her warmth surrounds you, you stir, groggy and disoriented, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Liv… no, don’t—” you murmur, throat raw, “You’ll get sick…”

Olivia tightens her grip immediately, lips brushing the shell of your ear “I don’t care,” she breathes. “Shut it. You’re not pushing me away.”

You shake your head weakly, trying again. “I don’t want you to feel like this too…”

“I want to feel you,” she interrupts, gently but firmly. “Sick or not. I’m not going anywhere.” You exhale a trembling breath, the protest dying on your lips as her arms wrap around you fully, anchoring you again. Her thumb strokes small circles against your hip.

“You’ve taken care of all of us,” she whispers. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.” You go still in her arms. You don’t have the strength to argue—and truthfully, you don’t want to. So you let yourself relax into her hold, her heartbeat steady behind you, her breath warm against your skin.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Sleep, baby,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.” And with her wrapped around you like a blanket of love and fierce protection, you drift back to sleep—safe, warm, and exactly where you’re meant to be.

You wake to sunlight bleeding in through the curtains and the distant sound of birds outside the window. At first, you’re not sure what pulled you out of sleep—everything feels hazy and slow, like your body is submerged underwater. Your limbs are heavy. Your skin aches. Even your eyelids feel sore. And your head is pounding in a way that makes the rest of the world feel slightly sideways.

Then the wave hits. Heat. Your skin is burning, sweat-damp and clammy all at once, and a soft groan escapes your throat before you even register it. Immediately, Olivia is there. She sits up beside you with a start, already reaching for you. “Hey—hey, sweetheart,” she says, her voice tight with concern. Her palm moves to your forehead, and the second it lands, you hear her curse under her breath “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

You blink slowly, trying to speak, but your mouth is too dry “I’ll get you water,” she says instantly, already climbing out of bed. “Don’t move. Seriously. Don’t.”

You barely have the energy to nod, but you manage to shift slightly in the sheets, your damp skin peeling away from the fabric with a miserable sound. She’s back within seconds, crouching by your side, one hand guiding the glass to your lips while the other supports the back of your head.

“Small sips,” she murmurs. “There you go.” The water tastes like heaven and barely stays down, but you manage. You lay back with a groan, your eyes fluttering shut.

Olivia’s fingers sweep hair from your sticky forehead, her touch featherlight but constant. “You should’ve told me it was this bad,” she says quietly, not angry—just hurting. “I would’ve taken you to urgent care last night.”

“It wasn’t,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice barely audible. “Not like this.” Her jaw tightens. You see it in her eyes—that helpless kind of fear she always tries to hide. The kind that only surfaces when it’s someone she loves. You. “Okay,” she says, as much to herself as to you. “Okay, that’s fine. We’re gonna stay home today. I’m calling in. Noah’s already dressed, he’s having cereal in the kitchen—he doesn’t want to bother you.”

You try to sit up at that, guilt rising fast, but Olivia gently pushes you back down “Stop. Don’t even think about it,” she scolds softly. “You have a fever. You’re not going anywhere.”

You blink up at her. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s already in leggings and one of your old hoodies. Despite the early hour, she’s alert, focused, completely in motion—clearly up long before you were, keeping everything afloat around you. You reach for her hand, catching her fingers weakly in yours “I’m sorry,” you rasp. Her features soften immediately.

“Don’t be,” she says, crawling back into bed beside you. “You’ve been carrying everything for weeks. It was bound to catch up.” You try to say something else, but your body betrays you with another wave of heat and dizziness, and you instinctively turn into her.

She wraps you up without hesitation, cradling your feverish body against her chest “I’ve got you,” she whispers. “I’ve got you.”

You feel her fingers stroking through your hair again, feel her lips brush the top of your head. You can’t stop shaking, and she pulls the comforter higher around your shoulders.

“I’ll set an alarm, check your temp again in an hour. Try and sleep a little more, okay? Maybe when you’re feeling better we could try to get you showered, the cold water might help.” You nod weakly against her, breathing in the steady, grounding rhythm of her heartbeat.

And as the fever burns through you, one truth cools the edges of your discomfort, You’ve never felt more taken care of. You drift in and out. Sleep comes in hazy, disjointed waves—never deep, never restful. Just enough to pull you under for moments at a time before dragging you back to the surface, your body aching in protest. Every time you blink awake, it feels like your skin is on fire and your bones are filled with sand.

Your muscles throb like you’ve run ten miles in your sleep, and your throat is so dry it feels like you’ve been swallowing glass. Your sheets are damp with sweat, clinging to your skin. The pillowcase is warm beneath your cheek no matter how many times Olivia flips it over to the cool side. Everything blurs together—moments of pain, of dizziness, of barely-there lucidity. But no matter how disoriented you feel…She’s there. Always there.

Cool washcloths pressed to your forehead, swapped out every hour without fail. A water glass brought to your lips, steady hands coaxing you to drink, even when the nausea makes you hesitate. Her fingers—God, her fingers—soothing and constant, brushing gently through your hair, over your temple, across your cheek. Grounding you with every touch. And her voice. Low. Soft. Just for you.

“You’re okay.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m right here.”

Sometimes she hums, soft and slow, tuneless and warm, filling the room with something that feels like safety. Sometimes you wake to the sound of her in the hallway, talking to Noah in the quiet, patient voice she uses when she doesn’t want to scare him. You hear him ask about you once “Is she gonna be okay?”

And Olivia’s answer is instant. Steady “She’s going to be just fine.” You don’t know how long it’s been. Hours. Maybe the entire day. Time has melted into heat and hands and the soft weight of the blankets wrapped around your legs. Every now and then, you’re aware enough to notice the window light shifting on the walls. But even then, everything feels distant. You don’t dream. Not really.

But at one point, your lips part in the middle of a fevered haze, and her name slips out, hoarse and faint “Olivia.” She’s there in seconds. You feel her hands first—cool against your face, framing your cheeks like you’re something breakable.

“Hey,” she breathes. “I’m here. I’m here, baby.” You force your eyes open, lids heavy and sticky. The light stings. Her face swims into view, blurry and beautiful.

“What time is it?” you rasp, throat scratchy and weak.

“Late afternoon,” she says, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your temple. “You’ve been sleeping on and off. Your fever’s still holding, but it hasn’t gotten worse.”

You groan softly, shifting against the pillow. “I feel like shit.”

“I know.” She leans forward and kisses your forehead, her lips lingering. “You don’t have to do anything but let me take care of you.”

You close your eyes again, exhausted by even this brief exchange. “I hate this,” you whisper. “Hate being the one down.” There’s a pause, and then a soft sound of affection from her throat.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice curling like a smile, “But you’re mine, even when you’re down. Especially then.”

A small, shaky breath escapes you. A ghost of a smile touches your lips. “You’re too good to me.” Her answer is quiet, but firm. Certain.

“I’m exactly as good to you as you are to me.” She moves carefully beside you, easing onto her back and gently pulling you into her. Your head rests on her chest now, tucked beneath her chin. Her fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt sleep shirt, resting flat and warm against your spine.

“You’ve held me together when I was falling apart—” she whispers into your hair. “Let me return the favor.” You want to argue. You want to say this is different. But the effort of forming words is too much, and her hand is already rubbing small, calming circles on your back.

So you just nod, weakly. You let her hold you. Let her breath and her heartbeat carry you. Let yourself finally surrender to the care you always give but rarely receive. Then—just as your eyes start to slip shut again—there’s a gentle knock at the door. Olivia turns her head toward it. “Come in, baby.”

Noah peeks in shyly, both hands clutching a plastic cup of red Jell-O. His eyes are wide and a little worried “I didn’t want to be loud,” he whispers. “But I brought this in case she wakes up.”

Olivia smiles, something so tender and full in her eyes it makes your chest ache. “That’s perfect, sweetheart. Come here.”

He tiptoes into the room and sets the cup gently on the nightstand, his little fingers careful not to make a sound “Is she still sick?” he asks, voice small.

“She is,” Olivia says, rubbing his back as he leans into her side. “But she’s doing better. And you’re helping, just being here.”

Noah nods seriously, then climbs onto the edge of the bed with delicate care. He leans forward and presses the softest kiss to your temple “I love you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightens, and your eyes sting—not from the fever this time, but from the overwhelming warmth that floods your chest. You can’t speak, but you reach for his hand and squeeze it with the little strength you have.

“We love you too,” Olivia says quietly, her voice full, her arm wrapping around both of you now—pulling him into her side, keeping you anchored to her. And in that moment, even with the fever still burning and your body aching and your stomach churning… You’re safe. You’re held. And you are so deeply, endlessly loved—It almost makes the rest of it fade.

At some point during the later afternoon, you must have stirred. You remember Olivia’s hands brushing back your hair, her voice soft but firm as she insisted you shower—just a quick one, to cool your skin and help your body reset. You barely argued. Standing beneath the lukewarm water felt like floating, your mind somewhere between sleep and waking. She helped you back into bed after, dried your hair gently with a towel, pressed another kiss to your temple, and promised she wasn’t going anywhere.

Now it’s pitch dark by the time you wake again. The room is quiet, still steeped in the hush of evening. The window’s cracked slightly, letting in the faint sounds of the city—distant traffic, a car door slamming somewhere far below. The sheets beneath you are cool now, no longer soaked through, and your body… doesn’t ache in the same way it did before.

You blink slowly, the fuzz clearing from your brain. The fever’s broken. You can feel it—your skin isn’t burning anymore, your breath comes easier, your thoughts less fogged. You still feel wrung out, sore and sluggish, but you’re no longer drowning in heat and nausea. You sit up slowly, every movement careful and deliberate. Your limbs are weak, but not useless. Your throat’s dry, but not raw.

A folded blanket rests beside you—probably left by Olivia—and you tug it around your shoulders like a shawl before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Your feet hit the floor, and you take a moment to steady yourself. You’re not okay yet… but you no longer feel like you’re dying, either.

The apartment is dim, only one or two small lamps lit in the living room. Noah’s door is closed as you pass it, a faint glow from his nightlight spilling under the crack. You smile faintly, thinking of how gently he kissed your temple earlier. You make a mental note to thank him in the morning. Maybe draw with him. Watch that dinosaur movie again.

You round the corner to the kitchen and pause just inside the doorway. Olivia’s standing at the stove, barefoot in sweats and one of your hoodies, her hair loosely pinned back. She’s focused, quiet—ladling soup into a bowl, one hand steadying the pot, the other careful and practiced.

The smell hits you first—garlic, herbs, something warm and soothing. It makes your stomach rumble weakly for the first time in days. You don’t say anything at first. Just watch her. Watch the way she moves like this is second nature. Like she’s not just making soup—she’s caring. The way she always does. With her whole heart.

Then she glances over her shoulder and stops when she sees you. You can see it hit her all at once—her posture relaxes with visible relief. Her face softens instantly, like she’d been holding her breath and didn’t even realize it.

“Hey,” she says softly, setting the ladle down and crossing the kitchen in three long strides. Her hands find your arms gently, grounding you.

“Hi,” you whisper, your voice still rough. “I think the fever’s gone.”

She exhales hard, like that confirmation alone pulls something tight out of her chest. “Thank God,” she says, and then pulls you into her.

You sink into her arms like gravity. Her hands smooth the blanket around your shoulders before wrapping tight around your waist, holding you like she’s been waiting all day just to do this. You press your cheek to her shoulder and breathe her in. “You’ve been making soup?”

“Mmhm,” she murmurs against your hair. “You’re not ready for real food yet, but I figured something warm would help. And it’s the one thing I know how to make that isn’t pasta.”

You smile into her collar. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching yours. “You kinda scared me.”

“I know,” you whisper.

She presses her lips to your forehead. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try not to,” you say, weakly teasing. “But I make no promises. I’m very bad at being taken care of.”

Her eyes narrow, but there’s affection there, not judgment. “You’re not bad at it. You’re just… not used to letting go.”

You lean into her again, forehead resting against hers “Thank you for holding on for me.”

She smiles then, soft and full. “Always.”

She kisses you one more time before pulling back, brushing her knuckles across your cheek “Come sit,” she says gently. “Soup’s ready. You don’t have to eat much. Just enough to help you get stronger.”

You let her guide you to the kitchen table, blanket still around your shoulders, the weight of her hand lingering on your back as she sets the bowl in front of you. And for the first time in days, you feel… grounded. Still tired. Still healing. But not alone. Never alone.

She sets the bowl down gently in front of you, her hand brushing across your shoulder like she still doesn’t quite believe you’re upright and okay. You watch her move, watch the way her eyes keep flicking back to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she looks away too long. You know that look. You’ve worn it for her. It’s love dressed up as worry.

And right now, she needs something just as much as you do. As she starts to turn back toward the counter, you open your arms—and the blanket around your shoulders “Come here,” you whisper.

She pauses mid-step, Her brows lift slightly. “Really, now?”

You nod. “Now.” You shift a little in the chair, spreading the blanket wider as your arms extend toward her again. You’re still paled, still a little shaky, but the way you look at her leaves no room for argument. You don’t just want her close—you need her there “I’ve been sick for days,” you murmur. “Let me hold you for five minutes. Just five. You know I’m clean.” You added softly trying to ease her worry.

She hesitates. You can see the mental tug-of-war—her instinct to coddle you, to keep fussing, to hover and protect… but her heart softens, and after a moment, she lets out a breathy laugh “God, you’re impossible,” she says—but she’s already walking back over, stepping between your knees.

You look up at her, eyes soft. “Please?” That’s all it takes. She settles carefully onto your lap, knees on either side of your thighs, arms gently winding around your neck as you tug the blanket back around the both of you. You wrap it snugly over her back, creating a cocoon of warmth—your arms circling her waist, her hands finding your hair almost instinctively.

She exhales against your shoulder like she’s been holding tension in her chest for days. You feel the full weight of her settle into you, and your body relaxes in return—fatigue still present, but muted now by the comfort of her there, fitting perfectly in your arms “I’m supposed to be the one holding you,” she mumbles, nuzzling your cheek.

“You have been,” you whisper back. “Every second. Just let me catch up a little.” She doesn’t argue.

She just sinks in closer, her fingers tracing lazy shapes on the back of your neck, her lips brushing your jaw every so often. The soup cools slowly on the table behind her, untouched but not forgotten. Neither of you says much. You don’t need to. You just sit there, swaying slightly, the blanket around you both, your hearts beating in time. And for the first time in days, the silence feels full—not with fear, not with fever, but with love. Real. Steady. Whole.

[noellawrites]

Distance - dark!Sonny Carisi x sibling!reader

summary: your big brother Sonny comes home to visit and finds he has a lot to catch up on.

warnings: incest (kissing and touching), forced touching

notes: reader is gender neutral/no gendered terms, although ‘sweetheart’, ‘kid’, ‘kiddo’ and ‘baby’ are all used as terms of endearment.

requested by and written for @rafaslittleboy ❤️

----

You usually kept your distance from your older brother. It was easy most of the time. He had a busy job as an ADA, a girlfriend (whom you didn't like) and her kids in the mix, not to mention the two of you living in completely different boroughs.

Deep down, there was one reason above all others, though. You both loved each other... in a way that wasn't normal for siblings.

When the holidays came around, it was unavoidable. Your siblings brought their kids or step-kids or husbands or partners and you were always just there, alone, listening to your Italian-American family get louder and louder as the night progressed.

And today was definitely not an exception.

The whole family was home celebrating your parents’ wedding anniversary. It was different from the typical family holidays where everyone and their own families came, sharing sleeping bags and blow up mattresses.

"(y/n), are there any boys or girls we should know about?” Gina’s voice cut through the room as the rest of your sisters and your brother turned around to watch your reaction closely. Your family was quite protective and romantic relationships were no exception. You and Bella still talk about how much you hate Amanda behind her back.

“No, I’m not really into the dating scene. I’m too busy with school and work,” you explain. Everyone nods in understanding and goes back to their conversations. All but Sonny, whose gaze lingers on you for another moment.

After dinner, you take a seat on the couch next to your niece, Mia, who was basically the same age as you so it felt weird calling her your niece. Amanda's kids somehow still hadn't run out of energy, so they were running around the kitchen and dining room. You said a silent prayer for your ma's china cabinet.

You nodded along deftly to the discussion, which had recently descended into an argument about having a family vacation next summer. It got hard to fake your interest after a while, so you decided to excuse yourself and go upstairs.

Checking your phone, you realized how late it was. You hoped to god that Amanda wouldn't be staying over. The last time that happened, you had to sleep on the couch while her two daughters got to sleep in your bed.

You crept into Sonny's childhood room, relics of his past still gracing the walls. Old sports trophies, stuffed animals, old toys.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a large book peeking out of his bookshelf. You remembered this vividly: it was one of the Carisi family photo albums.

You inch it off of the shelf and carry it over to Sonny's bed, sitting down on it while flipping open the photo book.

You skimmed through pictures of him as an altar server at your family's church, school field trips, pictures from the Police Academy, old girlfriends, family vacations.

And then you came to the page. The very first image was your mother holding her small bump, looking old and exhausted, pregnant at almost fifty. A twenty-three year old Sonny with his arms around her. You kept flipping. A messy-haired Sonny holding his little infant sibling and looking so proud.

You thought looking through the photos would help you realize how wrong you felt, but the lump in your throat grew. There were so many more photos of you and Sonny.

“Hey kid, what’cha doin’?”

Your heart banged in your chest and you turned your head, seeing your brother leaning against the doorframe.

“I-I’m sorry, Sonny—“ you said, hurriedly shutting the photo album and setting it on the floor.

“Nah, don’t be sorry. I look at ‘em sometimes too, feels like just yesterday I was holdin’ ‘ya in my arms,” he smiles, walking over and sitting next to you on his bed.

Your bodies draw into each other and you instinctively lean into his chest. There was something so special about your big brother, so much comfort in the fact that he’s always been there for you.

“I’m happy ‘ya home, kiddo. I miss seein’ ‘ya,” he smiles, ruffling your hair.

“I miss seeing you too. It’s not the same, living without my big brother,” you sigh.

You look up at your brother. Since he’d been promoted to detective and sent to Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit, you’ve noticed changes in him.

“I miss 'ya too, but it won't be too bad, me livin' in Manhattan. 'Ya always welcome to come 'n stay, kiddo," he says, and you nod, giving him a tight smile.

As you lean back into his chest, you feel his fingers tracing lower, lingering past your waist, in a move disguised as comfort.

"'Ya body's changed a lot since I last saw 'ya. Lookin' real good, kid. Really growin' up," he hums.

A soft blush rises up your cheeks. “That’s what happens when you’re too busy with work to come visit us,” you nudge playfully.

“I’m gonna change that, kiddo. I’m gonna be ‘round here a lot more, gonna make sure I ain’t missin’ nothin’,” he reassures.

You turn and press your face into the soft fabric of Sonny’s dress shirt, inhaling the smell of his woodsy cologne and bergamot laundry detergent.

“Good,” you smile, reaching a finger up to play with one of his shirt buttons.

Sonny looks down at your soothed expression as you toy with his shirt playfully. After stealing a quick glance at the door, he looks down and puts his hand over yours.

“Why don’t we take this off, hm?” he asks, starting to unbutton his shirt from the top.

Now, it was your turn to look at the door, still slightly ajar. Your heart pounded at the thought of one of your family members catching you in such a compromising situation with your brother.

“Go close it, sweetheart,” he orders, placing his hand on your cheek softly. You nod and mechanically obey.

You turn back around to see your big brother leaned back against the headboard, smirking, shirt open to expose his chest and slightly rounded stomach.

“Whatever this is… we shouldn’t be doing it,” you say hesitantly.

“Nah it’ll be our lil’ secret, kiddo. Been wantin’ ‘ya like this f’so long,” he groans.

You glance back to the door, even though you know you’ve already shut and locked it.

All of a sudden, your brother’s hand pulls you onto the bed and into his lap, laughing at your skittishness.

“Kiddo, ain’t nobody gonna hear us, alright? Banged plenty’a chicks in this room ‘n my day,” he laughs, reaching up to cup your cheek. “Jus’ gotta focus on me, hm?”

You lay across his parted legs, both of you shimmying further down the bed so you could lay comfortably on top of him. You could feel his hardening member against your legs and it made you want to curl up and turn away from him.

But you couldn’t.

Your big brother leans up slightly, placing his soft lips on yours. He deepens the kiss and you let out an accidental, blissful moan.

“‘Ya like that, baby?” he asks, amused, one eyebrow cocked.

You lean up to meet his lips and he sticks his tongue in your mouth, deepening the kiss, touching all over your body as you focus on him.

“Sonny, n-no—“ you gasp, moving his hand away from where it rested, toying with the band of your underwear with his long fingers.

“‘S okay baby, gonna feel good,” he promises, fingers dancing below the elastic and touching your nerve-filled skin.

As Sonny sticks a finger inside your hole, you try to hide your pained, uncomfortable wince.

Sonny leans into your lips again, kissing you passionately and leading you into a heated makeout session. You weren’t quite sure what to do except follow his lead, so you push your hand down to his crotch and rub at his hard cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart!” he hisses, mouth hanging open.

“Is th-this okay?” you squeak, eyes wide.

“God, kiddo, yeah, ‘s more than okay,” he moans, throwing his head back.

You’re not sure what else to do, so you lean down and give him a few soft kisses on his long, open neck.

You’d seen people do that on TV and it seemed to make them feel good, so you figured it couldn’t hurt.

“Pull ‘ma cock out, sweetheart,” he breathes, guiding your fingers to his pants zipper.

“Sonny, I-I don’t know if—“

“C’mon, sweetheart. ‘Ya wanna make ‘ya big brotha’ feel good, right? Wanna make me happy?” he urges.

“I-I guess so,” you say, voice wavering.

As you feel around to grab his cock and pull it out of his boxers, you hear your mom’s voice ring out from downstairs.

“Dessert is ready, everyone!” she calls, immediately causing an uproar from Amanda’s rowdy children and Bella’s little one that you could hear all the way upstairs.

You and Sonny looked at each other, wide-eyed.

“Go downstairs, kid. I gotta take care’a this first. ‘N later, we’ll have s’more fun,” he promises, giving you a dizzying kiss on the lips before nudging you off the bed.

You turn and walk to the door, your brother behind you jerking his cock off with labored breaths.

You opened the door, walked through and closed it behind you, knowing nothing would ever be the same between you.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Strip

Dominick "Sunny" Carisi Jr. x Y/N - drabble - 2K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: undercover Carisi, stripper reader but nothing described, threats, trafficking, abuse, mention of SA, basically all the warnings that come with SVU as a whole

-------------------------------------

Carisi sighed as the colorful flashing lights made the club feel ethereal. The naked flesh around him emanating the pungent smell of sex, money. He would never get used to that part of the job. He always felt bad for the women in this place. Not because they were sex workers, but because of how the men viewed them, treated them. As if they weren’t human, something to use. And the men always had these dark hollow eyes, like sharks. Throwing money like that somehow gave them permission to do as they pleased. The mic in his suit scratched against his skin as his arm stretched to follow you. 

Sitting him in the large chair of the private suite, you closed the curtain, turning around to face the man. You walked towards him with a sway in your hips.

“Is it ok if we… don’t?” the man said.

You stopped in front of him with a confused and shocked expression. “You don’t want a dance?”

“No… but I can pay,” he said, fumbling with his wallet before he handed you $200. “I just needed to get away…” he mumbled trying to remember the name you had told him over the thumping music.

“Candy.” you shrugged, taking the money from him and putting it under the strap of your bra. “Not a fan of clubs?” you asked him before sitting on the arm of the chair as it was the only place to sit in the tiny room. 

“Sunny,” he said, shaking your hand like a gentleman, “And no not really, especially this one.” he said, looking up at you. 

You let out a chuckle, “No? I’ll let you in on a little secret - me neither.” you took out a cigarette and lighter from behind the chair, you and the other dancers had them stashed in almost every room.

“Oh? And why is that?” he asked, taking the lighter from you and holding it out for you to light the cig. 

“Strippers don’t have worker protections ya know? And our boss, yikes.” you said, letting out a drag.

“The uh, the big Russian guy?” Carisi asked. The Russian owner was the target, after one of the girls from the club had been found dead in an alley with a surprising amount of “work” to make sure she was hard to identify. 

“Vladimir Kosorovka.” you said, even his name sent a chill down your spine. “He’s…” you paused, realizing what you said next could earn you one of Vlad’s punishments.

“You’re safe, I promise.” Carisi said, instinctively going to hold your hand.

“He’s a monster.” you shuddered. “Diamond went missing and he didn’t even sound concerned… and when she was found… dead, all messed up… I swear he smiled? Like he was happy that it took the police days to figure out she worked here, and that's only because Daisy called the tipline because she was worried.” you said, your hand trembling in his grasp. “I think he did it.” you whispered.

“Why’s that?” the man asked, his eyes told you he wanted to know but that he would also protect you from Vlad.

“Ya know, its never been hard for me to tell when a cop comes in, especially undercover. You all look around too much.” you said, pushing Carisi’s shirt aside slightly, seeing the mic taped to his chest. Carisi looked down, trying to think of what to do now that he was compromised. “You’re safe, I promise.” you said, squeezing his hand for reassurance. 

“What can you tell me about your boss?” he said, much more confident in himself now that he wasn’t hiding. 

“Like I said, he’s a monster. He beats us. Robs us. Rapes us. We’re his and we all owe him a debt… If I knew the price I never would have come here…” you sighed.

“Come here?” Carisi asked.

“He brought all of us to the USA, all the dancers out there are illegal, including myself. It's why we don’t leave… can’t leave… until we work off our $20K debt. If we have sex with him he takes off $100. Even if he forces us… how generous.” you said with a nervous smile, trying to conceal your anxiety. You had never told anyone this, but something about the man in front of you made you feel safe.

“What do you want to do, if you didn’t have to stay here?” he asked.

His question stunned you for a moment, realizing it was coming from him and was completely unrelated to police work. “I… want to become a citizen and go to school…” you said.

“And then what?” he said, his eyes encouraging you to go on. 

You smiled softly at him, “I want to be a lawyer… to put people like Vlad away.” 

Carisi broke out into a bright smile, he couldn’t help it. “I’m gonna be a lawyer too, maybe I’ll see you in class sometime.” 

You put your cigarette out on the back of the chair, flicking the butt behind it as well, “Wouldn’t that be nice?” you said, a tinge of sadness in your voice.

Suddenly you heard stomping, the pattern was familiar - Vlad. You could hear him yelling in Russian but only one word stuck out to you -  конфеты. Candy. Without thinking you pushed Sunny back against the chair, your fingers running through his silver locks to mess his hair up. You tugged at his tie, covering the mic.

“Trust me?” you said, looking at him with panic stricken eyes.

He nodded quickly, hearing the steps get closer. 

You dropped to your knees, undoing his belt quickly before dragging down his zipper. Carisi’s face was burning red but he played into it when the door swung open, throwing his head back and gripping your hair.

“Move it Candy.” Vlad said with hostility in his tone, yanking you up by your arm. 

“Hey man I paid $200 for this action, let her finish eh?” Carisi said with faux irritation.

Vlad looked between the two of you, he snatched the $200 from your bra strap before tossing you back towards Carisi. Your tall heels made you stumble backwards, landing straight in his lap. “Make him happy, then come to VIP.” he said before slamming the door shut.

Carisi felt you tense when Vlad mentioned VIP. “What’s in VIP?” 

You remained frozen on his lap, “Nothing good… It’s the last place Diamond went before she…” your hands clenched into fists.

Carisi gently switched places with you, sitting you down before he straightened out his clothes. “Stay here.” he said.

You snatched his hand, “Please don’t leave. You’re the police, you have to protect me… something awful will happen to me if I go up there.”

“Trust me?” he asked, squeezing your hand. 

You looked between his eyes for any signs of deception but found none, you nodded watching him open the door to leave. “My name is Y/N. Y/N L/N… just in case something happens to me.” you blurted out.

“Dominick Carisi, nothing is gonna happen to you. I promise.” he said before shutting the door. 

You stayed still and silent, after a moment you heard screams, yelling, the music cut off and it sounded like people were raiding the building. You stayed where you were not wanting to bump into Vlad or any of his friends. When the door burst open you saw a woman with brown hair and eyes. 

“Hey you’re ok, my name is Olivia, you’re safe.” she said, shrugging her large jacket off before handing it to you.

You took it, nodding at her gratefully as you put it on. Anything was better than walking into the cold New York air in a tiny string bikini if you could even call it that. Olivia led you out slowly, red and blue lights flashing everywhere. 

“I want Sunny.” you said randomly as EMT’s sat you down, covering you with a shock blanket.

“Ok honey, I’ll send him your way.” Olivia said before re-entering the club.

After a while you saw him emerge and come your way. You don’t know why but as soon as you saw him your eyes watered and you couldn’t help but hug him.

“Thank you…” you whispered. 

He hugged you back, trying to comfort you.

The embrace didn’t last long, Vlad was dragged out in cuffs but as soon as he saw you hugging a cop he rushed you. He knocked you to the ground before the cops could restrain him. “You are dead little one. You cannot hide from me in this city. I own it, I own you. You and Diamond will both belong to the gutter. Slut.” he said, spitting at you with his final insult before being dragged off.

Carisi helped you off the ground, “That was a direct threat to a key witness.” he said to Olivia.

“I know. She needs a safehouse.” Olivia said.

“No please! Vlad has friends in the police, I am as good as dead.” you said with a watery voice.

“No you’re not. I’ll take care of this.” Carisi said to Liv, she nodded at him despite not knowing his whole plan. 

Carisi left you with the EMT’s while he had his wire removed and stored with the rest of the evidence. As he sauntered back to you, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked in the early morning light. The sun had yet to rise but it was slowly making its way there. 

“Come on.” he said, holding a hand out to you.

“Where are we going?” you asked as he led you to his cruiser. 

“Home. It’s safe, warm, and nobody will know you are there.” he assured you. 

“Is that allowed?” you asked out of curiosity.

Carisi shrugged, “Our secret.” 

You smiled and nodded. The drive was quiet and you were sure you fell asleep at some point because when you woke up you saw the city behind you. “Staten Island?” you asked.

Sunny nodded as he parked before running around to your side to open the door. He walked ahead of you, showing you to his apartment. Inside you finally stopped shivering, you kneeled down finally taking off your heels. When you stood on your feet you let out a sigh of relief. Now you had to look up at Sunny when he spoke.

“I’ll get you some clothes.” he said before walking off. You remained where you were, feeling awkward. 

When he returned he handed you some pajamas that were soft to the touch, “They’re my nieces, should fit you.”

“Thanks.” you said, dropping the coat Olivia had given you to put them on. You noticed the blush on Carisi’s face as you dressed. “Don’t get embarrassed now.” you chuckled.

His laugh was the most perfect sound you’d heard in so long. Genuine and full of heart. “Italian?” you said.

He looked at you with intrigued eyes, “What gave it away?” he asked.

“You put your heart into everything.” you said. You were always so perceptive, it saved you more times than you could count.

Carisi smiled at that, “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Honestly I’d love to just sleep… Vlad kept the club open 24/7 and made us do coke to keep up. I don’t remember the last time I slept in a bed.” you said, crossing your arms in front of you to hold yourself.

Carisi’s smile dropped to one of knowing sadness. He nodded for you to follow him which you did. He opened a door at the end of a narrow hallway. A large bed with blue bedding. 

“She’s all yours.” Carisi said.

You smiled at him before running and jumping onto the bed. Your body melted instantly at the softness of it all. The second you closed your eyes you felt yourself drifting off. You could hear Sunny giggling at your actions before you felt him pull a blanket over you. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, just down the hall. Come get me if you need anything.” he said before leaving. 

As you drifted off you couldn’t stop thinking about the man who not only saved you but made you feel something other than terror. It wasn’t lust, it was more pure than that. Butterflies? God you hoped so, and hoped that just maybe he felt them too.

--------------------

Naboo's Note:

Merry Crisis everyone lol my brain is so fried and its only going to get worse over the next three days. Hope ya'll enjoy, XOXOXOX!!!!!!

[metalmonki]

Objection! Part 3

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Coffees and food in hand, I made my way back to the district attorney's office. As I walked through the door, I heard a familiar voice call out behind me.

"Y/N, Rafa is really putting you to work, isn’t he?" Olivia smiled as she caught up and fell into step with me.

"Lieutenant Benson, hardly. This is just a thank you for everything, and something to tide us over while we look over a case together," I smiled back at her.

"Oh, please, call me Liv," she laughed. "I hope my team didn’t scare you off."

"No, they're wonderful! If anything, I’m mad that Sonny didn’t introduce us all earlier."

"If it makes you feel any better, we all thought he only had one sister until Fin overheard him talking with Rafa about getting you a job. Then he tells us he has four sisters!" Olivia laughed, holding open Rafael's office door for me.

Rafael looked up from his desk, raising an eyebrow when he saw us all smiles and laughter.

"Getting along well, I see," Rafael remarked, keeping his face neutral.

"Yeah, just talking about Sonny," I smiled, placing a coffee and a sandwich in front of him. "This is a thank you for saving me at the courthouse earlier."

"Oh, no thanks needed. We all get lost there our first day," Rafael smiled. "Now, Liv, what can I help you with?" He turned his attention to her.

"The guy we arrested yesterday wants to make a deal. He’ll give us all the other guys he knows who are holding girls in exchange for a reduced sentence and protective custody," Olivia quickly switched to business mode.

"Tell him I’ll be in to discuss a deal first thing in the morning," Rafael sighed.

"Great, I’ll leave you two to whatever it is ADAs do," Olivia smiled, walking out of the office.

Rafael waved a hand at her as she left, then picked up a pile of papers from his desk and brought them over to a coffee table on the other side of the room. He motioned for me to sit down on the lounge next to the coffee table before retrieving his coffee and sandwich. He handed me some paperwork from the pile and directed me to read while he ate. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him trying to eat in manageable bites while fighting the urge to just devour the entire sandwich. It was clear this was his first meal of the day—or at least since breakfast. I felt a pang of guilt for not getting something more substantial. Mental note: find a good takeout place nearby to keep this man fed. Sonny would probably know a few spots.

I turned my attention back to the paperwork, my heart sinking as I read the case summary and saw who the defense attorney was.

"You're in for one hell of a fight here, Barba," I looked over at him.

"You got all that from just reading the case outline?" Rafael asked, taking the final bite of his sandwich.

"That, and the fact that the defense attorney is Buchanan. It's glaringly obvious from the outline what tactics he'll try to use," I sighed.

"So, you know about Buchanan?" Rafael smirked.

"And you, Cabot, Novak, Langan, Calhoun, Ellis... If they’ve worked in New York, I’ve likely studied them," I admitted, a little embarrassed.

"Know thine enemy," Rafael chuckled. "So walk me through it."

I nodded and began breaking down the case for Rafael. If Buchanan wasn’t the defense attorney, I’d say it was open and shut. But with the victim being a prostitute, it was a given that Buchanan would try to use that as a justification. Clearly, Rafael had already anticipated this, as there was an in-depth criminal record for the defendant and even evidence to make the victim look more like a saint. It was a strong case, and I told Rafael so—the real hurdle was Buchanan. We spent hours going over every piece of evidence, discussing everything, every possible defense, every argument that could be made. By the time we finished, the city outside was lit up with its nightlife. The clock on the wall read 9:30. Rafael had a massive smile on his face.

"You're every bit as good as Carisi said you would be," he smiled.

"I have to be," I replied with a small smile.

I could tell he wanted to press on my answer but held back, choosing to nod instead.

"So, you're happy to keep working for me?" Rafael asked.

"It would be my pleasure," I smiled.

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow at 8 at the 16th because, for every bit of good you are, you somehow managed to forget to pick up the files I asked for," Rafael smirked, my eyes widening in realization.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I completely forgot! Sonny is still working; I can run over to the 16th now and grab the files," I rushed to grab my phone, but before Rafael could speak, it rang. "Speak of the devil. Sonny, I was just about to call you."

"Great minds think alike. You still burning the midnight oil with Barba?" he chuckled.

"Yeah, I’m here with Barba. Why?" I asked, glancing at Rafael.

"Great! We’re all taking a break for dinner and wanted to see if you wanted to join us at Forlini’s?"

"That actually sounds amazing! We were just wrapping up here, so we’ll meet you there. Also, Sonny, could you bring along any cases you need us to look over? Please? I completely forgot to pick them up earlier," I added, feeling sheepish.

"Uh oh, first-day foul," Sonny laughed. "But yes, I can be an awesome big brother and bring them with me."

"Thank you, I owe you one," I hung up the phone and turned back to Barba. "The team is headed to Forlini’s for dinner and asked us to join."

"Sounds great to me," Rafael smiled.

We began packing up all the paperwork, slotting it back into the various files they had come from. Once everything was returned to its place, Rafael placed the files into a cabinet by his desk, grabbed his jacket, and slid it on while holding the office door open for me. I walked out as Rafael grabbed his briefcase and fell into step beside me, chatting about how, if he hadn’t been asked out for dinner with the team, he likely would have gone home and crashed without eating. I had to laugh and agree that I would have done the same.

I’d never been to Forlini’s, but Sonny had brought me food from there a few times, so I was looking forward to actually eating there for once. Rafael waved down a cab and told the driver where to go. When we pulled up in front of Forlini’s, Rafael had his wallet out and paid for the cab before I could protest. He climbed out first, holding the door open for me. My heart raced—he really was a gentleman.

Forlini’s was crowded, and Rafael placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me through the crowd. He said something about knowing where to find the others, but I couldn’t hear him over the noise. We came to a stop in front of a group of tables in the far back corner where Sonny, Fin, Amanda, Nick, and Olivia were already sitting, drinks in hand, laughing away.

"Should you be drinking if you’re still working?" Rafael chuckled, taking a seat and motioning for me to sit next to him.

"The only one here still working is Water Boy over there," Fin smirked, pointing at Sonny.

"Yeah, someone’s been neglecting their paperwork," Amanda laughed.

Sonny gave them a "stuff off" look before turning to me.

“Come è andato il primo giorno?” Sonny asked, leaning back in his chair. (How did the first day go?)

“È stato fantastico, perché?” I replied with a smile. (it was great, why?)

“Volevo solo assicurarmi che Barba ci andasse piano con te,” he said, a hint of concern in his voice. (I just wanted to make sure Barba went easy on you.)

“Ti preoccupi troppo,” I giggled, reaching for a menu in the middle of the table. (You worry too much)

It was at that point I noticed the entire table had fallen silent. Everyone was looking at Sonny and me with wide eyes, and Rafael looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. Clearly, Sonny hadn’t mentioned to anyone that he knew Italian.

“You speak Italian too?” Rafael was the first to break the silence.

“Uh, yes. Sonny never told any of you he could speak Italian?” I asked, looking around the table.

“No, he didn’t,” Olivia said, turning to Sonny. “What does Rafael mean by ‘you speak Italian too’?”

“Oh, I also speak Spanish,” I shrugged casually.

“Wow, Carisi, your sister’s amazing,” Nick smiled. “Veo que nos vamos a llevar bien, señorita.” (I can see we’re going to get along well, missy.)

“Hey, Amaro, eyes off my sister, alright?” Sonny pointed a finger at him, half-joking.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them, and the rest of the table joined in. Rafael, however, seemed to be glaring at Nick. I decided it would be best to wait until it was just Rafael and me before asking what his problem with Nick was. I joined the conversation at the table, and the whole team treated me like I’d been working with them for years. I felt at ease with them faster than I had with anyone else. For the first time, I felt like I’d found where I belonged.

When dinner was over, Sonny handed the files I had left behind to Rafael and excused himself to return to the office. The others wandered off to their various homes, and Rafael offered to see me home, even though it meant traveling further than his own place. He hailed us another cab and held the door open while I climbed in. I gave the driver my address before turning to Rafael.

“Okay, spill it,” I said, watching him.

“What?” Rafael looked at me, caught off guard.

“You don’t like Nick. Why?” I asked directly.

“He’s a playboy. Ever since his wife divorced him, he’s been running through women like he needs them to breathe,” Rafael said, looking out the cab window. “I just don’t want to see him do the same to you. He’s already slept with Amanda and half the female officers in the 16th, so I wouldn’t put it past him to target you next.”

“I can take care of myself, but thank you for your concern,” I smiled, appreciating his protective nature.

The cab came to a stop in front of mine and Sonny’s apartment building. I wished Rafael goodnight before making my way inside, desperate for sleep before I had to be at the 16th at 8 a.m.

[idonthavefriends46]

Yandere!Sonny Carisi x Female Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness, obsession, manipulation, emotional control, unhealthy relationship dynamics.

Summary: Reader catches up with an old colleague and Sonny gets jealous and possessive over her.

The precinct was buzzing with its usual midday energy—phones ringing, paperwork shuffling, detectives moving from desk to desk with coffee cups and case files in hand. You were used to the chaos. It had become your white noise, a background hum that barely registered as you focused on wrapping up the latest case.

But there was one thing—or rather, one person—who could always break through the noise.

Sonny Carisi.

Your partner. Your shadow. The man who had been glued to your side since the moment you were paired together.

At first, you had chalked it up to his natural protectiveness, the same kind he showed toward victims, witnesses, even the barista who got his coffee order wrong but “looked like she was havin’ a rough day.” But then you started to notice the way he watched you. The way he hovered when another man spoke to you, his jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back from something dangerous.

And today?

Today was no different.

You just hadn’t realized it yet.

“Hey, I know that face. That’s the case closed face.”

You laughed as you turned, looking up at the familiar voice. “Damn, McAllister, you still think you can read me that well?”

Detective Jake McAllister grinned. He had been your colleague back when you first started in SVU, before he transferred to another unit. You hadn’t seen him in over a year, and running into him today had been a pleasant surprise.

“Some things never change,” he said, leaning casually against your desk. “I hear you and Carisi are partners now.”

“Yeah, it’s been—”

“You like him?”

The question caught you off guard. “I—yeah, of course. He’s a great detective.”

McAllister gave you a look, one eyebrow raised. “That’s not what I meant, but okay.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

He chuckled. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Anyway, I gotta head out, but it was good seeing you. We should grab a drink sometime, catch up properly.”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “That’d be nice.”

You barely had time to sit back down at your desk before you felt his presence.

“Hey.”

You turned your head, surprised to find Sonny standing beside you. Hands in his pockets, casual slouch, easygoing smile—almost like his usual self.

“Hey,” you greeted, still slightly distracted as you shuffled some case files into a pile.

“So, uh… who was that guy?”

The question was smooth. Too smooth. Like it was just an afterthought. Like he wasn’t already running every possible scenario in his head.

You glanced up at him. “McAllister?”

Sonny hummed, nodding. “Yeah. Didn’t recognize him.”

You shrugged. “He used to be in SVU. We worked together before he transferred out.”

“Ah.” He rocked back on his heels, eyes flickering toward the door where McAllister had left. “Seemed… friendly.”

You let out a small laugh. “I mean, yeah. We were close back then. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him.”

Sonny smiled, but there was something in his eyes—something too sharp, too assessing. “Close, huh?”

You hesitated, sensing a shift. “Not like that.”

His smile didn’t waver, but his fingers tapped against the edge of your desk. “You sure?”

Your brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just sayin’,” he said, voice still light, still easy. But his eyes… his eyes had darkened, locked onto you like a predator waiting for the right moment. “Guy like that, lookin’ at you the way he was… talkin’ to you all close, smilin’ like he had a claim on you…”

You sighed. “Sonny, come on. It wasn’t like that.”

He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “No?”

“No,” you insisted.

Silence.

Then, slowly—so slowly it sent a shiver down your spine—his entire demeanor changed.

The slouch disappeared. The lighthearted act evaporated. He leaned in, resting both hands on your desk, effectively caging you in.

“That so?”

Your breath hitched.

His voice was different now—lower, quieter, dripping with something dangerous.

“You smiled at him,” he murmured. “Laughed at his jokes.”

“Because we were catching up—”

“You touched his arm.”

“It was nothing—”

“Nothing?” The word was almost mocking. His fingers twitched against the desk, his whole body coiled tight, like he was holding something back. “He asked you out.”

You swallowed. “He said we should grab a drink sometime.”

Sonny hummed, nodding slowly. “And you said yes.”

“I—”

“Didn’t you?”

His voice was like a vice, squeezing the air from your lungs.

“I—Sonny, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” he pressed. His knuckles whitened against the desk. “Didn’t mean to let him think he had a chance? Didn’t mean to act like you’re available?”

Your pulse spiked. “I am available, Sonny, I—”

Wrong answer.

His jaw clenched, and for a long, suffocating moment, he just stared at you.

And then, very quietly—very deliberately—he exhaled.

“Sweetheart.” The word dripped with something possessive, something final. He shook his head, a slow, almost pitying gesture. “No, you’re not.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re not available,” he repeated, his tone eerily calm. “You’re mine.”

Your breath caught. “Sonny, I—”

“I don’t share,” he murmured. “And I sure as hell don’t let some other guy think he’s got a shot with what’s mine.”

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t a confession.

It was a fact.

“Sonny—”

“You won’t see him again.”

The words hit you like a command. Unrelenting. Absolute.

Your throat tightened. “Sonny, you can’t just—”

His hand moved—slow, deliberate—trailing up your arm before his fingers curled around your wrist. Not tight. Not painful. But firm. Claiming.

“You won’t see him again.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

You knew—God, you knew—this was a fight you wouldn’t win.

Because Sonny Carisi didn’t lose.

And that look in his eyes? That slow, satisfied curve of his lips?

He already knew it.

“…I won’t see him again,” you whispered.

Silence.

Then, a soft, approving hum.

“Good girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Sonny squeezed your wrist once—gentle, almost affectionate—before finally stepping back.

But the weight of his words, the weight of his claim—that didn’t leave you.

It never would.

And the terrifying thing?

You weren’t even sure if you wanted it to.

[pascalispretty]

Sonny Carisi and the cabin/camping prompt ♥️

summertime, and the livin' is easy

Sonny Carisi x F!Reader

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: fluff, vacation Sonny, implied friends to lovers, Sonny being adorable, Sonny being a hypochondriac

Summary: Sonny has special plans for your anniversary. (ao3)

A/N: Written as a request for @storiesofsvu's birthday bingo, filling the square 'Camping/Cabin Retreat'!

Though it was well into the evening, the sun still shone brightly as Sonny led you outside. The cabin that the two of you had rented for the long weekend backed onto a pretty lake, surrounded by trees. It was a postcard-perfect place, one that you had happily agreed to renting as soon as Sonny had forwarded you the link.

Sonny, being Sonny, found a way to improve upon perfection.

He had packed you off to shower with the promise of plans for dinner, and he had certainly delivered. The little stone-flagged terrace at the back of the cabin has been cleared, the patio furniture shifted to the sides and the chairs liberated of their cushions. Just beyond, on the grass between the terrace and the jetty, Sonny has spread blankets and pillows out for a picnic.

Calling it a picnic is a disservice, really. There are citronella candles staked into the grass to keep bugs away, and a champagne bucket cooling in the middle of the blankets. There’s already a charcuterie board laid out as a starter, covered with a glass cloche to protect it from insects. Before you can take a step further towards his carefully laid-out display, you turn and throw your arms around his neck.

“You did all this for me?” You ask into his shoulder, holding him close against you. One of his large hands comes to rest between your shoulder blades, his bare skin on yours making you shiver in spite of the heat.

“Of course I did. Happy anniversary, Doll.”

“You’re making my scrapbooking efforts look bad.” With the cost of the cabin, the two of you had agreed not to buy one another gifts to commemorate the two-year anniversary of your first date. You had, instead, emptied the keepsake box under your bed out and pasted everything – ticket stubs and flower petals and Polaroids – into a book that you’d given him earlier that day.

“I couldn’t ever make that look bad, Doll. I still can’t believe you kept all that,” he says softly, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “C’mon, let’s sit down before the ice melts.”

The two of you take your seats on the cushions pilfered from the patio furniture, your sundress riding up past your knees as you sit. You can’t help but notice Sonny stealing a glance at the glimpse of your thigh on display, narrowly missing his own nose with the pop of the champagne cork. Instead it flies over his shoulder, landing somewhere behind him in the grass. You can’t help but giggle at the look of surprise on Sonny’s face, and soon enough he’s laughing along with you.

Still giggling, he pours you both a glass of champagne. You take a moment just to admire him as he pours; the flex of his hand around the neck of the bottle, the way his Fordham t-shirt stretches over his shoulders, the lock of hair falling across his forehead. Handsome and kind and thoughtful; you wonder sometimes how you ever got so lucky.

The food is, as always, delicious. You’ll never get tired of Sonny’s cooking, his ability to make even basic meals taste incredible. You’re not sure you’ll ever be over his garlic bread, which you had pronounced as ‘better than sex’ before you started dating and which had earned you a flushed look from Sonny.

He leaves you with the last of the prosciutto roses, heading back into the cabin to fetch the main course. You nearly squeal with childlike glee when you realise what he’s made for dinner, barely resisting the urge to grab the serving bowl from him as he settles back down on the blankets.

“I cannot believe you made penne alla vodka. Did you really get all that from the farmer’s market?” You ask in disbelief as he spoons it onto your plate. He had left you browsing the cute bookstore in town while he went shopping for food earlier, but you hadn’t thought he’d bought this much. It smells mouth-watering, topped with just the right amount of cheese. You dig in with indecent haste once Sonny passes the plate to you, a soft smile on his handsome face.

“Nah. I made the sauce before we came and brought a jar with me. And the pasta is store-bought.” Before Sonny, you would never have thought of having any other kind of pasta. Now, it’s not unusual for you to come home to Sonny with flour on his cheek, kneading away at dough to slice into neat noodles or perfect squares for ravioli.

It’s not the most complicated dish he makes, but it’s one he knows you like. He made it the very first time he cooked for you after you’d finally started dating. Much later he had confessed to elaborate plans for a veal dish that hadn’t worked; the penne alla vodka had been a last-minute replacement, and you had loved it all the same.

The conversation comes in fits and starts as you both eat your pasta. Sonny has plans for an early morning run around the lake tomorrow, which means you have plans to come down with a headache tomorrow morning. The sun slowly sinks lower in the sky, casting longer shadows and turning everything soft and golden.

You both have to take a breather after dinner. Sonny reclines back against the cushions, his long legs sprawled out in front of him.

“Maybe we should leave this set up,” he says, stretching out. “I could take a nap out here.”

“It’s very comfortable. Be nice to read out here.”

“Maybe we should do that after dinner. It’ll probably still be light out,” Sonny suggests, his shirt riding up just enough to give you a glimpse of his stomach. He sits back up, rearranging his legs underneath him.

“Can you do me a favour please, Doll?” He asks, rubbing his side. “Could you grab my water bottle from the refrigerator? I think I need a break from the champagne.”

“Of course! I’ll be right back.” Stuffed full as you are, it takes you a moment longer to stand than perhaps it should. In the interests of saving time, you grab the pasta dishes and take them inside on your way, stacking them by the sink to worry about later. Grabbing Sonny’s water, you return outside, the grass soft under your bare feet.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Sonny smiles gratefully up at you before taking a sip of water. “Oh hey, that candle behind you has gone out.” You’re already sat back down, so you half-turn to see what he’s talking about. The citronella candle staked in the grass a foot or so away from you has indeed gone out.

“Here, you should relight it. I’d hate for you to get bit.” He hands you a long lighter, and you roll your eyes as you turn around to light it. It’s far enough away that you have to get on your knees, your back to Sonny as to try to produce a flame from the lighter.

“More like you don’t wanna get bit. I’ve told you before Sonny, you can’t get malaria in New York.” Finally, a flame appears at the tip of the lighter, and you relight the tall candle. Satisfied that the fire has caught, you start to turn around. “There, are you-” You freeze midsentence. While you were turned around, Sonny moved.

He’s on one knee in front of you, an open ring box in his hand.

“Sonny-?” You start, your brain not quite catching up to the image in front of you.

“I had a whole speech planned out. About- about all the little things I love about you, and how even when we were just friends I was crazy in love with you. And how much I love the way my family loves you, even when you help my sisters pick on me. I don’t know, I guess I shoulda written it down, but – I love you so much, Doll. More than anything. And I wanna spend the rest of my life doing that, so will you marry me?”

Sonny’s beautiful blue eyes look glassy with emotion, his breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“Oh, Sonny-” Your stupid, traitorous voice cracks, and you furiously rub your prickling eyes. “Dominick Carisi, of course I’ll marry you.”

He nearly drops the ringbox in his haste to pull you close, and you go eagerly into his arms. His kisses are frantic, peppering your lips, your cheek, your temple. It’s only when one of you manages to knock over one of the champagne glasses that you come back to yourselves, laughing as you try to soak up the spill with napkins.

“I think you’re supposed to put that on my finger,” you say teasingly, unable to keep the gigantic smile off your face. Sonny’s dimples are on full display as he takes the ring from the box and slides it onto your finger. It’s a beautiful ring; it looks vintage, and something you’ll gladly wear for the rest of your life.

Through a mix of laughter and tears, you grab Sonny’s hand and squeeze tightly.

“I can’t believe you!” You exclaim, a worried look flitting briefly across his face. “We said we weren’t gonna buy each other an anniversary present!”

“This isn’t an anniversary present, Doll, it’s an engagement ring. It doesn’t count as a gift.”

“God, spoken like a lawyer,” you say, having to rub your eyes again to chase away any lingering tears. Rather than continuing to sit opposite him on the blanket, you move to sit beside him, his arm immediately coming up to wrap around your shoulders.

“You’ll have to get used to it. You’re gonna be married to one,” he says, pleased. You tilt your head up to kiss him again, softly and slowly. When you finally break apart, you bring up your hand to cup his jaw, engagement ring glinting in the light of the sunset.

“I can’t wait to be married to you.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @irishavengersassemble

[sematarygirls]

Ooh okay! What about Sonny being obsessed with a detective and he’s an ADA? Maybe he recently divorced Amanda and he’s been lusting over the reader. He ends up stalking and kidnapping them, maybe not a traditional “kidnapping” but he drugs reader at dinner in his apartment and keeps reader there? Feel free to change anything to make it more comfortable for you!

꒰ i need him to kidnap me so bad, bro ꒱ 𝅄

  ／ you had grown quite close to ada carisi over the past couple weeks. you felt bad for the guy, honestly. he seemed so stressed—a neverending mountain of cases always seeming to be stacked on his desk—and he also seemed incredibly sad ever since he returned from his temporary leave from the da's office.

you noticed how he seemed to be throwing himself head first into work more than usual and couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. you had a nasty habit of always needing to fix other people's problems. you didn't like unresolved conflicts and seeing how they effected people, so you started trying to befriend him.

surprisingly, he was very receptive to your gestures of baked goods and checking up on him every now and then. in fact, he was very enthusiastic to get to know you more.

of course, you brushed this off. you'd heard that he was a particularly friendly guy, and after learning of his recent divorce—the very reason for his aforementioned absence—you figured he just needed a friend, someone to talk to.

admittedly, sonny had never noticed you before. he was always so caught up with work and amanda and her daughters, but now that he had noticed you, he never wanted to let you go. you were the most attractive person he'd ever seen, and your kindness was so alluring. you were so soft, a rarity in this world, and practically unheard of in this field. he felt a fierce need to protect you that he'd never felt before.

it wasn't his proudest moment when he'd followed you home. he told himself he just wanted to make sure you were safe. he knew better than anyone that anything could happen, especially in the middle of the night on a new york street.

and once he realized that you didn't even notice that you were being followed, well, he just knew he had to keep following you. it was for your own safety. you were so naive and trusting; you needed someone to look after you—someone like him.

and so he began to stalk you. though, he didn't like that word. it was so harsh, so criminal, and what he was doing was out of the goodness of his own heart. he was simply looking out for you.

he watched you from a distance, observing your daily routine of going out for breakfast before work. you went at the same time every day to the same place, always sitting in the same table.

he tsked. you were just asking for someone to try something. your routine was too predictable, too easy to follow. you were lucky that you had someone like him to look out for you.

all throughout this, you were completely unaware of his presence constantly looming, always watching. you continued up appearances at work, always smiling and joking with him. you two started growing close, very close.

you were so happy to have such a kind man to call your friend. he was always offering to take you out to eat and calling you to check in. he cared about you, and you cared about him.

that's why, when he invited you over for dinner at his apartment, you enthusiastically accepted the offer. you thought the intimate environment would allow you two to get to know eachother better, something you were eagerly looking forward to. you were dying to know all about him, your excitement showing through when you showed up half an hour early.

you two talked and laughed as he made you dinner, eventually sitting down to eat. it was so comfortable, so normal. you never would have expected the sinister plan that was going to unfold at the hands of someone you considered such a close friend.

"wow, sonny, that was incredible," you grinned as you finished up your food, tilting your wine glass to your lips to drink the last bit remaining. you hadn't noticed the way he stared intensely everytime you took a sip, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips when you finished the glass.

"i'm glad you liked it," he said, eyeing you oddly, like he was expecting something. "i love having someone to cook for."

"well, you're very good at it," you complimented him. he was so sweet to do this for you, to invite you over and cook for you. suddenly, you felt a wave of nausea hit you, your bright smile faltering. "um," you cleared your throat. "could i use your bathroom?"

"yeah, of course," he nodded, smiling. "it's the first door on your right." he pointed down the hallway. you smiled gratefully and stood, feeling lightheaded. you blinked, your vision starting to blur as you gripped the edge of the table, stumbling. you were suddenly feeling very strange. "are you okay?" he asked, feigning concern as he made his way to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you upright.

"i just-" you felt your limbs growing heavier by the second. "something's wrong," you gripped him for support.

"geez, i didn't think you were such a lightweight," he laughed, wrapping both arms securely around your waist. even now, you were still completely oblivious to what he'd done.

"i-i think i'm gonna- gonna..." you drifted off, your eyes drooping shut as your body fell limp. his grip around you kept you from falling to the floor. he hooked an arm under your legs, lifting you up to carry you bridal style to his bedroom.

he laid you gently on the bed, smiling fondly as he brushed your hair from your face. you looked so peaceful, so safe. he reached into his bedside table, retrieving his old handcuffs from when he was a detective and locking one around your wrist and the other to the bedframe to keep you from leaving.

he needed to keep you safe and sound, and the only way to ensure that would happen was if you were with him. he could look after you, take care of you, keep you from doing stupid things—it was the only way to ensure that you stayed out of danger.

he had to do it.

he really hoped that you would understand when you woke up, and he explained that it was for your own good, but he knew that, if you didn't at first, you would in time. you would learn to appreciate his love and attentiveness to your wellbeing. soon you would see that it was all for you.

he waited eagerly for you to awake, so he could just explain what was going on. he knew you were going to be scared, but it wasn't him you should be scared of—it was out there where he couldn't protect you!

finally, your eyelids began to flutter open, a soft groan leaving your lips that had his ears perking up. he was holding your hand—the one that had been handcuffed— and his grip tightened as you stirred.

you rubbed your eyes with the hand that wasn't being held. your mind was hazy, and you didn't notice the cold metal locked around your wrist until you tried to sit up.

"what the..." you trailed off, your eyes finding the handcuff that had rattled against the bedframe as you moved. you followed the chain to your hand, engulfed by his. a pit of unease formed in your stomach as bile rose to your throat.

"shh," he cooed, running his thumb over your skin to soothe you. "it's okay." the look in his eyes was one devoid of guilt or shame. in fact, he looked completely and utterly proud of himself.

"sonny, what's going on?" you asked, your voice shaking with fear as you tugged against the handcuff.

"I just want to protect you," he said softly, reaching out to caress your cheek. he frowned when you jerked away from his touch. "now, don't be like that," he said firmly. "i'm doing you a favor. you should be thanking me."

"thanking you?" you asked incredulously, searching his eyes for any sign that this was just some sick joke, but his expression was dead serious, his eyebrows furrowing in that manner they always did when he was focused.

"yes, thanking me," he reiterated. "the world is so cruel, especially to pretty little things like yourself," he brushed your hair from your face, and it took every ounce of control in your body not to jerk away again. you didn't know what he'd do if he was mad, and you didn't want to find out. "so, i'm going to keep you here, with me. that way, nothing can happen to you."

you wondered how the man in front of you was the same man you met all those weeks ago. the same man who would hold doors open for you and take you out to lunch. how was that the same man who thought it was completely rational to handcuff you to a bed?

"sonny, please," you pleaded, your eyes darting around the room. "let's just talk, okay? just uncuff me and we can talk."

"i'm not stupid," he said, standing from the bed and crossing his arms. he looked down at you, his expression darkening. "i know you'll try to run."

"i-i won't!" you assured him helplessly. "i promise!"

"don't lie to me," his jaw clenched, his brows furrowing farther. "maybe, if you're a good girl, and prove to me that you will behave and not try to leave, i will uncuff you, but until then, you're staying put."

you felt like a weight had been placed on your chest, panic beginning to set in as the gravity of your situation dawned on you. you had been kidnapped, and you had no idea how you were going to get away.

he headed toward the door. you had taken so long to wake up that now, he had to get to work. "oh," he said, stopping in the doorway to turn to you. "and don't even try to scream. i soundproofed the whole apartment."

it was a lie. he didn't have the time or funds to do that, especially not after the divorce had drained him of his savings. besides, it would have looked suspicious to do so. but, you didn't know any of these things, and you were so afraid and he had said it so confidently that you had no choice but to believe him. he had you eating out of the palm of his hand.

as you watched him leave, hearing the bedroom door lock behind him, you couldn't help the tears beginning to fall. you felt hopeless, afraid, alone, and utterly betrayed. this man you thought you knew—you thought was your friend—had done the unimaginable. you didn't even know who he was anymore, and you were locked in his apartment, completely at his mercy.

[etclouie-navigation]

— ୨୧₊˚etclouie's wips

— back to navigation?

— from oldest to newest, post date's unknown // 31 reqs listed here

— all of my writing can be found under #[ 💌 ] louie writes —, and requested fics come under #[ 🤍 ] anon asks — and #[ ❤️ ] asks —

— ୨୧₊˚ protector

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “Hey I was wondering if you could write for Luke Alvez where maybe y/n works with Penelope and she asks Luke to teach her self defence, they have a friendship much like Luke and Penelope where they make fun of each other but also secretly pining after each other but thinks the other one doesn’t feel the same. So it’s like lots of tension where he is rough but gentle with her (soft dom vibes) because he wants her to be able to protect herself and ends very steamy and passionate “

— ୨୧₊˚ loving hands

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “Heeeeyyyy, just came across your acc and wanted to see if you'd be willing to write a deadpool smutfic, where fem reader gives him a massage after a long day >:)”

— ୨୧₊˚ falling into you

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “Could you do a Luke Alvez x reader where she had unrequited love for Reid and he has unrequited love for Penelope so they decide to be FWB after being rejected and end up falling in love? “

— ୨୧₊˚ little lamb

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “can you make another one shot for rick, please? age gap and *cough* cream pi3? 🤭😉 Hope u open for this one request, and have a good day, thx!”

— ୨୧₊˚ eyes that know

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “Hi, saw that youre taking omb requests 🩵 Can I get one with reader is secretly in love with Spooky and only Sad Eyes knows?”

— ୨୧₊˚ cold hands, warm mischief

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “poly!maraurders with a s/o whos hands are always cold?”

— ୨୧₊˚ in his arms

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “tom riddle x reader who has low iron and forgets to take her supplements?? how would he react if his partner just suddenly passed out or felt nauseous? :3”

— ୨୧₊˚ a whisper of home

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ “Heyyyy ! first of all i really love your work ! I have a request for a Darylxreader…Can you make thr reader having an accent? Like a French accent pls!! I’m french myself and i would love to see that!!!🩷🩷”

— ୨୧₊˚ adored

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Babe you can pick the topic but I would LOVE some adoring sex with barba!!! Maybe with an age gap?"

— ୨୧₊˚ don't let go

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Hii! I love your stuff! Could you pls do a Poly marauders x reader. but all of them are a year ahead of her and shes really anxious about them graduating because shes really shy? If not no worries! Thank you so much!"

— ୨୧₊˚ please stay

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "part 2 to the ‘get out’ luke alvez fic? need a sweet resolution :("

— ୨୧₊˚ crosshair confessions

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "would you be willing to write a sonny carisi fic where reader is a detective (detective sonny, they're partners!!) and she is caught in a hostage situation and sonny realizes how much he loves her, as more than just his partner/friend?? and then she survives and they end up confessing maybe?? no worries if this doesn't inspire you <3"

— ୨୧₊˚ the edge of control

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Haiii can you do like a sub!rafe X bitchy reader please"

— ୨୧₊˚ opposites attract

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "hii, how are you? i have a request for fred weasley. so imagine fred being absolutely head over heels for a ravenclaw a year younger than him, but she genuinely has no idea! she is kinda the opposite of him so she just can’t wrap her head around the fact that he is into her! thank you so much 💓"

— ୨୧₊˚ softest beginnings

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "hi!! how would you feel about writing some super soft first time smut with our under appreciated man steve murphy? 👀❤️"

— ୨୧₊˚ breaking the best friend code

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Hi! Could you make a fic about falling in love with Fred Weasley but with the trope best friends older brother. You can choose who is the best friends and what house is the reader. Thank youuuu"

— ୨୧₊˚ the future in his arms

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Sonny wanting to start a family after a year of being married but doesnt know how to bring the subject up. Maybe some gentle yet passionate smut"

— ୨୧₊˚ behind the mask

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "hi!! I was wondering if you could write a billy loomis fic? smut or horror it doesn't really matter much. I haven't seen any lately and I would really appreciate it! thank u <33"

— ୨୧₊˚ jealousy's edge

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Hello, I have a lot of requests ahahah. I imagine Emily and Reader who are not in a relationship but it teases a lot. Emily becomes jealous when a suspect or tara starts to get too close to reader"

— ୨୧₊˚ strength in silence

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "Emily and reader her very friend, and Emily begins to feel new things when she sees reader doing a somewhat muscular interrogation"

— ୨୧₊˚ onstage confessions

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "rockstar!sirius black x ex girlfriend!reader where he invites her onstage at a sold out show  and confesses that he still loves her"

— ୨୧₊˚ behind the song

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "more rockstar!sirius ideas sorry :0 he releases a new song that’s like about his and ex girlfriend!readers relationship so the media speculates and he invites her over to talk about it"

— ୨୧₊˚ still in the picture

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "rockstar!sirius and ex girlfriend!photographer reader that gets hired by his team to shoot pictures while he’s on tour they haven’t spoke since they broke up but there’s still tension and feelings between them"

— ୨୧₊˚ written in tension

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "songwriter!ex girlfriend reader who sirius’s band wants to hire but there’s still tension between them but they need to be professional"

— ୨୧₊˚ saftey in her arms

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "messy breakup with rockstar!sirius where he’s been like self destructing and realizes he’s lost his way so reaches out to reader for a second chance and to help clean up his act (professionally and personally)"

— ୨୧₊˚ the calm in his fire

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "girlfriend!reader being rockstar!sirius’s anchor when performing and your gets overwhelming"

— ୨୧₊˚ fames shadow

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "underground!singer sirius who meets reader and they hit it off, but as he starts to grow bigger he fears losing her because of his fame"

— ୨୧₊˚ the girl that got him

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "rockstar!sirius being a womaniser who all his fans fawn over and dream of being able to tame him but it’s actually bsf!reader that manages to tame him and get him to settle down"

— ୨୧₊˚ layers of love

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "college!lip gallagher x art major! girlfriend reader and she paints his back one day"

— ୨୧₊˚ sugar and seduction

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "can i propose.. sugar daddy!chibs au"

— ୨୧₊˚ comfort and care

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ "maybe some fluffy smut with Ron Weasley?🤭 like, him talking you through it and being gentle with good aftercare?"

requests can always be made here

[bullet-prooflove]

Past Mistakes Part Twenty: Bad News - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower @resonmalvo @@littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

Past Mistakes Series:

Part One: Try - Mike turns back up in your life after three years apart.

Part Two: Hope (NSFW) - Mike and you get reaquainted.

Part Three: California - Mike and you discuss the past.

Part Four: Favours - Mike asks Liv for a favour.

Part Five: Choices - Mike comes face to face with someone from his past.

Part Six: Truth Hurts - Mike begs you to tell him the truth about what happened three years ago.

Part Seven: Sharing - Mike and Joe have a conversation.

Part Eight: Buried - Mike discovers that McGrath’s misdeeds go far futher than he thought.

Part Nine: Complicated - Mike discusses moving forward.

Part 10: Feral - Mike returns to the apartment to find you’ve disappeared.

Part Eleven: Torture - You wake up in the basement.

Part Twelve: Fire - You and Joe discuss moving forward.

Part Thirteen: Lost Time - You and Mike get real on his porch.

Part Fourteen: Plan B - Mike always has a plan B.

Part Fifteen: Proud - Mike tells you how proud he is of what you’re doing.

Part Sixteen: Mattituck (NSFW) - You show Mike how much you love him.

Part Seventeen: Seven - Joe makes a discovery.

Part Eighteen: Patterns - Benson and Murphy discover the reality of McGrath’s misdeeds.

It’s done.

The case has been handed over to Carisi and the indictment comes down tomorrow. All of the work they’ve undertaken over the past few months finally comes to fruition. There’s no more subterfuge or embargoes there’s just the reality of the situation laid out on a whiteboard in the incident room they’ve been working out of since this whole thing started.  

Joe stands before it with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze studying each picture of the victims. There are eight of them including you.

You’d assumed you were just another victim in the long line of women that McGrath had assaulted but you weren’t, you were the catalyst, you were Victim Zero.

Yours was the crime that McGrath emulated over and over again, perfecting his technique because he hadn’t managed to succeed the first time.

Joe’s eyes come to rest upon McGrath’s final victim.

Number Eight: Detective Cass Matthews.

She’d committed suicide by overdosing in a motel in Bronx last month, because she hadn’t wanted her sister to find the body. Laura had come forward not long after Cass’s death, submitting a complaint because Cass had told her she was being repeatedly assaulted by one of her superiors, she just hadn’t said which one.

The thing is straight after the first attack, the one where McGrath had injured Cass so badly, she’d had to tell her Captain she was mugged, she had gone to the hospital. She’d had a rape kit completed, there were photographs of her injuries. She hadn’t wanted to press charges, so Bronx SVU had let it slip through the cracks.

Cass’s sister had given Joe permission to run the kit. He wasn’t surprised when the results came back to McGrath. He hadn’t bothered using protection, he’d had a vasectomy years ago, Joe remembers him complaining about it after he’d knocked his wife up for the third time.

Joe doesn’t say anything when Murphy enters the room. He’s too busy thinking about all the lives that have been destroyed by his former mentor, how McGrath had sat there and told him it was all consensual, that each and every woman had wanted him. He’d seen the pictures of what he’d done to Cass that night, the bruising on her arms and legs, her throat, her mouth. He knows what violence looks like.

“I’ve called Duarte, let them know the indictment’s coming down tomorrow.” Murphy informs Joe, his hands coming to rest on either side of him as he leans back against the desk.

“I guess we won’t be the only ones losing sleep tonight.” Joe says quietly as he tilts his head towards Murphy. “What they went through… What they’re going to go through…”

Joe shakes his head because it isn’t right. You shouldn’t have to be raked over the coals by McGrath’s lawyer, you shouldn’t have to relive the most traumatic moments of your life in front of an entire courtroom because the bastard refuses to admit what he’s done.

“It’s a means to an end.” Murphy says knowingly. “It’s shitty and-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a gunshot. It erupts through the building with a loud retort, the boom echoing through the quiet corridors. Murphy’s already in motion, his hand on his own weapon as he rushes out of the door.

Joe doesn’t bother to follow.

There’s a heaviness in him because he knows where the gunshot came from, what Murphy will find when he steps inside McGrath’s office. He doesn’t want to see that, the brains of his previous mentor splattered across his desk. There’s a bitterness in his mouth because yet again McGrath has escaped justice and Joe just can’t stomach it.

It’s a couple of hours later that he picks up the phone, he watches McGrath’s body being wheeled out in a black bag as his thumb hovers over Duarte’s number.

It rings three times before Duarte picks up.

“Velasco,” He says, his voice rough from sleep. “I take it you have bad news.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mx-pastelwriting]

Sneaking Glance

Sonny Carisi x GN! Reader

Summary: For a week you hadn’t been able to have Sonny's hands on you, but tonight all you could stare at was his lap, so you chose to make the first move.

Warnings: Slight Smut

Minors do not interact!

Sonny kept his eyes on the road as he drove you both home. He had picked you up from your work after his. You shared a car with each other, and depending on when you got off, either you or he would pick up the other.

You kept your hands in your lap as you stared at him. Sonny talked about his work, but you tuned it out. Though you had been dating him for two years, your sex life had not been as active as it used to be in the last week. Sonny was so calm he hadn’t made a move, but you did, but you could see he was tired most of the night, so you stayed distant.

Tonight you made a plan to try a bit harder, but if he didn't want to, you would have to wait again. Sonny looked over at you, pulling you from his thoughts. As he got closer to your shared apartment, he put his hand on your thigh, making you bite your lip. He drove up the street, parking the car on the side. He talked on more before getting out of the car and quickly making his way to your door.

Opening the door, he watched you get out and bring the takeout he had gotten for the both of you. You walked to the door, and Sonny opened it quickly to get you both out of the cold of the night. You rushed to the couch, setting the takeout on the coffee table, turning on the TV, and unpacking it before putting it in front of his empty seat.

Sonny was in the bedroom but came back out wearing only his button-up and pants. He sat down with a sigh and dug into his food. His eyes were quickly drawn to the screen as he ate his dinner, unknowing that your eyes were catching glances at his lap. How he sat always made you crazy, but not having his hand on you for a week made things stir inside you.

You took a bite of your food while lying back on the couch. Sonny looked relaxed, his legs opened wide. How badly you wanted to saddle him, tell him you can't take it anymore, just to fuck you on the couch. But as you ate more, you thought against it, wanting him to have his full attention on you.

Finishing up with the food and the show, you put down yours, and seconds later he did the same, opening his arms and letting you cuddle into his chest. You put your hand on his upper thigh, giving him a little indication of what you wanted, but he was oblivious to it and continued to watch the TV.

You shifted your weight quickly, putting your legs on his side and saddling him. You looked into his eyes before kissing him. He kissed back eagerly, quickly putting his hands on your thighs as yours went up into his hair. You moaned into the kiss, feeling his hands squeeze your thighs before moving up and into your pants. He breaks off the kiss to trail down your neck, leaving his soft kisses behind before pulling your shirt up and off.

He lays you on the couch, lending him time to take off his, His lips once again meet yours as both of your hands roam each other's bodies. Your moans mix with his. He firmly planted himself between your legs, his hips moved against you, creating fiction that sent you over the edge of waiting. "Please, Sonny," you gasped, feeling him thrust into you. He kissed your neck one last time before his hands found familiar places leading into the night.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

[masorciereviolette]

Oh Captain, My Captain Pt.2

Pairing: Olivia Benson x Reader

Warnings: Soft Domestic Moments, Fluff, Vulnerable Olivia, Vulnerable Reader, Reassurance, Kissing, Explicit, Graphic Descriptions of Sexual Content, Praise Kink, Needy Liv, Reassurance, Happy endings, Time jumps, Heavy Angst, Comfort, Soft Oliva, Sad Themes, Typical SVU Case Drama, Deceptions of Crime, Protective Reader.

Word count: 12k

A/N: much requested pt.2, I’m sorry it took so long!!!

Summary: You soon find yourself no longer just working beside Olivia—but falling for her and harder than you would have ever expected. What follows is a slow-burn love story built on trust, trauma, healing, and stolen moments, lazy mornings, shared takeout, and the growing presence of one small, important person olivia’s son, Noah. Found family. Late-night confessions. And a love Olivia never saw coming but can no longer live without.

Taglist: @wuhluhwuh03

Previous part Link To Masterlist Next part

It starts the way endings often do—not with a bang, but with a quiet ping in your inbox. An email. A formal notice. Something sterile and bureaucratic with a subject line like Personnel Assignment Update. Inside, a vague “thank you for your service” tone wrapped in generic language, no punctuation where it counts.

Carisi’s back. Which means you’re not needed at SVU anymore. You stare at the screen longer than you should, eyes tracing each word like maybe they’ll rearrange themselves into something softer if you just blink enough. But no. It is what it is. This was always temporary. A borrowed seat in someone else’s courtroom. An assignment with invisible quotation marks around it—a favor passed down from the top, wrapped in politics and begrudging necessity.

Still. The ache is sharper than expected. You try not to think about it as you start boxing up the few things you allowed yourself to unpack in this borrowed space. You never got too comfortable—you knew better. But still, there’s a coffee mug with a small chip in the rim. A half-used legal pad with your scrawl in the margins, thoughts that never made it into a closing argument. A pen had pocketed during a long meeting two weeks ago.

Turns out you were right. It’s there in the drawer. You hold it between your fingers and smile—just a little. One of those stupid, involuntary things. A curve of the mouth with too much behind it. You’re almost done packing to move offices when there’s a soft knock at the door. Not brisk. Not official. It’s the kind of knock that doesn’t want to startle. A knock that asks permission. You glance up. It’s Olivia.

Not in her captain stance. No badge of authority in her posture. She’s dressed down and quiet, her fingers curled around the doorframe like she needs to feel something solid, something steady, in case this moment isn’t. “Got a minute?” she asks, voice lower than usual.

You nod. “Sure.” She steps inside slowly, closing the door behind her like she’s sealing in something fragile. The silence that follows is almost louder than the click of the latch. She doesn’t speak right away. She just looks. Takes you in. Her eyes flick to the half-packed box. The bare desk. The coat you folded neatly over your chair like you didn’t want to wrinkle it, like you didn’t want to make this feel more final than it already is.

Her throat bobs when she swallows. “So,” she says, hesitating just long enough for the word to feel uncertain. “Carisi said you’re heading back to Brooklyn.”

You nod once. “That’s the plan.” She stays there for a beat too long. Like she wants to sit. Like she might bolt.

“I figured,” she adds finally, softer now. “This was never supposed to be permanent. I know that. You’ve got your own world. Your own courtroom. People who hate you professionally for entirely different reasons.”

You smile faintly, dry. “Flattering.” That gets a ghost of a smile from her too. But only for a second. She shifts her weight, steps a little closer. Her arms cross—not like a shield, not this time. More like she’s trying to hold something in. Or hold something together.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she admits. “I told myself not to. Figured I’d let you pack up and leave without complicating it. I’ve done that before. Let people go. Walked away because it was easier. Safer.”She stops, like the next words are stuck somewhere deep and sore. “But I don’t want to do that this time. Not with you”

You tilt your head slightly. The air feels heavier now, like it’s pressing against your ribs. “What are you saying?” She exhales—one long, uneven breath. Like she’s been holding it for hours. Like maybe this moment has been forming for weeks and she’s only just now giving it permission to exist.

“I’m saying…” she begins, then falters. Her hands fall to her sides. “I’m saying I want to keep trying. Us. Even after you leave SVU. New York even—I know it won’t be easy, and I know we’re both stubborn control freaks with trust issues and an impressive track record of emotional sabotage—” You let out a soft laugh despite yourself. She mirrors it, barely. “But I’m willing to figure it out. If you are.”

And then she waits. Really waits. Her eyes locked on yours, searching for something—certainty, maybe. Or forgiveness. Or proof that she hasn’t misread this whole thing, that she’s not standing here on the edge of something she can’t name, hoping she doesn’t fall alone.

She’s not the Captain in this room. Not tonight. She’s just Olivia. And for once, she’s not retreating. She’s reaching. And you almost let her sit in it. But then you step toward her, lips twitching with something dry and amused. “You done with your speech?”

Her brows lift. “Depends. Was it that bad?”

You shake your head. “No. It was perfect.” And then you open the drawer reaching into your desk, you pull out a sheet of paper, and hold it out. She takes it slowly, eyes scanning the header.

New York County District Attorney’s Office Special Crimes Division – Permanent Transfer Notice, Effective Immediately

She looks up. “I was offered a permanent position two days ago,” you say, quiet but steady. “Different division. Still adjacent. Still close enough to be pulled in when needed. Carisi wanted to clear it through the DA first before announcing it.”

Olivia stares at you. “So… you’re staying?”

You nod. “If I wanted it.”

She blinks. “And?”

You smile, a little crooked. “I accepted.”

She exhales—half relief, half disbelief. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I wanted to hear what you’d say first.”

She crosses her arms again, but this time it’s not out of annoyance—it’s to hide the smile threatening to give her away. You catch the way her lips twitch, the way she looks at you like she wants to stay mad but can’t quite manage it. “You’re a manipulative bastard,” she says, voice quiet but warm at the edges.

“And yet,” you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting. There’s a flicker in her eyes—something unguarded, something soft. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a single step forward, then another, until there’s barely an inch between you.

Her hands slide around your wrists first, then upward, until she’s tugging you into her arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she’s been waiting. “And yet,” she whispers again, right against your temple.

You breathe her in. She smells like city air and coffee and something unmistakably her—familiar, grounding, infuriating, safe. And then you say it. The thing that’s burned a hole in your chest for days. The truth you tried not to name until now. “I didn’t stay for the job, Liv.”

She leans back just enough to look at you, her arms still circled around your waist.“No?” she asks, not teasing—genuinely searching.

You shake your head, your hands sliding up her sides, settling at her back. “I stayed for you.” Her breath catches. You feel it in the space between you, in the way her hold tightens ever so slightly. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. Instead, she closes the space entirely, pulling you in, hands threading through your hair as her lips find yours.

And this kiss—it’s different. She kisses you like she means it this time. Like she’s letting go of all the second-guessing, all the quiet defenses, all the late nights spent wondering what this could be if you both just let it. You melt into her, everything else fading to a low hum. Her arms stay locked around you, like you belong there, like she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she loosens her grip for even a second. You press closer, responding with all the weight of what you haven’t said, what you didn’t know how to say—until now.

When you part, it’s only enough to breathe, your noses brushing, her thumbs stroking gently over your jaw. It’s not the first kiss. But it’s the first one that feels like she’s letting you stay. The first that feels like you belong here, in her arm. An absolutely terrifying feeling to have.

Being together outside the job is a strange adjustment. There’s no squadroom to distract you, no folders to hide behind, no reason to keep the edges sharp. Which means Olivia has nowhere to deflect—and you? You’re not interested in pretending this isn’t real anymore. The first weekend after your assignment’s officially over, she invites you over without ceremony. No pretense. No “case follow-up.” Just “You free tonight?”

She doesn’t try to dress it up. You don’t need her to. You bring wine, she’s already ordered dinner. The TV’s on low, the lights are soft, and Noah’s with his best friend Jackson for the night. She kicks off her shoes before she even answers the door, wearing jeans and a worn NYU sweatshirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’ve never seen her like this. And you realize, halfway through your first glass of wine, that not many have. “This feels weird,” she says as you help unpack the takeout.

“Weird how?”

“Weird like… quiet. Simple. Like I’m waiting for someone to call with a body in the Hudson.”

You smirk. “And if they did?”

She meets your eyes. “I’d let Fin take it.”

You pause, chopsticks mid-air. “That’s new.”

“I’m trying,” she admits. You don’t say anything at first. Just sit beside her on the couch and let the silence stretch out between you. Then “What’s the part you’re not saying?”

Olivia doesn’t look at you right away. Just picks at the edge of her napkin, fingers twitching like she’s afraid of unraveling something. “I think I’m scared this will go away,” she says softly. “That the second I get used to it, it’ll be taken. Like everything else.”

You don’t laugh. You don’t tease. You just reach over and cover her hand with yours. “It won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No,” you say. “But I know me. I’m not going anywhere, Olivia.” She finally looks at you, and her expression crumbles just slightly—like she’s been holding that weight for a very long time.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers. “Be this patient with me.”

You scoot closer, fingers brushing her jaw. “I want to.” You kiss her gently. No rush. Just closeness. Steady. Present. She kisses you back like she’s learning how. Later, you help her clean up. She leans against the counter while you rinse out a wine glass, arms crossed over her chest.

“You do realize this makes you part of the very small circle of people allowed in my kitchen,” she says dryly.

You smile over your shoulder. “Let me guess. Amanda. Noah. The guy from the gas company.”

She tilts her head. “You’re already higher on the list than the gas guy.”

You finish drying your hands and walk over to her slowly. “Good. I make better company.” She lets you step between her arms, lets your hands settle on her waist.

“This doesn’t feel borrowed anymore,” she says quietly, resting her forehead against yours. You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s not.” And for once, she believes it.

It starts with a case. A nine-year-old girl, missing for thirty hours. Her mother hysterical, her father inconsolable, and a dead lead involving a maintenance worker with priors that goes nowhere.

The squad is running on fumes. Amanda’s voice is hoarse from interviewing the family. Fin’s working phones nonstop. Olivia barely sits down. You stop by the precinct late—just after nine. You’d planned to drop off some intake paperwork for a completely unrelated case and maybe, selfishly, catch a glimpse of her.

But what you find is Olivia standing in the hallway outside interrogation, arms crossed, jaw locked, eyes wet. She doesn’t see you at first. Not until your hand brushes lightly against hers. “Liv.”

She flinches like she didn’t realize you were real. “Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

She nods, but it’s a lie. You step closer. “What happened?”

Her voice is low. “They found her.”

You exhale. “Alive?”

Her head shakes once. Slow. “She was in a laundry cart. Basement storage room. We walked by it three times.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “She was already gone.”

You don’t speak. Just close the distance and press your hand gently to the back of her neck, pulling her into your neck. It’s the first time she lets you hold her like this. Fully. Her arms wrap tight around your waist, her forehead buries into your collar, and she doesn’t speak. She just breathes—shaky, uneven, broken. You press a kiss into her hair. “You did everything you could.”

“I keep saying that,” she whispers. “But it’s not enough.”

You rub slow circles between her shoulders. “You don’t have to be everything. You just have to keep being you.”

She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t let go either. You bring her back to your apartment. She doesn’t argue. You give her space in the bathroom, make tea without asking, and settle into the corner of the couch so she can take the space she needs.

She doesn’t. She slides in beside you, legs tucked under herself, tea untouched. She leans into you like it’s the only thing keeping her together. After a while, her voice breaks the silence. “I want you to meet Noah.” You pause, not because you’re surprised—completely….though maybe you are—but because of the way she says it. Soft. Intentional. Like it’s huge. You don’t make it about you. You just nod. “Okay.” She looks at you—really looks.

“I mean it,” she says. “Not just… in passing. Not as someone who’s in my life just for now. I want him to really know you.”

You nod again in understanding “Then I’d be honored to.” And something shifts in her expression. A weight you didn’t know she still carried slips off her shoulders.

The following Saturday, it happens. You show up with coffee and a nervous flutter in your chest that not even cross-examination prep has ever caused. Olivia opens the door wearing a soft sweater and jeans, her hair down, and a faint smile on her lips. “You’re early.”

“You’re nervous.”

She steps aside. “I am.”

You kiss her cheek as you pass. “Me too.”

Noah is standing in the living room, a book in hand and cautious eyes that flick to you the moment you appear. You crouch slightly, offering your hand. “Hey, you must be Noah. I’m—”

“I know,” he says, stepping forward and shaking your hand. “You’re the one Mom likes.”

You raise your eyebrows. “She say that?”

“No,” he says with a smile “But she smiles like she does especially when you guys talk in the phone.” Olivia chokes on her coffee.

You glance at her. “Sharp kid.”

“He gets it from me,” she mutters. You spend the next hour with him—talking books, music, bad knock-knock jokes. He’s sweet and smart and careful in the way kids are when they’ve seen more than they should. At one point, he tugs on Olivia’s sleeve. “Can she stay for dinner?” She looks at you, surprised, but you’re already smiling.

“I’d like that,” you say. And when she smiles back, it’s the softest you’ve ever seen her. Later, as you wash dishes and she dries beside you, Olivia bumps your hip gently.

“Thank you.”

“For dinner?” you tease.

“For all of it,” she says. And you know she means it. You lean over and kiss her temple.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Things between you and Olivia have settled into something that feels—shockingly—natural. You’ve got a rhythm now. Mornings start with texts (hers short and sarcastic, yours just as dry), lunches when you can manage them, and the occasional shared silence in her office when the day gets heavy. It’s not new anymore. But it is good.

And sometimes, that feels even scarier. It starts innocently. You bring her lunch—nothing fancy, just her usual sandwich from the corner deli, because you remembered she’d skipped breakfast and you’re trying this new thing called being thoughtful. She lets you in without hesitation, nodding toward her couch.“Sit down. I’m finishing an email.”

You set the food down but instead of sitting across from her, you lean against the edge of her desk and watch her type. She glances up. “You’re staring.”

“Just admiring your multitasking.”

“You mean my slow descent into administrative hell?”

“Same thing.” She hits send, then spins her chair slightly to face you. You pass her the sandwich. She takes it—grateful, amused, still looking at you like she can’t quite believe you’re real.

“You do realize this makes you the highlight of my day, right?” she says between bites.

You raise an eyebrow. “Lunch?”

“You,” she corrects, then swallows. “And lunch. But mostly you.” You step closer. She leans back slightly in her chair, eyebrows lifting—but not in protest.

“Liv…”

“Yeah?”

You drop your hand to her knee, slow, intentional. “I’m just wondering … if I happened to kiss you right now…”

Her smirk is already forming. “I’d say you’re about three hours late.” And that’s all the permission you need. It starts as a kiss. Soft. Familiar. Nothing too bold—until her hands find your waist and yours slide into her hair and suddenly you’re not kissing her like it’s routine.

You’re kissing her like you missed her. Like the hours between your meetings for morning coffee and now were too damn long. She pulls you down, gently, so you’re sitting in her lap and you deepen the kiss before she can say anything smart about it. Her hands slip under your blouse now, warm and possessive. You lose track of everything else. Except her. And then—a rapid knock. You both freeze. The door creaks open—unlocked. “Hey, Liv, I—” Fin stops mid-sentence.

You practically fall off her lap, scrambling to stand. Olivia shifts, clearing her throat, face flushed but still somehow managing to look composed. Fin just stares, eyebrows halfway to his hairline, one hand still on the doorknob. “Well,” he says slowly. “I was gonna drop off the case file, but I can see you’re… occupied.”

Olivia glares at him. “Do you mind?”

He backs out with a grin. “Not at all. Just—maybe next time close the blinds. Or lock the door.” The door shuts behind him with an obnoxiously amused click.

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m never showing my face in this damn precinct again.”

Olivia chuckles. “Please. Fin’s been caught doing worse.”

“That doesn’t help.”

She stands, smoothing her clothes like she didn’t just have her girlfriend on her lap two seconds ago. “He’ll get over it.”

You eye her. “You didn’t seem that flustered.”

She smirks. “I’ve been caught before.”

You blink. “By Fin?”

“By Cragen.” Your jaw drops.

She shrugs. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over dinner.”

You shake your head “I’m not sure I wanna know-“ you chuckled, still blushing, and walk toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To find a closet with a lock.” She laughs. Hard. And you decide that yeah—this thing between you? It’s definitely more than good.

The knock comes late. You’re still half-dressed from the day, curled on your couch with a glass of wine and the TV humming some half-watched drama in the background. You already know who it is.

You open the door to find Olivia standing there, hands in her coat pockets, eyes softer than you’ve seen them in days. ”You okay?” you ask.

She nods. “I just… didn’t want to go home yet.”

You step aside. “Then don’t.” You sit across from each other on the couch. It’s quiet, but it’s not the kind of quiet that fills space with noise. It’s the kind where something is pressing at the edge of the room, waiting to be said.

She speaks first. “I’ve been thinking about what Fin walked in on.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow okay. Bold opening.”

She smiles faintly. “Not that part. What it meant.” You stay still.

“Ever since then,” she says, “Noah’s been asking why I keep smiling when I read my texts, though he already knows the answer. A few nights ago he told me I don’t seem so… alone anymore.”

You tilt your head. “And what do you say?”

“That I have you in my life, who makes the things he can’t simply hug away a little easier.”

You set your glass down gently. “That’s new for you.”

“It is.” Another pause. Then she looks at you—really looks. “I think about the future more than I admit. Not just mine. His. And I realized today, when he asked if you were coming over again soon and if you would be staying longer this time, that I didn’t have an answer that made sense as to why you couldn’t .” Your breath catches.

“I don’t want him to get attached to someone who won’t stay,” she says softly. “But I also don’t want to keep you at arm’s length like you’re temporary. Because you’re not.” You move closer without thinking.

“He’s already attached, Liv,” you say. “And so am I.”

Her eyes flicker. “To him?”

“To both of you.” The silence that follows is thick with meaning.

“I don’t want to keep playing at something real,” she admits. “I want to know what this is.”

You take her hand. “Then ask me.” She looks down at your fingers intertwined, then up at you.

“What happens if we start building a life together?” You inhale, steady.

“Then we make sure it’s one we all belong in...” Her breath leaves her in a rush, like the weight of that fear—of loving and losing, again—just loosened its grip on her chest.

“I don’t want to keep building something I can’t invite you into,” she says.

You press a kiss to her hand. “Then stop standing at the door.” She smiles then—quiet, soft, the kind that reaches her eyes and folds into the corners. And she doesn’t say anything else. Because she doesn’t need to. That night, you fall asleep with her in your arms for the first time. No rush. No fire. Just warmth. And the slow, steady understanding that this? This is home.

It happens gradually. A jacket of yours hanging on the coat rack. A toothbrush in the drawer. Noah setting aside a seat for you at the table without asking. Olivia never says the word “stay.” She doesn’t need to. Her eyes say it every time she looks at you walking around her apartment barefoot, or when you make Noah laugh hard enough to snort mid-bite of cereal.

The first time you’re there when she comes home from a rough shift—Noah already in bed, the dishes half done, the apartment lit low and quiet—something in her expression breaks. Not from exhaustion. From relief. “You’re here,” she says, almost like she hadn’t dared to believe it until now.

You walk over. “I am. Thought you could use a night off from kid duty so I released Amanda from her duties....” She leans into your touch instantly, hands fisting the back of your shirt like she needs to anchor herself. She doesn’t talk about the case. You don’t ask. You just hold her while she exhales everything she doesn’t have words for.

Later, curled up on the couch with her tucked into your side, she whispers into your chest “You’re not just here. You fit.” You kiss the top of her head and don’t say anything.

The next morning is a Wednesday, which means school drop-off. You offer to go with them—not to help, not even consciously to support, but because it feels natural now. And when you reach for Noah’s lunchbox while Olivia’s pulling on her coat, he doesn’t blink.

He just hands you his backpack like he’s always done it. You walk them to the school’s front gate. Olivia’s tense at first, like she’s waiting for judgmental eyes or sideways comments. But no one looks twice. You stand beside her while Noah says goodbye to a friend, and when she glances at you, you’re already watching her. “You okay?” you ask quietly.

She nods, but it’s shaky. “I just… this part of my life’s never been something I’ve shared.”

You reach for her hand interlacing your fingers, smiling softly “Then I’m honored to be the exception.” She doesn’t say anything back—but she leans into you just slightly, the way someone does when they’re learning it’s safe to want.

That night, after dinner and homework and bedtime negotiations (Noah: “I can stay up if it’s a historical documentary.” You: “You’re nine little man. Go to bed.”), Olivia finds you in the kitchen drying dishes. She leans against the doorframe. “You’re good at this.”

You glance back. “At dishes?”

“At… all of it,” she says. “The rhythm. The noise. The hard days. You don’t flinch.”

You pause. Then “You know I’ve had hard days too, right?”

“I do,” she says softly. “But I think maybe… we’re not meant to carry them alone.” You set the last plate aside, walk over, and pull her into you.

“No,” you agree. “We’re not.” She kisses you. Slow. Familiar. Hers. And when she says, “Stay,” that night— It isn’t about the night. It’s about the rest of it.

It’s a Saturday, late afternoon. Lunch is half-eaten on the coffee table, and Olivia is sprawled across your chest, her fingers lazily tracing the edge of your shirt while Noah plays a video game in the next room. The window’s cracked open. The city hums softly outside. It’s domestic, warm, peaceful. You run a hand down her back and murmur, “I toured an apartment yesterday.”

She tilts her head. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Lease is up next month. Figured I should start looking. Somewhere with more space.”

Her hand stills. You don’t realize what you’ve said until the silence stretches a beat too long. When you glance down, she’s already looking up at you—eyes calm, unreadable, but not cold. “You thinking of staying in the same area?”

“Maybe,” you say. “Brooklyn’s comfortable. Not exactly easy access to the office….But honestly I don’t know. Everything about that place feels temporary now.”

She goes quiet again. Then softly—too softly “What if you didn’t sign a new lease?”

You blink. “I mean…” she clears her throat. “What if you just—stayed here?”

You study her. “Here… here?” She nods once. “You’re talking about moving in.”

She shifts slightly, still tucked under your arm. “You’re already here four nights a week. Half your stuff is in my closet. Noah sets out three forks at dinner without thinking about it. And the other three days you’re not here? This place feels… dull.”

Your heart stutters “You sure you’re ready for that?” Olivia doesn’t look away.

“I wasn’t ready when this started. But I’m ready now. We both are.”

You don’t answer right away. You just hold her a little tighter, brushing your thumb across her arm. “What about Noah?” you ask, voice low.

She smiles. “He’s the one who asked if you were going to unpack your bag permanently soon.”

You laugh softly. “Smartass.”

“Takes after me.” You glance down at her again—this strong, soft, complicated woman who’s spent years making space for others but never quite letting herself have any.

“You’re really sure about this?” you ask again, even though you already know the answer. She shifts up, kisses you gently, then murmurs:

“You’re already here. The rest is just paperwork.” That night, over dinner, Noah asks—casual, like it’s nothing—if he can show you which spot on the couch should be yours during movie nights. You nod. And when Olivia reaches under the table and laces her fingers through yours, it feels like something that isn’t new—Just something that’s finally official.

The move is… controlled chaos. Olivia offered to help—insisted, really—and now she’s standing in the middle of your mostly empty apartment, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, looking unfairly good for someone who’s been lifting boxes all morning.

You try not to stare.

You fail spectacularly.

At one point, she catches you watching her carry a stack of books and raises an eyebrow. “You planning to help, or are you just going to keep undressing me with your eyes?”

“Can’t I do both?”

She shakes her head, smirking, but you swear her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink. Back at her—your—apartment, the energy shifts. Boxes are half-unpacked, takeout is on the counter, and Noah is off at a sleepover, giving you both one blissfully uninterrupted evening.

Olivia’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of your T-shirts when you come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, burying your face in her neck. “Again?” she says, not even trying to sound annoyed.

“Mhm.”

“You’re clingy today.”

“You invited me to move in. That’s your mistake.”

She laughs and leans back into you, letting her head rest on your shoulder. “So this is what I signed up for.”

You nuzzle just beneath her ear. “You signed up for me being obsessed with you, yes.”

“You weren’t like this when we first met.”

“No,” you murmur, lips brushing her jaw. “Because I didn’t know what I was missing.”

Her breath catches—but she covers it quickly with sarcasm. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to kick you out.”

“Good thing I live here now. Kicking me out requires a formal eviction.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“And you love it.” You tilt her chin back, and kiss her—slow, sweet, deep. Her hands instinctively find your hips. Yours trace under the hem of her shirt, palms flat against her skin like you need to feel her. And you do. You can’t not touch her. It’s a little ridiculous, how bad it’s gotten. And when you pull away for air, she exhales your name like it’s a warning she has no intention of enforcing. “You’re distracting,” she murmurs.

You grin, smug. “And you love that too.”

Later, you’re lying on the floor, limbs tangled, her head on your stomach as you lazily scroll your phone and feed her bits of leftover fries. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, stealing one straight from your fingers.

“You’re enabling me.”

“I regret everything.”

“No you don’t.” She doesn’t argue, she just smiles. And you know it—she loves this. She loves you. You’re in. Fully, finally, beautifully in. And you never want to leave. Eventually, you both rally, groaning and stretching as you force yourselves off the floor. There are still half a dozen unopened boxes stacked near the bookshelf and an entire closet that looks like a small tornado swept through it. But instead of tackling everything at once, Olivia looks at you and says, “Let’s do it together.”

So you do. You unpack your books side by side—her thrillers, your dog-eared case law and noir paperbacks—shelved together without hesitation. You make a game out of it, tossing titles back and forth, arguing over whether she really needs three copies of Throne Of Glass (apparently she does).

In the bedroom, she folds your sweaters with unnecessary precision. You hang her blazer that somehow ended up in your box. At one point, she leans over to hand you a pair of jeans and you pull her in for a kiss that lasts way too long for either of you to be productive. “You’re insatiable,” she says, breathless.

“And you’re stalling.”

“Maybe I like having you close.”

You smirk. “You’re really bad at unpacking.”

But you don’t stop touching her either. By the time everything is put away, it’s nearly 1 a.m. You both collapse onto the bed, limbs tangled, cheeks flushed from laughter and wine and exhaustion. Olivia’s in one of your T-shirts again. You’re in sweatpants, sports bra and nothing else. She presses her face into your shoulder and sighs. “This was a good day.”

You kiss the top of her head. “The best.” You fall asleep like that—her arm around your waist, your hand resting over her heart. It’s the kind of sleep that doesn’t feel light or borrowed. It feels earned.

You wake up the next morning to the smell of coffee and soft jazz floating from the kitchen. Olivia’s not in bed, but her side is still warm. You pull on a shirt and follow the music, barefoot and blissfully slow. She’s at the stove, hair loose and wild, humming under her breath as she flips something in a pan. “You cooked?” you ask, blinking against the light.

She turns, coffee in hand. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“No. Just rare.”

“I felt domestic.”

You wrap your arms around her from behind and kiss the back of her neck. “It suits you.”

“I made pancakes.”

“You love me.”

She laughs. “I plead the fifth.” You eat breakfast at the counter, trading bites, bare knees brushing under the stools. She lets you steal the last piece. You let her do the dishes while you wipe the counters. It’s easy. Effortless. Real. Around noon, you both get back in bed with mugs of coffee and the Sunday paper. Olivia ends up curled in your lap reading a true psychology article aloud while you nod along and pretend not to be distracted by her mouth.

At two, she calls to check in on Noah. He’s happy, full of sugar, and currently building a Lego spaceship the size of a small country. Olivia rolls her eyes and tells him to have fun, then hangs up and immediately starts cleaning the living room even though it’s spotless “Nervous he’ll notice something’s different?” you ask gently.

She shrugs. “Just want everything to feel normal.”

You take her hand. “It already does.”

By five she’d gone to pick little man up, you hear the familiar key in the lock about 25 minutes later. The door swings open and Noah steps inside, backpack slung low and cheeks flushed from hours of play. “Hi!” he says brightly.

“Hey, kiddo,” you greeted, crouching to hug him. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! We made pizza and watched The Iron Giant twice.”

“Twice?” You echoed back

Noah shrugs. “It’s emotional.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair. “That’s fair.”

He walks into the apartment like he never left, kicking off his shoes and heading straight for his room with a wave. “I’m gonna put my stuff away!”

As soon as he disappears down the hall, Olivia turns to you after locking the front door. “He’s good.”

You nod. “So are we.”

She leans in slowly, lips brushing yours. “Yeah. We really are.”

Noah’s been home for less that two hours and was already tucked into bed with his reading light, a graphic novel, and a firm “Don’t worry, I’ll fall asleep eventually.” You checked on him ten minutes ago. He was already out. You chuckled softly to yourself, if this wasn’t a flash view into his teenage years, you weren’t sure what was. Now it’s just you and Olivia.

The apartment is quiet, the windows open to the warm night air, and the two of you are finally in bed. Your bed. Her bed. It’s both now. She’s already under the covers, hair down, wearing one of your soft T-shirts that fits her a little too well. You’re just coming out of the bathroom, an oversized college-t and underwear on only. A thick towel in hand-drying your hair, when she looks up at you. Her eyes sweep down. Slowly. “You do that on purpose,” she murmurs.

You freeze cocking your head to the side “Do what?”

She closes the book she was pretending to read. “Wander around like you’re in a romance novel cover shoot.”

You smirk, crossing the room. “Funny. You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”

“I minded. I just enjoyed minding.” You toss the towel aside, slipping into bed next to her. She moves instantly, settling against your chest, legs tangling with yours. Her fingers trace across your stomach like it’s instinct. Yours slide into her hair, pushing it behind her ear.

“You tired?” you ask softly.

She tilts her head. “Are you?”

“No.”

Her hand slides lower, fingertips grazing your hip. “Good.”

Your lips meet hers before either of you can make another joke. It’s slow at first, familiar—like earlier on the floor, only quieter now. Deeper. Your hand slips beneath the hem of her borrowed shirt, finding skin you’ve memorized but still crave like it’s new. She kisses you harder, shifting closer, her hand gripping your side as she presses you down into the mattress.

Your fingers slide down the back of her thigh, pulling her closer. There’s nothing rushed about it. Just need, hot, possessive. Home—and all the tension from the day, all the teasing touches and lingering glances, finally gives way. You’ve never felt more wanted and from the way she holds onto you—like you’re hers and she’s finally allowed to show it—you know she feels the same.

Oliva’s fingers drifted along the curve of your waist, tracing the delicate dip and swell of your form beneath the thin fabric of the T-shirt that clung to your frame. She let them linger over the slight jut of your hipbone before skimming down, over the slender muscle of your thigh as you shifted against the sheets.

"You're so beautiful," Oliva murmured, voice a low rasp in the quiet of the darkened room. "Sometimes I can hardly believe you're real." Her hand slid around to grip your hip, fingers sinking into the soft swell of your flesh as she tugged you closer until your bodies were truly pressed flush against one another. The heat of her skin seeped into yours, setting your nerves alight until every place where you touched tingled with a sudden, sharp awareness.

Oliva dipped her head, her lips brushing against the racing pulse at the base of your throat before her teeth sank into the tender skin. She worried the spot with lips and tongue and teeth, just shy of too hard, until the localized ache blossomed into a pleasurable sting.

A shiver rippled through you as she marked claimed you as hers, marking your body as surely as she had marked your very soul. Her hands roamed your back, fingers tracing every ridge and hollow of bone and sinew as she mapped your form like an explorer charting uncharted land.

She rolled onto her back pulling you with her, slipping her leg comfortably back between your own. She tangled her fingers in your hair, nails grazing your scalp softly. You had never felt more beautiful, more cherished, than you did in that moment as she gazed up at you with eyes dark with adoration and desire. You whimpered softly grinding your hips down softly against her thigh, you could feel the fabric of your underwear rubbing achingly slow against her flexed muscle, teasing your clit with the most delicious pressure.

Oliva shuddered, hips rocking up to meet yours as she felt the damp heat of your core rubbing against her leg. Her hands slid around to grip your ass, fingers sinking into the supple flesh as she guided your movements, urging you to grind down harder against her. "Fuck, baby," she groaned, head falling back against the pillow as she writhed beneath you. "You feel so good—"

She slipped one hand back around your hip, hooking two fingers into the fabric of your panties, tugging them aside to expose your slick folds. Her thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive nub in maddeningly slow strokes that made your hips buck and your breath catch.

"You're so wet already," Oliva purred, voice low and rough with lust. "Is this all for me, sweetheart? Is this pretty thing dripping just for me?" Oliva’s other hand slid up under the front of the shirt you wore - her shirt, really, It brushed over the swell of your breast, fingertips grazing the stiff peak of your nipple before pinching down, rolling the tender bud between her fingers.

"Tell me," she pleaded, hips surging up to meet yours again, the friction of her skin grinding against your own exposed aching sex, sending sparks shooting down your spine “Tell me who you belong to baby. Please, Say it." Her grip on your hip tightened almost desperately.

You whimpered softly hips snapping forward trying to chase the building pleasure “Fuck yes—“ you hissed softly “ It’s all for you baby”. You slip your hand down her stomach, pushing your fingers past the waist band or her panties, you cupped her mound possessively fingers stroking slowly.

Oliva let out a low moan as your fingers parted her slick folds, stroking through the wet heat that coated them. Her own arousal surged, dripping down, soaking your palm as she ground herself needily against your touch. The scent of her desire filled the air, musky and heady in the confines of the darkened bedroom.

"That's right, baby," she panted, voice tight and strained as you pleasured her. "This pretty pussy is mine now, isn't it? She groaned softly “Say it— now and forever."

Oliva thrust two fingers deep inside your dripping sex, plunging them in and out in a desperate rhythm that matched the piston of your hips above. Her thumb continued its merciless assault on your clit, circling and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves until your pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core.

"Ride my fingers sweetheart," she encouraged breathlessly, scissors spreading your dripping folds open wide. "Fuck yourself on them like the needy little thing i know you are. Show me how much you need it."

A string of soft moans slip from your lips as you leaned down, burrowing your head into her shoulder. Trying your best to conceal your whimpering. Your thumb finds her throbbing clit easily, swiping in a methodical rhythm. You push two finger past her clenching walls matching her thrust beat for beat.

Oliva shuddered as your fingers plunged deep inside of her, gasping softly at the swift though not unwelcome intrusion. Her walls clenched and fluttered around the invading digits, drawing you in deeper as you stroked that secret spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids. "Yes, just like that,"she hissed through clenched teeth, hips surging up to meet yours. "Fuck, your fingers feel so good inside me baby—"

She bucked feverishly into your touch, the wet squelch of her dripping arousal filling the room as you fingered her with increasing fervor. Her grip on your hip tightened, nails now digging into your soft flesh as she ground her hips against your hand in desperate motions. "Don't stop," Oliva begged, voice ragged and raw. "Please baby—just like that I'm—Gonna... fuck... gonna come all over you!"

She captured your mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing your wanton moans as she rutted against you with wild abandon. You curled your fingers inside her spasming sex and pressed hard against her g-spot as you rubbed her clit in tight circles. You dropped your head back down, teeth sinking into her shoulder, muffling your cries of ecstasy and her own as your combined stimulation pushed Oliva over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm

Oliva could feel your hips grinding desperately against her fingers, seeking your own release. She tightened her grip on your ass, pulling you harder against her invading digits as they plunged deep into your clenching sex. "That's it, baby," she panted harshly, voice rough with arousal. "Use me—fuck i want to feel it so bad baby. Soak my hand—"

She rubbed your clit harder, circling and pressing against the sensitive bundle as her other hand gripped the sheets underneath them. You could feel the tension building in your body as she fingered you with increasing urgency, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. "Fuck, I’m so close," you whined, feeling your walls starting to flutter and tighten around her fingers in anticipation.

"I want to feel you come on my fingers, come on love. I need it—" She whispered into your skin, you felt your body tense, back arching as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. She rubbed your clit furiously, fingers pumping wildly into your spasming channel, wringing every last bit of pleasure from your shaking form.

"That's it, darling," Oliva praised breathlessly as she worked you through your high, voice dripping with lust and admiration. "That's my good girl," she praised "So responsive and eager to cum on my fingers like the perfect girl you are"

She rolled her hips underneath you, grinding her still throbbing sex against your leg as she relished the feeling of your release, the slick heat of your arousal smearing between your joined bodies. Oliva gathered you close, one hand stroking your hair soothingly as the other pulled gently from your fluttering sex when your climax began to subside. She pecked your cheek softly, your lips, your chin, any part of your face her lips could reach as she murmured sweet words of adoration and praise.

You wake up first. The morning is warm, quiet, impossibly soft. Olivia’s still asleep beside you, her face relaxed in a way you only ever see here—between tangled sheets, sunlight sliding through the curtains, her hand resting over your stomach like her body still remembers to reach for yours even in sleep. You stay like that for a while.

Just watching her. You don’t know how long you have until the day pulls her away. Eventually, she stirs. Smiles into your shoulder. “You’re staring again.”

“Wouldn’t if you weren’t so pretty.”

“Liar.”

“Objectively true,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Even when you’re drooling.”

“I don’t drool.”

You raise a brow. “Sure.”

She groans and shoves your shoulder. “Why do I love you again?”

“Because I make coffee.”

“…Fair.”

You eat breakfast at the counter, still in pajamas.She kisses you goodbye twice—once on the cheek, once just beneath your jaw. The way she says she’ll see you later with a glint in her eye like it’s a promise, not a guess. The way she takes one last look at you from the door, already missing you even though she’s just headed to work. It’s ridiculous how soft she makes you. How your whole morning tastes a little sweeter just because she was in it.

You text her after your meeting wraps: Hope your morning’s quiet. Want to do a late lunch? No reply. You check the clock. 1:47. Not unusual. She’s probably up to her ears in case files. By 2:30, you try again. Still nothing. By 3 , there’s a weight in your chest you can’t shake. You scroll through your messages, rereading the ones from the days before. Sweet. Teasing. Thoughtful. She had been tired but warm, engaged—herself.

You’ve surprised her at the precinct before. Lunch in hand, some excuse about needing to stretch your legs, maybe steal a kiss in her office while no one’s looking. She always rolls her eyes but kisses you back anyway. So you decide to do it again. But this time, the front desk officer straightens the second they see you. Their hand tightens slightly around the edge of the counter. Eyes flick to your badge. Recognition. Hesitation.

“Sorry,” they say, voice clipped. “Captain Benson’s not here at the moment.”

You blink, a bit thrown. “shes not?”

The officer swallows, then nods slightly. “Can’t say.”

Your stomach turns. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Orders.” That lands cold and fast. Olivia doesn’t give orders like that unless something’s wrong. Really wrong. You thank them stiffly, stepping back, your mind already spinning. You pull out your phone. One text. Then another.

Liv?

Everything okay?

Nothing. You call. It rings once—then straight to voicemail. You stare down at your screen, a dozen horrible thoughts trying to claw their way to the surface. You shut them out. You have to shut them out. But your pulse is quick now, thudding beneath your skin like a warning. You pivot fast, walking back toward your car. You need to make sure Noah is taken care of. You need him safe.

He’s supposed to be at a sleepover tonight—his new classmate Milo’s house again. You double-check the details in your messages. His mom is a pediatrician. You’ve met her. Olivia vetted her twice over. Squeaky clean. Quiet, reliable. The kind of person Olivia would actually trust to watch her son.

You drop him off like normal, even though nothing about you feels normal anymore. You crouch beside him at the door, brush the hair from his face, kiss his forehead. “Be good,” you murmur, trying not to sound tight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He grins and runs off, unaware. You wait until the door closes. And then you drive Back to SVU. This time, you don’t even pause. You step through the entrance with your badge already out. “ADA Y/L/N ,” you say, tone hard. You flash your credentials at the officer behind the desk, whose eyes widen as you blow past him.

“Ma’am—you can’t just—!” You don’t stop. You don’t even look back. Your heels click down the corridor, sharp and purposeful, your breath tightening with every step. Something’s wrong. You can feel it in your gut, crawling through your bones like static.

And you are not leaving until you see her.

Her office door is closed.

That alone tells you everything.

Olivia never closes her door during work hours unless she’s in a meeting, you’re there or something’s gone horribly wrong. And you know—instinctively, bone-deep—that no one’s in there with her. You knock once. Sharp. Firm. Controlled. No answer.

A beat passes.

And then you open it anyway.

The hinges creak softly as the door swings inward. She’s standing behind her desk, hands braced tight on the edge, knuckles white, shoulders rigid beneath her blazer. Her head is bowed, chin tucked to her chest, and her eyes—when she finally lifts them—are rimmed red, as if she’s been holding back tears so hard it physically hurts. Her entire body trembles with restraint, like she’s trying to hold herself together with sheer force of will.

“Liv,” you breathe, the name barely a whisper. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t acknowledge you. But she doesn’t tell you to leave, either. You cross the room in three strides, slow but unflinching, trying not to crowd her, trying to be gentle with your presence even when your heart is thudding in your chest. “Livy” you say again, more tender this time. Closer.

Still nothing. Just the tight line of her jaw and the way her fingers dig into the edge of the desk, like it’s the only thing anchoring her to the room. You reach for her hand—slowly, softly—fingers grazing hers in a quiet offering. You don’t grip. You don’t rush. You just reach. She flinches. Your heart stutters, you almost pull away. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t pull her hand back. Then, after a moment that feels like it stretches forever, her voice breaks through the silence “He was six.”

Your breath catches. You swallow, hard. The burn hits your chest before you even realize you’re holding in tears for her. She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t need to.

“I tried to talk the father down,” she says, her voice thin and hollow, like she’s speaking through smoke. “He had the kid wrapped in a coat… like he thought that would protect him from everything. Kept saying he wasn’t gonna let us ‘poison’ him. Said we’d turn him into one of them.” Her lip trembles. She shakes her head like she can’t even believe she’s repeating it.

“I thought I had him. I really thought I did.” Her voice breaks, softer now, torn from somewhere deep. “He lowered the gun for half a second. And I thought… God, I thought that was enough. But he…” She sucks in a sharp breath, jaw trembling. “…he shot the kid,” she finally says, choking on the words. “And then he turned it on himself.”

You stare at her, the words like a gut-punch. “Jesus, Liv.”

“I called the EMTs.” Her eyes glass over, distant. “But it was too late. I was too late.”

“Olivia—”

“He died in my arms,” she whispers, and that’s it—that’s the thread that unravels her completely.

Her knees nearly give out, you catch her before she falls. She collapses into your chest like a storm breaking open, like everything inside her has finally ruptured from the pressure. Her arms wrap around you almost instinctively, fingers clenching in your jacket like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold on tight enough. You hold her like you’ve never held anyone in your life. Strong. Steady. Unwavering. Not because she’s falling apart—no, never that.

But because she’s finally letting go. You press your lips to her hair, breathing her in, one hand stroking gently down her back, the other resting protectively at her waist. She’s trembling so hard now you can feel it all through you.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she whispers into your shirt, her voice muffled and wet with tears she’s no longer bothering to hide.

You close your eyes and wrap your arms tighter around her. “Then it’s a good thing I came anyway.”

She says nothing to that but her grip on you doesn’t ease. You don’t leave, not for a while. You ease her onto the office couch when she finally lets you move her. You sit beside her, thighs pressed together, and your hand never leaves hers. You don’t push. Don’t ask for more. You just stay. Breathing with her. Holding space for her. Offering your silence like a lifeline. And for Olivia Benson, that means more than any comfort you could try to put into words.

Because now she knows—When it’s all too much…When the worst of the world finds her, you’ll be the one who stays. She stays curled against you for a long time, her breathing finally slowing, but her body still faintly trembling. You can feel the exhaustion in her bones. The grief in her silence. The way she’s holding herself together with threads.

Your hand moves slowly through her hair, soft and rhythmic, the way you know calms her. The office is quiet except for her uneven breaths and the faint hum of the precinct beyond the door. You press a kiss to the crown of her head, your lips lingering there. Then, gently, you murmur, “I’m taking you home.” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just lets her forehead rest heavier against your chest.

“Liv.” You pull back just enough to meet her eyes, your hands cradling her face, thumbs brushing over damp cheeks. “That’s enough for today. More than enough.”

She blinks slowly, like she’s trying to come back to herself. “I have paperwork. I need to—”

“No, you don’t,” you cut in softly. “It can wait. Everything can wait.”

“I can’t just walk out,” she says, but even her protest is tired, barely there. “There’s still—”

“Baby.” Your voice lowers, tender and firm. “Noah’s at Jackson’s. He’s not expecting us until morning. It’s just us tonight.” You pause, kissing the side of her mouth. “Let me take you home, you need to rest.”

She closes her eyes. And for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. You think maybe she’s going to argue again—but then she nods, slow and silent, as though she’s finally giving herself permission to stop being strong. You rise first, pulling her gently to her feet. She sways for half a second before her body finds yours again, fitting into your side like muscle memory. Like need. You hold her close, one arm firm around her waist, your free hand finding hers. Interlacing your fingers like an anchor.

She doesn’t speak as you guide her toward the door. She just leans into you, her weight familiar and trusting, her body finally letting go in ways her words won’t. Before you reach the hallway, you pause and glance down at her. “You want me to go back for your bag? Or do you want to pretend work doesn’t exist for the rest of the night?”

A flicker of something passes her face “I want to pretend.”

You nod once. “Done.” The world can wait.

You press a kiss to her temple, hold her a little tighter, and lead her out into the night. You don’t let go. Not once. Not even when she starts to cry again in the car. The drive home is quiet. Not tense. Just… quiet. Her hand stays in yours the whole way, her thumb occasionally brushing along your knuckles like she’s reminding herself you’re still there. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. The silence between you is full of everything that doesn’t need to be said—not tonight.

When you pull into your spot and cut the engine, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours. You squeeze her hand before letting go, only long enough to walk around and open her door. She doesn’t argue. She just follows. Inside, the apartment is dim and warm. Home. A place built over time, carved into something safe between you.

You set her keys down on the entry table and help her out of her coat, fingers lingering at her shoulders, then trailing down her arms. She doesn’t pull away—but she doesn’t lean in either. Just moves through the motion. You press a soft kiss to the top of her spine before whispering against her skin, “Go shower. Hot as you want. I’ll get changed and make dinner.”

She hesitates like she’s about to say no, but you step around to meet her eyes and nod once, gently insistent. “Let me do this for you.”

A pause. Then finally, a quiet, “Okay.” She disappears down the hall, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You change out of your work clothes quickly, toss your hair up, and head into the kitchen. You don’t go overboard—just something warm, comforting. Pasta, a little wine. Something that smells like normal. Like stability. By the time you hear the water shut off, you’ve set the plates down and lit one of the candles she likes—the kind that smells like cedar and rain. You turn around just as she walks back in. Hair damp, face freshly washed, one of your hoodies hanging off her frame. She looks soft. Clean. Beautiful, but empty.

She smiles when she sees the food, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. It’s automatic, almost apologetic. She sits at the table because she thinks she’s supposed to. Picks up her fork because it’s what people do. She takes a bite, chews. Swallows. You can tell she’s not there. She’s just going through the motions. You watch her for a beat too long. Then you set your own fork down and cross to her side of the table. “Liv.”

She looks up, startled. You kneel beside her chair and take her face gently in your hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “What do you need?” you ask, voice soft but steady. “Dinner? If it’s dinner, it’s right there.” She doesn’t answer. “Not hungry?” you continue, tilting your head, eyes searching hers. “That’s okay. Dinner doesn’t matter.”

Still nothing. You exhale, pressing your forehead to hers for a moment. “You want me to hold you?” Your voice is barely a whisper now. “Okay. I’ll do that. I’ll do whatever you need, Liv… but you have to tell me. Please. You’re really worrying me.”

Her lip trembles. Her eyes well up again. You don’t look away. You don’t blink. And then—finally—her hands come up to rest over yours, and she nods, slow and shaky. “I just… I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers.

“Then you’re not,” you say immediately. “You’re not.” She slides off the chair and into your arms, and this time, she does lean in. And you hold her. You hold her like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like you’ve got all night. Because you do. You hold her on the kitchen floor, her body warm and quiet in your arms, her head tucked into your neck like it’s the only place she can breathe.

But she’s tired. You can feel it in the way she leans into you—weighty, like everything in her has finally gone still. Not at peace, not yet, but empty in that way grief always leaves you. You shift slightly, hands sliding down her sides, grounding her. “Liv,” you murmur against her hair. “Come on, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

She shakes her head lightly, but it’s not defiance. It’s exhaustion. Her arms tighten around you, clinging—not to stop you, but because moving feels impossible. “I don’t want to sleep,” she whispers. “I don’t want to dream.”

Your heart twists violently “I know,” you say softly. “But you won’t be alone. I’ll be there. You just need to rest.” You brush her hair back, easing her up to a sitting position, then gently guide her to stand. She wavers, blinking like she forgot how to be vertical. You step in close, hands finding her hips, holding her steady. “Just come with me,” you whisper, brushing your lips along her temple.

She nods, barely, and you lean in to kiss her again—this time just under her jaw, where her pulse flutters faintly beneath her skin. And then—without a word—you tighten your grip at her hips, lifting her easily. She gasps softly in surprise, her hands flying to your shoulders for balance as your body fits naturally between her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me,” you say, quiet but certain.

She hesitates only a second before doing exactly that, her ankles locking at the base of your spine, her arms circling your neck. You hold her close, one hand cradling the back of her thigh, the other supporting her lower back. She tucks herself into you without resistance now, her face buried against your shoulder, her breath warm at your throat and you walk.

Down the dim hallway. Past the framed photos of her and Noah. The shadows are soft, the quiet around you like a cocoon. When you step into the bedroom, you can feel her muscles start to go slack. Not because she’s comfortable yet—but because she’s letting you carry her. Physically, emotionally. Just for a little while.

You lower her slowly to the bed, kneeling over her as her legs fall from your waist. She doesn’t let go immediately—her hands linger at your neck, like she needs to keep touching you to stay grounded. You kiss her forehead, then her cheek, then just rest there, your nose brushing hers. “You’re safe now.”

She nods, a shaky breath leaving her. “I know. Just… don’t go.” You slip under the covers with her, pulling her flush against you, her head on your chest, your arms wrapped tight around her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, voice low and full. And when her fingers knot into your shirt again and she finally lets her eyes close, you keep her close—anchored, adored. Because this is what you meant when you said I’ve got you and you always will.

Morning comes slowly. The light filters in, soft and golden, slipping between the curtains in pale streaks. You blink awake to the weight of her still in your arms, curled into your side like she hadn’t moved all night. Her breath is warm against your chest, steady but shallow. Her fingers are still knotted in your shirt.

She’s not asleep. You can tell. She’s quiet in that way grief makes you quiet—present but far away. You run your hand gently down her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey,” you whisper. She hums in response but doesn’t lift her head. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs, slow and barely noticeable. You tilt your head, trying to catch her eyes, but she keeps them closed. “Still heavy,” she murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel anything else yet.” She clutches you tighter.

You hold her like that for a while, noses buried in shared warmth, hearts beating steady in the same rhythm. Eventually, you glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s later than you thought. You brush your lips across her temple. “I have to go pick up Noah.”

Her arms tense slightly around you, and you shift to look at her. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise, brushing her hair gently away from her face. “We both will. Me and him. We’ll come back and hold you, okay?”

Her lip wobbles just the smallest bit. But she nods. You kiss her softly, once on the mouth, once on the forehead. Then you pull the blankets up around her again, give her one last glance—just to make sure she knows you’re not leaving her, not really—and quietly head out.

The ride to Jackson’s is quiet. You sip from the coffee you grabbed on the way, watching the city move past in streaks of soft morning sun. When Noah opens the front door, he’s still in his pajama pants and a superhero t-shirt, hair sticking up in every direction.“Hi!” he grins, launching into your arms. “We made waffles!”

“Lucky you,” you smile, picking him up with ease. “Did you thank Jackson’s mom?”

“Twice,” he says proudly. “And I gave her a hug ‘cause she let us have whipped cream.”

You laugh softly and kiss the side of his head. “Good. That’s my gentleman.”

On the drive back, he’s chatty—telling you about Legos and movies and the pillow fort they built in the living room. You listen, nodding, laughing when he makes a silly face. But as the stories slow, he catches something in your silence. He’s sharp like that—just like her.

You glance at him in the rearview mirror.“Hey, bud,” you say gently. “We’re gonna have a quiet day at home today.”

“Okay.” He nods easily, then tilts his head. “Why?” You hesitate, thinking of how to say it. You don’t want to scare him, but you want him to understand.

“Mom’s just… not feeling great today,” you say carefully. “Work was really hard yesterday. So she’s a little sad, and she needs some rest. And love.”

He frowns a little, clearly thinking “Is she okay?”

“She will be,” you say, giving him a small smile. “She just needs us today.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then “Can I help?”

Your throat tightens just a bit “Yeah love. You can help a lot.”

“How?”

You reach back and ruffle his hair at a red light. “By being good. And by giving Mom all the love she needs. Hugs included.”

He grins, that sweet gap-toothed smile lighting up his face. “I can do that.”

You chuckle and nod. “I know you can.”

When you pull into the driveway, he’s already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Can I go in first?” he asks, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“Go ahead,” you say, heart swelling. “Just remember to be gentle, okay?”

He nods solemnly. “I will.”

And then he’s off, little feet pounding toward the front door, full of purpose. You follow behind a few steps slower, carrying hope in your chest. Because if there’s one thing that can reach Olivia—It’s the two people who love her more than anything. You unlock the door and step inside just as Noah toes off his shoes and pads down the hallway, already calling out softly, “Mom?”

Your heart aches a little at how careful he sounds. Gentle. Like he knows. You set the keys down and hang up your jacket, following a few steps behind him. When you reach the bedroom door, he’s standing just outside of it, peeking in with wide, concerned eyes. “She’s still in bed,” he whispers to you.

You nod, crouching beside him. “Do you want to go in first? Or should we go together?” He thinks for a second, then reaches for your hand.

“Together.”

You squeeze his little fingers in yours. “Okay.” You push the door open gently.

The room is quiet, still wrapped in soft morning light. Olivia is lying on her side, facing the window, the comforter pulled halfway up her chest. She hasn’t changed position since you left. Her eyes are open, unfocused, watching the sun stretch across the wall. You hear Noah suck in a tiny breath beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first. Then, in a whisper, “Mom?”

Her head turns slowly. When her eyes land on him, her face softens just enough to crack the fog. “Hey, baby,” she says, her voice still scratchy, still low.

Noah tugs your hand, pulling you toward the bed. “Can we come cuddle?”

Olivia nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. Of course.”

You lift Noah up first, setting him gently on the bed before crawling in after him. He immediately scoots toward her, wrapping his little arms around her waist like he’s done it a thousand times. “Did you miss me?” he asks into her chest.

“So much,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m really glad you’re here.” You ease in behind Olivia, curling around her back, sandwiching her between the two of you. Your arm stretches over her side, your hand resting where Noah’s does—his small palm right over her heart, yours steady beneath it.

She exhales slowly, fully, for the first time since last night. Her body relaxes like it’s finally okay to let go. Noah snuggles in tighter. “We’re gonna stay with you all day.”

You hum softly, brushing your lips along the curve of her shoulder. “Told you we’d both be back.”

Olivia turns her head just enough to see you, her eyes glassy again—but not the same kind of broken. Just full. Full of everything she can’t say yet. “I don’t deserve you two,” she whispers.

You press your forehead to hers. “That’s not true. You deserve all of this. And more.”

From between you, Noah pipes up. “You’re the best mom.”

Olivia lets out a soft, shaky laugh. Then pulls him a little closer. “I love you so much, buddy.”

“I love you more,” he says, then after a moment adds, “y/n too.”

You grin against her skin. “He’s got good taste.”

She chuckles, and this time, it’s real. You stay like that for a long time. Quiet. Close. Wrapped around her like armor made of love. No demands. No expectations.

Just comfort.

Just presence.

Just home.

[noellawrites]

Isolation - Yandere!Rafael Barba x reader

requested by @detectivebarba

summary: After you are shot while on duty, Rafael manipulates both you and the SVU squad to get what he wants.

warnings: shooting, bullet wound, reader is hospitalized, angst, lying, manipulation

A single shot rang out, causing you to turn your head towards where the commotion was coming from. Your service weapon was drawn, but you didn't have time to shoot. The bullet hit you right below your chest.

You slammed into the ground with a groan. Pain ricocheted through your body, but you knew you were lucky. Your vest had caught the bullet.

"11-41, we got an officer down. I need a bus to Irving and East 17th ASAP," you heard Sonny call over his radio.

Liv was on the ground next to you in a flash. She had pulled your vest off and was examining the damage.

"It looks like the vest caught most of the damage. You're going to be fine, (y/n)," Liv assured you.

You watched from the ground as Amanda and Fin apprehended the shooter and wrangled him into the backseat of the squad car.

"P-please c-call Raf," you rasped, and Liv nodded. Your breathing sounded erratic and you were coughing and wincing in pain. Sonny turned around, bending down to the other side of you.

"I think you've got a punctured lung, (y/n)," Carisi explained.

Your eyes widened and tears threatened to spill from them. You couldn't speak, so you only shook your head vigorously.

Liv stood up and dialed Rafael's number. She wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to him, as he was extremely protective of you.

"The vest caught the bullet, but it looks like they have some broken ribs and they're having trouble breathing. I know, Rafa. We'll meet you at Mercy."

—

Everything became a blur once you were loaded into the ambulance. Liv rode with you while Sonny drove the squad car to Mercy. Fin and Amanda were booking the shooter and finishing the paperwork, but promised to come to visit as soon as they could.

A flustered Rafael was already sitting in your room once you were brought back from your emergency surgery. He stood up as soon as he saw the nurses wheeling your hospital bed back in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, concern thick in his voice.

"Better, now that I can actually breathe. Hey, where is everyone else?" you asked, looking around your private room. There were already four vases of flowers, but no one else was there besides your boyfriend and the two nurses hooking up your IV bags.

"They'd only let one person in at a time, so I told them I was your husband. I'll go out and tell everyone that you're awake and out of surgery, though," Rafael promised.

He leaned over, kissing you on the forehead and smiling at you before he exited the room.

—

Rafael was stunned at just how many NYPD employees had showed up to support you. He walked into the lounge and guessed there had to be at least thirty people. There were lots of beat cops, mostly people he recognized as old friends and co-workers of yours.

He spotted Liv and Sonny standing in a corner with Chief Dodds and IAB Captain Tucker. Rafael approached them and took a deep breath.

"They're out of surgery and conscious. They don't want any visitors, though. Any idea why that son of a bitch would do this?" Rafael said, clenching his jaw in anger.

"Fin and Rollins are workin' on it, but we got nothin' so far," Sonny explained.

"No visitors? Any idea why?" Liv asked, narrowing her eyes.

"They said they didn't want to see any of you. I'm pretty sure they're planning on leaving the squad after this. I'm sorry."

" Well, give them these if you could, counselor. It's from all of us down at 1PP," Tucker explained, handing Rafael a bouquet.

"I will, thank you," Rafael nodded, taking the flowers.

"And these, my ma made an emergency cannoli batch when she heard," Sonny added, shoving a Tupperware container into Rafael's other hand.

Rafael couldn't wait to get back into your room, take your phone and block each and every one of them. He would take care of you and nurse you through your recovery without the squad to bother him.

He was quite proud of this plan he'd set into motion. He paid the shooter handsomely, as he would be serving a few years in prison. It was airtight, nothing could be tracked back to him. And now, you were all his.

—

You woke up from your nap and turned to your left side, where Rafael was sitting. He was texting something on his phone and hadn't noticed you'd woken up.

"Rafa?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"Hey, baby. You have a good nap?"

"Yeah. Did anyone come by to visit?" you asked. You wanted to see your friends more than anything.

"Just Tucker to drop off some flowers," your boyfriend explained.

You frowned, glancing out the window at the New York skyline. You got shot, broke two ribs and your lung collapsed, and your friends couldn't even bother to come see you in the hospital?

"I'll call Liv, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. Maybe they think I'm still in surgery or something," you said, grabbing your phone from the tray table beside you.

You clicked on Olivia's contact and tried to press the call button, but your call was immediately rejected.

"That's weird," you remarked, and tried again. Again, the call rejected.

You narrowed your eyes and tried Sonny's contact. Then Amanda. Then Fin. All rejected calls. You turned your phone off, tears welling up in your eyes. Why would they ice you out like this?

"I'm sorry (y/n), but they don't want to hear from you or see you. I tried to call them earlier and only Liv answered. She said you're off the squad. I'm really sorry," Rafael explained, standing up from his seat and moving to stand over your hospital bed. He wiped the tears from your eyes and looked at you with an expression of pity.

"Why would they do this?" you sobbed, covering your eyes with your hands.

"Once you get out of here, I'll move you into my apartment. I'll take care of you, okay? I promise," Rafael said, smiling at you and bending over to give you a hug. He would always protect you, and you would never have to know the truth.

[bi-bard]

Usefulness - Sonny Carisi Imagine (Law & Order: S.V.U)

Title: Usefulness

Pairing: Dominick "Sonny" Carisi X Reader

Word Count: 1,135 words

Warning(s): discussion of people-pleasing tendencies

Summary: Sonny's interference in an interrogation that (Y/n) was leading ends in a serious discussion about what the true intention behind his actions were.

Author's Note: Carisi is a people-pleaser, tell me I'm wrong.

--------------------------

It all started with an event during an interrogation.

The interrogation itself was going fine. The guy was confrontational, but that wasn't anything new. I felt confident, comfortable. No matter what the guy was saying, I had control over the room. It was good.

Then, he made some off-hand, disrespectful comment.

I didn't get a chance to respond before the door into Liv's office opened.

"That's enough."

I looked at Sonny, who was now leaning through the doorway. In the hopes of making it look like we were on the same page, I stood up, following him out.

"You had no right to do that," I muttered once the door shut.

"We were getting nowhere with him."

"Yes, we were, that's why he was getting personal," I replied. "And then, you pulled me out. We are back at square one."

"I was trying to stand up for you."

"I know, I know," I nodded. "But... this is my job, Sonny. You can't do that kind of thing just because a suspect pokes fun at me."

"I was keeping you safe."

I didn't have a chance to talk back before Sonny walked out of the office. I just took a deep breath before turning to face Liv.

"I can't go back in, can I," I asked. "Guy wouldn't hold any respect for me. All progress... gone."

"Sonny means well," she replied.

"I know, I know. I just... I feel like there's something more going on."

She nodded.

I didn't get a chance to talk about it with him until we got home.

When I walked in, Sonny was already home. At least he seemed to have more straightforward hours than I did. He had changed and was sitting at the table, hunched over the next case he was working on.

"Hey," I said.

He stood up as soon as I spoke. "Hey."

I grinned at him as he walked over and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"How was your day," he asked.

"Funny that you ask," I replied. "I was gonna ask to talk about what happened today?"

"The interrogation thing?"

I nodded.

He let out a sigh.

"Sonny, I know that you meant well, but you can't do that," I explained. "It undermines my authority in the room, sets back progress, and it looks like the A.D.A is trying to steer the case, which is not your job."

He looked down.

I bit my lip and crossed my arms over my chest.

"I was just trying to help," he mumbled after a minute of silence.

"And I appreciate that, I do," I said, stepping forward. "I... I just want to understand why you felt the need to do that."

"What?"

"You're protective," I explained. "And I adore that. I think it's great. However, there are times when it's almost like you're overstepping. And I don't think you're aware of the fact that you're doing it."

His eyebrows furrowed. "So... you think it's great, but it's upsetting you."

"Sonny," I sighed. "I think you're protective and helpful streak is honorable. It's sweet and it shows that you care and it's one of the things I first noticed about you when I started getting feelings for you. However, when you storm into the interrogation room because a suspect is getting a little too aggressive or rude, it's overstepping."

Sonny looked down.

"I was trained to handle those situations, just like you were. I know when to step out. And when you interfere like that, no matter the intentions, it's not going to look good."

He didn't speak up.

"Why did you do it? Honestly."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, he still didn't meet my eyes. His gaze was still shifting around the room.

"I... I'm supposed to take care of you," he admitted. "We're... We're a couple. I am meant to take care of you. Protect you. It's... It's my job now."

I almost wanted to cry.

He scoffed like he was trying to convince me- maybe both of us- that it was a joke. "I mean, you're not gonna keep someone around that you can't trust to protect you and help you. That's not useful."

The last sentence left me stunned for a moment. He truly thought that the reason I was with him was because of how useful he was.

My hesitance made him want to backtrack. "Y'know what, I shouldn't have said anything about this. It's not your job to worry-"

"Sonny, Sonny," I touched his upper arms as he tried to wave the whole thing off. "Hey..."

He finally looked at me, a clear frown on his face.

I stepped forward, leaning in to peck his lips. "You don't need to fix me or save me in order to convince me that you care. I love you. No conditions attached. I promise you that."

His face softened a bit. "You love me?"

I paused for a moment. I hadn't said that out loud before. I had thought it for years- even before we started dating- but saying it... that was a new monster.

"Yeah," I nodded. "You have nothing to prove, Sonny. You never did. I don't need you to hold me together."

His smile could've melted my heart.

"What I want," I continued, "is for my very handsome, very tired partner to lie down with me. If that's what he wants."

Sonny slowly nodded.

I stepped back, taking his hand and leading him out of the living room. I was stopped in the doorway by Sonny. I chuckled as he pressed his lips to mine. My back hit the doorframe, digging into my spine as his hands cupped the sides of my face.

"Sonny," I placed my hand on his chest, pushing him back enough to speak. "Lie down with me. Nothing else. Not tonight."

He nodded again.

I pecked his lips again.

Sonny didn't speak up until we had both curled up under my covers.

"I love you too."

It was so quiet. Whispered as one arm wrapped around my shoulders to hold me closer and his other hand cupped the side of my face. His thumb ran along my cheekbone.

My eyes already felt heavy as I hummed back to him. He made me feel so safe. It was just so easy to fall asleep with my head resting against him.

"And you said I was tired."

"Stop being such a teddy bear then," I grumbled.

"Oh, never," he mumbled. "Wouldn't get to hold you as tight as I want if I did that."

"You can hold me as tight as you want, Carisi."

I had to bite back my smile a bit as I felt his arms tighten around me.

It was about time he focused on what he wanted.

--------------------------

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[metalmonki]

Objection! Part 10

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

4.7k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the dim hospital room. I sat still, my fingers laced together, resting on my lap. The chair was stiff and uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t leaving. Not now. Not until she woke up.

Y/N looked so small in the hospital bed, her face pale against the stark white sheets. I had braced myself for bruises, for some visible proof of the nightmare she had been through, but there was nothing—just the eerie stillness that came from the drugs still lingering in her system. The doctors had assured us she would wake up soon, but every passing minute felt like an eternity.

Sonny had been the one asking the doctors all the right questions, demanding more when vague reassurances weren’t enough. I had stayed quiet, letting him take the lead. It wasn’t my place to interfere. I had no right to claim any authority over her—not in Sonny’s eyes, not even in my own. It was enough that he had let me stay.

Olivia had come and gone, updating us on Marco’s arrest. He was locked away in Attica with no bail. That should have given me some peace, but then she mentioned Jack McCoy bringing in Peter Stone to handle the case. Anger had flared in my chest at the thought of being sidelined, but Olivia had shut it down quickly. You’re too close to this, Rafael. You were his main target, he used her to get to you. And deep down, I knew she was right.

Now, the room was silent again. Visiting hours had passed, and Sonny had reluctantly gone home to shower and eat. He had promised to be back soon, but I barely registered his departure.

Alone with Y/N, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the edge of her bed. My eyes traced every familiar feature—the curve of her lips, the way her eyelashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, the steady rise and fall of her chest.

I swallowed hard, gripping the blanket as I exhaled shakily. “You scared the hell out of me,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t stir.

A humourless chuckle escaped me as I ran a tired hand down my face. “I should have told you,” I said, my voice rough with exhaustion. “I should have told you a long time ago. But I was a coward. I told myself it was better this way—that you deserved something simple, someone who wouldn’t complicate your life. Dios soy un idiota” (God I’m an idiot)

I shook my head, my jaw tightening. “But I love you.” The words felt heavy, like they had been waiting too long to be spoken. “I have for a long time. And I will protect you, from this day forward, even if you never hear me say this.”

Hesitantly, I reached out, letting my fingers brush over the back of her hand. She was warm. Alive. And that was the only thing that mattered.

I stayed like that, my hand resting over hers, as the hours stretched on.

Sonny was so quiet when he came back that his voice startled me, making me jerk back from Y/N’s bedside like a guilty teenager caught sneaking out. My heart pounded as I turned toward him, but there was no anger on his face, no judgment. Just quiet understanding.

He sighed, settling back into the chair across from me. “Relax, Barba. I’m not gonna yell at you.”

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to unclench my fists. After a brief hesitation, I reached for Y/N’s hand again, letting my fingers curl around hers. Sonny watched but didn’t say anything at first, just resting his elbows on his knees as he studied me.

Then, after a long pause, he asked, “When did you realize it?”

I frowned. “Realize what?”

“That you love her.”

The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, trying to gather my thoughts. When had I realized it? Had it been all at once, some grand revelation? Or had it crept up on me over time, settling into my bones before I even understood it was there?

Sonny must have seen the conflict on my face because he kept going. “Why her? And why the hell didn’t you tell her?”

I let out a heavy breath, running a hand over my face. “Because I was afraid,” I admitted. “Because she deserves better than someone like me—someone who lives in a courtroom, who puts work before everything, who ruins every relationship he’s ever had.”

Sonny scoffed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I shot him a look, but he only leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Look, I get it. You think you’re protecting her. But you’re wrong. You think Y/N doesn’t know who you are? That she hasn’t already decided you’re worth it?”

His words settled deep, but before I could respond, he smirked. “You know, we had a bet going. Well Finn, Amanda and Nick did I wanted no part of it.”

I blinked. “A bet?”

Sonny chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. Back in the squad room, her second day working with you. Finn, Amanda, and Amaro—they all bet on how long it would take before you two figured it out.”

My stomach twisted. “Figured what out?”

“That you were in love with each other.”

The air felt too thick in my lungs. “You’re joking.”

Sonny grinned. “Wish I was. Amaro said a month. Amanda gave it three. Finn? He was the only one who said it’d take over a year. He figured you’d be stubborn about it.” He paused, tilting his head. “Looks like he was right.”

I let out a quiet laugh, though it was more disbelief than amusement. “And Y/N?” I asked cautiously. “What did she say about all this?”

Sonny’s smirk softened. “She never denied it, Barba. Never. If anything, she just got flustered whenever we brought it up.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “She loves you, man. I know it. Even if I don’t want to believe it.”

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around Y/N’s hand.

I wanted to believe him. God, I needed to believe him. But right now, all that mattered was her waking up.

And when she did, I had no intention of letting another second slip by.

Sonny asked me again, his voice quieter this time. “When did you realize it?”

I exhaled slowly, staring down at Y/N’s hand in mine. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the silence between us, a reminder that she was still here, still fighting her way back to us.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t some grand moment of clarity. It wasn’t like the movies where everything suddenly clicks into place. It just… built up over time.”

Sonny didn’t interrupt, just watched me, waiting.

“I think—” I hesitated, struggling to put the weight of my feelings into words. “I think I was already in love with her before I even realized it. It wasn’t one thing. It was a hundred little things. The way she argued with me but always listened. The way she laughed when she thought no one was paying attention. How she never backed down, even when she was scared.”

I let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. “By the time I understood what I was feeling, it was too late. I was already gone.”

Sonny nodded slowly, as if he’d expected that answer. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

I looked at Y/N’s face—still, peaceful, but too pale under the harsh hospital lighting.

“I’m going to tell her,” I said firmly. “As soon as she wakes up, I’m telling her everything.”

Sonny huffed a laugh. “About damn time. But I’m telling you now. You hurt her, you put her in harms away again I will make sure you pay.”

…

Sonny and I must have dozed off at some point, exhaustion finally catching up to us despite the uncomfortable hospital chairs. The steady beeping of the monitors and the low hum of the hospital had lulled us into a restless sleep.

Then, a soft whimper broke through the quiet.

My eyes snapped open, my body jolting upright as I turned toward the bed. Y/N shifted slightly, her face contorted in distress. Sonny was already moving, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as we both surged to our feet, leaning over her.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” I said quickly, my voice thick with sleep but urgent with reassurance.

“Y/N, it’s me,” Sonny added, his hand resting gently on her arm. “You’re safe. We got you.”

Her glassy eyes darted between us, blinking rapidly as if trying to piece together where she was, what had happened. Then, as realization hit, her entire face crumpled.

A choked sob escaped her lips, and before I could say anything else, she broke down completely.

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she clutched at the thin hospital blanket, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. Sonny immediately reached for her hand, murmuring reassurances, while I felt frozen in place, my chest tightening at the sight of her like this.

She was here. She was alive. But she was hurting.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to push past the lump in my throat. I reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re safe now,” I whispered. “I swear.”

She didn’t say anything, just squeezed both our hands so tightly it was as if she was grounding herself in our presence. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

…

Y/N's P.O.V

When I finally felt steady enough to breathe without sobbing, I forced myself to look up. My eyes flickered between Sonny and Rafael, both of them hovering over me, their faces drawn with worry. My heart was still racing, my body trembling, but their hands in mine were real, solid. I wasn’t alone.

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. “What… what did Marco do to me?” My voice cracked, and I hated how small I sounded.

Sonny and Rafael exchanged a glance—one of those silent conversations that spoke volumes. It made my stomach twist.

“Y/N,” Rafael started gently, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “He drugged you. Knocked you out before you could fight back.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. That explained the fog in my head, the exhaustion weighing me down like an anchor.

“He hid you beneath the docks at Coney Island,” Sonny added, his voice tight, like he was still holding back his anger. “Left you there to drown when the tide came in.”

My stomach turned violently, nausea clawing its way up my throat. The idea of being trapped, helpless, slowly swallowed by the ocean—God.

“But he didn’t—” My voice broke, and I forced myself to meet their eyes. “He didn’t hurt me? In any other way?”

Rafael’s grip on my hand tightened. “No,” he said firmly.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my body sagging against the pillows. My hands were still shaking, but at least now, I knew. I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

A beat of silence passed before I whispered, “I was so scared.”

Sonny let out a shaky breath and reached up, smoothing my hair back like he used to when we were kids. “I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”

I turned my gaze to Rafael. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Regret? Maybe both.

“You saved me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“We weren’t going to let anything happen to you,” Rafael said, his voice thick with emotion.

I squeezed their hands again, grounding myself in their presence. I was safe. I took a shaky breath, letting their words settle, but one more question burned at the back of my mind. My fingers tightened around Rafael’s hand as I turned my gaze between them. “Where is he?” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

They didn’t have to ask who I meant.

“Locked up,” Sonny said immediately, his voice firm and sure. “Attica. No bail. He’s not getting out, Y/N.”

I let that sink in. Marco was gone. He couldn’t hurt me anymore. The fear still sat heavy in my chest, but it wasn’t as suffocating as before.

Sonny must have noticed the exhaustion weighing on me because he gave me a small, reassuring smile and leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Get some rest, okay? We’ll be back in the morning.”

I frowned slightly, not wanting them to go just yet. But before I could say anything, Sonny smirked and added, “Not like we’ll have much of a choice. No doubt the whole squad will be here first thing.”

Despite everything, I let out a small, tired laugh. “And Ma?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started,” Sonny groaned. “I basically had to threaten to drive to Staten Island and take Ma’s car keys to keep her from driving up here tonight. And I’m sure by now she’s called our sisters and probably Dad, too.”

I sighed, a small smile tugging at my lips. “So, basically, I should expect an invasion first thing in the morning.”

Sonny grinned. “Oh yeah. Prepare yourself.”

Rafael squeezed my hand gently. “Get some sleep, querida. We’ll be back soon.”

I nodded, the weight of everything finally settling into my bones. As I let my eyes slip shut, I felt their presence beside me, steady and unwavering.

…

By the time breakfast arrived, I was feeling a little more like myself. The woman who brought in the tray of food gave me a warm smile, setting it down gently, and not long after, a nurse came in to check my vitals and draw some blood, to make sure the drugs where clearing my system she said. She assured me everything was looking good and that I just needed to rest.

Once she left, I sighed, settling back against the pillows. The food wasn’t great, but I forced myself to eat it, knowing I needed the energy. I had just pushed the tray aside when the scent hit me.

Cannoli.

Fresh, homemade cannoli.

I barely had time to brace myself before the door burst open, the sound of hurried footsteps and overlapping voices filling the room. Sonny strode in first, his expression tense but relieved, followed closely by Ma, our sisters, and Mia, who was practically bouncing with excitement. The second Ma laid eyes on me, she let out a dramatic gasp, her hands flying up as if she’d just seen a ghost.

"Oh, tesoro mio!"she cried, rushing forward like a woman on a mission.

I barely had time to react before she was on me, cupping my face between her warm hands, her sharp eyes scanning me up and down like she was expecting to find some horrible injury the doctors had somehow missed. She turned my head left, then right, then smoothed my hair down as if that would somehow fix everything.

Then, with a dramatic shake of her head, she declared, "This—this is why you shouldn’t be doing a man’s job!"

I groaned internally. Here we go.

"Ma—" I started, but she wasn’t finished.

"I told you, didn’t I? I told you!" She threw her hands in the air, as if pleading with the heavens. "You should be a nurse! Or a teacher! Something safe! Or better yet, find a nice, wealthy man to take care of you!"

Sonny groaned, rubbing his temples like this was a conversation they’d had one too many times before. "Ma, not now."

But she wasn’t listening to him. She never listened when she was on a roll.

"You look pale! You need to eat!" she announced, already rummaging through the oversized purse slung over her shoulder. Within seconds, she pulled out a foil-wrapped container, peeling back the layers with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times before. The rich, sweet scent of fresh cannoli filled the air, and before I knew it, she was shoving one toward my face.

"Here. Eat, eat!" she insisted, her voice leaving no room for argument.

I huffed a laugh despite myself, shaking my head. "Ma, I—"

"No arguing!" she interrupted, eyes narrowing in warning. "You need to keep your strength up, poverina!"

Mia, who had climbed up onto the edge of my hospital bed with all the grace of an energetic seventeen-year-old, giggled at the scene unfolding before her. "You might as well just take it," she said with a knowing grin. "Nonna’s not gonna let up until you do."

I shot Sonny a desperate look, silently pleading for help, but he just smirked and shrugged like I was on my own. Traitor.

Defeated, I took the cannoli from Ma’s expectant hands and bit into it. The crispy shell cracked slightly under the pressure, giving way to the creamy ricotta filling, rich with hints of vanilla and citrus, and the perfect touch of chocolate. It was heaven.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a brief moment, savoring the familiar taste of home. When I looked back up, Ma was beaming like she had just personally saved my life.

"See? Much better!" she declared, crossing her arms in satisfaction.

I rolled my eyes, but deep down, I couldn’t help the warmth that spread through my chest. The chaos, the fussing, the smothering concern—it was all so familiar, so them. No matter what had happened, no matter how close I had come to losing everything, I knew this much was true.

I was safe. I was loved.

Shortly after, the door swung open again, and in came Olivia, Amanda, Finn, Amaro, and Rafael, all armed with balloons and flowers. The room was already crowded with my family, but somehow, they all managed to squeeze in.

"You guys didn’t have to come," I said, shaking my head. "As soon as the doctors confirm the drugs are out of my system, I’ll be on my way home anyway."

The room was already a whirlwind of noise and movement, but in the middle of it all, I caught a flicker of something on Rafael’s face—concern, hesitation, like there was something on his mind he wasn’t saying. But before I could dwell on it, a strangled noise cut through the chatter.

Amanda.

Her face scrunched up in clear discomfort, her nose wrinkling as she fought off what looked like a serious wave of nausea.

I glanced at her, then down at the half-eaten cannoli in my hand. My mind connected the dots in an instant, and my eyes widened as realization hit me like a freight train.

"Amanda," I said slowly, my lips already curling into a knowing grin. "Are you pregnant?"

She hesitated just for a second, her expression unreadable, before a smirk—one I knew all too well—spread across her face. Then, she nodded.

Chaos. Absolute, immediate chaos.

Olivia gasped, her eyes lighting up. Finn clapped Amanda on the back with a proud laugh, while Amaro’s face split into a grin, giving her one of those quiet, brotherly nods of approval.

Sonny, standing just beside me, froze.

For the briefest moment, barely a heartbeat, I saw something flicker across his face. A look of heartbreak—raw, aching, there and gone in an instant.

Then, just as quickly, it was buried. He pulled himself together, pasted on a grin, and jumped straight into interrogation mode. "Does the baby’s father know yet?" he asked, folding his arms like he was about to personally hunt the guy down if the answer was anything less than satisfactory.

Meanwhile, Ma had her hands over her heart, already launching into a passionate speech about the joys and struggles of motherhood, rattling off old family sayings and promising Amanda she would never sleep the same again.

I just sat there, watching the chaos unfold with a wide grin as Amanda rolled her eyes at all the attention.

"That explains the face you made when you smelled the cannoli," I teased, nudging her playfully.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don’t even talk about it. Just the thought makes me want to hurl."

I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest, warm and unburdened.

For the first time since everything had happened—since the fear, the uncertainty, the pain—I felt it.

A moment of pure, simple joy.

And after everything, that was exactly what I needed.

…

Rafael’s P.O.V

As the celebration continued, I pulled Sonny aside, lowering my voice so the others wouldn’t hear.

"Give me your keys," I said.

Sonny frowned. "Why?"

"I want to clean up Y/N’s room if you haven’t already," I admitted. "After everything, she should come home to something… normal."

Sonny let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he fished the keys from his pocket. "Just stay out of her underwear drawer, Barba," he teased, handing them over.

I rolled my eyes but took the keys without another word.

The drive to Sonny’s place was quiet, giving me too much time alone with my thoughts. When I finally arrived, I let myself in and made my way to Y/N’s room. The mess was worse than I remembered—clothes scattered, books out of place, the bed unmade from the last time she slept in it. We had torn through everything, desperate for any clue that could’ve led us to her.

I sighed, rolling up my sleeves, and got to work.

I made her bed, smoothing out the sheets with deliberate care. The fabric was slightly rumpled from where we’d torn through the room in our desperate search for answers, but I pulled the blankets tight, tucking them in. I fluffed her pillows, setting them neatly at the head of the bed, making sure everything looked just right—just hoping it was how she liked it.

It struck me then, standing there in the quiet, how little I actually knew about the details of her life. I knew her wit, her fire, the way she held her own in an argument, how she carried herself with an unshakable confidence even when the odds were stacked against her. But this—this space, the things she surrounded herself with—felt like a different kind of intimacy. One I had never really considered before.

My eyes landed on a small, worn plush toy resting on the floor near the nightstand. A chinchilla—of all things. Its fur was faded in places, one ear slightly bent in a way that suggested it had been held tightly, repeatedly, over the years. I crouched down, picking it up carefully. It was soft, delicate, clearly a childhood favorite. I wondered if it had been a gift, or if she had picked it out herself as a kid. Did she still reach for it when she had nightmares? When the weight of the job got too heavy?

I brushed off a bit of dust before placing it gently on her bed, tucking it against her pillow. It felt like putting a piece of her back where it belonged.

Turning my focused on the clothes strewn across the room—crumpled on the floor, draped over the chair by her desk, kicked halfway under the bed. I gathered them up, sorting them into piles: shirts, pants, underthings. I hesitated over a worn Backstreet Boys sweatshirt before folding it carefully. Had she been a fan? I didn’t even know what music she liked, who her faviroute artist was. That realization sat uncomfortably in my chest.

I bundled the laundry into a basket and carried it down to the building’s laundry room, starting a wash cycle before leaning against the machine. The rhythmic hum filled the silence, but it didn’t quiet my thoughts.

When I returned to her room, my gaze fell on her bookshelves—four of them, floor-to-ceiling, overflowing with books that had been thrown into disarray. Some were lying sideways, others stacked hastily, their usual order ruined. I had seen her collection at the office, had watched her run a finger along the spines as she searched for a title, but I had never really looked at them.

I ran my fingers over the covers as I picked them up, flipping them over to scan the summaries. Classic literature. True crime. Philosophy. A few well-worn romance novels that looked like they had been read and reread a dozen times. That caught me off guard. Did she believe in love stories? I had never thought to ask.

I placed each book back in its rightful place, aligning them carefully. I had assumed she organized them alphabetically because that was how she did it at work, but now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe it wasn’t about efficiency. Maybe it was about control. About having something in her life that stayed exactly the way she put it.

Her desk drew my attention, torn apart by Sonny. Papers scattered across the surface, notes scribbled in the margins of case files. A half-finished crossword puzzle. Pens rolling near the edge. A mug—long since emptied—sitting precariously close to toppling over. I reached for it, turning it in my hands. The logo was faded, the words barely visible. A souvenir from a vacation? A gift?I set it back down, wiping the desk clean.

I had spent years working beside her, but in this moment, surrounded by the details of her life, I realized how little I actually knew her. Not just the Y/N I argued next to in court, not the ADA who fought tooth and nail for justice, but the woman who curled up with old paperbacks, who kept a childhood stuffed animal on her bed, who left crossword puzzles unfinished.

By the time I retrieved her laundry and started folding, the room looked untouched, like the chaos of the last few days had never happened. But in my chest, something had shifted.

And that was when the front door opened.

I froze. Footsteps echoed across the living room, and before I could react, Y/N stepped into the room.

She stopped short, her eyes scanning the room before landing on me. Confusion flickered across her face before realization set in.

I swallowed, guilt washing over me.

"I—" I hesitated, then exhaled. "I’m sorry. We tore your room apart looking for clues during Marco’s sick scavenger hunt. I just… I wanted to fix it."

Y/N looked at me for a long moment before stepping fully into the room. She didn’t say anything right away, just glanced around, taking in every carefully placed item, every straightened surface.

Then, finally, she met my eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Y/N sighed, leaning against the doorframe as she watched me fold the last of her laundry. "Before I left the hospital, Stone stopped by," she said, her voice quieter than before. "He wanted to check in… and let me know he’d need a victim statement from me."

She said the word like it didn’t quite belong to her, like it tasted wrong in her mouth. I saw the way her fingers curled into her sleeves, the tension in her shoulders.

I set the folded shirt down and straightened, meeting her eyes. "I know," I said gently. "He spoke to me too. He wants my statement tomorrow."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "Why?"

"Because I’m a victim too," I admitted. "Not in the same way as you, but Marco dragged me into this just as much as he did you. He already got Liv’s statement, along with Finn, Amanda and Amaro. It’s just you, me, and Sonny left."

She let out a slow breath, nodding. "Right."

I hesitated before taking a step closer. "Y/N… you don’t have to do this alone. If you want, I can be there when you talk to Stone."

She studied me for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if she would accept or push me away. But then, her lips quirked just slightly, a ghost of a smile.

"Thanks, Rafael," she murmured. "I might take you up on that."

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight @chriskevinevans @svzwriting29

[thelemontree]

Muscle Memory (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Paring: Rafael Barba x f!Reader

Summary: You hadn't seen Rafael in nearly three years. When he left—and shattered your heart in the process—you didn't think you'd ever recover. But now, just as you finally starting to feel like you might be okay, he waltzes right back into the SVU precinct, into your life, and fucks everything up.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, canon typical rape mention (off-screen, no details), breakups + makeups, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, praise + dirty talk, mentions of a sex toy

A/N: Rafael Barba my beloved <3 my first SVU fic after being a long time reader! I love this show and I love Barba. Takes place during the episode "Sightless in a Savage Land." (Rafael Barba + a beard = my untimely death.) I was listening to Muscle Memory by Lights when I got the idea for this, so it's very loosely based on that song. Anyways, enjoy, and be prepared for more SVU fics in the future bc I am deep in that rabbit hole hehe.

The last time you ever saw or spoke to Rafael Barba was nearly three years ago, when he decided to leave both the DA’s office and New York City. And, in turn, you.

He asked you to go with him—begged you, really. Told you he loved you and couldn’t see a life without you. After years of casual flirting and simmering tension, you both realized how badly you wanted—no, needed—each other. At that point, you had been together for almost a year and you were completely, head-over-heels in love with him. You wanted to go with him, but you couldn’t leave your job at SVU and your life behind. As much as it hurt, you told him no. An explosive fight ensued and you both said things you’d later come to regret, but in the moment you were both too hurt to care. He stormed out of your apartment and slammed your front door behind him, leaving you a sobbing mess in your living room.

It took time, a whole lot of effort, and a little bit of booze along the way, but now you felt like you were finally in a good place. You were back to cracking jokes with Carisi, going out for girls' nights with Liv and Amanda, and Kat, the SVU newbie, even got you to consider starting to date again. You still missed Rafael, but the hurt had dulled over time, and you found yourself wanting to move on, once and for all.

All of that came crashing down, though, when you walked into work one morning and came face-to-face with Rafael, exiting Olivia’s office. When you saw each other, you couldn’t help the pained gasp that you let out. Hot tears started to well in your eyes at the soft look he gave you. The whole precinct seemed to come to a standstill—Amanda looked at you from her desk, concern etched on her face; Olivia looked a little guilty; Fin looked like he was waiting for a bomb to go off; and Kat’s eyes moved between you and Rafael, her brows drawn together in confusion before she finally realized what was happening.

Rafael breathed your name out in a pained whisper, and that’s all it took to break you out of your reverie. Before he could say anything else, you squared your shoulders and walked straight past him to your desk. You didn’t say a word to anybody as you got to work, focused solely on not letting yourself cry in front of everybody—especially him. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you and it made you want to scream.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Olivia place a hand on Rafael’s shoulder. She said something to him, her voice too quiet for you to know what it was, and he nodded his head solemnly. He looked over at you for a moment before he went to the elevators. Olivia turned to her squad of detectives, who were all still stunned from the quiet scene that just unfolded. With a small sigh, Olivia clapped her hands together, bringing everyone to attention.

“Back to work, everybody. We’ve got lives to save and people to protect.”

Reluctantly, your fellow detectives turned back to their work, but you could still feel their occasional glances your way. As Olivia walked past your desk to her office, she stopped and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Want to come into my office for a minute, detective?”

You followed Olivia into her office, plopping down on her couch as she closed the door. You sighed, running your hands over your face. The tears were still threatening to fall from your eyes, and you did everything you could to will them back inside your tear ducts.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting him to show up like that,” Olivia said, her voice apologetic. You looked at her and offered her a tired smile.

“It’s fine, Liv. I just… Was not prepared to see him again, not like this. Everything just came flooding back and hit me all at once,” you replied. “Why was he even here, anyway?”

Olivia sighed and shook her head. “When I heard he was in town, I asked him to meet up for coffee and may have suggested that he talk with Mickey Davis, just to hear his story and see if there was any way he could help him out. I didn’t think he’d take Mickey on as a client.”

You rolled your eyes at that. Rafael taking Mickey on as a client didn’t surprise you in the slightest. You didn’t blame the guy for killing his teenage daughter’s abuser—you probably would have done the same thing if you were in his position. And if you were in Rafael’s position, you would’ve been lined up to defend Mickey, too. But hearing Olivia say she didn’t expect him to take Mickey on did surprise you—she knew Rafael as well as you did and that he couldn’t just walk away from this once she brought him into it.

You weren’t mad at her, though. Just because you and Rafael had a rough break-up didn’t mean everyone else had to cut him out of their lives. You knew Olivia just wanted to help Mickey the best way she could, and you’d be damned if you didn’t agree that Rafael would be his best shot.

“Well, that makes sense, I guess. Can’t say I’m surprised,” you huffed. “At least I wasn’t on that case. Minimizes my interactions with him.”

Olivia chuckled. “Yeah, I guess there’s that bright side.”

You stood from her couch and gave her a small smile. You could tell she had more apologies in her, knowing how hard it must��ve been for you to see him so out-of-the-blue, but you waved her off before she could start. “Don’t worry about me, Liv. I’ll be fine. And I’m not mad. Honestly, if things were different, I probably would’ve gone to Rafael, too.”

You walked out of Olivia’s office and were relieved to find that everyone had returned to work as normal. Amanda looked up at you and gave you a reassuring smile, letting you know she was there for you if needed anything. Over the years, you and her had become two peas in a pod, and you were grateful to have a friend and a partner in her. You sat down at your desk and got to work going through your case files.

Your desk phone rang and you answered it, “Detective L/N, Manhattan Special Victims Unit.”

And now your work for the day has really begun.

***

You were dead on your feet by the time you got home. You and Amanda had picked up a new case—a rape victim found in Central Park—and spent a majority of the day working on that. Neither of you had gotten very far on it, which wasn’t unusual, but you always felt a little defeated when you went home at the end of the day with little to show.

When you stepped into your apartment, all you wanted was to take a hot shower, order take-out, and crash. After putting all your stuff away, you walked into your kitchen and pulled out the take-out menu for your favorite Chinese place. As you scanned the menu and thought about what you were going to order, there was a knock at your door. You looked up and scrunched your eyebrows together—you weren’t expecting company, and none of your friends were the type to just show up to your place unannounced, especially on a weeknight. With a sigh, you set the menu down on your counter and walked over to your front door. You looked through the peephole and took a surprised step back when you saw who was on the other side.

Rafael.

You stood there for a few moments, staring at your front door, too shocked that he was at your apartment to do anything. He knocked again, this time a little more insistently, and said, “I know you’re inside, Y/N. Please open the door.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. When you opened them, you lifted shaky hands to the locks on the door and undid them, slowly pulling it open. Without the hustle and bustle of the police precinct and the surprise of running into him at work, you could stand there and take him in. He looked different—a little bit older, a little bit grayer—but just as handsome as the last time you saw him. There was a pang of sadness in your chest. You were reminded then, standing in your doorway and just staring at each other, how much you still missed him.

“Hi,” he said lamely, breaking the silence. He looked just as nervous as you did, a hesitant smile visible behind his full beard. (You took note of his new feature a little ruefully—you had wanted him to grow out his facial hair, but he always told you, saying beards made him too itchy.) You stood there and stared at him for a second more before replying.

“Hi.”

Before, conversation always flowed so easily between the two of you. You hadn’t realized how much of a chatterbox Rafael was until you started dating, but you found it endearing. You liked hearing him talk about the things he was passionate about. Now, the uncomfortable silence felt so foreign, and it made you fidget.

“I, uh, I don’t know why I came here, to be honest,” Rafael said, clearing his throat. “After seeing you this morning, I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see you again.”

You felt your resolve start to crumble. You’d spent so much time trying to get over him, trying to move on with your life, and just when you felt like you were starting to get somewhere, he shows up out of the blue and wrecks it all. You wanted nothing more than to drag him into your apartment and pretend like the past three years hadn’t happened, that you were back to where you were before you broke each other’s heart.

Rafael must have taken your silence as disinterest rather than being at war with yourself internally. He sighed and shook his head, making to turn around and leave. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just shown up like this. I’m going to go.”

You felt panic rise up in you at the thought of him leaving again and before you could stop yourself, you said, “Wait! Don’t go. Come inside. Please.”

Rafael looked at you, surprise etched on your face. He hadn’t expected you to invite him in so suddenly, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to talk to you slip from his fingers. He nodded and stepped into your apartment. You closed the door and slipped the locks back into place before joining Rafael in the living room.

You cleared your throat and gestured to the couch. “You can, uh, sit down, if you want to.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure. Thanks.”

Rafael took a seat at the end of your couch and you moved to sit on the opposite end of it. Now that he was inside of your apartment, you didn’t know what to do, what to say. You hated how awkward and uncomfortable the air surrounding you two felt.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael blurted out after another few minutes of silence. He turned on the couch to face you, his eyes filled with tears and his face pulled into a grimace. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have left you the way that I did. I shouldn’t have stormed out of here and took off without another word. I was an idiot—such a fucking idiot—and I’m so sorry for hurting you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I fucked it all up.”

You scooted closer to him on the couch, taking one of his trembling hands in yours. The tears you had successfully kept at bay all day had started to fall, and you tried to steady your breathing to avoid breaking out into a full on sob. You looked up at him and broke when you saw his tears falling, too.

“Rafael,” your voice broke and you could barely get another word out. Looking back on the fight that ended your relationship, you knew you were both to blame for it. You were both cruel to each other, saying things you didn’t mean but knew would cut the other deeply. You called him selfish and accused him of not truly loving you if he expected you to give up your career just because he gave up his. He said the only thing you were capable of loving was your job and that you were his biggest mistake. It was messy and awful and you wished that you could take that night back.

He lifted his other hand to push your hair behind your ear and cup your cheek. “I still love you, Y/N. I never stopped.”

You couldn’t find the words to express what you were feeling. Instead of trying to articulate everything going on in your brain, you leaned forward and kissed him. You figured that if your words were going to fail you, you could just show him.

Rafael was surprised at the first brush of your lips against his, but he quickly warmed up. He kissed you back with equal fervor, tracing his tongue against your bottom lip. You moaned quietly into his mouth when you opened up and felt the first touch of his tongue against yours. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you even closer against him. You pushed him into the back of the couch and moved to straddle his lap, not once breaking the kiss.

The hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair ghosted up your front, his fingers lightly tracing your skin over your shirt. He took one of your breasts in his hand and squeezed it, grinning into the kiss at the sound of your resulting groan. He wrapped his arm around you, planting his hand in between your shoulder blades so he could pull you flush against him. There was virtually no space between the two of you anymore, and you couldn’t shake just how right it felt to be back in his embrace.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, you leaned your forehead against his, your eyes still closed. You breathed in each other’s air, both panting heavily. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw Rafael staring up at you, his eyes a mixture of tenderness and wonder.

“Bedroom?” you asked him shakily. He nodded his agreement, and you reluctantly pulled yourself off of him. When he stood from the couch, he took your hand in his, pulling it up to his lips. He kissed each of your knuckles, looking at you through his lashes the whole time. The moment was both incredibly intimate and arousing. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, your breaths were coming in short pants, and you were uncomfortably wet. He still knew how to get you riled up.

“Lead the way, cariño.”

You pulled him into your bedroom and once the door was shut behind you, you pulled him into another kiss. It was hot and desperate, all teeth and tongues. He gripped your hips tight enough that you know there’d be fingertip-shaped bruises in the morning. The thought sent a shiver through your body. He remembered how much you liked finding his marks on your body.

The next thing you knew, Rafael was gripping you even tighter as he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he turned and took the few steps over to your bed. He laid you down gently, settling himself in between your thighs. He ground down into you, and you could feel his hard cock through his slacks, and you broke away to whimper.

Rafael took the opportunity to start peppering kisses over your cheek and jawline. He moved down to your throat, sucking and nipping at the base of it. You gasped at the sensation, your hips bucking up against his, and he groaned against your skin. Even though it’d been years since he last touched you like this, he still knew all the things you liked and all the ways he could unravel you underneath him.

He unbuttoned your shirt, trying to restrain himself from just ripping the damn thing off of you. Once it was gone, he sat up so he could rid himself of his own button-up and undershirt. While he took off his top two layers, you arched your back to reach behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it to the floor. He let out an appreciative groan at the sight of you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse. You leaned down to kiss you again before moving his mouth down to your breasts. He took your left nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while one of his hands tweaked your other nipple. He laid there for some time, lavishing your tits with attention, moving his mouth from one nipple to the other, his fingers following, while you squirmed and whined underneath him. The scratch of his beard against your skin burned in the best way possible, and you wanted nothing more than to feel it in between your legs.

Rafael must’ve read your mind, because he started to kiss down your stomach, occasionally sucking and biting at the soft skin there. He sat back on his heels to undo the button and pull down the zipper of your pants. You lifted your hips off of the mattress to help him pull them off of you. Once your jeans were gone, Rafael’s head was between your legs, nipping and sucking at the flesh of your thighs. You whimpered at the feeling of his beard scratching your sensitive skin and could feel him smirk against you as squirmed and tried to get closer to his face.

Ghosting his lips over your clothed pussy, he reached up and hooked his thumbs into your panties, slowly pulling them off of you. You could feel his breath against your slick folds and it made you shiver. Rafael looked up at you—his pupils blown wide, lips red and kiss swollen.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had my tongue in this pretty pussy” Rafael said, one of his thumbs running up your slit lightly, stopping just short of your clit. You gasped at the sensation. “Can I taste you, sweet girl? Please, let me taste you.”

“God, Rafa, yes,” you answered, nodding your head enthusiastically. Without missing a beat, Rafael ducked his head, flattening his tongue against you and licking a broad line up your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your hips bucking up, trying to chase his tongue, but he gripped your hips and pressed you down into the bed.

He moved to your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he brought one hand down to tease his fingers through your folds. Slowly, he pushed one finger inside of you and began pumping it in and out languidly. You gasped, throwing your head back into your pillows as your hands sought purchase in his hair. You tugged on the short strands, pulling his face closer to you. He groaned into your pussy, the sound reverberating through your body. He pulled off of your clit with a lewd pop, slipping another finger inside of you. He leaned his cheek against the inside of your thigh, his breath coming out in short pants.

“You feel so good wrapped around my fingers, baby. So tight and wet.” He started to speed up, crooking his fingers and finding your sweet spot right away. “I missed you so much, Y/N. I thought about you, about this, about being back in your arms, every day.”

His words and his fingers were too much. The coil in your belly started to tighten and you were gasping for breath. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—all you could do was let out tiny, broken moans and focus on how good Rafael was making you feel.

“You’re close, cariño, I can feel it. Can feel the way your pussy is tightening up. Come for me, Y/N. Come for me, let me feel it, let me see it.”

He took your clit into his mouth and sucked hard at the same time he hit your sweet spot again, and you were done for. You came with a gasp that turned into a long, drawn-out moan as your pussy spasmed around Rafael’s fingers.

Rafael worked you through your orgasm with his fingers, whispering praises into the skin of your thighs. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

When you finally came down and your breathing evened out, you slowly blinked open your eyes. You looked down to find Rafael staring up at you, his gaze a bit softer than before. His fingers were still inside of you, and as your eyes met his, he slowly pulled them out, smirking at the soft whimper you let out at the slow drag of his fingers.

Rafael kissed his way up the length of your body until he captured your lips with his. He kissed you slowly, taking his time to explore your mouth with his tongue. You wrapped your arms around his back and your legs around his waist, angling your hips upward to brush your bare pussy against his cock, hard and still trapped beneath his slacks. He pulled away from your mouth to hiss at the slight friction. You did it again, smirking as he dropped his face to the crook of your neck and groaned. He nipped at your pulse point, just hard enough to leave a mark that’d last for the rest of the night but be gone before you had to go to work in the morning.

“Rafa,” you breathed out, still softly grinding up against him. “Take your pants off. Want you to fuck me.”

He nodded, his face still buried in your neck and the feeling of his beard against your skin making you shiver. He pulled away and stood from the bed, eyes never leaving yours as he removed his pants and boxer briefs, leaving him bare before you. You took your bottom lip in between your teeth as you openly ogled him. Your pussy clenched at the sight of his cock, just as beautiful as you remembered it. He wasn’t overly long, about average length, but he was on the thicker side and filled you perfectly. When you finally dragged your eyes up back to Rafael’s face, he was looking at you with a smug smirk.

“Like what you see, cariño?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Always.”

Rafael opened the drawer of your bedside table to pull out a condom. He didn’t even ask if you’d moved them, moving on muscle memory. You knew he’d find them, though, because you hadn’t moved them since the last time he pulled one out. There was a new addition to your bedside drawer, though: a purple rabbit vibrator that you bought while drunk, sad, and horny. It was one of your best purchases of the last three years. Before grabbing a condom, Rafael pulled the vibrator out and inspected it with a smirk.

“Hmm, you’ll have to give me a demonstration of how this works one of these days.” Your heart fluttered at the idea of whatever you two had going on right now not being a one-time thing.

He set the vibrator back down in the drawer and pulled out a condom. He joined you back on the bed, giving his cock a couple of strokes before tearing open the little foil packet and rolling the condom onto himself. He leaned down to kiss you, putting some of his weight onto you and pressing you into the mattress. Feeling him on top of you like that was always one of your favorite things.

Rafael pulled away and smiled at you as he grabbed his cock in one hand and guided himself to your entrance. He teased you a little, barely pushing the tip in. He liked watching you squirm underneath him.

“Please, Rafa,” you whined, trying to get him to push into you more. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Shh, cariño,” he soothed, his other hand coming up to stroke the side of your face. You nuzzled your cheek into his hand, turning slightly to press kisses to his palm. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. Just be patient.”

Finally, Rafael started to push his cock into you more. He went slowly, relishing the feeling of your walls being wrapped around him again. You both groaned at the feeling. It didn’t just feel good—it felt right. Like you two were missing puzzle pieces, finally locked together. You knew then that you never wanted to let him go again.

When Rafael bottomed out, he crushed his forehead against yours, his eyes scrunched shut. He was breathing heavily, and as much as you wanted him to move, you knew he was trying to hold back. He wasn’t going to last long, but that was okay—neither were you.

“How long?” you asked breathlessly. He sat up a bit, blinking his eyes open. He looked at you, confusion etched on his face.

“Huh?”

You rolled your hips a little and gasped, hoping he got the message. He groaned, dropping onto one of his forearms as his hand gave out. He was panting into your ear, trying to gain a little bit of composure.

“Not since,” he panted, giving his hips an experimental thrust that had you both moaning. “Not since the last time I was with you.”

“Me neither, Rafael. Me neither. I couldn’t do it, not with anybody but you,” you said, grasping his face in your hands and pulling him down to kiss you. He moaned into your mouth, not really trying to kiss you back, but wanting to feel your mouth on his.

Finally, he started to move. At first, his pace was slow—he took his time pulling nearly all the way out before thrusting back in. He liked watching your face when he did this, how your eyebrows would scrunch together and your mouth would fall open in small moans. But soon enough, his resolve began to crack, and he started to pound into you harder, punching the breath from your gut. You ran your fingers through his hair at the back of his head, holding onto dear life.

“Yes, Rafa, just like that,” you moaned, trying to roll your hips to meet his thrusts. “Don’t stop.”

Rafael grunted in response. He dipped his head down to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses all over your skin. One of his hands snaked down between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb and rubbing it in small, tight circles. You let out a cry at the sensation, the coil in your belly beginning to wind once again.

“I’m so close, Y/N,” Rafael said into your neck. “Want to feel you come on cock. I need it, baby. Need you to come for me.”

You nodded your head, unable to form any words. There was too much happening—the feeling of Rafael’s cock dragging along your walls, his thumb on your clit, the dirty words he was whispering in your ear.

“Come on, Y/N, I know you’re close. Be a good girl and come on my cock, cariño.”

When one particularly hard thrust had him hitting you just right, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. You came with a loud, broken moan, your back arching off the bed as you nearly ripped Rafael’s hair out. Your pussy clenched Rafael’s cock in a vice as he kept fucking into you, chasing his own orgasm. After two, three more thrusts, he let out a deep, low groan as he came. His hips slowed as he worked you both through your highs.

When you came down, your legs were shaking and you could barely open your eyes. Rafael kissed his way up your neck and across the side of your face until he could capture your lips between his. It was slow and sweet, and you whined as he pulled away. Carefully, Rafael pulled his softening cock out of your pussy, making him hiss and you whimper at the feeling of being empty. Your eyes were still closed, so you didn’t see him get up from the bed and stand on wobbly legs.

You had started to doze off when you felt the cool washcloth start cleaning up in between your legs. It made you jerk awake, your eyes shooting open. Rafael was silent as he cleaned you up and you watched him work. Once he was done, he got up to put the cloth into your hamper and started to pick up his clothes.

Frowning at him, you asked, “what are you doing?”

He looked up at you, a bit of a solemn expression on his face. He looked like he was about to cry. “I was just, uh, getting my clothes together. I don’t know if you want me to stay, and I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

You sighed and used the rest of your energy to sit up. “Come sit with me,” you said softly.

Rafael set his clothes back down on the floor as he sat down next to you on the bed. His hands were fidgeting in his lap and he stared at them. You placed one of your hands on both of his and he looked up at you, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Rafael, I still love you too, you know. I never stopped. When you left…” you huffed out a sigh and a dry chuckle. “I was in hell. I didn’t think I was ever gonna get over you. I never really did, if I’m being honest. Recently I thought I was in more of a better place, but I still missed you. I still wished that I was yours and you were mine. Not going with you has been one of my biggest regrets.”

You thought that hearing how much you still loved him would’ve made Rafael feel better, but you weren’t anticipating the opposite reaction. You didn’t think it was possible for his face to fall even more than it already had.

“Please don’t say that, Y/N. I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I knew how much you loved your job—how much you still do—and I shouldn’t have asked you to give that all up for me. I don’t want you to regret not coming with me, because I regret not staying here and rebuilding my life with you.”

You leaned into Rafael for a kiss, leaning your forehead against his when you pulled away. The two of you sat like that for a while, content to just be near each other. You had missed this more than anything—just being able to be with him.

“How long are you in New York for?” you asked as you pulled away. Rafael sighed and lifted one of his arms to put around your shoulders. You cuddled into his side, wrapping your arm around him and resting your head on his chest.

“For good. I took a job with the Innocence Project in their New York offices.”

You sat back up to look at him, scanning his face for any indication that he was lying. He wasn’t. Your heart felt like it was going to burst from your chest.

“Are you serious? You’re back for good?”

He nodded, a soft smile on his face. “I am, cariño. And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You knew you both still had a lot to work out and things to settle from the last time you saw each other, but in that moment none of that mattered to you. All you cared about was that the love of your life was back home, back with you, and you felt whole again.