#l&o svu

[bigwolfgums]

john munch looks like a 50 y/o black cat lesbian.

[fawtyy]

Valentines Day

Rafael Barba x fem! Reader

Warnings: established relationship, piv sex, oral (female receiving), foreplay, fluff after

Word count: 2k

Rafael Barba stuck the key in the door, pausing and laying his forehead on the cool wood. It was 11pm, on Valentines Day, and he was supposed to be home by 8.

You told him that morning of the plans you had. Exchange gifts, have dinner that you would make, and have the best sex of your lives. It stayed on Barba's mind all day. He could barley concentrate on his work, imagining how you would look. What you would wear. Would you curled the way he liked it? Would you wear the red lingerie he bought you?

God, he hoped so.

But a new case was dropped on his desk, and he got stuck at his office. A text was sent to you at 7:30, telling you he would only be 30 minutes late. Another text was sent at 8:30, apologizing and promising he'd be there by 9, 9:30 at the latest. By 10, he didn't even bother texting you. He knew you were upset and angry, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He already bought your gift and had it bagged up at home. A beautiful diamond necklace, one that you pointed out months ago while on a trip. On his way home, he picked up a bouquet of red roses, hoping to soften the blow that he knew was coming.

Taking one last breath, he twisted the key and pushed the door open, closing and locking it behind him. Turning around, he noticed the lights in the apartment were off, but candles were everywhere, burning brightly. Placing his briefcase on the chair, he looked down to see rose petals, a path to your shared bedroom.

As he passed the kitchen, he noticed how clean it was, like it hadn't been touched. Like you hadn't cooked at all. Barba took his coat and blazer off, laying them across a table chair, before following path of petals. Stopping at the closed door, he heard soft music coming from inside. Pushing it open, his brows raised and his jaw dropped.

There you were, sitting on the end of the bed. Your hair, just like he hoped, curled around your shoulders. The red lingerie looking incredible on you, your breast on full display for him. You were leaned back on the back, your hands holding you up. His eyes trailed down your body, his tongue darting out slightly as he kept going. "Like what you see counselor?"

Rafael's eyes shot back up to your face, makeup perfectly highlighting your beautiful features. A smirk was playing across your lips, lips he couldn't wait to get his own on. "Oh, hermosa, I am blinded by your beauty right now." Your smirk turned into a smile, pushing yourself off the bed and walking towards him. His eyes followed your every move, a smirk starting to tease his lips.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't be home by 8, so I took a risk. I didn't cook and set up the apartment." His eyes looked at the bed, rose petals scattered across it. "Are those for me?"

He only then remembered the flowers in his hands, quickly holding them up for you to grab. "Indeed they are. I thought it might gain me some browny points but I can see that they weren't needed."

Nodding, you smelt them before placing them on your table. "No, but they are beautiful. I love them." Turning back to Barba, he started walking to you, taking in every inch of skin on display. "I thought you might need a stress reliever tonight."

Loosening his tie, he pulled it off while a chuckle escaped his mouth. "Cariño, I need a stress reliever every night." You grinned while he held his hand up to your face, caressing your cheek. "I do believe I was promised the best sex of my life this morning. Or was that a lie too?"

Shaking your head, you pursed your lips while unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Oh, no baby. That, most definitely, was not a lie." Pushing the shirt past his shoulders, he shrugged it off, pulling the undershirt off as well.

Barba kicked his shoes off while you unbuckled his belt. He grabbed your hands, stopping your actions, causing you to become confused. "All I want you to do right now is get your pretty ass in that bed, and let me take care of you."

"But Raf-"

"Did I stutter?" You immediately stopped talking, a small smile playing along your lips. Walking to the bed, you swayed your hips, climbing onto the bed, your ass stuck in the air.

Turning over, you laid your head on the pillows, spreading your legs. "No sir, you did not."

Rafael's smirk became larger, his hands sliding his belt off and dropping on the ground. He didn't bother with his pants right now, opting to climb in the bed with you. He held himself up above you, taking in your beauty while you stared up at him. "You are breathtaking, do you know that?"

You shyly smiled. "You remind me everyday."

Smiling, Rafael leaned down and captured your lips in a heated kiss, going down on his forearms to get even closer. Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him closer. The kiss turned more heated, your tongues fighting in your mouth, teeth clashing as you let a moan slip out.

Falling on his side, Rafael pulled you to him on your side, quickly unlatching your bra and throwing it aside. Your breasts fell, Rafael immediately pushing himself down and capturing your nipple, sucking and biting at it. "Oh fuck, Rafa..."

His hand came up, pinching and rolling the other around, causing whimpers to fall from your mouth. Stopping his assault, he began kissing down your chest, sucking and licking around your naval while he pushed back on your back. Your breathing picked up as you watched him go further and further down. Once he got to the waistband on your thong, he looked up at you, making sure.

"Rafa, please."

That was all it took. He placed open mouthed kisses around your clothed pussy. His tongue darted out, licking through the fabric. You were getting frustrated and restless, hating the teasing. Rafael leaned up some and pulled the thong down your legs, throwing it behind him. Sitting up on his knees, he took in your bare body. You were exquisite, lying there and waiting for him to ravish you. Rubbing your thighs, he met your eyes, his lids low. "I am going to ruin you for any other man, if you ever decide you'll no longer have me. Are you ready for that, hermosa?"

Smirking, you nodded. "Beyond ready, counselor."

Rafael dove in, not being able to hold himself back anymore. The first stride had you gasping for air, on hand tangling in his hair and the other gripped the sheet. He held your legs on his shoulders, his hands gripping your thighs. His mouth worked magic, eating like hadn't ate in weeks. He was starved and your pussy was the only thing that could please and fix that.

He added in two fingers, sucking at your clit and pulling away with a pop. He glanced up to watch you come undone. Your head was thrown back into the pillows, both hands now gripping the sheets while whimpers and moans fell from your mouth.

He pulled his mouth away while his fingers continued on, curling to hit that perfect stop. "Oh my god, oh my-fuck.."

He smiled, shaking his head. "Not god baby, not god ever. It will always be me."

Pushing and curling, he watched you release your orgasm, thighs shaking as he kept going. Your hand shot down to grab his before he gently gripped your wrist, pulling it back. Keeping his fingers in you, he pulled himself up to be face to face with you. "Who do you think you are to try and make me stop? Who's in charge here?" You couldn't stop moaning long enough to answer the question, until he paused his movements, watching your eyes open. "I asked a question."

"You Rafa, you're in charge."

He leaned down and placed light kisses on your neck. "You're goddamn right I am." It was whispered but you heard it, and it made you clench around his fingers, something he immediately noticed. "Oh, chica sucia, you are so in for it."

He placed a gentle kiss on your lips before moving back down to his knees. Unbuttoning his slacks, he slid them off, leaving him only his boxers. Sitting up, you caressed his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. One hand trailed down his neck and abdomen, stopping to play with his waistband. He pulled back for air while looking down at your sneaky hand. "Would he like some attention?"

Nodding, Rafael bit his lip to not smile too wide. "Oh, he would love some." Before slipping your hand in, you brought it back up to lick your wet tongue on your palm, watching Rafael's eyes darken with lust. You gripped the base of his cock, slowly moving your hand up and down, teasing his tip each time. "Oh fuck, Y/n..."

Hearing Rafael moan out your name filled you with pride, it did every time. His moans were always so pretty and he didn't always let them slip. "Do you like that baby?" He nodded, his face falling to the crook of your neck, lips sucking bruises that you'll have to hide the next few days. "You know what I'd like?" Feeling him shake his hand, you got close enough to whisper in his ear. "You taking away my ability to walk."

Not a second went by as he pushed you to lay back down, staring at you with hooded lids. "Ask and you shall receive, querida."

Sliding his boxers down, you watched his pretty cock spring out. Rafael wasn't just long, he was thick. You've had sex with him so many times, and it still stretches you everytime.

Rafael pulls your legs, pulling down the bed, and places your ankles on his shoulders. He took his tip, rubbing it around your slit before lining himself up. Watching your face, he slowly pushed in, inch by inch, your face scrunching up in slight pain. "Shh shh shh, mi amor, it'll all be okay." He bottomed out and you gasped slightly, gripping the sheets. "Just say when."

Waiting a few seconds, you nodded and he moved his hips back, sliding his cock along your warm, wet walls. He stopped at the tip, before slowly moving back in. After doing this for a couple strides, the pain turned into pleasure, moans spilling out. Rafael took that as his cue to speed up, causing your moans to grow louder. You clenched around his cock, causing him to hiss but keep his rhythm. "You don't come until I do."

Your moan got mixed with a whine. "Rafa I can't-"

"You can and you will." He sped up, feeling his own orgasm building up. Grabbing your thighs, he bent your legs, your knees side your ears. The new position made it even more difficult to hold off, being able to feel everything. "Fuck Y/n, how do you get tighter every time?" One of your hands gripped his forearm, nails sliding down and you tried to hold it in. Rafael was about to bust any second. "Come ángel, come around my cock."

You wanted to scream with satisfaction as your second orgasm washed over you, Rafael following behind. You felt his cum shoot and cover your gooey walls, a groan coming from his mouth as his head was thrown back. You stayed like that, both of you catching your breaths.

Rafael pulled your legs down, gently placing them on the bed as he laid on top of you. He placed light kisses along your cheek and neck, your hand mixing in his hair. "You did so good, mi amor, tan buena..."

You smiled and kissed the top of his head, rubbing his upper arm. "Happy Valentines Day, handsome."

Rafael lifted his head up, smiling as he kissed your lips. "Best day of my life."

[rmytears]

The Art of Planning (and How Love Ruins It). calex one shot.

SUMMARY: In which Alex overthinks gifts, Casey burns dinner, and love happens anyway.

Alex Cabot had built her career on being three steps ahead. In the courtroom, her reputation for meticulous preparation was legendary – defense attorneys visibly deflated when they saw her striding in, armed with perfectly organized files and arguments sharp enough to slice through even the most carefully constructed alibis. Her colleagues joked that she probably planned her grocery shopping with the same tactical precision she applied to cross-examinations.

They weren't entirely wrong.

But now, on a grey February afternoon that couldn't seem to decide between rain and snow, Manhattan's most formidable ADA sat in her corner office on the tenth floor, surrounded by the fruits of what could only be described as a gift-buying panic spiral.

The evidence of her unraveling was spread across her usually pristine desk: six presents – no, seven, if you counted the small box of artisanal chocolates she'd impulse-bought on her lunch break. Each item had seemed perfect in isolation, chosen with the kind of thoughtful consideration that spoke of hours spent analyzing casual conversations, filing away small details, noting the way Casey's eyes would linger on certain things in store windows during their weekend walks.

A leather-bound journal, smooth and elegant, because Casey once mentioned during a late-night conversation over take out and case files that she preferred writing things down by hand rather than typing them into her phone. "There's something about pen on paper," she'd said, absently twirling lo mein around her fork. "Like you're really connecting with your thoughts."

Next to it sat the first-edition copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, sourced from a rare bookstore in the Village that Alex had visited four times before committing to the purchase. She'd watched Casey's face light up whenever she referenced the book, had seen the worn paperback copy on her office shelf, its spine cracked from countless readings.

The cashmere throw blanket was folded into a perfect square, its soft grey material catching the winter light. That one had been easy – Casey was always stealing Alex's blanket during their movie nights, wrapping herself in it like a cocoon and claiming squatter's rights with a grin that made argument impossible. An adorable but exasperating habit.

A silver necklace, understated yet sophisticated, something that would look effortlessly perfect against the curve of Casey’s collarbone. Alex had spent an entire Saturday afternoon in Tiffany's, driving the sales associate slightly mad with her determination to find something that would suit Casey's understated style. Nothing flashy enough to draw attention in court, but beautiful enough to make her eyes sparkle when she caught her reflection.

The bottle of small-batch bourbon stood sentinel among the softer gifts, its amber contents promising warmth. Alex was ninety percent certain it was Casey's preferred brand – she'd seen her order it once at Forlini's after a particularly brutal case, but now doubt crept in. What if she'd remembered wrong?

And then there was the plush golden retriever, sitting there like a furry manifestation of Alex's complete loss of perspective. She blamed that one on the late-night conversation they'd had months ago, when Casey had joked about wanting a dog. It had been an offhand comment, something small, something inconsequential. And yet, somehow that had translated into Alex buying a stuffed animal like they were teenagers exchanging Valentine's gifts in high school.

But now? Now she was sitting here, staring at this ridiculous assortment of gifts, and none of it felt like the gift. The one that would say what she wanted it to say, what she hadn't quite figured out how to put into words yet.

She ran both hands through her hair, disheveling the perfect blonde waves she'd spent twenty minutes styling that morning. "What am I doing?"

Because Valentine’s Day was tonight, and for the first time in her life, Alex had no plan

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The gifts stared back at her, each one suddenly seeming inadequate, too much, or completely wrong for their first Valentine's Day together.

Their first Valentine's Day.

The thought sent another wave of anxiety through her chest. Because this wasn't just about gifts – this was about what they meant. About the way Casey had slowly but surely dismantled every careful wall Alex had built around her heart, not with battering rams or siege engines, but with crooked smiles and terrible puns and a kindness that seemed as natural as breathing.

She was so lost in her spiral of overthinking that the knock on her office door barely registered before it swung open.

"Alex—"

She jumped, her head snapping up to find Olivia Benson standing in her doorway, dark eyes taking in the gift shop display with growing amusement.

The silence stretched for one beat, two.

Then—

"Wow." Olivia's eyebrow arched with the precision of a master interrogator. "Are you—are you starting a side business I should know about?"

Alex let her head fall forward with a groan. "Go away."

"Let me guess," Olivia continued, ignoring the dismissal as she stepped fully into the office, closing the door behind her. "You have no idea what to give Casey?"

Alex straightened, crossing her arms. "I do have an idea. Several, actually."

Olivia gestured toward the overwhelming collection. "Clearly."

"It has to be perfect," Alex insisted, the words carrying more weight than she'd intended.

Olivia snorted, stepping further inside. "Alex, it’s Valentine’s Day, not a Supreme Court case."

"You don’t understand," Alex muttered, leaning back in her chair. "It has to be the gift. The one that shows her how much I—" She cut herself off, pressing her lips together.

Olivia’s smirk softened into something more knowing.

"Oh," she said, voice lighter. "I see what this is about."

Alex looked away, fixing her gaze on the bourbon bottle as if it held the answers.

"You know she's going to love whatever you give her, right? The woman looks at you like you hung the moon."

Alex sighed, removing her glasses to rub at her temples. "It doesn't feel right yet. None of it feels... enough."

"You do realize," Olivia said, perching on the edge of Alex's desk with familiar ease, "that Casey is probably driving herself just as crazy right now?"

Alex scoffed. "Casey? Freaking out? Olivia, she's the most laid-back person I've ever met. She wore Converse to court last week."

"Those were her backup shoes and you know it," Olivia countered. "Her heel broke on the courthouse steps. But trust me," her grin turned knowing, "when it comes to you? That woman is anything but laid-back."

Meanwhile, across town...

Casey Novak was indeed proving Olivia's point by pacing the length of her apartment, stress-eating her way through a heart-shaped box of chocolates that she'd bought for Alex but opened in a moment of weakness.

"I'm screwed," she announced to her audience of one, running her free hand through already-disheveled red hair. "Completely and utterly screwed."

John Munch, resident conspiracy theorist and unlikely relationship counselor, watched her from his spot on her worn leather couch. He'd shown up twenty minutes ago with case files that could have easily waited until tomorrow, fooling exactly no one about his real reasons for visiting.

"This is wildly entertaining," he commented, helping himself to one of the rapidly diminishing chocolates. "Like watching a rom-com in real time, but with more pacing and fewer musical montages."

"Munch," Casey groaned, flopping onto the couch beside him. "I had everything planned. The perfect reservation at that little Italian place she loves – the one where the owner still makes everything from his grandmother's recipes. And now? Now I have nothing. The pipe burst in their kitchen this morning, they're closed for at least a week, and every other decent restaurant in Manhattan has been booked solid for months."

"You could always cook something," Munch suggested, examining a chocolate before popping it into his mouth.

Casey turned to stare at him, green eyes wide with horror. "Have you met me? I burned instant ramen last week. Instant. Ramen."

"Ah," Munch nodded sagely. "Fair point."

Casey slumped further into the couch, staring at her ceiling as if it might offer solutions. "What do you get someone who color-codes their legal briefs and probably has a spreadsheet for organizing her sock drawer?"

"Something she doesn't know she wants yet," Munch offered, his voice carrying the kind of wisdom that came from decades of observing human nature – and several failed marriages of his own.

Casey sat up slowly, something shifting in her expression. "That's... actually helpful."

"Don't sound so surprised," Munch smirked. "I have my moments."

The ceiling fan spun lazily above them, stirring the winter-cold air. Casey's apartment was smaller than Alex's, cozier, with mismatched furniture and law books stacked on every available surface. Photos covered one wall – her family, her softball team, candid shots of the squad at various gatherings. And there, right in the center, a picture from the summer: Alex laughing at something off-camera, the setting sun turning her hair to gold, her guard completely down in a way few people ever got to see.

Casey's eyes fixed on that photo, and something settled in her chest. "Right," she said, standing up with sudden determination. "I need to go shopping."

Munch raised an eyebrow. "Now? It's almost five."

"Exactly," Casey grabbed her coat. "I have two hours before I'm supposed to be at Alex's. Plenty of time."

"For what?"

Casey grinned, an idea taking shape. "Something she doesn't know she wants yet."

By the time they met at Alex’s apartment, both of them were still very convinced they had somehow managed to ruin Valentine’s Day.

Alex's apartment occupied the corner of a pre-war building in the West Village, all high ceilings and hardwood floors and windows that caught the last rays of sunset. Usually, the space felt like a reflection of its owner – elegant, organized, everything in its proper place. But tonight, the familiar rooms held a different energy, charged with anticipation and the faint scent of... something burning.

Alex had eventually settled on giving Casey the book—plus the necklace, because she couldn’t decide—and Casey, in a moment of pure panic, had decided to cook.

As soon as Alex stepped into her apartment, an unusual noise pulled her toward the kitchen. The sight that met her stopped her cold.

Her immaculate kitchen – where she usually prepared nothing more complicated than coffee – had been transformed into what looked like the aftermath of a culinary war zone. Flour dusted the granite countertops like fresh snow. A pot of something that might have once been pasta sat abandoned in the sink. And in the middle of it all stood Casey Novak, wearing jeans and Alex's borrowed apron, staring at a slightly charred attempt at... something... with the same expression she usually reserved for particularly challenging cross-examinations.

"Casey?"

Casey jumped, nearly dropping the wooden spoon she was clutching like a lifeline. "Alex! Hi! You're early!"

Alex glanced at the antique wall clock – a gift from her grandmother – that hung between her windows. "It's seven."

"Exactly!" Casey nodded with the kind of desperate enthusiasm that suggested she was clinging to the last threads of a plan rapidly unraveling. "Early!"

Alex bit back a smile, taking in the complete picture: Casey's hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, a smudge of flour decorated her left cheek, and she had somehow managed to get tomato sauce on her forehead. She looked absolutely nothing like the polished ADA who could reduce defense attorneys to stammering messes, and absolutely everything like someone Alex wanted to kiss senseless.

"Casey," she said softly, stepping into the disaster zone that was her kitchen.

Casey's shoulders slumped. She ran a flour-dusted hand through her hair, adding to the general chaos. "Okay, so I had this really amazing dinner planned at Vincenzo's – you know, that little place where you always get the linguine with clams? But then their kitchen flooded, which, by the way, is definitely a conspiracy because who has a pipe burst on Valentine's Day? So I thought – how hard can cooking be? People do it every day. Children do it. I have multiple degrees. I once got a conviction with nothing but circumstantial evidence and a half-decent witness."

She gestured at the pot in the sink. "Turns out? Very hard. Cooking is very hard. And pasta is apparently a lot more complicated than 'boil water, add noodles.' Who knew?"

Alex stepped closer, examining the remnants of what appeared to be an attempt at marinara sauce. "You cooked for me?"

"Attempted to cook," Casey corrected, her voice carrying that particular mix of frustration and self-deprecating humor that Alex had fallen in love with months ago, even if she hadn't admitted it to herself at the time. "What you're looking at is less 'cooking' and more 'crime against Italian cuisine.'"

Alex's heart did something complicated in her chest. Because this was Casey – brilliant, passionate Casey who could argue constitutional law for hours but couldn't make coffee without detailed instructions – standing in her kitchen on Valentine's Day, having tried to cook dinner just because she knew Alex loved Italian food.

She reached out, brushing the flour from Casey's cheek with gentle fingers. "I love it."

Casey groaned. "You haven't even tasted it yet. Which, by the way, you're not going to, because I refuse to be responsible for giving you food poisoning on Valentine's Day."

Alex smirked. "Doesn't matter."

"You're just saying that because you brought me a present," Casey narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "and now you feel bad that I ruined dinner."

Alex hesitated, thinking of the collection of gifts she'd finally narrowed down to two. "...maybe."

Casey sighed dramatically, but her eyes were sparkling. "Fine. Let's see it. But first—" She reached for a dishtowel, attempting to clean some of the flour off her hands. "I should probably try to look less like I got into a fight with a bag of flour."

"I don't know," Alex mused, "I think it's a good look on you. Very... domestic."

Casey snorted. "Yeah, that's me. Domestic goddess." She gave up on the flour and turned to face Alex fully. "Okay, hit me with it. What perfectly thoughtful, absolutely perfect gift did Alexandra Cabot choose?"

Alex's confidence wavered slightly as she retrieved the carefully wrapped packages from where she'd left them in the living room. What if she'd overthought this? What if—

No. She was Alexandra Cabot. She did not second-guess herself.

(Except, apparently, when it came to Casey Novak.)

She handed over the first box, wrapped in simple silver paper. "This one first."

Casey took it carefully, as if it might explode. Her fingers traced the edges before finding the seam and unwrapping it with surprising delicacy for someone who usually attacked packaging like it had personally offended her.

The book's leather binding caught the light as she lifted it from its wrapping. Casey's breath caught audibly as she read the title, fingers hovering over the gilt lettering as if afraid to touch it.

"Alex..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "This is... is this..."

"First edition," Alex confirmed softly. "I remembered you saying it was your favorite."

Casey swallowed hard, still staring at the book. "My dad used to read it to me. Every summer when we visited my grandparents in Georgia. He'd do all the voices..." She trailed off, blinking rapidly.

"And this," Alex added quickly, not wanting Casey to cry (because if Casey cried, she would cry, and she'd spent far too long on her makeup for that), holding out the second box.

Casey opened it with slightly shaky hands, revealing the delicate silver necklace nestled against black velvet. A small pendant caught the light – a simple design that somehow managed to be both classic and modern, exactly like the woman it was meant for.

She stared at it for a long moment, then looked up at Alex with an expression that made Alex's heart skip several beats.

"Okay," Casey whispered, "now I feel worse about the pasta."

Alex laughed softly. "Don't. I love my gift."

"I burned pasta."

"You tried."

"And failed. Spectacularly."

"And I still love you."

The words fell into the space between them like stones into still water, ripples of meaning expanding outward. Alex felt her breath catch as she realized what she'd said – what she'd been feeling for months but hadn't dared to voice.

Casey went very still, her eyes wide and startlingly green in the kitchen's warm light.

Because they hadn't said that yet. Hadn't put words to this thing that had grown between them, starting with late-night strategy sessions over Chinese food and growing into something that made Alex's carefully ordered world tilt on its axis in the best possible way.

But now that the words were out there, Alex knew with absolute certainty that they were true. She loved Casey Novak, with her terrible puns and her passion for justice and her complete inability to cook pasta. She loved her in a way that made all her careful plans and strategies irrelevant, in a way that scared her and thrilled her in equal measure.

Casey's smile bloomed slowly, like sunrise breaking over the city. "You love me?" she whispered, and there was wonder in her voice, as if she couldn't quite believe it.

Alex exhaled, her fingers finding Casey's cheek again, thumb brushing over that stubborn smudge of flour. "Yeah," she said simply. "I do."

Casey swallowed, then whispered back, "I love you too." A pause, then: "Even though you're definitely going to hold this pasta thing over my head forever."

Alex laughed, soft and real. "Only until you learn to cook."

"So, forever then."

And then Alex kissed her, tasting flour and chocolate and something that might have been marinara sauce. Casey's hands came up to tangle in her hair, probably getting flour everywhere, but Alex couldn't bring herself to care.

Because this – this moment in her disaster of a kitchen, with the smell of burnt pasta in the air and Casey's heartbeat under her palms – this was perfect.

Later, they ordered takeout from the Thai place around the corner. They ate on Alex's couch, Casey wearing Alex's necklace and reading aloud from her new book, doing all the voices just like her father used to. The pasta pot sat soaking in the sink, a reminder that sometimes the best gifts aren't the ones we plan, but the ones that come from trying and failing and loving anyway.

And that made it the best Valentine's Day either of them had ever had.

Burnt pasta and all.

[woman-eternal]

I literally love early law and order SVU because they’re so judgmental of freaky men. They find out that a guy watches porn and they’re like.. this fellow is sus. Perhaps a killer. And they’re right

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

I feel like in Evolution, Paget Brewster has become to Criminal Minds what Mariska Hargitay is to Law & Order: SVU.

THEN…

2006/ 1999

NOW…

2024…

[kellyrutherfords]

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

[scarlettjemily]

screaming, crying, throwing up

law & order svu | 25x7

[gillslyds]

Inside Out 2 if it was filmed inside my head

[iriily]

All time favourite Christopher Meloni tweet

[scottstiles]

Law & Order: SVU ↳ 20x17 Missing

[mistandshcdow]

law & order svu x text posts

[moonflowerxox]

thinking abt these photos

[jelestes]

this woman truly had no fucks to give whatsoever, i miss her dearly.

[teddykisser]

Protective & Possessive

Part 2 to Our Little Family

Beautiful Things

Captain Olivia Benson x Pregnant Female Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, Kissing, Fluff, Mean Remarks, Secret Pregnancy, Protective Rolline, Posessive Reader, Massage, Dead Bodies, Suggestive Themes, Horny Reader, Brief D/S Dynamic Mention, Slight Smut Towards End.

You were back at work the next day. Your lunch break spent in Olivia's office. You rested your hands on your stomach, in awe that there was really a baby in there.

Olivia sat at her desk, admiring you. A soft smile was present on her face as you touched your stomach. Olivia herself was still in shock that you were pregnant.

She gently turned your head back up to meet hers, giving you a sweet kiss before pulling away and looking at you. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked softly, still holding your waist.

Her gaze fell onto you.

"Mhm, better get back out there.." You nodded, beginning to detach yourself from her arms.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything." Olivia added.

You closed the door behind you as you watched Rollins return from her break.

"Hi Y/N" She smiled, sitting at her desk.

"Hey Manda, what's new?" You spoke, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"There's been a break in the case" Munch interrupted.

As Munch briefed the team, Olivia focused on the work in front of her. She was only half paying attention to what was going on. She was still thinking about earlier, thinking about you being pregnant with her child. The thought alone filled her with warmth. She knew this would be something she'd be thinking about for the rest of the day.

The case required the team to go into the field. Olivia grabbed her coat and bag to follow everyone else into action. The case wasn't too bad, thankfully. She walked with the team, making sure to keep an eye on you throughout. She couldn't help but be a bit protective, especially knowing that you were now carrying a baby, her baby.

There was a dead body that had been dead for a few days so it had a rancid smell. You tried to resist gagging and keep your composure. This action didn't go unnoticed by Liv.

She saw your expression as you saw the body and inched closer to you. Olivia placed her hand on your back, rubbing it gently. "You okay, dear?" She asked. She didn't want you to be too stressed, especially now. She was a bit concerned for your health.

"Y-Yeah.. it's just the s-smell" You admitted, whispering in her ear. You didn't want the rest of the team to know the news just yet. Didn't wanna jinx it.

Olivia nodded and kept a hand on your back, gently rubbing circles with her thumb, trying to comfort you. "Oh. My love.. It's going to be alright. Just breathe for me, okay?" She knew the next few months wouldn't be easy for you but it will be so worth it.

"You alright, Y/N? It's not your first dead body, is it?" Munch remarked, his eyes judging you.

Olivia looked up, her eyes glared at the other detective. This wasn't the time or place for jokes. She moved her hand from your back, instead putting it on your stomach, rubbing it softly. "It's alright," she reassured you, ignoring the other detective's comment.

"You know she's one of the younger agents leave her alone" Rollins spoke, referring to your age. Rollins was very motherly to you, and protective of you so she came to your rescue.

"Thank you, Amanda" Olivia turned to Rollins, giving her a nod. She hated when her teammates made comments that were just insensitive. She knew they didn't mean to be rude, but now was certainly not the time. The captain kept her hand on your stomach, rubbing it gently.

"In public?" You mouthed, refering to Liv's hand caressing your stomach. You didn't want your team to find out and this was a dead giveaway.

Olivia knew what you meant. She couldn't help but feel a bit protective and wanted everyone to know, but she also wasn't quite ready for anyone to know yet. She knew it would only be a matter of time before someone put the pieces together. "You're doing so well, don't worry about the others." She whispered, trying to reassure you.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

The team had returned back to the office, wrapping up the case. You were in Olivia's office, relaxing. The team knew of your relationship with the captain but they didn't know that you two were trying to have a child.

Olivia's hovered behind you, her hands working the knots in your shoulder. "You're so tense, my love.." Olivia spoke softly.

You closed your eyes, lending your hand back slightly. A quiet groan escaped from your lips.

"That's it baby, let it all out" Olivia encouraged. Her lips ghosted your neck.

"You're such a good girl, my best girl" She praised.

You stood up, backing Liv against the wall. Your gaze darkened, you bit your lip as your hand found it's way around her neck.

"Shh.. Gotta keep quiet Captain.." You smirked, you sucked on the skin on her neck, taking it between your teeth.

"Mine" You whimpered against her.

Olivia couldn't lie, she was turned on by your possessiveness, and slightly curious of where it came from. She wasn't complaining though.

"B-baby.. we're a-at work" She reminded you, trying to keep her composure and not submit to you. She didn't want to give up her power but God you felt so good against her.

"Mmm.. don't you want this Liv.." Yiu mumbled against her, your other hand snaked down to her stomach, resting just below her pants.

"We're still at work, we'll have time for this later." Olivia added gently, pulling your face away from her neck.

"Benson! Y/L/N!" A voice exclaimed from the briefing room.

Olivia jumped, pulling away from you. She straightened her shirt and ran a hand through her hair to mess it around a bit so there wasn't as much evidence of what had just happened.

[barisistill]

daily reminder that rafael barba stirred his coffee with a pen

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

You think you can hurt me? I have unhealthy parasocial relationships with THEM:

You cannot hurt me more than I have already hurt myself.