#SVU head canons

[whoevrwhatevr]

SVU Barisi head canons; part four

part 1; 2; 3

[jelestes]

the exact moment casey novak fell for olivia benson

[bensonnstabler]

Same anon from the muarisi ask, I will say I didn't pair them together because I thought they had a load of chemistry I did it simply because I thought it would be fun and add an interesting dynamic to everything. The backstory is that carisi was using sex to cope with stuff (being in love with Amanda but not feeling as though he could tell her) and he met muncy and thought that it could all go away and let's just say it worked a little too well but they still ended up breaking up after 1 year and then muncy doesn't talk to him for a whole year for at the time reasons unknown they then get back together for the next like 1 and like a half but they end it again and they don't see or talk to each other again until she joins svu where she eventually shares that during that first year that they didn't talk she was pregnant but didn't know how to tell him. There's a whole bunch of other stuff but I've already said so much and I need to go to bed its 5:30 am

no but i love that! as someone who was a rare pair shipper back in the day (🤢 mystrade 🤢 for those keeping score) i love that you can take like bare minimum screen time and come up with this rich head canon!

send me your svu/oc hot takes (or spicy headcanons also!)

[noellawrites]

Belly of the Beast - Sonny Carisi x reader

summary: Reader has been hooking up with Sonny and gets kidnapped by William Lewis, who is determined to get them pregnant against their will. Reader does eventually become pregnant and is unsure of the paternity of the baby.

AFAB reader but no specific pronouns used.

warnings: rape, abduction, torture, pregnancy, discussion of abortion, canon-typical violence

The night before you were taken was completely normal. No alarm bells ringing in your brain, no voice telling you not to go into work the following day. You were spending the night with your co-worker, Sonny Carisi, and having amazing sex as usual. It was the kind of intimate intercourse that was normal with him, making you feel so special and loved.

As detectives in the same Manhattan SVU squad, you had to keep your companionship a secret. You both loved your jobs and you knew it could cause trouble if anyone found out. Besides, Sonny was brand new to the squad, and you knew Liv would transfer one of you in a heartbeat if she found out.

It happened so fast. One moment you were grabbing a cup from the cabinet in your apartment, the next moment a gun was being held to your head.

“N-no, please—“ you gasp, mind racing. You were wearing your holster, but your gun was still locked in your safe. You weren’t thinking this morning. Your mind was scattered from last night’s events, and it was about to massively screw you over.

“Gotta say I’m offended, sweet cheeks. No warm welcome for an old friend?” William Lewis says with a sinister smile, “I just knew I had to come back for you, such a sweet young thing. Couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you, to Olivia Benson’s protégée. Hit you both where it hurts.”

His sentence is punctuated with a swift slam of the gun to the side of your head, knocking you out cold on your kitchen floor.

—

The first thing you notice after regaining consciousness are the handcuffs attaching your hands to the pipes on the wall and binding your feet together.

The room you were in was bare except for the pipes, the cuffs and you. It looked to be a utility closet with no windows, only a lone lightbulb above you with a string attached.

Duct tape covered your mouth, leaving you unable to scream. You thrashed around, tugging on your cuffs, hoping someone might hear.

Your eyes darted around the room. Were you still in Manhattan? Were you even in New York anymore? You had no idea what time it was or even what day. Your squad had to be looking for you by now, after you didn’t show up at work.

You didn’t have to guess for long, because the door swung open to reveal William Lewis, smiling down at you.

“God, you’re even cuter than I remember. Knew I needed you right away,” he sighs, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

“You scream, I shoot,” he says, hand moving to his side as he pulls out a gun and fixes it on you.

He leans over, tearing the duct tape off your mouth along with some of your skin.

“Gotta say, I’m pretty hurt. Detective Amaro leaves, new guy comes in and you start hooking up with him?” Lewis sighs, shaking his head.

“What do you want from me?” you huff, tugging on your handcuffs again.

“This time, I’m taking what’s mine,” he smirks, “I’ve got a bed set up for us. Thought of you with all the other holes I fucked, and I knew I had to get my hands on you myself.”

“What, you mean all the women and children you raped, beat and killed?” you snap, writhing around as he un-cuffs you from the pipes and then re-cuffs you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you the royal treatment. I’ve got something special for you, little one. You might’ve started out as Benson’s protégée, but you’ll end up carrying mine,” he laughs.

Your blood runs cold at his words, knowing he must be planning on raping you. You wracked your brain for all the delaying tactics that Olivia’s taught you, and everything she’s told you about Lewis’ temper.

Lewis leans over and pulls you up, grabbing his gun with the other hand and fixing it on you.

“You’re insane, you know that? I’m not letting you do this,” you grunt.

Lewis yanks the door open and pushes you out, hand holding onto your cuffed ones. You look around what appears to be an abandoned warehouse for a few seconds before you are pushed down onto a dirty mattress.

“Olivia wasn’t enough of a thrill, so you just had to come for me, is that it? What about Amanda, is she next?” you challenge.

“Olivia is boring and Amanda’s all used up,” he laughs, “you, however, are perfect for this.”

“What are you gonna do to me?” you hiss as Lewis turns you over, pinning your hands under your back.

“This sweet little womb is going to carry the next rapist, the next little life-ruiner,” Lewis says, fingers tracing over your lower stomach, “first, he’ll rip out of you, ruining your body forever. And then he’ll follow in his daddy’s footsteps when he grows up.”

“What makes you so sure you’ll get me pregnant? And that it’ll be a boy?” you huff.

Each word that came out of William Lewis’ mouth made you even more terrified, your mind racing to rescue yourself from this situation.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Detective (y/l/n). Right now is your most fertile time, according to the chart you keep in your desk. And we both know you’re too sappy and weak to get an abortion,” he laughs, shaking his head at you. So weak, so pathetic. An SVU Detective who couldn’t even save themself from becoming a victim.

“That’s— you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you gasp, thrashing around.

“Now you’re gonna make this hard on me? Fine,” he sighs, grabbing a bottle of alcohol from beside the mattress and unscrewing the cap, “drink up, baby.”

—

Over the next few days, you were out of your mind. If you weren’t passed out or asleep, you were drunk or high at Lewis’ force, shoving edibles down your throat and washing them down with bottles of cheap vodka.

Your throat burned, stung red with pain, and your body was dirty and disgusting. As if the drugs weren’t enough, Lewis was getting off on burning and scarring you, too. Lighters, cigarettes and metal objects were on rotation across your skin.

The worst was the rape, for which you preferred to be unconscious for. At least if you weren’t mentally there, you weren’t being traumatized again.

After the first few times, you knew you would never get a good night of sleep, never have a calm moment, never become intimate without feeling what you felt when William Lewis forced himself inside you, fucking at a brutal pace, spitting and screaming and grunting horrible things as he used and abused your body for his own pleasure.

He came inside of you as much as he physically could, getting off on mocking you for becoming his rape victim and eventually the carrier of his monstrous offspring.

After a few days, he figured SVU would be catching onto him, ever loyal to their own. He couldn’t risk moving you so he cuffed you back to the pipes, kissed your lips and disappeared. William Lewis had his fun with you, but he needed to keep moving if he was to avoid arrest.

You hadn’t been fed the entire time, barely given any water and mostly having had drugs and alcohol forced down your throat. You didn’t hear anything as SVU busted in, Olivia and Sonny leading ahead as they sprinted towards your weak figure.

“(Y/n)? Oh fuck— oh ma’ god—“ Sonny’s voice breaks, looking up at Olivia with tears in his eyes.

Liv pulls out her radio, immediately ordering a bus for an officer down.

“Baby, c’mon, it’s Sonny. ‘M right here—,” he coos, taking off his jacket and laying it over you to give you some privacy. You were fully naked and chained up, blood and burn marks everywhere. It didn’t take a genius to understand what had happened.

“Mmmph—“ you mumble as he unlocks the cuffs with the standard key used by NYPD.

“Ah know ‘ya can hear me, jus’ hold on. We’re gettin’ a bus, okay?” he sniffles, hand on your arm. Sonny wished more than anything that he could take your pain and make it his.

Sonny scrambled to grab a water bottle before Liv stuck her hand out, keeping him back.

“I know you want to help, Carisi, but the inside of their mouth could have DNA evidence,” Liv says with a pinched expression.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill whoeva’ did this,” Sonny growls, looking around as his blood boils. You had only been gone for three days, but it had felt like an eternity. Sonny had never been so afraid in his entire life.

—

If you ever had any question of what you and Sonny were to each other, it was answered in the days following your attack. Sonny spent a week and a half straight with you in your apartment, doing anything you needed. He bathed you, cooked for you, gave you space if you needed and held you when you woke up shaking or crying from a nightmare.

You returned to work a month later, even though Liv wanted you to take a longer break. She kept a close eye on you, having gone through multiple horrific William Lewis experiences herself, although none included rape itself.

A week into your return, Olivia pulled you into her office and gave you the grim update that there were basically no updates. Very much unlike him, Lewis had disappeared or gone into hiding. And Liv had one request for you: she wanted you to take a pregnancy test.

You laughed, taken aback at the absurd notion. Sure, you hadn’t had your period yet, but it wasn’t uncommon for survivors of extreme trauma. But Liv wanted to be sure, as Lewis’ mission with you was to force you to carry his offspring.

“I-I think the worst part is—“ you gulp, “he was right. I don’t have the balls to get an abortion. I’ve always wanted a baby, and I just— god, Liv, if I’m pregnant by my rapist, I have no idea what I’ll do.”

“And what about you and Carisi?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Me… and Carisi?”

“(Y/n), I’m not blind,” she smiles softly.

“We haven’t— you know, since the assault. I just can’t. But that would be even worse, I mean, I know Sonny would stick around. Both of us together, raising Lewis’ baby? A-and with the threat of him coming back and wanting custody? It’s just too much. I would put that poor baby up for adoption,” you sigh.

“Take the test and we’ll figure things out from there, Detective (y/l/n). I’ll be here for you every step of the way,” Olivia promises.

You both stand up and she gives you a hug, noticing how your body trembles. She had a hunch you’d been like that since the assault, and she couldn’t blame you. She’d be lying if she said Lewis didn’t haunt her dreams sometimes, too.

You took the test in your apartment, alone. Sonny’s shift ended two hours after yours, which gave you enough time to grab some tests from the bodega and take them with your fingers crossed praying to not be pregnant.

You still had flashbacks to those moments, the ugly ones where you were drunk or high and still awake with Lewis on top of you. You saw his repulsive smile every time you closed your eyes, hearing him babble about knocking you up and wrecking your life even more.

Your job was everything to you and you loved helping people, but you had never fully understood how it felt to be a sex crimes victim until it happened to you. Until your power was stripped away, every piece of your humanity torn to shreds. You never knew what it felt to want to burn your body, to destroy the evidence, to put an end to the agony plaguing you day in and day out.

You never wanted to die as much as when you flipped over those tests, seeing the plus signs and knowing you were giving William Lewis exactly what he wanted.

After a few days of moping, Sonny sat you up in bed and reminded you of the small, but still possible, chance that it could be his baby. You hadn’t used a condom with Sonny on the night before your abduction, though you usually did.

“Baby, jus’ get it checked. If it’s ours—“

“And what if it’s not, Sonny? You really want to raise a baby conceived with my rapist?” you cry, burying your head in your hands.

“Wouldn’t want t’give Lewis the satisfaction of lettin’ him raise it himself, doll. ‘N it’s still gonna be ‘ya baby, have ‘ya DNA either way,” Sonny reminds you, stroking your arm softly and gently.

“I-I’ll go in for a fetal DNA test,” you agree, allowing Sonny to call and make an appointment for your next day off.

In those moments between, you lived in a sweet purgatory outside of your body. The only times you felt grounded were when Sonny’s hands were on you, holding you, kissing your forehead, lacing your fingers together.

You couldn’t believe a tiny organism was growing inside of you, relying on you for nutrients and nourishment and love. Something so innocent that might be born from something so awful. You couldn’t even close your eyes when you thought about it, you just saw Lewis’ scarred face and his eerie, victorious smile.

“You’re sure you don’t want me t’come with ‘ya?” Sonny frowns, turning to face you as he buttons up his dress shirt.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” you say, though you’re not so sure.

“If not, call me or Liv, alright? One of us can come, we don’t want ‘ya t’be alone,” Sonny says, stepping towards you and placing a hand on your shoulder gently.

“I will, Sonny. Don’t worry,” you smile, leaning into his warm embrace.

You were told the results could take up to two weeks to arrive, so you went back home and looked around your apartment. It was a one bedroom, barely big enough for you and a baby. If the baby was Sonny’s, would you move in together? Would you have to switch departments? Would you get engaged?

And if it was Lewis’? You loathed the thought, but it was the more likely possibility. You wish you could give it up for adoption, but the truth was that it would be your baby too. Could you really give your baby away just because it was conceived through rape?

—

Two weeks later, like clockwork, your phone rang. The caller ID was your doctor’s office, so you glanced at Sonny. He was none the wiser, sitting on the couch and reading through case files.

“H-hello?” you answer, ducking into the bedroom. Your hand shook as you held your cell phone up to your ear.

“Hello, is this (y/n) (y/l/n)?”

“Yes, that’s me,” you say nervously.

“I have the results of your fetal DNA test. The sample from Dominick Carisi Junior is a 99.7 percent paternal match.”

“Wh— a-are you sure?” you whisper. Your shaky hand comes up to your mouth as you blink slowly, hardly believing your ears.

“Yes, with a match that close, it is virtually impossible to have another paternal match,” the voice on the other line explains.

“Okay, thank you. So much. I-I really appreciate it,” you smile.

You exchange pleasantries and hang up, tiptoeing out of your bedroom as you glance at Sonny again. Your last look at him before telling him he would become a father.

“Sonny? I have some really good news.”

[bullet-prooflove]

I have no idea if this is correct based on the NSFW rumor post (so if it's not, I'm sorry!) but immediately I thought of Joe Velasco and Reader. I've got SVU on the brain atm due to my binging the whole show (can you believe there are some episodes I still haven't seen? It feels like a crime in itself) and I'm still in season 1, just finishing the episode that featured BDSM and other things. Anyways, I was thinking for the rumor, we know canon Joe is looking to make a connection with someone and how he would be most likely during a sexual encounter. But what if the rumor was that Joe liked things rough or had a kink or something like that?

Again, I'm sorry if I'm not doing this right or even if you would be interested, but I just figured I'd give it a shot. 😊

Tagging: @kmc1989 @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @rosaliedepp

Babe don’t you worry! This is my first time doing it to so we will figure it out together or make our own shit up!

I have this seasons eps to watch and then I think I’m all caught up.

So here’s what I came up with regarding that rumour:

You’re getting coffee on your way into work when you hear the rumour about Joe. your phone chimes and you pull open your Bad Ass Bitchez chat you have with a few other women in the precinct and there it is sitting on your screen.

About how he likes to leave bruises on his conquests, that he tends to get a little rough.

You know where it’s coming from, the cousin of one of junior detectives had a couple of dates with him a few months ago but it didn’t go anywhere. She’d tried to start things up again recently after they’d run into each other at the gym but he’d told her he was seeing someone, that it was starting to get serious.

Your cousin has a history of making up stuff,  You type back into the chat. Maybe remind her she could be ruining a good cop’s career with those half-truths of hers.

There’s silence after that but you know you’ve made your point.

When you lay eyes on Joe sitting at his desk, you know he’s heard it. His head’s bowed, his shoulders slouched as he focuses on the report in front of him, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

Your palm comes to rest on the nape of his neck, your thumb tracing a soothing circle underneath that sensitive spot just underneath his ear. He sighs at the sensation, his muscles relaxing as he tilts his head up towards you.

“It’s bullshit.” He informs you, meeting your gaze. “You know me, you know I can’t stand the thought of hurting someone like that…”

You do know that, because you know Joe, his history, the type of man he is. You’re the one he spends his nights with, the one he makes love to in the early mornings as the sun starts to filter through the blinds.

“Keep your chin up.” You murmur, your hand shifting to his shoulder squeezing lightly. “The truth will come out, I’ll make sure of it.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[iwoulddieforher]

Pondering Temperature | Casey Novak//&Alex Cabot

Author's Note:

First post ... I have absolutely no clue how tumblr works or how the tumblr social interaction is supposed to be, however, I am so obsessive about these two dumb gay lawyers I had to show up anyway.

No warnings & this is also partially a character study experiment for Casey ... I wanted it to feel like it was vaguely possible a scene like this could exist in canon.

Summary: One dumb gay lawyer has a rough time of it and the other dumb gay lawyer takes her for coffee and then they proceed to have a casual conversation with very gay overtones.

4.4k words, I think?

//Images stolen from either here or Pinterest

Like a breeze that exasperates an already cold New York winter, Alex Cabot made Casey Novak uncomfortable. Not outright agitated or irritable, but just enough of a nuisance that she couldn't push it out of her mind, and if she managed, she would be inevitably reminded of it shortly as the wind picked back up again, scattering snowflakes across her face.

For around a month, she and Cabot had been “sharing” SVU. She had returned from suspension, and Cabot had returned from wherever the hell she was, and the precinct wanted both of them so they just kept sharing caseloads. It should have made her thrilled- another ADA meant she could be even more hands-on in the active cases, be able to study each argument until she could perform all of her movements flawlessly. But with Cabot, it just didn't work right.

They said less than fifty words to each other per day, and none of them were ever in sentences. A quick, “another case came in- mine, or yours?”, “Olivia needs a warrant filled, so I’m going to the courthouse- did you need anything from a judge?” “Warner asked to see you,” “Olivia asked to see you,” “Cragen’s looking for you,” God. People were always looking.

The person giving the curt notice would never expect a response- if anything, a nod or a short “Yeah, on it”, and then exit immediately.

It felt ridiculously awkward. Warmer than greeting a defense counsel, because at least they were fighting the same fight, but compared to the warmth of connection shared by the rest of the squad- yes, okay, bickering was constant, but they cared about each other on a level hard for any outsider to understand- it felt cold.

Cold reminded Casey immediately of the teasing nickname the squad referred to Cabot with- ‘Ice Queen'. It didn't help that for the first months of becoming the Special Victims counselor, Casey was constantly fighting to fill the shoes of Cabot in the squad member's eyes- and now, that legendary blonde was perched casually in the office somewhere near her’s, her annoyingly cooperative naturally blonde hair flowing down her annoyingly straight, always squared back shoulders.

Fighting the squad's fiery rejection with her own fire of determination, setting everything ablaze in a stupid, unnecessary, inefficient inferno that Alexandra Cabot would never struggle with. Amazing.

“Earth to Casey.” Olivia broke through her thoughts, piquing an eyebrow at her and settling down at the chair across from Casey’s desk. The ADA casually slid her eyes down to the detective’s face, having mastered the art of not startling when people try to snap her back to active consciousness.

“Casey’s on Earth,” She hummed, tapping her pen idly on the desk.

"Sure you are." The detective snorted, shaking her head. "If you still had that red hair, I'd make a joke about you being a homesick martian."

Casey didn't have red hair anymore. She had blonde hair, like Alex. Except Alex's hair was a toned, icy blonde, while her own remained stubbornly warm no matter how much toner she tried to use to mask her original dark copper- at some point she quit trying, settling for a blonde so dirty it could possibly pass as light brown. That thought made her internally sigh with the level of rumination over that woman.

"What do you need?"

Benson dropped a case file on her desk, a grimace that reads of determined resignation on her face. "Could you get a warrant?"

Casey's brain clicked back over to work mode, sliding her finger along the side of the case file out of habit before freeing the pages from the bounds of a paperclip and skimming over the words. "This seems straightforward.. oh."

She blinked, slowly, glancing up at Liv without breathing. The police officer doesn't seem to notice anything wrong with her- thank god, sometimes Liv can be very unobservant- although she's very observant where it counts, so perhaps that's a rude musing to make- so she doesn't move to cover her hesitation.

"So, you want to pop the shrink?" She says, tracing the word 'schizophrenic' with the pad of her index finger.

Olivia nods, stiffening her shoulders in the sort of half-shrug motion that thinned her lips that Casey had come to identify with her. "We want to know more about his delusions to see if that matches up with what happened to this woman, but the good doctor just doesn't want to talk. He's also suspicious as hell, so..."

Casey huffs, squinting at a page. "I'll see what I can do."

"Well, that's your job, isn't it?" Olivia snarks, feisty but not overtly mean, just.. Liv-like. The toll of being a detective, Casey supposed, was her sense of urgency overriding politeness. That's fine. That's what she's grown used to, anyway. It doesn't stop Casey from gritting her teeth with a twitched eyebrow as Olivia stalks off.

It takes her a bit longer than she would've liked to prepare to take this into the judge on rotation's chambers. The affidavit was written, and sat unassumingly on her desk, while she tried to steel her nerves. If she's honest, she wished Olivia had chosen to take this to Cabot instead of her. Donnelly's leering eyes as she squinted at Casey around any mention of mental illness in perps made her immensely thrilled said judge was not likely to be inside said court today.

The judge who was inside the building, however, was not very sympathetic to the issue.

In all honesty, Casey doesn't really even understand how the argument happened. One moment she was walking up the steps into the polished, posh building and then she was walking down them, barely contained fury in her eyes and in the way she clenched her jaw.

"But you have to understand," she replays her own voice in her mind, the schooled, smooth tone, "doctor-patient confidentiality does not extend this far. If this man is genuinely a danger to himself and everyone around him, there's no reason this psychiatrist should be permitted to without vital information-"

The way the judge had raised a finger in her face, silencing her as one might a little irritated kid, "If this doctor thought that there was a genuine concern, then of course he would have. But these cases are sensitive, and I will not stand for the usage of these very personal admissions as shock value-"

"I assure you, any information found using this warrant will not be abused, Your Honor, and the detectives-"

"You don't have enough on him to guarantee him as a prime suspect, and could easily lead to a misdirection in the investigation and therefore in this court. Granting this warrant right now would be premature and lead too-"

"I understand and acknowledge what you're wary of, but I can assure you-"

"I don't think you can assure me of anything with a case like this, Novak." The judge had snapped, just shy of a scoff- but they followed it up quickly so it didn't come off too much like a personal jab with a "I see no reason why this is necessary."

Casey internally flared in response, standing utterly still for a moment as it felt like an engine ignition fumbled in her stomach, before exhaling and nodding. "Thank you for your time, Your Honor." She replied as a rehearsed courtesy and nothing more, turning to leave the judge's chambers.

The judge had raised an almost withered looking finger, denying her exit. "Novak, I want you to know, I'm watching your movements on this case. It's not your job to carry out personal justice as you see fit. I don't want a repeat of-"

"I'm aware I've made mistakes in the past, Your Honor, but I assure you I will not repeat prior incidents." Her voice had cracked almost imperceptibly at the end, a motion neither had acknowledged- perhaps the judge hadn't noticed, but Casey had- a sound like a wooden block in a fireplace.

The judge stared at her for a moment, and she had stared back, disguising the fire behind her green eyes with the practiced blanket of professionalism. The judge had then nodded, looking away from her, and she was finally released from the interaction. The sharp, curt sound of her heels on the marble floors as she stalked away had been her tether, fixated on the sound while schooling herself away from obsessing over the blazing anger.

And that led her to the stairs again, on the way out, where she stopped and stood blankly for a moment, staring into the street without registering anything. She ground her teeth against each other, trying her best to wrangle in her fiery temper before she impulsively sunk her teeth into something she could control-

"Casey?"

She jerked her head to the side, where a composed if not a bit concerned Alex Cabot stood, her head tilted just the slightest. Her cold blue eyes bore into Casey's face in a way that strangely was not uncomfortable.

When she didn't immediately grant that with any real response, Cabot followed it up with, "You okay?"

The beast of adrenaline-filled fire in her stomach flared out of her control again, pouncing and writhing in her organs. She wasn't exactly sure what about Alex at this moment had her infuriated, but god, she was.

Her years of experience in court, especially her time with SVU where she'd needed to control her emotions with an iron fist if not to fumble her arguments out of anger and easily-placed personal attachment, had taught her enough to respond in a way that didn't indicate her fury.

To the average person.

Unfortunately, Alex Cabot was not an average person, and her own years of experience allowed her to see right through the younger attorney, which did absolutely nothing for Casey's misplaced anger.

"Peachy," Casey started, before realizing she didn't have anything to follow that up with, so she left it with a curt, overtly controlled nod.

"Sure you are." Alex smiled, jerking her eyebrows up to indicate her sarcasm that definitely didn't need to be further emphasized, and Casey felt like she could deck her. She briefly wondered what Alex would look like beneath her on her floor, pale skin on cold concrete, before deciding that's not exactly an appropriate pondering of her coworker.

Cabot clearly intended for her successor-turned-ally to elaborate on the source of her grievance, but Casey did not particularly feel like explaining herself, so she simply bit the corner of her lip out of habit and looked away from her, tucking her hands in her coat pockets and squaring her shoulders.

If she was honest to herself, she didn't really know what to explain, anyway. She knew that after returning from something as appalling as her Brady-violation-censure, she'd need to work five times as hard to regain the respect she had thus lost, and it was in no way surprising she had gained a reputation for being loose with cases that could relate to her more personally. Alex could understand that, but saying that out loud was not only pathetic but also did not accurately encompass the feeling swirling in the pit of her stomach. And part of her anger, now, was simply due to the presence of the other woman, which she definitely could not verbalize either.

Alex was cool, calm, composed, and her demeanor reminded Casey of the layer of ice built by cold weather on the surface of a lake. Glassy and honest, and in all ways beautiful, but in a way that concealed whatever lurked beneath all that. You could look through it, sure, see the color of the water, but until it melted what you were really standing above was something you could only wonder about.

Standing next to her made Casey feel rather inferior. She had always felt things more strongly than peers, always pictured her anger and her righteousness as altruistic flame, and in the beginning of her career this untethered drive to fight for justice had been a valuable asset, something that drove her to snarl at wrongdoers in white collar in a way other attorneys simply could not. But in special victims? Where everything was so personal, so connected, so intrinsically human? Every spark became an inferno, every morning harder to struggle to leash herself than the last. Once the wildfire was over, everything was laid bare and burnt on the floor of whatever hill Casey had so chosen to die on. And cold, ever-composed Alex Cabot knew nothing of that.

The roar of fire in Casey's heart had no similarity to the tranquility of ice displayed exclusively by Alex. Perhaps that's why Casey would never be able to live up to the legend Cabot was regarded as. It made her feel disgustingly human- something this job did not allow her room for.

"We're getting coffee," Alex says suddenly, snapping Casey out of her internal monologue to herself for the second time. The natural blonde's words were snipped but not unkind, but that didn't stop Casey from raising her eyebrows, trying to muster the icy attitude she just didn't really have in her.

Before she can retort with anything of sustenance, she feels Alex's slim fingers on the back of her coat, right on the curve of her shoulder blade, and the taller woman beginning to lead her in firm strides that she without thinking copied.

"Alex-"

"Are we going to a cafe- perhaps the one down the street, the one with all the monsteras in the windows, so we can sit down, or are we going to the coffee cart over there so we can continue this discussion in the office?"

"What are we continuing, exactly?" Casey bristled, shooting her a look, which Alex met without her proper smile faltering in the slightest.

"My vote," Cabot says casually, "is for the cafe. I like the atmosphere there."

Casey can feel her anger ebbing, but just for the sake of spiting her she indicated with her jaw towards the shape of the coffee cart a hundred meters or so down the street.

She internally groans when she reads through the lines of Alex's brisk side-smirk and behavior to realize the blonde had, in fact, also preferred the coffee cart and knew Casey was going to try to jab in like that- but Novak doesn't change her decision, nor does that realization add to any sort of negative emotion. The fire-monster in her heart growled a soft, "well played," before creeping back into a crevice in her ribcage.

They walk in an odd silence, Alex's hand on Casey's back never relenting despite her now willingness to follow the older woman's direction. Casey doesn't want to admit to herself how she's started easing into the touch.

She misses it just slightly when Alex finally does let her hand slide back to her own side as they approach the coffee cart salesman, but she focuses on reading and contemplating the menu, reaching for her purse before being rewarded with the feeling of Alex's finger brushing her wrist in a way that firmly dismissed the assumption Cabot was going to allow Casey to pay for herself. She raises her eyes in mild surprise, only to find Alex already looking at her, eyes showing a degree of knowingness that makes Casey's insides turn with mild discomfort. In an effort to resolve that, she resigns to allow Alex to cover her.

"I'll have an iced caffé mocha, please," Alex starts, then turning to Casey, who after a blank pause finishes with "and I'll take a cappuccino."

After Alex finds her wallet with a significant lack of fumbling that makes Casey again irritated at her inability to have the most basic human struggles, and after the salesman hands over two paper cups, Casey spins on her heel and begins back towards the DA's office.

"Iced coffee? Really? We live in New York, Alex, it's freezing already." She critiques, although more so simply because it's the only thing she can formulate to say. She finds that she doesn't regret starting with that, though, as Alex wrinkles the tip of her refined nose playfully.

"God knows with our job I need the sugar," Cabot takes a sip, then gestures at the steam rising from the mouthpiece of Casey's coffee's lid, "and I don't have the patience to wait for my coffee to cool enough for me to drink it."

Casey snorts. "You? Without patience? And I just sacrifice my throat."

With that, she takes a defiant sip, soothed in an odd way by the feeling of the too-hot coffee in her throat, although as she was already aware of from the feeling of it in her palm it wasn't really *that* hot. Alex responds with a furrowed brow.

"I'm- I'm not quite sure you should do that, Casey."

"I'm not sure you're in a position to question what I do, Cabot," she snarked, riled up again, before catching herself with a huff and then a slightly shameful, "Sorry."

"It's okay-" Alex starts, and then immediately echoes at Casey's scoff, "no, seriously, it's okay. I snapped at you when I was literally your client, back when you prosecuted my case- remember? So I'll let that one go now. And besides, I do sometimes question what you do, so that's not unfair regardless."

Casey turns her head briskly, an indignant almost-glare of confusion on her face, which Alex responds to with a puff of air that almost sounds like a giggle.

"Not in the way you're thinking, Casey."

The younger woman pauses in her steps, and Alex looks up in mild surprise to realize they've already reached the DA's office. A twinge of fear signals in her heart at Casey's silence, especially because the woman is facing straight and thus Alex could not read her expression, but then Novak briskly says,

"Well, lucky for you, you actually have started a discussion I want to continue. So as per your previous suggestions, we can take this to my office if that-" she turns, and Alex is met with an unreadable expression that doesn't exactly soothe her nerves yet replaces said anxiety with the momentary stun that comes from meeting the eyes of someone beautiful, "is still acceptable with you."

Alex takes an extra millisecond to respond which causes a small crease to appear between Casey's eyebrows, but when she hears the older woman's, "gladly", she visibly relaxes and continues on her path.

They remain in silence, Alex allowing Casey to pave the way ahead of her despite knowing where her office was, until the door had clicked behind both attorneys and Casey was seated on the couch in her office with Alex perched across from her, mirroring the way they had composed themselves years ago when Casey was preparing Alex for trial.

"You said you question me," Casey began bluntly, prodding, "what did you mean by that?"

The younger attorney leans forward, elbow on her knee, short of entering Alex's space but enough that Alex's spine leans automatically backwards.

Alex clears her throat, rather enjoying the way Casey approached the given situation like a courtroom exchange, crossing one lithe leg over the other. Casey pretends like she didn't trace the motion over in her mind, keeping her eyes schooled on Alex's face.

"When you hear about the details of a case, your eyes light up. And I don't mean in the normal expression of, say, 'her eyes lit up in excitement', but your eyes look like a spark ignite behind them and it doesn't go away until you hear that guilty verdict."

"Alright, smooth-talker, that doesn't answer my question-"

"And I question that," Alex cuts in with a tilt of her head, "in the sense that I question how one can be that driven."

With that, the dynamic is suddenly shifted, Alex leaning forward intently while Casey, who is momentarily caught off guard, leans in the opposite direction, her back pressed against the couch, sharp eyes studying Alex's face.

"You sink your teeth into every case you prosecute like a lioness holding out for her own and there's something gorgeous about watching you pace in that courtroom landing blow after blow, until the jury is so sure of your own authenticity it makes every defense counsel seem subpar." Alex continues seamlessly, encouraged by the faintest flush on Casey's cheekbones.

Cabot lets out a sigh, then, "When I go out with the detectives to celebrate a case, I see something similar in their faces- that sort of fierceness, that... that fire. And if I'm honest, I.. I just don't relate."

Casey blinks blankly at her, and Alex shakes her head with a twitched eyebrow. "I'm driven to succeed, obviously. I'm not selling myself short, I really will do everything possible to ensure justice is served. But we're not only prosecutors, we also need to be politicians, and I know that especially because of my uncle being a judge- I ended up working in SVU as a strategic decision. I learned to love working here, to get invested on a deeper level that matters, but... somehow, in maintaining all of that in my head, I just- that personal enrapture with each case you have, I wish I had that. I question that- how you have that, when I can't. I think it makes you an exceptional prosecutor."

The younger ADA's jaw opened as if to respond, but then she bit down on empty air, eyes narrowing as she processed Alex's almost random confession.

"And, to my understanding," Alex started again, "in the beginning, you didn't even want this job. And yet you devour every hardship you encounter now regardless. So I watch you, what you do, how you approach things, and I question that, because I really want to understand."

They sit in silence for a short moment, Casey's eyes so harsh that anyone else would prickle, uncomfortable with the examination, but Alex barely shifts, still leaning forward.

"Jesus, Alex." Casey huffs, finally. "Here I was, jealous as hell of your ability to seem so... unfazed. Nonchalant, even."

Alex offers a small, apologetic smile. "Unfortunately that couldn't be further from the truth. I am very chalant- well, not as much as you, but I wish that I was. That I could be. Lose myself in the case and forget all about the facade."

"The fact that you don't," Novak murmurs, "is what makes you so admirable to me, though." Casey bites the corner of her lip, her eyes dropping to somewhere near Alex's knee, although it's obvious she's neglecting her sense of sight to focus on the mental weight of the conversation. Her voice, normally either curt or rough, sounds like a low hum that Alex decides she wouldn't mind hearing a lot more of.

Casey has the odd urge to divulge her struggles now onto Alex. Tell her about the constant comparison between them she had been faced with, tell her about the way exactly what Alex found interesting in her was what made her be known as a liability or a hazard, whine and ramble and lay herself bare. The last of the indulgent flames flickered to an end as she eased, the air she breathed out heavier as she felt tension leave her spine.

She doesn't really want to verbalize all that, though. And thankfully she doesn't have too, because stupidly attractive Alex Cabot is so perceptive that it's apparent to Casey the older woman had sensed not only the original stress but also the release of it, and Alex's demeanour shifted just slightly to reveal her own satisfaction with eliciting such a reaction from her compliments alone. It's enough, for Casey, though, to know now that perhaps her own scrutinizing comparisons may be more self critical than necessary- or, at least, that Alex seems to believe in her.

They sit there, in silence, for a bit longer than they could ever explain to anyone else, Casey still staring blankly off into space but in the direction of Alex while the latter woman stares very bluntly at Casey.

"So, the next time you get all fired up," Alex says slowly, watching Casey's eyes as they faze back into focus, "I hope you know that's something I appreciate about you. And if you wish, you can come find me, and we'll get coffee again."

"I'll pay, next time," Casey says hurriedly, glancing towards the coffee cups that had been more or less completely forgotten about on her side table. She hesitates, squinting as she tries to figure out which one of them had contained her's.

Alex picks up on the confusion and then becomes similarly conflicted on the coffee cup ownership, tentatively picking up the one closest to her and taking a sip before quickly shaking her head and putting it back down. "Sorry- the cup felt cold, so I thought it was mine. This one's yours, it must have just cooled while we were talking."

She slides it on the table towards Casey, who accepts it, taking a swig. Alex is right- her's had cooled down till it was room temperature, while Alex's had warmed up to meet it.

"You did that." Casey says softly, almost accusingly, using the coffee as an allegory for herself that Alex apparently does not understand based on the furrowed brow she got in response.

Novak waves her hand vaguely, and Alex shrugs to herself, choosing to resign herself from the confusion and instead internally celebrate the fact Casey had just agreed on a 'next time'.

"I've got arraignment, soon," Alex breathed, although something in her itched to stay just the slightest bit longer, to watch Casey's features for just an extra couple seconds, "but I'm glad we had this talk."

"It's given me a lot to think about," Casey responded smoothly, standing with a nod to herself. "Alex... thank you."

A small hint of rosy color graced Alex's smooth skin, and she smiled warmly in a way Casey would have previously doubted she was capable of. The older woman followed Casey to her feet, her hand finding Casey's shoulder again briefly as a goodbye, before Alex nodded kindly and turned to disappear out into the world once more, collecting her coffee cup before she left.

Casey watched her leave, green eyes studying her lithe figure for as long as possible before she really did vanish entirely.

In the back of her mind, she vaguely hoped that this arrangement would continue 'till the summer, because she could bet the cold breeze she had come to associate with Alex Cabot would feel wonderful in warmer weather.

And for now, apparently, she could count on her gorgeous coworker to warm up her day's experience with coffee.

[mentally-unstabler]

Disposed

Elliot Stabler x Female Reader

TWs- Canonical SVU violence/themes

AN- First SVU fic I’m actually publishing :) it’s quite angsty and Elliot being a rescuer but no romance… yet. Also set in season 7/8/9ish (timeline is kinda vague but it’s in that era). Already writing part 2 but lmk what you think. Also if you like my writing (and THG) then check out my other blog @avoxrising

— 1.6k wc—

The undercover operation that you and Elliot were on had gone south very quickly. The traffickers you were infiltrating caught wind of your true identities and now were heading somewhere to dispose of you.

Your arms and legs were tied together in an uncomfortable position; a plastic bag over your head. You could hear the rumbling of the truck as the traffickers drove you to an unknown location. It was hard to tell how long you’d been in the car but it couldn’t have been too long.

You slide across the covered bed of the truck as the vehicle makes a sharp turn, slamming into who you assume is a tied up Elliot. They hadn’t hurt either of you, which only made you more worried for what was to come when the vehicle stopped. You’d been able to loosen the bindings around your wrists a little, but not enough to wriggle free.

A few moments later, the truck comes to a screeching halt on what sounds like a gravel road. There were no city sounds, leading you to believe you were no longer in Manhattan. Even at the latest hours of the night the city was never this quiet.

You hear the men grumble as they open the bed of the truck. A hand grabs your shoulder and you attempt to kick at it, but more hands quickly hold you down. They drag you from the vehicle and carry you away.

When they set you down moments later, you can feel the world rocking underneath you. Based on the smells and sounds around you there was only one conclusion you came to.

You were on a boat.

The men quickly drop Elliot on the floor of the boat next to you and start the engine. You’d been on boats a lot as a kid in Florida, and this boat felt like a mid-sized boat used for tubing on a lake.

Your bound hands grasp for anything to hold on to as the boat takes off through the choppy night waters. Bouncing hard against the deck as the boat roars over some waves, you wince in pain, still searching for a steady hold. The only thing you find is Elliot, who is also tumbling around the deck in his bound state.

One would think you would be relieved when the boat finally came to a stop, but you were terrified. You knew what these men were capable of, and you were at a disadvantage.

“This a good spot?” You hear one of the men ask.

“Looks as good as any,” another replies. “They won’t be getting out of this one.”

Their footsteps approach and you feel hands around you once again. Squirming only earns you a slap in the face and more hands grabbing at you.

Suddenly, nothing is holding you, then you are cold, very cold.

They had thrown you overboard.

Elliot is able to quickly undo his bindings and remove the bag from his head underwater. Thankfully he learned a lot of things in the marines, including lots of knots and how to swim in harsh conditions.

Despite your lack of military training, the bag on your head had managed to free itself when you were thrown into the water. You manage to use your bound limbs to kick your way to the surface, trying to get a grasp of the situation.

Before you could even think to look for Elliot, shots were fired from the boat. Elliot quickly dove under the water, avoiding the attack. You managed to move enough to miss most of the bullets, but one lodged in your left rotator cuff as you tried to maneuver away.

‘Play dead’ is the only thing you can think in that moment, so you allow yourself to float in the water, unmoving except for the light rise and fall of your chest.

You waited what felt like hours for the boat to leave, but it must have only been a minute or two. Dozens of thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to comprehend what was happening. Where were you? Where was Elliot? Was he shot? How were you going to get out of this?

Looking around, you see the lights of Manhattan in the distance and a large port somewhat closer than the city. They must have dropped you in the middle of the bay.

It finally hits you how cold the water is. The spring brought water temperatures in the 50s, which wasn’t as bad as winter but definitely was not warm.

You return to floating on your back, coming to the conclusion that it was impossible to tread water with your limbs bound. It was also impossible to comprehend help arriving before you succumbed to your situation, so you allow yourself to float peacefully in the cold bay waters.

A hand on your leg catches you by suprise, causing you to shriek. Flipping upright, you see what you assume is Elliot, although it was hard to make out anything in the dark.

“I thought you were dead,” he says relieved.

“Not yet,” you groan as you move your feet to the surface.

Elliot quickly works to untie your bindings, whilst continuing to tread water. You let out a pained noise as he grabs at your arms and unties them, realizing the water hadn’t numbed your shoulder as much as you had hoped.

“Were you hit?” you ask him, struggling to tread water with your one good arm.

“No I’m fine,” he said. “We need to see which way the current is flowing and then…”

“Elliot,” you stop him, realizing he’s just as panicked as you are. “I’m hit. They got my shoulder. You should swim and get help. I’ll float here till they can come get me.”

Worry in his voice, Elliot quickly starts pestering you with questions about your shoulder while trying to feel the wound in the dark.

“It’s not bleeding too badly from what I can feel,” he says. “I’m not leaving you floating out here. I’ll swim us both down the bay. I think the current is taking us towards the harbor so we should hopefully be able to flag down help.”

You tried to argue with him about letting you stay, but realized quickly he wasn’t going to back down and you were getting too cold and tired to argue anymore.

Elliot wrapped one of his arms around you and began swimming with the current, the ache in your shoulder easing as the cold air numbed it. He had you positioned floating on your back so you could breathe and use your right hand to apply pressure to your wound.

Although he didn’t slow down, you worried Elliot would wear himself out trying to bring you both to shore. At least you were stuck out in the water with a former marine. Your partner Fin was not this strong of a swimmer and god knows how long you’d last with Olivia or Munch.

As Elliot powered you through the water, you found yourself growing more and more exhausted. It was hard to tell how much blood you had lost and your hand was too numb to apply any meaningful pressure to the wound. You didn’t want to ask Elliot to stop, but you knew you’d pass out sooner or later given your condition.

He judged he was roughly halfway to the nearest cargo dock when he took his first swimming break. When he asked how you were feeling, you could only muster a bleak groan in response. Sensing your condition was worsening, he had to make a decision.

Leaving you was completely out of question, so he carried on swimming you both towards help that hopefully awaited you at the port. At this hour, there wasn’t much activity there but maybe you’d be lucky and be spotted by a passing vessel.

It was another 20 minutes before Elliot spotted a fishing vessel in the bay. He yells at them and splashes his free arm but the boat either can’t hear them or can’t see them in the water. You’d passed out somewhere between the last break point and this one but Elliot was very careful to keep your head above water. He also continued to check your pulse every minute or so. It was growing faint, but it was still there.

“Hey!” Elliot hears in the distance.

“We’re in the water!” He yells back. “We need help!”

The large fishing vessel doesn’t move but he sees a small fishing boat scanning the waters nearby.

He shouts directions to the boat which eventually locates you with a dim headlight. The man on board pulls you and Elliot from the water and radios for the Coast Guard.

You were unconscious and frozen when you made it onto that boat. The cold hadn’t quite set in for Elliot yet as the adrenaline of the situation pulsed through him. He recalled his hypothermia training from his marine days and realized he was going to have to get you out of your wet clothes.

Not wanting to disturb your shoulder, he grabs a knife from the fisherman and cuts your shirt from your cold body, leaving on your undergarments. The fisherman quickly throws a dry towel over you and applies pressure to the wound per Elliot’s instructions.

Elliot quickly removes your soaked jeans and shoes before stripping himself down to his underwear and wrapping himself up in a dry towel.

“Coast Guard says they have paramedics waiting at the port. It’s faster if I take you,” the man explains and Elliot grabs hold of you and the boat before he takes off.

You’re still unconscious by the time the boat reaches the port. Paramedics quickly move you into one of the waiting ambulances.

“Wait!” Elliot states. “I have to go with her. She can’t ride alone.”

“Sir we need to treat you,” the paramedic responds. “We’re taking you to the same hospital and your captain will meet us there.”

Elliot watches as your ambulance drives off before they load him into his own, wondering if you were still breathing.

~

Part 2: Recovery

[khvlani]

my favorite cm x svu head canon that i came up with is that casey and emily understand each other very deeply. they share a lot of things in common. catholic guilt being the very first on the list. second, (glass) closet lesbians. third, fell in love with a co-worker they can’t seem to have. fourth, when they first joined their jobs, they were optimistic and hopeful, eager to help and show their skills just for them to end up (for emily) dead (not really) and (for casey) disbard (nearly lost her license jfc)

and to top it off, they looked good in their last eps before they went bye bye. and when they came back , the became 10x more cuntified so they look yummy.

[tryingmybestpls]

Let The Light In

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Glimpses into a life alongside Joel Miller.

Rating: R

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Canon violence, mentions of sex, graphic depictions of violence and death, depressing themes, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of loss

She knew they weren't meant to last.

She had told herself this every time she snuck out of his bed in the early morning, gathering her clothes as quietly as she could as the sun slowly starts to rise over the QZ. There wasn't supposed to be any feelings attached to this, to these nights that they have together and she repeats that over and over as he snores softly. It's just an even exchange, that's all. A way to let off some steam, a way to get their needs met.

They weren't supposed to be that close. They weren't friends-there wasn't really friends anymore. Her and Joel-well, they were really more like coworkers.

Coworkers that fucked, but coworkers nonetheless.

I mean, it was normal, wasn't it? Before all of this carnage, before the world fell apart, coworkers fucked each other. It was completely normal.

Again, that's what she also told herself.

She'd slip out of his apartment and would see him later on, when their paths would cross during whatever jobs they'd be doing that day. They would acknowledge each other in the moment, but they'd keep it at that. She had tried her best to just keep it at that-at the nights they shared together.  She wouldn't get hurt if all they had together were those nights. Those few hours in his tiny little bed.

But life couldn't be that simple. She knew better than that.

"What was your favorite TV show?" He asks one night, moonlight steaming in through the dirt and grime on the windows of his apartment. The question is out of character for him and they both know it. They don't talk about before, but either way, she gives in. She can't help it, this small tiny slice of domesticity. She's greedy and she knows it.

"Law and Order: SVU. I liked that the bad guy always got caught." She replies, turning onto her side so she can look at him, "However, my mom made me watch Dateline and 48 Hours with her. She wanted to make sure I was never taken, y'know...normal shit."

He can see a shift in her eyes as she remembers those memories. He gets that glimpse into her family, into how she was raised. All that he knew about her family was that they're were long gone, their bodies scattering the United States from California to Connecticut. Now he knew that her mom was paranoid, terrified that something bad was going to happen to her kids. Just like he had been with Sarah.

They'd both been right.

But he doesn't say this, he keeps this observation to himself. He knows he can't stay silent for long, because the longer the silence the more she's thinking about everything that has happened. So he just nods, his arm tucked behind his head. He looks like he's seriously thinking about his answer, wanting to give her the God's honest truth.

"The Sopranos-Tommy and I used to watch it. I paid a little every month for that damn show." He shakes his head at the thought of it, as if he is still annoyed. She smiles, trying her best to stop the almost girlish giggle that almost escapes her mouth. He catches the sound almost immediately, raising an eyebrow at her as the corners of his mouth turn upwards ever so slightly, "You laughin' at me, girl?"

Oh, she was so fucked.

-

Sometimes she'll dream of him.

She knows it's a bad sign-a dangerous one, even- but she can't control her subconscious. And she surely can't control those dreams she has of him and her, a farm somewhere out west, and two little mini-me's that have his hair and her eyes. And she can't control the ache she gets in her chest when she awakes, grieving something that isn't real, something that she can never have.

On the days that follow those dreams, the world is a little colder and Y/N is a little quieter. Joel isn't much of a talker, but he notices. He doesn't pry, of course-it's not his place and he knows it. They carry on with their day and she think about whether or not they should end things, if it was all going too far. Surely it had to be-he was lodged deep inside of her self conscious, he was something she just couldn't shake.

And then the next day, she'd be face down in his bed, his hands gripping her hips, the cycle only continuing. She's in too deep and she knows it, but she just can't stop. She's addicted to him and she just can't get enough.

-

When Ellie enters the the picture, their situation changes.

Gone are their nights together. Now all they get is glances at each other-knowing looks behind the kid's back-and quiet talks when they know she's asleep. He'll hold her when the nights get too cold and she starts to limit her food intake so there is a little more food for both him and Ellie. If he notices, he doesn't say a word.

Their relationship changes after Bill and Frank's, after that letter Bill had penned to Joel. They try to ignore it, ignore the questions that Ellie fires their way after she reads it. Y/N's cheeks burn as she snatches the letter from Ellie, telling her to run upstairs and shower. The teen rolls her eyes at the two of them, muttering how two of them just want to get rid of her so they can suck each other faces. As soon as she is upstairs, Joel grabs Y/N and slams his lips against hers, kissing her like it's the last thing he might do. Her cheeks are wet, but neither of them acknowledge it.

His hand is on her thigh all the way to Kansas City.

Kansas City is where Y/N's motherly instincts-as Joel outs it- seemingly kick in. She's constantly asking if Ellie is okay, and when Sam and Henry join them, she does the same with them. Joel teases her about it, tells her to stop being such a mother hen. She tells him that she'll only stop when he does. He rolls his eyes in response.

She starts to think how different it could be-the five of them, all together. She hadn't thought about life turning into something like...this. To a sort of family. She wonders if it's possible for them to take care of the three of them

When things go belly-up in the motel room, she immediately wraps her arms around Ellie, tears springing in both of their of eyes. She tells the kid over and over to not look, even though they both are. Joel is frozen in place, his eyes going from the two bodies on the ground and to the two women holding each other.

-

The snow is starting to stick to the ground when they reach Wyoming.

A part of her longs for a life in Jackson. Everything seems so...normal. Kids runnin' around in the street without a care in the world, there's even a Christmas tree in the town center.  Joel sees the way she looks away, looking down at the ground and he wonders when the last time she celebrated anything was.

She watches him embrace his brother and she's happy for him, she truly is-but she can't ignore the way her throat starts to tighten. She looks away, finding something to focus on in the distance, her nails digging into her palm. If Ellie notices, she keeps it to herself.

She's surrounded by families, with big happy smiles stretched across their faces. Maria and Tommy are talking, explaining everything about their safe haven, but Y/N doesn't hear a word of it. She just follows them, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. She doesn't even realize Maria is taking to her until Ellie nudges her.

"Sorry-What was that?" She asks, looking up at her. Maria offers her a smile, clasping her hands together.

"I was saying that I'm going to show you guys where you're going to be staying while Tommy and Joel go catch up. Is that okay?" Maria tells her and Y/N smiles back, nodding. She stays quiet as Maria gives them a tour of the house. She doesn't know how to quite respond to this whole situation, how to think about it all, how to react. Y/N manages to sneak away from the conversation, hiding in the bathroom under the guise of showering. She turns on the knob and sits on the edge of the tub. Y/N buries her face into a towel and starts sobbing. She doesn't even know what she's crying about, all she knows is that she doesn't stop until Joel comes in and wraps her in his arms.

Her and Joel get into a fight when he tells her that he isn't going to take Ellie to the Fireflies, that he just couldn't do it. It's a true, honest to God fight. She calls him an asshole, he calls her a dumb kid who doesn't know what she's talking about. He tells her that he's scared of how close he's getting with Ellie, of how close he's getting with her. Y/N tells him that just 'cause he's abandoning Ellie that doesn't mean she will. Y/N says that she'll go with Tommy, that she'll make sure she's safe. She tells him not to bother with waiting for her to come back-especially since he's so worried about how close they're getting.

The next day when her, Tommy, and Ellie arrive at the stables, Joel is there waiting for them and the three of them leave on two horses.

That night when they stop, Joel waits for Ellie to fall asleep before he apologizes to Y/N for what he said, for how he acted. She accepts it and when Ellie wakes up in the morning, she finds them fast asleep, curled up next to each other.

On their way to the college, Joel teaches Ellie how to shoot with the rifle. Y/N tells her about how it was before-at least as much of it as she remembers. Joel teaches her about sports, Y/N talks about how different Boston is from where she lived in California with her family. Joel tries to convince Ellie that Texas was far better than California, but the teen isn't convinced. Ellie reads them jokes from her book, making the two adults laugh and groan. Her and Ellie tease Joel the whole time about his dreams of sheep ranches and singing. It's sweet and it gets Y/N's mind off of all the things she was thinking about back in Jackson.

When Joel falls off the horse, Y/N jumps off of hers. His shirt is drenched in crimson and her hands immediately fly to the wound, putting pressure on it. She had known as soon as he had yanked that wood out of him that he was going to bleed out but she-she had just thought that it wasn't going to happen somehow. That somehow, God-willing, this was just going to all workout.

"Joel? Shit..." Ellie is suddenly right behind her, her eyes on the where Y/N's bloodstained hands are putting pressure. The older woman quickly takes her knit cap, pressing it on the wound.

"Don't do this to me, Joel-You can't do this to me." She tells him over and over, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ellie is still calling his name, begging him to get up as Y/N keeps murmuring, "God damn it, don't do this to me, baby."

-

"You need to sleep."

She lays in between Ellie and Joel in that cold little basement. Her eyes watching the fall rise of his chest, making sure he's still there.

"I'm alright, Ellie-Just get some rest." She replies, turning her head for a moment, looking at the kid. She can barely make out her face in the darkness, but Y/N can feel her eyes on her. There's silence for a moment and Y/N hopes that Ellie had finally fallen asleep-

"Did-Did you have kids too?" Ellie questions, her voice quiet as if she doesn't want to wake Joel. Y/N turns her head to look at the ceiling, her hands resting on the blanket covered ground. Her index finger taps against the cold concrete.

"Not when it first happened-I was around your age when it all went to shit." Y/N replies, just as quietly, "There was-I was...once."

"Was it-Was it-?" Ellie doesn't know how to quite say the words as Y/N blinks away any tears that threaten to fall. She doesn't know why she's saying any of this-doesn't know why she doesn't tell Ellie to drop it and go to bed. Joel is so much better at not talking about things, about keeping secrets.

"Yeah. He-I never told him." Y/N voice is just as soft, barely loud enough for Ellie to hear. The words hang heavy in between them and she knows they Ellie is still processing the news when she adds, "Please-Please don't tell him. It'd break his heart."

That night she dreams about what never was-she dreams of Ellie chasing after a little boy that looks just like his father.

-

Her mind is racing when they get captured by David and his people.

Before all this, before Ellie entered her life, she would've done anything to escape-would've fought tooth and nail just to get scot-free, but things have changed. Now she can't do just anything- no, now she has to have a plan, one in which all three of them are okay. So she starts planning-trying to think of what she could possibly do so that Ellie can be safe, so that Joel will safe.

They try to pick the locks, try to unscrew any bolts that might be loose. The window is jammed. Their weapons are gone.

When David starts saying shit with disgusting undertones, Y/N lashes out. She spits and yells at him, calling him every name in the book. She gets beat-her blood splattering on the floor and walls. One of her eyes swells shit after the beating, her lip split. Her chest aches-it hurts when she breathes, making her think that they must've cracked a rib or three. Even then, she makes sure she's in front of Ellie.

And then they see the human ear laying on the floor.

David brings them stew and they both refuse to eat it. Ellie kicks the bowls away and

Y/N tries to rise to her feet, wanting to-needing to protect Ellie, but she can't. The conversation once again takes a turn for the worse, which makes Y/N stomach twist, even more than the cannibalism had.

When Ellie breaks David's finger after his suggestion, Y/N smiles and says quietly, just loud enough for Ellie to hear, "That's my girl."

Yet the pride soon disappears when David and three of his men reappear and once again, Y/N moves to guard Ellie. David opens the cage, shoving the older woman aside in order to pull Ellie away. Y/N quickly gets up, pushing through the pain, yelling at the men to stop, to leave the kid alone, to take her instead. The two slam Y/N into the chain link fence, forcing her to watch as David and the other man force Ellie down onto the butcher's block. The older woman tries to fight back, yelling and screaming, the chain link tearing into her skin.

When Ellie swings the cleaver the man with the beard's neck, Y/N swings her head back, connecting the back of her skull with a man's nose. He cries out in pain as David shoots at Ellie as she escapes. Y/N manages to grab a knife from the injured man, quickly bring it up into his chest before the other man can stop her. One man falls while the other charges at her, slamming her into the wall, making the knife fall from her hands.

But she fights like she's never fought before because she knows that Ellie needs her. She claws at her captors eyes, making him scream out in pain. Then his arm is against her windpipe, cutting off her breathing. She reaches blindly, trying to grab something, anything.

She can smell smoke just as her hand wraps around the blade of the knife. The man puts more of his weight on her neck, spots starting to dot her vision. She grips the knife, the blade digging into her palm as she brings it up and forcing it into the man's head. It makes a sickening sound, an unnerving crunch.

She shoves the body off of her as she gasps for air. She uses the chain link to pull herself up before she limps out of the room.

By the time she leaves the area they were being held in, David is dead and the place is up in flames. Y/N pulls Ellie up and into her arms, hugging her for a second, before telling her they have to go. Their arms are wrapped around each other as they make their way out of the back of the restaurant. The only noise being the sound of their harsh breathing and the fire crackling behind them as it devours the building.

And then suddenly, Joel's there, holding both of them. He presses his lips against Y/N's temple, telling them over and over that he's got them, that they're safe. He calls Ellie babygirl and he calls Y/N sweetheart. Y/N holds onto him and Ellie tightly, never wanting to let go, tears streaming down her cheeks.

-

She's killed for him before, and he's killed for her. It was just apart of their lives, it just happens. If you want to survive, you have to get dirty. But now? Now, there's something behind each kill.

It's so much more feral.

She wears the blood with honor, with a sense of pride. I protected you both, I'm protecting my own. It's the same for him. He mows through people for her, for Ellie, for whatever this little group is. They both do it without a second thought, without any hesitation.

And they destroy that hospital in Salt Lake City together, hunting down every son of a bitch that wanted to hurt their girl. Joel carries Ellie out in his arms, Y/N follows right beside him, her finger not leaving the trigger of her gun until Marlene is dead and both of them get in the car with their girl.

Once again, his hand is on her thigh the whole time.

They lie through the teeth to Ellie. They agree that what she doesn't know, won't hurt her. She's alive, she's with them-that's all that matters. The three of them are still together and that's all that matters.

"You don't have to stay with me, y'know that right?" Joel murmurs to her as they stand next to each other, their eyes on Jackson in the distance. She turns her head to look at him and he meets her gaze.

"What, you tryin' to get rid of me, Joel?" She asks, a small smile appearing on her face. He can't stop the way the corners of his mouth turn upward.

"I would never, darlin'." He replies, smiling back at her. Y/N grins, just as Ellie starts yelling at them to get a room.

In the back of her mind, a little voice tells her that this-their little family, their little life together-that it won't last. She ignores it, shoving it aside as her hand wraps around his, her lips pressing against his scruffy cheek as Ellie makes gagging noises.

[whoevrwhatevr]

there’s something between us,

a sort of pull; something you always do to me,

& I to you.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald; Presumption

[simps-4-russian-assassains]

Nobody has asked but here’s my head canons of what instrument each character would/‘ve played if/when they were in high school… basically high school Band AU (? I have no idea what I’m doing)

Elliot Stabler: Trumpet (look at that man and tell me he doesn’t look like he would play the trumpet, like come on his posture screams that plus of course military but I digress)

Olivia Benson: Bass Clarinet (her mother feels like she wouldn’t allow her much choice in which instrument she could play. So her choices would be either flute or clarinet becuz her mom wouldn’t want to deal with the noise. And so she picks clarinet but then highschool comes around she’s starting to want to distance herself from her mom and the band needs a bass clarinet… two birds one stone)

Melinda Warner: Saxophone (She’s a part of the group, but she feels slightly separated. You don’t worry about her becuz you know she can do her job. She gives the cool energy of the quiet saxophone kid that kept the band together. *Fun Fact, she is what inspired me to do this whole list becuz I watched the episode where it’s mentioned she was Air Force and just immediately knew she was in the Air Force Band*)

John Munch: Percussion/mallets (dude gives he learned piano as a kid and so can do mallets, and he gives vibes of percussionist that you have no control of his attention in the back of the room *He’s talking about his conspiracy theories* the vibes are there)

Odafin Tutuola (can’t spell it): Percussion/Toys (he gives crash cymbals… idk what to say, he looks like he’d be able to do the cool tricks *how he got his nickname, cuz the cymbals are his fins* and his relationship with Munch screams the old married couple of the section)

Alex Cabot: French Horn (look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think Alex *Hi, Uncle Bill* *Nepo Baby* Cabot wouldn’t play a stick up the ass instrument? But also play it so beautifully, and she gives the vibes dammit)

Rita Calhoun: French Horn (same reasons as above but also throwing in her and Alex’s friendly rivalry always fighting over first chair)

Casey Novak: Percussion/Trap Set/Quads/timpanis (Ok so she’s a bit more complicated. The swagger? Gives percussion. Her passion? Personality? Gives more then one drum at a time. And so I had to have one per season of band *Marching, Jazz/Concert, and Concert* I’ll include headcanons at the end if you need some mental imagery)

Amanda Rollins: Flute? (Open to contestments, only started rewatching SVU and so haven’t rewatched newer seasons yet, I can be persuaded on anything with her)

Sonny Carisi: Drum Major (the way he holds himself, and his presence within the squad, he’s a multi trick pony *Detective and ADA*)

Rafael Barba: Bass Drum (His presence is solid and consistent. He himself doesn’t necessarily need to be loud, he’s a constant solid beat, constantly moving them forward.)

George Hyuang: Clarinet (he reminds me of people I went to school with who played clarinet *In a good way* more evidence later on.)

Donald Cragen: He’s the director (obviously he’s the one in “charge”, he just gives director energy *its the dad energy* but when he was in band he play percussion specifically the toys, like triangle and cowbell)

Liz Donnelly: PTA Mom/Trombone (When she was in school? She played trombone, it fits the vibe of her being a girl/woman trying to fit in a stereotypical “boy/men” role. And I can see her trying to showboat act tough with it… idk I can talk more about what I mean but 🤷🏼‍♀️. But she also gives extreme PTA Mom vibes. But like in the way that she’s actually in charge, she’s keeping everyone alive. In the “well Cragen won’t care that much’ ‘but Donnelly is gonna kill us”, idk I see her with her 80s hair with a turtle neck sweater with a “I’m with the band” t-shirt over it, doing all the extra stuff… she’s band mom)

Lena Petrovsky: Choir Director (has to deal with their shenanigans, if needed can reign students in, must chaperone on most trips. She hates them, but she tolerates the few kids that are in both band and choir)

I’ll happily take suggestions… on most of them… I’ll hear anyone’s opinion about it

[bensonnstabler]

This is more of like a weird head cannon but I have an au where carisi and muncy used to be exes and they may or may not have a daughter that I very lazily named Molly but the fun part is that Molly was put up for adoption because muncy didn't know what to do and it's a whole ass mess and my brain is eating it the fuck up. (Also pardon my lack of punctuation I've been dying to tell someone about this)

absolutely no pardon necessary! this is so juicy and out there (in a good way) i love it sm. i totally get the all consuming brain rot of it all

send me your svu/oc hot takes (or spicy headcanons also!)

[haunting-venus]

green with desire ↳ rafael barba x fem!reader

content warnings | smut ( minors dni ), canonical svu violence, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy/anxiety ( so, light angst ), dirty talk, fem!dom if you squint really hard, some begging

word count: 6241

Of all of the terrible ideas you’d had in your life, debating punching a police officer in a crowded bar was definitely top three on the list. Your rational mind knew that it would end with split knuckles and an assault charge, while the emotional side of your brain told you to throw rationale to the wind and throw your knuckles across that brown-haired bitch’s temple.

You tried to focus your gaze on anything but the woman inciting your rage, your nails biting into your thigh. Soft light flickered off of the vintage art prints hanging on the wall, reflecting the black-and-white images of famous figures in the history of New York. Pop music sounded against the walls, just loud enough that you could feel the bump in the music at the bottom of your chest. The venue was moderately sized but felt claustrophobic with the amount of casually dressed NYPD officers that teemed at all corners, sipping a variety of beers and leaning against the polished mahogany countertop of the bar.

Leaning against that mahogany bar was a tall, slender woman with tumbling brown hair and doe eyes squinted in delight at the man in front of her. A manicured, unpolished finger circled the rim of her mojito while her other hand rested closer and closer to the man’s rested elbow. Below her fitted purple top rested a gleaming gold badge, saddled on a shapely hip. Her teeth glinted just as brightly as her badge when she giggled, lightly swatting the man’s arm. None of this would necessarily be a problem, if the man the officer was inching towards was not your boyfriend.

Instead of letting your fist connect where it was itching to, your grip tightened on your margarita glass and took a heavy gulp of the sour drink. You were a guest at an unofficial NYPD get-together, surrounded by acquaintances celebrating the recent closing of a corruption case in tandem with an officer’s birthday. Somewhere in the crowd, Detective Sonny Carisi strolled with a beer in his hand and a ‘Happy Birthday Big Boy’ pin gleaming on his breast. Tensions had run so high within the precinct the last few weeks that the need to let loose was nearly oozing off of every civil servant in the bar. The last thing anyone here needed was a librarian they barely knew from Queens assaulting a police officer and disrupting a perfectly civil get-together.

You’d met Rafael Barba while waiting in a ridiculously long line for the new coffee shop that opened down the street from the library you worked at. Caught in your own world listening to a podcast, eyes downcast to adjust a seam on your cable-knit sweater, you had collided head on with the rushing attorney resulting in black coffee tipping onto each of you. The pale blue shirt under his pin-checked brown vest and jacket had suffered the most, thoroughly drenched in hot coffee with a mottled brown stain right across his chest. You’d made a horrified, choked noise and tried to apologize as you rushed across the room in search of napkins, mumbling apologies as you dabbed at his wet suit in vain.

His annoyed gaze had softened slightly as he watched you flit around the shop with pink cheeks and wild eyes, completely ignoring the mess on your own shirt in favor of making amends to a complete stranger. He had eventually chuckled, pushing your hand away from his chest and declaring the suit a lost cause. You’d finally been able to get a good luck at him as you lowered your hands, trying to reassemble some sense of pride as the patrons of the shop gazed after your neurotic display. He was hispanic, not too tall but with broad shoulders outlined pristinely by his tailored jacket, brown hair coiffed and barely out of place even with all of your fretting. His green eyes shone with a hint of amusement even behind his mostly serious expression.

You had insisted on paying for the dry-cleaning of his suit, to which he brushed off the offer with a chuckle, promising that no grudges would be held in exchange for a new cup of coffee. He had been intrigued with your kindhearted (if strange) behavior and the way your cheeks flushed cutely when he smiled at you, prompting him to ask if you’d have time to meet for a real sit-down coffee the following week. You’d been delighted and tense at once, not one to go out on a limb with strangers, especially such handsome and well-spoken ones.

When you had met Rafael for coffee the following Thursday, the two of you had thankfully been able to avoid spilling your drinks on one another, to which Rafael had given a quick joke about in order to break the ice. You’d found yourself easily falling into conversation with Rafael, who you had learned was a prosecutor that worked nearby for the District Attorney’s office. Your nerves were quickly comforted by his easy ability to joke and his unhidden interest in getting to know you, his soft green eyes never leaving your smiling face. It didn’t take long to discover that you shared a love for historical fiction literature and high-end coffee, and you had ended the lunch with entwined fingers as he walked you to the large double doors of the library you worked at.

A few lunches quickly turned into dinners on the rare nights when Rafael was able to escape his office, where he showered you with compliments and wine expensive enough that it made you nervous to drink it. You’d quickly become accustomed to the strong feel of his hands gripping your waist as he kissed you in the entrance of his oak-furnished apartment entryway, heat rushing through your veins at the heated whispers he hissed into your neck. You treasured the quiet mornings in his kitchen almost more than the extravagant dinners. Scrambled eggs and espresso in his brightly-lit kitchen overlooking the city, his hair soft and unstyled as he swayed with you on the tile floor, that peek into this more relaxed version of your usually nothing-less-than-proper partner felt more precious than gold.

You’d never been the type of person that flaunted their relationship, especially since Rafael was such a prominent figure in the New York legal system. There was a prickling fear in the early days of your relationship that you were too plain to publicly be seen with a man associated with such prestige and power, that you would look like nothing more than a sweater-clad bookworm feigning at being worthy of a man much above her standing. When Rafael had discovered this, he’d been quick to quiet your concerns with his fingers in your hair and his head between your legs until you could think of nothing else.

After his many reassurances that he would love to show you off at any time possible, including to his coworkers, you’d become more self-confident. You’d begun to surprise Rafael at work with bagel sandwiches from an artisan bakery in between your workplaces, toting coffee and paper bags through the looming hallways of Hogan Place and barely paying attention to those who spared you a second glance for planting a kiss on the primly dressed ADA. Soon afterward, you had joined the squad of the Special Victims Unit and Rafael for the celebration of the conviction of a serial rapist. You were proud of the progress you had made with Rafael’s coworkers, forming timid friendships with the detectives that he worked so closely with on a daily basis. You were glad that you’d gained enough confidence to hold your own without using Rafael as a fallback in social situations with his coworkers, but it all felt bittersweet now that he’d been approached by another woman as soon as you had gone to chat with Detective Rollins with celebratory tequila shots.

You had gathered vaguely from Amanda that the brunette ogling your boyfriend at the bar was a recent witness in a major police corruption case that Rafael had been handling, Detective Sandra Allen from the Narcotics division. She was a hero and a villain at the same time in the eyes of her fellow cops; a snitch who ratted on her fellow officers who were spending their county-paid salary hours manipulating prostitutes into sexual favors in exchange for staying out of prison. The case made you sick, and the fact that you could feel nothing but disdain for this woman who bravely stood up and testified on behalf of those sex workers made shame burn deep in your stomach.

You didn’t need to be a police officer to notice Amanda’s sly looks between you and the scene going on at the bar, or that she was trying to hold back her laughter from the growing redness in your face that you tried to blame on the alcohol. You had hardly been listening to Fin’s rambling story about how his grandson had been inexplicably angry at the balloons he’s seen in the park because they would not stop floating, no matter how much he asked. On any other day, you would have loved to look at Fin half-drunkenly showing off his adorable lump of a grandson with a grinning smile. Right now, though, you could only hear the deep cadence of Rafael’s laugh as he finished off his scotch, and only see Detective Allen’s beautiful and flirtatious smile directed toward the man you had spent the last several months building a life with.

You were worried that the glass in your hand would shatter under your grip as you set it forcefully on the table. You knew there was no reason for you to be acting this way, feeling so scorned and bubbling with jealousy over the easy way that Allen fawned over your partner. You knew more than anyone the easy charm that Rafael brought to conversations, even when he was being a sarcastic bastard. You knew you weren’t the only woman who admired his passion and his good-looks, but having it shoved in your face like this felt much worse than just knowing it in the back of your mind.

Amanda’s mischievous expression quickly morphed to shielded concern when she noticed just how much you were bothered by the scene in front of you. Her demeanor took on the protective edge that came so easily to all the detectives you had met at the SVU, poised to talk someone down or to throw an elbow into someone’s teeth. “Hey, you want me to go do some crowd control over at the bar? I’m sure the Counselor is just waiting for the best opportunity to get out of there.”

You knew that you should just go over there and put a stop to it. You wanted so badly to have the conviction to strut over to Rafael, straddle his lap and make him moan in front of that woman, to show her just how he crumbled under your touch, how you were the one to bring him to his knees, to receive his hardships and his worship, not her. That display of power, of claim over a man that so many people wanted, would no doubt make her back off. But that wasn’t who you were. You were not the sultry-smiled woman who captured the eyes of every room she walked into, the one who could bite at a woman to back off of what was hers. So, instead, you threw back the rest of your drink, taking a moment to relish in the burn of tequila and the acidity of the lime that buzzed through your veins, and sent a tight-lipped smile to Amanda and Fin.

“I think I’m actually gonna turn in for the night. Too much tequila makes me stupid, you know.” You gave an unconvincing chuckle as you set some bills on the table to cover your drinks and a tip. Amanda opened her mouth to protest, hoping to keep you from leaving, but you were already pulling your peacoat onto your shoulders.

You had only gotten halfway down the street, heaving heavy breaths to lighten your heart rate and the burn behind your eyes, when Rafael called out your name from the direction of the bar. The street was relatively quiet for a Wednesday night, with only a few stragglers walking between the handful of establishments on the block. You steadied your expression before turning on your heel towards him with a shaky smile.

He stepped toward you with a soft look so often reserved only for you, his brows furrowed in slight worry. His black trenchcoat fell beautifully against his broad chest, green eyes accented by the specks of emerald in his patterned tie. Even after months, you still felt yourself melt a little at the kindness behind his eyes. “You ran out so quickly with no goodbye, is everything alright?”

“I’m just tired, and you seemed like you were having a good time talking to Detective Allan. Didn’t want to take you away from the fun.”

His eyebrows rose in question at the unexpected bite in your tone. You had tried to hide your rising feelings with the shit poor excuse, but Rafael hadn’t become a successful ADA by not being able to read people. It was one of the things you loved and hated about him, how he could peel back the layers of what you were feeling to gaze at the very core of you. It made you feel cared for and probed at the same time.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I was only being cordial with a witness who put a lot on the line to testify in our case.” He stepped into your space, running a thumb across your cold and flushed cheeks. His voice was steady, his eyes honest but confused. You scoffed lightly, still feeling your anger simmering but being calmed by his steadying touch. His hand dropped from your cheek at your exclamation, steadying a solid look at you. “Look, you know I am not exactly the DA’s office favorite person, much less the police department. She was worried about how her colleagues were going to see her, she wanted advice on how to deal with interoffice conflict.”

“Oh, don’t pull that. The only thing she was worried about was how quickly she could get your hands up her skirt.” The words burned your throat, emerging into the air before you could stop yourself. You knew Rafael wasn’t a stupid man, and you didn’t want him to treat you like you were either.

“Excuse me?” Rafael’s eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as you took a step back from him. Your outburst had gained the attention of a passerby who gave the two of you a quick once over, and it only stoked your anger and shame. Rafael guided you with the motion of his hand towards the side of the sidewalk. “Look, I didn’t mean to abandon you, I’m sorry. I was only being polite to a woman who is going through what might be the worst time of her life. She needed someone to reassure her, to ask about her options-”

“So she had to wait until your girlfriend left to ask you about all of that? I’m not naive, you know. I see how women look at you, the looks they have when they realize you’re with me, like you’re settling for something that’s so beneath you. That they could give you something hotter, younger-”

“Stop! Just stop!” He ran a hand across his face, his expression softening as he saw the hurt on your face, the insecurity he thought the two of you had quelled long ago. “We’ve talked about this, I thought we had dealt with this. You are the only one I want to be with. The only one that I want to see in my bed in the mornings or bringing me coffee for lunch or watching tv in my old t-shirts. It’s only you.”

Shame and anxiety still burned deep in your blood as you felt burning behind your eyes. The anger had fizzled like a campfire under rain, replaced with humiliation settling deep into your stomach. A few tears wet the side of your face, and you avoided what you hoped wasn’t pity on Rafael’s face. “I’m sorry, I know that. I just- I just lost my temper and-”

“Look, I only want you. I want you to know that I only want you.” He brushed away the wetness from your cheekbone with a reassuring smile. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the side of your head as he pulled you into his chest, stroking a heavy hand between your shoulder blades. His woody cologne mingled with the salt of your tears, wrapping around you in comfort.“Let’s take a cab, forget about this bar. If you’re still doubting the way I feel about you, I clearly didn’t get my point across last time.”

You pulled back with a surprised laugh, tightening your grip on the sides of Rafael’s neck. A new heat flushed to your face with the intrigue in Rafael’s eyes, your ego stoked that he still found you desirable in the messy state that you were in. You leaned up, capturing his lips in an impassioned kiss, letting the feel of his stubble and the grip of his fingers wash over you like a wave. A shiver ran through your limbs to your fingertips, goosebumps rising as you felt the edge of his teeth against your lips. A heated gasp went through you as your back hit the nearby wall, feeling the solid line of Rafael’s body slot between your legs and against your chest. 

“Let me bring you home, show you exactly how much I want you. Please, hermosa, let me.” His voice was thick and had an edge of desperation that shot heat through your entire body, igniting every edge of your nerves with the brush of his lips to your neck.The lick of power that ran through you at having this man, so powerful and beautiful and respected, begging for the opportunity to bed you sent you reeling. With a nod, you pulled Rafael to the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, his hand gripping your waist.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You’d spent the majority of the cab ride from the bar stroking your thumb on the inside of Rafael’s knee, taking long moments to let your eyes linger on the clenching of his strong hands, the swell of his powerful chest beneath his vest, the slow darkening of his eyes with arousal as you raked your eyes over him. In the elevator ride up to your loft, his fingers trailed teasingly along the bottom of your sweater, sneaking underneath to rub at the skin of your hip with fleeting touches that ran heat up your spine and between your legs. You felt yourself wanting to push him back against the mirrored wall of the elevator, to go down to your knees and to hear your name echoing from his lips as you sucked him, but kept your face falsely neutral. This was part of the game, of him letting you know how much he wanted you, how he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You felt your face flush with the intimacy of the touches, his eyes glinting at your suppressed smile.

By the time you’d reached the entrance of your studio apartment, the buzz of your earlier tequila drinks had worn off in favor of the thrill of Rafael’s touch skating up under your shirt, fingers trailing beneath your clothed breast. As quickly as your jacket slid to the floor, your back was pressed solidly against the entryway wall, your hair pushed to the side to let your boyfriend suck slow kisses into the column of your throat. The nick of his teeth against the cord of your throat let a soft sound rise from your chest, your head falling back to knock against the wall.

Stepping away to remove his trenchcoat, Rafael took a brief moment to admire your panting frame, your cheeks flushed high with want and warmth. His tone was breathy, but serious as he hung up his jacket and vest.“You’re sure that you’re in the mood? I can always bring out some wine, put on that Bermuda Triangle documentary you’ve been wanting to watch.”

His words were sweet, but you could still see the heat burning in his eyes, even as he stood carefully away from you as he awaited your answer. You smiled as you stepped forward, fingers stroking the bulge in his black trousers, a rush of confidence coming from the deep groan he let into the air. “As lovely as that sounds, I think I’ll save that for after I ride you until the neighbors complain about the noise.”

“Your noises or mine, cariño?” He taunted as he pulled your sweater over your head, his hands finding your breasts with a delicate squeeze as you pulled him by the tie towards your bed in the further corner of your studio. His thumbs rubbed against the ridge of your nipple through the thin bra, your bitten lip barely containing your groan. His lips found yours again quickly, swallowing up the breathy noises you made.

“Why don’t we see who makes them come knocking first?” You grinned as pulled firmly at the back of his hair, letting a groan rumble against the seam of your lips. A swell of pride rose in your chest as you pushed Rafael back against the mattress, making quick work of his buttons as you let your ass fall firmly onto the bulge in his pants. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers indenting your pants with their firm hold. He brought his left hand between your thighs, letting his thumb rub idly against you through your pants as your movements on his buttons stuttered. 

You steadied yourself against Rafael with a hand on his shoulder, rushing to remove your bra with the other hand to feel your skin against him. Your fingers stuttered over the clasp repeatedly, your head falling back at the pleasure that pooled between your legs. An easy smirk graced his handsome features at the stuttered breath you let in at the work of his fingers, sitting up at the waist to pull your breasts against his chest and rub between your legs more firmly. “Getting distracted over there, hermosa?”

The pet name brought a groan from your throat, wetness pooling in your cunt from his deep voice laced with arousal. Rafael’s pressed white button-up hung loosely off his shoulders, and you pushed the rest off with a renewed need to get your hands on his bare chest. His tan skin stretched over a strong chest and corded shoulders that held you firmly, dark chest hair brushed across your skin. You ran your hands down his pecs to run your nails across his stomach near the buckle of his belt, relishing in the shiver that ran through him.

Your tongue licked into his mouth with a moan, bringing one hand to the back of his head to thread your fingers through his salt and peppered hair while your hips moved against his covered cock. The hand over your pants faltered as he pulled away from your kiss, letting you get a look at his wide-blown pupils before he took his teeth to your neck with a moan.“Who’s distracted now, huh?”

You rolled to the side to shimmy out of your cotton pants, taking care to stretch your back to give Rafael a view of the curve of your ass as you turned. He pulled himself to the head of the bed, one hand stroking firmly against his hard cock over his trousers while he held the other near his kiss-swollen mouth. You felt a pang of wetness between your thighs at his lidded gaze, his eyes following each curve of your body like it was a melody he yearned to play. You leaned forward toward Rafael, your hair tumbling over the swell of your breasts as you climbed on top of him. His hands quickly moved back to slide along your body, one pinching your nipple while the other slid underneath the purple lace between your legs, dipping his fingers into the wetness there.

Rafael groaned as you ground your cunt against his hand, letting you seek your pleasure from his steady hand. The hand at your breast lowered to unbutton his trousers, his cock peeking from the edges of his dark briefs. “God, cariño, you're always so wet for me. You like my fingers on you?”

You stuttered out a breath as Rafael’s fingers dipped inside you, the palm of his hand rubbing gently against your clit as he stroked inside of you. The rolling pleasure from both areas of contact had sweat building on your chest, a moan coming high in your throat when you tried to answer. “F-fuck, yes, Raf, just like that. God…so good.”

Your breathy words spurred him on, adding another finger to your pussy. You gathered some composure, gripping your nails into Rafael’s shoulder with pleasure while your other hand went to stroke his thick cock. His rewarding moan was well worth the effort it took to keep a clear head as his fingers massaged inside you, bringing you rapidly to a crest of rising pleasure. Your legs shook even as you brought your hand up in a stroke, tightening your grip around the head in the way you knew made his eyes roll back. Precum dripped from the tip of his cock, slicking the way for your fingers to work faster, to make him feel as good as he was making you feel.

“Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’ll be gone before I even get to fuck you.”

He groaned out your name as he flipped you onto your back, moving your hand from his cock as he moved his thumb to rub firm circles against your clit.You threw your head back in pleasure from his show of strength, his forearms and biceps flexing enticingly each time he drove his fingers into you. The fingers of Rafael’s other hand gripped your ass, bringing your hips up to his hand as he kissed his way down your neck and breasts. He murmured praises of ‘beautiful’ and ‘mine’ that made your blood soar, pleasure cresting low in your stomach as your breath quickened. Your moans pitched, your nails digging into Rafael’s shoulder letting him know you were close. He breathed out a few words of Spanish, letting his teeth sink hard into the junction of your neck as you reached your high. His name slipped loudly from your lips before you bit down on your lip, shaking in his arms as he continued to stroke you through your orgasm.

Your gaze was blurry with pleasurable tears when you faced Rafael, bringing his lips to yours in a messy kiss before sneaking off to the washroom for a glass of water. When you re-emerged from the bathroom with a half-drunk glass of water, Rafael was on his back with a hand wrapped lazily around himself, his cock jumping when he caught sight of your flushed face and the growing bruise on your neck. You crawled atop your boyfriend, letting the wetness of your release drag teasingly over the length of his cock. Rafael’s hair was tousled, strands hanging enticingly in front of his eyes as he gazed hungrily at your body. He looked delectable, sweat edging along the edges of his brow and his cock glistening when it peaked above his fingers. He looked at you like a parched man drinking in the sight of an oasis, like you were anything and everything he needed at that moment. You wanted to see just how far he would go to have you.

Testing your luck, you edged your fingers along the edges of Rafael’s arms, guiding them above his head. His eyes were curious as he followed your lead, raising his muscled arms above his head for you to wrap a hand around his wrists. The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he readjusted himself as he raised a teasing eyebrow at you “Want to have me at your mercy, hermosa?”

What had started as a fleeting idea now struck a new wave of arousal over you as you gazed down at the powerful man underneath you, his eyes soft and filled with hot desire. God, he was everything you’d ever wanted presented beautifully between your legs, gazing at you like he wanted to devour you. An idea picked at the corner of your mind, sending a coy smile across your face as you draped your body over Rafael’s chest.

“Tell me.” Rafael looked at you with confusion now, readjusting his hands above his head. His tongue came out to wet his lips. He was usually the one making demands in bed, bending you to his will for both your pleasure. You felt it might be time to turn the tables.  “Keep your hands there, and tell me you want to fuck me, only me.”

Your words were shakier than you’d wanted them to be, revealing your anxieties about taking control in this way for the first time. However, Rafael quickly relaxed under your touch, a new degree of interest entering his gaze at this undiscovered side of you. He looked you in the eyes as he groaned what you had asked. “God, I want to fuck you, more than anything.” 

“I think you can do better than that.” You teased, licking a long stripe along the side of his neck up to his ear. The words felt foreign in your mouth, but you were encouraged by the twitch of his cock against you as he gasped lightly. He looked up at you with a playful glimmer in his eye, a little smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you asking me to beg?”

The words sent a blazing heat to your cunt, swallowing heavily at his words. Rafael’s eyes lit up in a similar way as when he was cross-examining someone in court, when they gave him the inch of leverage that he could stretch a mile. The proud look he got when he had someone exactly where he wanted them.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you cariño. Me, begging for your pussy like it’s the only thing I’ve ever needed in my life.” it was a statement more than a question, and fuck, the confidence he exuded even when he was under you like this had your head spinning with heady arousal. His words rumbled in your chest, urging another movement of your hips against his cock.

“Only if you want your cock inside me at any point tonight.” The words sounded hollow in your throat, undermined by the breathiness of your voice, you pressed against him again to quell off any embarrassment you felt. He grinned like he knew exactly what his words were doing to you, but let himself play the role you’d assigned him for now. If part of you wanted to try something, all of him wanted to comply, to fulfill your every desire.

“God, you look so beautiful like this. Please, please let me inside you. Let me get you off how I know you like hermosa. Please.” Even though you had a feeling he intentionally raised the whininess in his voice, the breathy tones still sent pangs of pleasure to your cunt. You gasped as the words left his mouth, pressing a desperate kiss to Rafael’s lips as you lined up his cock.

Your eyes slipped shut as you eased onto Rafael’s cock, the ridges of the head stroking the sweetest places inside of you that caused stuttered moans to fall from your lips. You ran the flat of your palm up Rafael’s chest, cupping the side of his cheek as you drove his cock into you. Rafael cursed as you seated yourself on his lap, your head thrown back in ecstasy at being filled, at being fucked. His hands shook above his head with the desire to touch you. He keened as you shifted his full length inside you, circling your hips to adjust to him.

You looked down at him between your thighs, flushed high on his cheeks with nothing capturing his attention but your body moving above him on his cock. Each swivel of your hips pushed his cock firmly into that spot that made you see stars and pushed deep, moaning praises from his throat. You reveled in the fact that no one else could see him like this, could make him moan and beg under them like this.

“God, everyone wants you like this and it’s just me that can have you. Just me that makes you feel this good, right baby? They all wish they could have your cock stretching them like this.” You babbled as your thoughts were overwhelmed with pleasure. You knew you sounded half mad, but you were too far gone to notice, relishing in the pleasure deep in your cunt.

“Fuck!” Rafael, moaned your name, finally moving his hands from above his head to bruisingly grab your hips. He raised his knees behind your back to gain leverage to roll his hips into you deep and steady, moans stuttering from your throat with every thrust that sent his cock deep inside you.

“So sexy, keep making those pretty noises for me, please.” Rafael’s words were near ravenous and you were glad you weren’t the only one overwhelmed with pleasure, desperately voicing every dirty thought that came to your mind when you looked at the man in front of you. Rafae’s grip along the curve of your waist allowed him to get the leverage to pull you down hard onto his cock 

“Aah, fuck, please, Rafael, I-I’m gonna—d-don’t stop.” You didn’t know if you meant him pulling you down hard onto his cock or the filthy words that sent heat reeling through your body.

“God,” one of Rafael’s hands slid up to grasp your breast tightly, your nipple brushing the calloused skin of his fingers and had fire licking up your spine. His eyes were wild as he drank in the sight of you crying out on his cock, your fingers reaching to circle your clit as he pulled you against him. His tone was pinched and loud, ragged with his heavy breathing.“I want you to come, on my cock, right now. Please, cariño, give it to me.”

“Raf, God, you’re making me-fuck, yes” You felt tears brim the edge of your eyes as your pleasure climbed to something primal, each rub of your clit, every brush of Rafael’s hands against you setting you aflame until you felt yourself collapsing around him with a cry of his name. He slowed, but never stopped, his movements as he rocked you against him through your orgasm, soothing the shivers of your body with his warm hands. You panted as he came down from your second high of the night, your legs shook with the effort to remain upright. 

“God, you’re killing me. Please, let me come inside you, fill you, I need-” you cracked your eyes to capture Rafael’s expression, lips parted around a moan when you moved your hands to grip at his hair. Hardly trusting your words, you nodded in your agreement with a whispered plea to ‘do it, please, come for me’. Rafael’s body went taut for a heartbeat, driving himself hard into a last few times as he came. His eyes clenched shut, his hands gripping your hips as he mumbled out praise.

Catching your breath, you rolled off of the bed to grab a towel, taking a moment to wipe yourself off before jumping back onto the moderately clean sheets, taking a moment to admire your boyfriend in his post-sex haze. This could be one of your favorite versions of Rafael, limbless and content, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as you regained your breath together. You pressed a kiss to his chest as you wrapped your arm around him, whatever insecurities you had been feeling before was long extinguished by the solidness of Rafael underneath you, his ragged breathing and the ache between your legs as proof of your mutual want.

You lay in silence for a few moments, his fingers carding through your hair before he spoke. He pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, stroking a soft hand across the back of your head. “Will you promise me that, next time you are feeling the way you did at the bar, you’ll let me know instead of storming off. That way, we can talk it through and maybe have a repeat of this, instead of you feeling awful because your mind likes to tell you lies.”

You gave a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth with your smiling lips. “Sounds like we’ve reached a deal, Counselor.”

He let out a rueful groan, pulling you tighter into his chest as you giggled. “Call me that again and I’ll be rescinding my offer.”

“Understood…Counselor.” you whispered, avoiding his playfully stern gaze by heading to the kitchen to get that wine he had promised you.

[autisticempathydaemon]

Redactober 2024 Day Twenty-One

Prompt: Lasko & Love

Pairing: Lasko/James

cw: canon typical Lasko anxiety

“Of course, I love you too”

Available on AO3 here!

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“You’re thinking really loudly again.”

“Are you inside?” Lasko yelps nervously, hand coming up to his mussed hair as if that would hide the chaos inside. Next to him on their couch, James laughs, shaking his head.

“No, I’ve just got eyes. You’re about to spill your tea, you’re so jittery. What’s going on today?” he asks, pausing the episode of Law and Order: SVU, a show he won’t admit he likes and claims to only watch because it’s his nervous boyfriend’s favorite. Looking at the screen but not really seeing it, said boyfriend licks his lips, thoughts moving a mile a minute. “Would it be easier if you let me in?”

“No!” Lasko protests with another yelp, coming dangerously close to upturning his tea again before placing it on the table with a clatter, fussing with the coaster as he avoids eye contact. “Sorry, that sounded so suspicious, like I’m hiding something. I’m not hiding anything- well, I guess technically I am but nothing bad! At least, I don’t think you’ll think it’s bad. It’s okay if you do though. I don’t want to presume or dictate how you feel. I just want to- to- Umm, fuck, I want to-”

“Breathe,” James says, taking one of Lasko’s hands in his and sliding closer so their legs are pressed together, so his boyfriend can feel the warmth of him. “Take your time. You’ve got time to figure out what you want to do.” The telepath kisses the air elemental’s cheek, and Lasko turns, leaning into it and tucking his head into the crook of James’s neck.

“I wanted to be able to put it into words, to- to not have to take the easy way and have you read my mind so I- so I wouldn’t have to do the work.”

“And you still can,” James murmurs matter-of-factly, running him hand up and down Lasko’s back. “I don’t think of it that way, but I can be patient and give you time to gather your words if that’s what you want.”

“Thank god. I love you,” Lasko says in an relieved exhale before jerking upright, slapping a palm over his mouth. “That’s not how- That’s not how I wanted them to come out. I wanted- I was going to-”

“I love you too. Of course, I love you too. Is that what you’ve been wanting to say?” The professor nods, eyes wide and imploring over his still covered mouth. “Then that’s settled. You said it. I said it back, and I consider it the farthest from a bad thing. Now, how about we revel in a job well done with some deep breaths, hm?” James pulls Lasko into a loose embrace, his fingertips tapping a light tattoo against the other’s shuddering rib cage until his lover relaxes in his arms.

[k3nnedycurse]

hello friends! just wanted to toss my hat in the ring and put out some feelers.

i’ll preface this as I’m not looking to replace any current partners, just looking to add some more!

my name is bria, i’m 26, and a dog mom to the cutest pitbull alive! pronouns are she/her. Currently in the EST timeline, living in the land of snow and he best football team. i’ve been roleplaying almost half of my life so i have tons of experience to bring to the table.

preferable to fandoms, which i have a extensive list of, but am quite literally down to do anything.

my list of fandoms off the top of my head would be:

-succession

-game of thrones / hotd

-marvel (would actually die for netflix mcu???)

-law and order svu

-sons of anarchy / mayans

but wait! there’s more! no really, there is. name it and I’m probably in it. i am also very comfortable with anything slice of life, original plot, creating our own verse.

i prefer canon x oc pairings if we're going to do fandom and i am doubling friendly. primarily mxf, but am comfortable doing any type of pairing. my favorite genres would be angst as an former baby emo and fluff, and everyone's favorite.. slow burn. romance is definitely wanted as well!

please be 21. i'm pretty flexible on length but i do tend to hit character limit and get a bit wordy for a lack of better wording.

but that’s all for me! If you are interested, feel free to message me or react to my post!

[arcane-ish]

My least favorite fan criticism is when somebody says the show didn't fully address and deal with somebody's trauma.

Whether it's Vi's or Jinx's or Silco's or Viktor's or Mel's or Caitlyn's.

I LOATHE this argument.

A big part of this is that I've been around this block so many times already.

I have watched a lot of superhero shows. And guess what these shows have a fixed cast of characters and every single episode somewhat dangerous happens so the superhero has a reason to come in and use their superpowers.

So no, we are not going to dedicate a season to the fact that a character got clocked over the head or abducted or had a loved one die or had to fight a loved one. It's not going to happen. Because it's an action adventure show and all these things exist to give the characters an interesting reason to punch things and emote.

Meticulous in depth treatment of the effects of these things and recovery from them? This is what fanfiction is for.

But no, these things were never going to be part of the show, because this is not what the show is about.

Maybe once there will be this unicorn show that manages to pull this off.

But 99,99999% percent, the answer is always going to be: no it's not gonna happen. Like if you are super lucky it will be implied that some sort of trauma healing happened off screen between seasons. (ie whenever Oliva Benson gets tortured particularly dramatically in a season finale on Law and Order SVU)

And maybe unpopular opinion: a lot of the time when a show tries to throw in a "that character is devastated by trauma" arc, it doesn't typically make the shows better.

IMO what usually happens is that a show airs and fans deeply emotionally attach a certain character, they hyperfocus them, they follow their story and their actions above all others, they see the world through their eyes, they overanalyze every detail.

And so yes, they look at everything that happens to them and overthink it and expand it. And now, I love that in a fannish sense. As a way to bond with people and inspire inspiration and get people to create fix it fix and art and everything.

And yes, there's some legit criticism in "maybe the show shouldn't tackle serious topics like prison abuse or pedophilia or genocide if they are not going to take them seriously". But I have experienced arguments like this over things like "this character got conveniently knocked out so they wouldn't see a certain plotpoint".

I get that in many ways angst and trauma are the currency of fandom. And though I think it looks a bit weird, I at least get the positive competition of people trying to make their fave attractive by going on about all their angst and trauma potential (or bonding with fellow fans who already like that character). I like it a lot less when it goes into the negative direction and people trying to dig out the trauma lists to prove that their character is great actually or shouldn't be disliked.

And I like it least when it feels like people blame the show for not giving their character the whump, because if the how canonically addressed and focused the fave's plight then the other fans would have to acknowledge it too and that fave's status would rise in the fandom. And sometimes I'm not sure that people get that this is not actually good criticism.

The show isn't "doing bad a writing" just because they didn't address your fave's trauma. Because very usually it is:

NOBODY'S TRAUMA WAS ADDRESSED IN DEPTH. THIS IS NOT HOW THESE SHOWS WORK.

And a decent number of times there's even a reason why these shows don't work that way. Because watching months and months of characters healing from their trauma would actually not make an interesting show for anybody other than the most hardcore fans of that character.

Again, on some levels I get it. If angst and trauma are a fandom currency then "attention" and "acknowledgement" is a currency within a show. This is a lot how shows communicate that a character is important. Not just via screentime but also by how present a character is when they are not on screen. Do other characters talk about them, do other characters express that they are scary or sexy or impressive, does the plot consider them a major threat. And the thing is: sometimes those are genuine political topics. Do, not just in a single show, but across a whole media landscape, female or non-white or lgbt+ or disabled characters get to be high in the show's pecking order.

But still too often it feels like some fans act like it's a bug if not everybody other fans likes their character. And again, yes, there's a discussion to be had about the actions of a character weren't explained well enough or their arc wasn't clean or satisfying enough. Those discussions are important to have. But people are different. You will always have people react in all kinds of ways towards characters. You will always have camps just based on personal tastes and interests. This is not a bug of the show, it's just a feature of society. (again, yes the show's writing being messy can make those rifts within fandom worse, but "the show didn't address my fave's trauma" most likely isn't the only category here)

==> all these thoughts were kind of triggered by people's takes on Arcane's ending. And here's my hot take: I don't think anybody got an ending that was substantially worse or better than the others of the ones they bothered to depict. The show went for a muted, tainted ending. Nobody gets a clean, victorious ending. (there's a good point made by this Schnee video on how even Singed's ending should be taken with a grain of salt)