#law and order reader insert

[gatefleet]

Something There

Law & Order: SVU: Jose ‘Joe’ Velasco

Word Count: 477

(T)W: Mentions of concussion and cuts

Request: No

A/N: GIF Credit to the original owner/poster if you know who it is pls lmk.

GIF by storiesofsvu

Joe has never been a shy person by any standard, but there’s something about you that makes him more aware of himself. He tries harder to watch how he phrases things, especially when referring to victims and perps, things he would watch previously, but not to the same extent as he does when you are around. You were new to the squad, but not to the team. You had consulted on cases with Finn and Olivia before, but there had never been an opening in the squad for you before now. You had joined shortly after Joe but before Grace and the two from the other SVU squad. The team had noticed Joe’s infatuation with you. You, on the other hand, had thought you were imagining Joe’s interest in you, thought you were exaggerating things he was doing in your mind because you liked him too. You hadn’t realised how you felt about Joe until after a particularly tough case where Joe was undercover, and things went south. He had gotten a pretty nasty concussion and cut around his hair line. Sitting by him in the hospital was hard, waiting for him to wake up. That was the night Joe realised his feelings were more than just platonic or a crush.

You were both tasked with translating some witness statement from a transfer case from across state lines and not all of the notes from previous precinct were fully translated or translated properly. Joe took the Spanish notes and you took the other languages, hoping to find alternative understandings from what the translators or those translating had done. You were both beginning to feel the tiredness, looking at the writing for so long made you see lines when you weren’t looking at your papers or your screen. You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake the image from your vision. Joe had his head in his hands and appeared to be looking at a space on the table.  

“Hey, you good?” You asked, tiredness evident in your hoarse voice. Joe looked up, and gave you that breath-taking smile, even tired that smile could stop your heart. Joe stood and made his way to the cafetiere and brought back some hot drinks for you both. You thanked him and took yours, blowing some of the steam away and taking a hesitant sip. After a few minutes of stretching, you excused yourself to go and get some air, hoping the chill of the New York breeze would wake you up a little. You were absolved in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you, the heat coming off of Joe’s body as he stood close to you. “I thought you’d want your drink out, seeing as it's winter and you forgot your gloves.” He smiles slightly at you as he hands you both your gloves and your hot drink.

Taglist open

[gatefleet]

I love this <3

Truth or Dare

Joe Velasco/fem!reader Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, flirting, innuendo, smut, fingering, oral, p in v. I dunno where this one came from, the idea just sparked and I fucking raaaaaan with it. Oops. 6k

Joe was used to flirting, he knew flirting, all the ins and outs of it, the sly grins, the lingering eyes, flattering compliments and dirty jokes that toed the line just right at just the right time. He knew how to play the field, how to weave the perfect lines to get someone to go along with his plans. He knew how to flash a smile, puff his chest out and put on a mask, slip into a role, work had helped him with that.

But tonight was nothing like the usual.

Joe wasn’t used to this kind of flirting.

The type that came along with being your plus one for an art show at a hotel in midtown, the one that started with a town car outside his apartment and a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. He knew it was just a formality, a congratulations for his good friend who’d landed a professional achievement and didn’t want to face the crowds on her own. There was no nervousness, you’d been friends far too long for any of that, no internal debate on whether to try and hold your hand in the car, whether it was too forward to place his hand on your thigh while the car maneuvered through the streets. Instead you thanked him for the flowers with a small smile and gentle squeeze of his hand before launching into a minor stress fueled rant of the week leading up to the opening. He listened intently, giving comments when you slowed your words and rather than digging into the anxieties of the night, he asked if you were excited, watching the sparkle bloom in your eyes, the near dreamy smile on your lips as you talked it up and he couldn’t help but feel the warmth spreading through his own chest.

He loved getting to be the person you brought into your inner circle like this, into the important part of your life, the one you spent countless hours pouring yourself into day after day. The night was about you, but you made sure that he never once felt awkward or our of place, introducing him to a few important people, frequent trips to the tables of finger foods and a fresh drink in his hand right as the last one emptied. Instead of devilish smiles and pleas to disappear upstairs, there were proud grins as he watched you talk about the art you loved, warmth from your gaze as he kept up with connoisseurs who he knew you found slightly intimidating. There was a sense of comfortability when you would step closer than normal, a hand resting on his chest while you whispered something into his ear, the rumble from his chuckle present against your palm. A playfulness when you settled at a high top table in the corner, close enough to each other to not be overheard as you played a game of smash or pass to kill the time. A glittering laugh coming from your lips that Joe had heard a thousand times before when he started making up outlandish back stories for the other guests at the gallery, some of which you were certain there had to be some truth to.

It was a soft sense of flirting, something almost domestic about it, like the two of you had been playing this game for years. It wasn’t weird for his hand to rest on your lower back, for him to be so close to you that you could feel his breath on your shoulder there was no awkward laughter or protests if someone assumed you were a couple. It felt completely natural when the ballroom began to clear out and Joe wrapped an arm around your waist, swiping a bottle of champagne before guiding you to the hotel elevator. A mutual soft sigh leaving your lips as your head tilted, resting against his shoulder, satisfied with a successful night.

“Thank you for coming.” You murmured softly as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

“Anytime.” He replied, an affectionate look in his eyes as he followed you down the hall to your room, “you know I like coming to these things with you.”

“Best plus one in the city.” You laughed lightly, holding the door open behind for him, a grin on your cheeks as you swiped the bottle from him. “No one else ever snags extra free drinks.”

Joe laughed, slipping out of his suit jacket and hanging it over the back of a chair while you found two glasses to pour the bubbly into. “Only now we’ve lost our roster for smash or pass.”

That earned a chuckle from you, shaking your head as you stepped out of your heels and he swiped a glass from you.

“May as well continue on with the trend of high school sleepover games.”

“Bottle’s not empty.” He raised it up, giving it a swirl and you laughed, swatting at his chest.

“That’s not a two player game.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Truth or dare.” You shrugged a shoulder, turning to the mirror to take the pins out of your half updo, hair cascading around your shoulders.

“Hit me with a truth.” He replied from behind you, watching you in the mirror as he undid the cuff buttons, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Do you actually like coming to these things?” Your eyes met his in the mirror, a near look of hesitation in them before you turned around and stepped toward him, a mocking warning finger poking into his chest, “remember you have to tell the truth.”

Laughing lightly, he wrapped his hand around yours, lowering it between you, “yes.” He nodded, “I really do. It was a little nerve wracking at first, it wasn’t like I knew anything about art or what to talk about with some of those people. But I’ve learnt a lot, you’ve taught me a lot, and I really like getting to come now. And getting to see you kick ass.”

A puff of air escaped your lips as they broke out into a small smile and you felt your cheeks heat slightly at the praise, pride swelling in your chest.

“Good.” You took a swig of your drink before dropping down onto the bed, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable. “I would hate to have to find a new plus one now.”

“Pretty sure I have full claim to that title by now.” He followed suit, settling next to you on the bed, propped up on his side. “Your turn, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“How many paintings did you want to sell tonight?”

“Going home with one sold is generally the goal.” Your fingertip traced the rim of your glass, your eyes watching the liquid inside.

“And how many did you sell?”

“Three.” Your eyes flicked up to his, a shy smile on your cheeks that met the wide one on his.

Joe whistled, raising his glass to yours, clinking them together before you both took a swig. “Talk about an accomplishment.”

“I know.” You couldn’t help the smile, your eyes ducking down again as your hand reached out, folding back the cuff of Joe’s sleeve. Your finger and thumb smoothing across the fabric, rolling it neatly, fiddling with the button, “I used to think this dream was so frivolous, that it was better spent putting my time and effort into something else, something that guaranteed a real career.” Your fingers had moved on, tracing the veins and tendons in his forearm to distract yourself, “Sometimes I still worry about that. I could be some kind of one hit wonder, have a few good sells and then tumble into the void after six months”

“I doubt that.” Joe’s unoccupied arm lifted from the bed, his fingers tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear to gain your full attention, your eyes wide, a flash of vulnerability in them when they caught his. “I’ve been with you to four of these this year and you’ve sold something each time.” He continued twirling your hair around his finger, “most of those sales went on to display in public galleries where even more people get to see your work. You said your follower count had gone up across social media, people like your shit.”

“A plus one and an ego boost.” Your finger stalled slightly before tickling up his wrist and tracing the lines on his palm, “you’re stuck coming with me now.”

“And here I was thinking it was because I look so good in a suit.” He teased and you laughed, your hand briefly leaving his to playfully shove against his chest. Joe felt the familiar warmth spreading through him, his finger ghosting down the side of your cheek, lingering across your dimple before he gently pinched at your chin. You let out a soft hum at the motion and his hand shifted down your neck, rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder.

“Truth or dare?” You asked, nail scratching at his palm to redirect his attention.

“Truth.” He replied and you scoffed, “what?”

“Pussy. You never pick dare.”

“Oh yeah, and what would you have me do?”

“I think you know.” Your fingers stilled again, eyes darting up to his as he gazed across at you for a moment.

“I’m not streaking up and down the hallway. I’m an officer of the law.”

A fully belly laugh escaped your lips and you dropped onto your back on the bed, withholding an eye roll as you felt Joe’s hand trail down your torso, coming to rest on your stomach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You wanna dare me so bad…dare me.” There was a glimmer in his eye as he adjusted, scooping your glass out of your free hand to place on the nightstand with his, his body brushing against yours as he reached over you. The feeling was soothing, his warmth and weight on you, hovering for just a second, taunting eyes boring into yours.

“Fine.” You raised a brow, your voice practically a purr “I dare you.”

“You sure?”

“I already dared you; there’s no backing out allowed now.”

Joe’s hand slid up your side, cupping your cheek and he waited only a second, giving you the time to bail out if you wanted before he leant down, his lips tenderly pressing into yours. It was chaste, small, your lips separating only a hare’s breath before your arms wound around him, a hand sinking into his hair, threading through the thick locks to guide him back to you and his eyes fluttered shut again. His entire body relaxed into the kiss, lips beginning to move with ease against yours, easily finding a rhythm like they’d always known the dance and had just been waiting for the right partner to perform it with. He swallowed down the gentle sigh that escaped your lips, his fingertips softly tickling at the side of your neck while your nails scratched at his scalp. Everything in that moment, like every moment that evening, felt completely right.

Reluctantly, Joe pulled away, pressing one last soft kiss to your lips before rolling back onto his side, leaving the ball in your court. You rolled back onto your side to face him, biting down on your lip as to not let your smile get too huge.

“Truth?” He asked, knowing you weren’t likely to accept a dare.

“Truth.” You nodded, a small laugh breaking out of your face that made him smile, “that was one of the best kisses of my life.”

“Now who’s ego boosting.” He taunted, nudging at your side and you laughed, slightly falling towards him and his eyes watched the strap of your dress dip down your shoulder, leaving a string of purple fabric from your bra bare against your skin. He managed to regain focus, pushing your hair back from your face so he could see you properly again.

“Truth or dare?” You asked, a spark in your eye that hadn’t been present earlier.

“Truth?” His fingers trailed across your collarbone, slipping under the lacy purple strap, tracing it down to the neckline of your dress, “my favourite colour’s purple.” His eyes flicked from the strap to yours, “so I’d really like to see what you’ve got on underneath this dress.”

“Is that so?” You asked, a smirk taking over your lips.

“No lies. I know the rules of the game.”

Sitting up, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed with you back to him before looking over your shoulder, “little help with the zipper?”

Joe sat up, his fingertips brushing against your skin as he moved your hair over your shoulder, pausing only to leave a featherlight kiss between your shoulder blades before undoing the clasp and slowly pulling the zipper down.

You let the black fabric fall from your shoulders as you stood from the bed, turning to face him as the straps slipped down your arms and you shimmied out of it, leaving the dress at your feet as you stepped back toward him. His eyes raked up your body slowly, admiring the intricate purple lace of the thong and bustier, fabric extending an inch below your breasts, cupping them perfectly. The light in the headboard washed your body in a warm glow, just enough light for Joe to see everything he needed to while still leaving something to the imagination.

“Well?” You raised a brow again, “you like it?”

“Yes. One hundred percent truth.” His hands reached up before you even hit the side of the bed and they wrapped around your hips, pulling you back to him and you let out a little giggle as he made you topple down into his lap. “Fuck you look amazing.” His lips tickled against your skin when he spoke and before you had the chance to reply they were on yours again.

Your knees settled on either side of his hips, his hands warm as they slid across your back, hugging you to him while he kissed you. His lips were pillowy soft, the slight taste of champagne on his tongue when it slowly slid into your mouth and you couldn’t help but let out a small moan as your hands tangled into his hair again. He took his time, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, rolling with yours, making sure to truly get a taste of you. His hands trailed up and down your back, fingers tracing the lace patterns on the back of the bralette, toying with the hem of your panties while he groaned. There was no rush to it, the fire within the two of you nothing but small kindling, happy to have even the smallest of a glow, the flame incredibly easy to reignite later if this was all that happened tonight. The kiss was enough. Even unspoken it was clear as ever that you’d both been unknowingly waiting for this, wanting to make sure that the moment was exactly right when it finally happened.

Joe broke the kiss, his hand ghosting across your face, threading loose locks of hair between his fingers, brushing more off your forehead, pushing your hair back as he gazed at you. His eyes dark, a desire burning behind them as he watched the way your chest rose and fell, lips parted slightly as you made an attempt to catch your breath.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous baby.” He husked, his other hand resting on your waist, thumb tracing smooth circles on your skin. He leant forward, mouth finding a home in the crook of your neck, leaving messy kisses, “just fucking gorgeous.” His lips brushed against your skin before his teeth nipped you and a gasp escaped your lips.

The hand you had on his head tightened its grip, keeping him where he was, your eyes fluttering shut. His tongue laved across the bite mark, soothing the burn before he began to suck at your skin in hopes to leave a mark, claiming you as his own. He wanted a reminder of this night, no matter what else happened, he wanted to be able to look at your body in the morning and know that it was him who got the privilege to see it naked, to leave his mark on you. You let out a soft moan, your body rocking against him, chest brushing against his and you were suddenly eager to feel his skin, be able to explore him the way he was doing to you. Hands slunk between your bodies, your fingers tugging his dress shirt out of his pants before sinking under it, tickling at his heated skin while he continued his mission on your neck. You slowly worked your way from the bottom button to the top, exposing more tanned skin with each one until you were able to run your hands fully up his torso, nails gently scratching at his chest before you shoved the shirt off over his shoulders.

He refused to move his mouth from the crook of your neck, he could feel your pulse throbbing underneath his lips and he felt a sense of pride every time it picked up, getting closer and closer to racing. And it was because of him. Your body rolled against his again, this time the lace scratching at his skin and he felt the sudden need to feel the smoothness of your skin directly against his. Gripping your waist he gave you a little squeeze before his hands slid upwards, circling around your back to undo the clasps on your top, his fingertips tickled your skin as they slid under the straps, following their path, trailing over your shoulders. He finally pried himself away from the forming mark on your skin, leaving tender kisses up the length of your neck, nudging at your chin with his nose to gain your attention. Your eyes were lust filled, lips kiss swollen and parted, hair mussed up just a little bit and he thought you looked like the perfect combination of an angel and absolute sin. With his eyes on yours he guided your bra straps down your arms, gently tugging the purple fabric off your body until he heard it fall, dropping onto the floor. The corner of your lips twitched up into a grin and he finally tore his eyes off your face to glance downward, dick twitching in his pants at the sight of your tits.

“Fuck.” He swore, running a hand over his face, a brief laugh coming from him as he shook his head, “you been hidin’ these from me for all these years?”

You giggled, your hair falling in front of your shoulder as you shrugged, “wasn’t intentional.”

“You’re never allowed to put a shirt on again, you hear me?” This earned another chuckle from you as he pushed your hair out of your face again, securing it behind your ear without looking away from your chest.

“You gonna do anything aside from stare at them?”

The teasing question was all it took for Joe to lean in, tongue flicking at your nipple before his lips wrapped around it, sucking it into his mouth. One arm wrapped tightly around your torso, splayed across your back while the other one slid up your front, groping at your other breast. His tongue traced around your nipple, flicking at it again and you let out a low moan, your head falling back as your back arched into his movements. Joe’s teeth gently scraped across your skin and you hand quickly grasped the back of his head.

“Oh shit…” you murmured, a fluttering forming in your chest that tingled all the way down your body, heat pooling between your legs. While Joe continued to suck and bite at your tits, you couldn’t help but grind down against him, feeling his cock hardening in his pants, pressing up against you.

His fingers pinched your nipple right as his lips suctioned around the other before he let it go with a lewd pop, your nipple hardening in the cool air, having adjusted to the warmth of his mouth. The hand you had threaded in his hair tilted his head back, eager to steal another kiss before he made his next move and your tongue instantly slid into his mouth. He let out a groan when you nipped at his lower lip, his hips rocking up toward your body, his hand moved to the other side of your chest, continuing to play with your nipple while his tongue danced with yours.

This time you broke the kiss, your lips leaving a sticky trail of kisses down his neck and he let out a low hiss, cock throbbing already.

“You’re gonna be the death of me angel.”

“Yeah?” You nipped at his earlobe, “and what’re you gonna do about it?”

You righted yourself, your hands tickling over his shoulders and down his back as you cocked an eyebrow across at him. Joe simply smirked in response, a squeak leaving your lips as he steadied the arm around your waist and flipped you onto the bed so you were on your back, caged between his arms, his hips pinning yours to the bed.

“I bet you’d like to know.” He leant down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I would.” Another kiss, this one a little longer than the first, “dare you to show me.”

“Think I might need to walk you through it first.” He replied with a teasing glint in his eyes and you nearly rolled your eyes. He shifted on top of you so he could press a kiss to your collarbone, leaving another between your breasts, then one on your stomach. His hand sunk lower between your bodies, playing with the waistband of your panties, “I think first…” his fingers traced the pattern of the lace, teasing you without really touching you, “I’ll make you come around my fingers.” You gasped; head thrown back into the pillows when he cupped you through the thin fabric. He shifted lower, sitting back on his haunches between your legs before leaning down and you could feel the heat of his breath on your nearly bare cunt when he spoke again, “then I want to know what you taste like when you come.” His tongue slowly dragged against your panties before he mouthed at your pussy twice and you moaned, hips twitching up off the bed. He chuckled, sitting up and undoing his pants, pulling them down over his hips before crawling over you again, capturing your lips in a kiss before he spoke again, “then I want to feel you come all over my cock.” He suddenly thrust toward you, grinding himself against your clit through his briefs and you shuddered.

“Fuck Joe…”

“That sound good, beautiful?”

“Fucking perfect.”

“That’s what I thought.” He murmured, leaning over you once again while a hand snuck between your bodies.

His lips met yours, the kiss fierce, deep, his tongue exploring your mouth while his hand slipped into your panties. You let out a soft moan into the kiss when his fingertips began softly rubbing your clit, your body rolling toward the motion in a similar rhythm. Joe waited until you let out a small whine, until your hips twitched upwards on their own accord and two fingers swiped through your folds, gathering your wetness and he pressed harder on your clit, his hand moving in faster circles.

“God..” you murmured, “that feels good.”

“Yeah?” He propped himself up on his free arm, his hand continuing to rub at your swollen nub, “you like this?” His fingers ran through your folds again, this time slower, watching the way your eyes squeezed shut, a breath of air puffing from between your lips.

“Mmhmm…” You gasped, your hips jolting off the bed as a spark shot through you, juices dripping out of your pussy, “fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Joe chuckled, increasing the pressure, his wrist moving in perfect quick circles while he ducked his head to capture your nipple between his lips. He sucked hard, tongue flicking it inside his mouth, groaning against your skin.

You could feel yourself clenching over nothing, lightning shooting through you with every touch that Joe left on your body. Your panties were soaked, every flick of his fingers bringing you higher and higher levels of pleasure, your body shivering between him and the bed. He bit into the underside of your chest and you let out a loud moan, your hips rocking up to meet his hand.

“Oh god!” Your fingers clawed at the bedspread, “you’re gonna make me come.”

You could feel the way Joe’s lips curved up into a smirk at your words, his fingers moving faster in your underwear as his mouth wrapped around your other nipple. He felt a sense of pride at just how wet you were, knowing that he made you feel this good and he’d barely touched you.

“Fuck.” You groaned, your body on fire, tingles shooting into sparks everywhere his hands touched you. You knew you were so incredibly close, each circle of his hand bringing you higher and higher until a gasp broke free from your lips and your body shuddered. “Oh god!” One of your hands closed around his wrist, squeezing as your orgasm shot through you, a whimper left your lips when his fingers slid off your pulsing clit and cupped your dripping pussy.

“Fuck are you ever beautiful when you come.” He murmured, staring down at you as he palmed at your cunt, smearing your juices around, his fingertips just daring to swipe through your folds again before he pulled his hand out of your underwear. “Just fucking drenched baby.”

“It’s all for you.” You breathed out, hand running up his side but before you could pull him in for a kiss he sucked his slicked fingers between his lips and let out a low groan.

“Taste so fucking good.” He met your lips for a kiss, chaste and hurried as he shifted over you, “I’m never gonna be able to get enough of you.”

Joe’s lips brushed down your body, teeth grabbing the waistband of your panties so he could pull them down your legs, tossing them to the floor behind him. His hands ghosted up your legs, pushing your thighs wide so he could settle between them. He let out a low swear at the sight of your pussy glistening in the low light, his thumb rubbing through you, circling around your clit and your head fell back into the pillows, need already pulsing through you again.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Without another word he dove in between your legs, tongue slowly dragging through you before his mouth wrapped around your clit, lazily sucking on it. He pressed a soft kiss just above it before returning to your cunt, mouth wrapping around it, tongue probing in just enough to really taste you. He let out a guttural groan, sending vibrations flowing through you, electricity sparking all your nerve endings and your hands shot to his head, threading through his hair and nudging him closer to you.

“Oh fuck, Joe.” You were already panting again, his mouth warm on your pussy, moving in just the way you wanted him to. His tongue refused to leave an inch unexplored, strong hands wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open and on display for him as he devoured you. His nose bumped your clit and you cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair, “more! Please!”

One of his hands vanished from your leg in the same fluid movement that his mouth moved upwards, first nipping at your inner thigh before landing on your clit and two fingers easily sunk into your wet cunt.

“Fuu-ck.” Your hips rocked up to meet his slow thrusts, grinding yourself against his mouth as you squeezed around him and every single thought abandoned your brain except for how good he was making you feel.

Joe grunted against you again and your body shivered at the sensation, rocking up off the bed as you let out a whine. He continued to pump his fingers in and out, slowly picking up speed, keeping the movements of his tongue in the same rhythm until you were whimpering above him, your hips matching his pacing. Then he crooked his fingers, once, twice and on the third time you cried out, your hips jolting off the bed and stilling and he knew he’d found the sensitive spot inside you. Smirking around your clit he dragged his fingers over the spot again,

“Fuck!” Your fingers tensed in his hair, “right there. Oh god don’t stop.”

Like he would even dream of it, he would happily bury himself between your legs anytime you asked. He sucked harder, his fingers pressing on the spot, undulating inside your pussy, smaller thrusts, but faster, each one brushing your g-spot. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, whines and muffled moans breaking free as your thighs threatened to close around him. His hand picked up the speed and you swore again, legs trembling on either side of him, the double sensation of his mouth on you at the same time almost too much and before you knew it your vision was blasted white, crying out as you came.

Joe reluctantly removed his mouth from your skin, fingers slowing, gently fucking you through your orgasm as he kissed up your body. He smoothed back a few pieces of your hair, hand trailing down your cheek as his thumb ran across your lips.

“You alright?” He asked, a knowing glint already in his eye and you chuckled.

“Fantastic. But I believe you promised me three.”

Grinning down at you he shook his head before shoving his pants and briefs down his legs, only pausing to dig a condom out of his wallet. He slipped it on, giving himself a couple of pumps before leaning over you again. A small gasp escaped your lips at the feeling of his cock, heavy and hard, rubbing against your throbbing clit. His hips rocked a few times until you were whining underneath him, your arms and legs tightly wrapping around his body.

“Joe, please.” Your hands floated down his back, grasping at his ass, urging him between your legs. He chuckled softly, leaving a kiss on the side of your neck.

“Don’t worry angel, I’m not one to back out of a dare.” He re-angled himself, lining his cock up with your entrance before sinking in, a mutual groan coming from both of you as he sunk deeper and deeper until your hips met and he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. “Fuck, do you ever feel good.”

With a soft groan he pulled his hips back until just the tip was left inside your cunt then thrust back just as deep inside of you, watching the way your eyes fell shut, the small moans you made as he began to set a steady rhythm. He wasn’t even sure where to look, his eyes lingering on every inch of your body, the way you threw your head back into the pillows, how your lips were parted, shallow breaths puffing out of them each time he thrust into you. The way your tits swayed in the perfect rhythm, the way your back arched off the bed when he hit a certain spot inside you. He couldn’t help but watch his cock disappear into your pussy, how it sank all the way in, you took him all and you took him perfectly. Each time he pulled out his cock was even more slick with your juices, your cum coating him entirely.

“Fuck, baby…” He grunted, picking up the pace as you squeezed around his length, “you take me so well. Such a perfect pussy.”

“Faster, please.” You urged and his dick twitched, resulting in your walls squeezing down on him.

Joe wasn’t one to refuse, managing to tear his eyes away from where your bodies were joined to gently fall over you, caging you into the bed, bracing on his knees so he could fuck you faster, cock thrusting in and out at a pace that made the bed rock. Your entire body consumed him, limbs wrapping tightly around him as your nails pressed half moon marked into his skin. At this angle your mouth was right beside his head, your breath hot on his skin, your whimpers and moans of pleasure going right into his ear and thus straight down to his throbbing cock. One of his arms managed to slip between your arched back and the bed, pulling you right against him, holding your body to his as he fucked you. Your hips were starting to lose rhythm, moans becoming louder whines and any attempt of making words were lost to pants of breath as your walls pulsed around him.

“Mmmhph—”

“You close baby?” He husked into your neck, lips latching onto the skin to make a matching mark for the other side. All you could do was nod, your body trembling in his embrace. Joe slid his free arm between your bodies, fingers easily finding your clit and began to rub in time with his thrusts, “let go for me, want to feel you come on my cock.”

Fire burst through you, your limbs tightening around his body as your hips stilled, body nearly seizing with pleasure as he brought you to yet another peak. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, your juices leaking out around it, his arm squeezing you tighter as your body rocked its way through your orgasm.

“Shit!” He grunted, his hips faltering at the way you clenched around him, if he thought watching you come earlier was incredible, getting to feel you come was heavenly. His hand slid out from between you as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, bracing on the bed to drive deeper into you, cock twitching with each thrust as he chased his own peak. It didn’t take very long at all, the way you were still having little trembles, breathy sighs leaving your lips, your pussy fluttering around him all driving him wild before he let out a low groan and spilled into the condom.

Joe gently collapsed over you, careful to keep enough of his weight on the bed as to not crush you as he slowly caught his breath. He felt your hands ghosting up and down his back, nails tickling at his heated skin, your lips tenderly pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder.

“Fuck.” You murmured, your voice nearly slurred with pleasure as one of your hands slid into his hair, scratching at his scalp.

“You’re telling me.” He muttered, gently pushing off of you, his cock slipping out. His gaze landed on your pussy once again, watching as the last few drops of your juices dripped onto the bedspread. “Fuck…”

He squeezed your ankle before disappearing into the bathroom to deal with the condom, coming back with a wet and a dry washcloth. Joe’s hands tenderly worked across your body, cleaning you off while leaving light kisses on your exposed skin. He grabbed the glasses of champagne along with a bottle of water and when you shivered he swiftly moved you under the blankets and pulled them up around the two of you as he encouraged you to curl around his body.

Your fingertips began tracing patterns across his chest and you let out a very satisfied sigh. Joe’s arm curled around you, his lips pressing into the top of your head and his hand gently grasped yours. He couldn’t help but smile at the way you instantly took his hand, tracing the lines of his palm before kissing it softly.

“I’ve got one more truth for you.” His voice was soft when he spoke.

“Hmm?”

“What would you say if I wanted to take you out to dinner next weekend? Just the two of us, a real date.”

Your head shifted upwards so you could catch his gaze, a soft smile on your lips and he felt warmth blooming through his chest, already knowing the answer. “God’s honest truth?”

He nodded.

“I’d absolutely love that.”

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

@witches-unruly-heart @fandom-princess-forevermore @cycat4077 @xoxabs88xox @alwaysachorusgirl @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @wandas-wife @katieslotherford @momlifebehard @dondivajade @misscharlielulu @alexxavicry @rosaliedepp @legit9thlunaticwarrior @daffodil-heart @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @silversprings-mp3 @spaghettificationandpretzels @bowdre @dreadfulxives18 @ms-downhill @alexxavicry @bubbleswrld @gatefleet @amelia-song-pond

[reidishh]

BUY ME PRESENTS!

These works are NSFW - any persons that are considered minors (under the age of 18) found to be reading/interacting with these works will be promptly blocked from this blog.

Now presenting a REIDISHH Kinkmas special: BUY ME PRESENTS! For fifteen days in the month of December, starting December 1st and ending December 31st, I'll be posting kinky fics and drabbles starring our favorite slutty little crime fighters.

Note: ON TEMP. HIATUS

"Fuck the jet, send the sleigh! It's a packed holiday and I've got options, babe!" - Sabrina Carpenter, Buy Me Presents

001 :: LOSS OF VIRGINITY with AARON HOTCHNER

002 :: COCKWARMING with RAFAEL BARBA

003 :: MUTUAL MASTURBATION with SONNY CARISI

004 :: KNIFE PLAY with EMILY PRENTISS

005 :: SEX TAPE with SPENCER REID

006 :: SOMNOPHILIA with AARON HOTCHNER

007 :: CNC with SPENCER REID

008 :: EDGING with EMILY PRENTISS

009 :: ORGASM DENIAL with SPENCER REID

010 :: THREESOME with SPENCER REID + SONNY CARISI

011 :: ROLEPLAY with RAFAEL BARBA

012 :: BREEDING with SONNY CARISI

013 :: BONDAGE with RAFAEL BARBA

014 :: VOYEURISM with AARON HOTCHNER

015 :: EXHIBITIONISM with SONNY CARISI

© reidishh 2024, all rights reserved.

[olderwomenenthusiast]

EMILY PRENTISS

UNCOVER AFTERMATH

DESCRIPTION: emily reminds you who you belong to after being undercover

GAME OF POWER

DESCRIPTION: emily finally as her way with you & vice versa

DRINKS, KISSES & THE MORNING AFTER

DESCRIPTION: the tension between emily and you finally snaps

PULLING RANK

DESCRIPTION: emily pulls rank on you during and arguement at home

SPENCER REID

SOUTHERN ACCENT

DESCRIPTION: spencer is fascinated, maybe more than by your southern accent

TELL ME IN THE MORNING

DESCRIPTION: you make sure spencer tells you his confession when he's sober

JEALOUSY & CONFESSION

DESCRIPTION: you speak to jj about your jealousy and in return, encourages you

ALEX CABOT

SHE'S IN CONTROL

DESCRIPTION: you were meant to be focusing on the team's meeting but alex made sure you were only focused on her

LESSON IN CONTROL

DESCRIPTION: alex is in complete control over your body

CALEX

THE CHOICES WE MAKE

DESCRIPTION: casey has to choose between her girlfriend, alex or her new job offer

TOO LATE

DESCRIPTION: casey wants alex but she's too late

MORNING BLISS

DESCRIPTION: casey has her way with alex in bed and in the shower

CASEY NOVAK

UNDER PRESSURE

DESCRIPTION: casey arrives at your house insistent on making you pay

MELISSA SCHEMMENTI

THE GAMES WE PLAY

DESCRIPTION: you and melissa play this game where you constantly mess with each until one day you take it too far

FINALLY GETTING HER ATTENTION

DESCRIPTION: you really want melissa to pay attention to you

[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."

[art-by-jas]

𝑀𝑖 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑜́𝑛 AO3

Summary: Returning to New York, Nick Amaro wants to reopen an old SVU cold case, examining it with the help of his new job at FORYM. But first, he stops by your place for a nightcap, reminiscing his time with you before surprising the Captain and the squad the next morning at the precinct.

Rating: E

Relationship: Nick Amaro x F!Reader

WC: 2,526

You moan, arching your back as your grip tightens in his hair. Nick groans, pulling away briefly to catch his breath. You whine in disappointment as he moves away, but he grins smugly, his beard glistening with your arousal. The sight makes you bite your lip, your eyebrows scrunching together.

"You like that, Hermosa?" he asks, pressing a sloppy kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The slight burn of his beard against your tender flesh makes you shudder.

You breathe out the words "I hate you" as his lips glide across your sensitive skin.

He answers with a sarcastic "Uh-huh, sure you do," before biting down on your inner thigh and then soothing the area with his tongue.

You confess, "God, I've missed you."

Nick's lips brush against your lower abdomen. "How much?" he murmurs. A shiver ran through you at his touch, the heat of his mouth igniting a fire within. Gripping the headboard, you gaze down at him, letting out a needy whimper.

You let out a sharp gasp. "Nick, if you don't stop teasing, I'm going to-"

He interrupts, glancing up at you with darkened, intense eyes. "You’re going to what, mi corazón?" Nick grins smugly as he gazes up at you. Without warning, he slowly licks a thick, sensual stripe up your heat, causing you to shudder.

You gasp, "Oh, God..." 

Nick moans against you, he tightens his grip on your thighs, guiding your movements and helping you grind down on his face. Slowly, he moves his tongue, running it along your dripping pussy. The action makes your breath stutter and your legs shake.

Nick whispers words against your skin sending a shiver through you. "Mmm, you're so wet for me already." A blush spreads across your body, and you can only manage a needy whine in response.

You grind your hips down harder, pleading, "Please, Nick..."

Nick flips you, positioning himself between your legs with your back now on the bed. Nick looks down at you with a smirk, "You're so pretty. So responsive for me," he whispers, leaning down to press a kiss against your neck. You whimper at his praise and arch your back, relishing the feel of his lips on your skin. Grasping at his back, your nails dig into his flesh, and Nick hisses against your skin before biting down, leaving marks around your neck. His hands wander down to grip your hips, almost tight enough to bruise. Trailing his tongue across the marked spots, he warms your body as the bruises begin to form. Pulling away, Nick surveys his work, a satisfied expression on his face.

He murmurs, eyes locked with yours, his words make your head spin. "Mmm, those marks look so good on you, baby." His voice is rough with desire as he admires the bruises on your neck. "Everyone's gonna know you're mine."

Nick's hand slides into your hair, cupping the back of your head and pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue intertwines with yours as a low rumble vibrates through his chest, and he presses your bodies closer together. Nick takes charge, devouring your mouth with a hungry intensity, as if he craves more of you. He rolls his hips against you, the feel of his firm physique sending shivers of desire through you.

His words send a shiver through you, and he grins triumphantly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Letting everyone see that you belong to me," he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. He then begins to kiss and nip at your tender flesh, leaving a trail of possessive marks. You arch into him, your nails grazing his back in response.

"I've missed you," Nick murmurs against your lips. "Missed you so much, baby." His fingers grip your hair tighter, and he pulls your head back slightly, opening up your neck for more of his markings.

Gasping, you grasp Nick's shoulders and plead, "Please, I need you." Desperation tinges in your voice, but you're past caring. His proximity overwhelms you, driving you to the edge of control.

Nick smirks as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His hand tugs at your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your neck. "You want me to give it to you hard and good?" he asks, his voice low and gravelly. He punctuates the question with a grind of his hips against yours. "You want me inside you, baby?" Maintaining eye contact, he demands, "You're gonna have to ask for it and tell me exactly what you want, princesa."

Desire overwhelms you as you shiver at his words. Your hoarse voice pleads, "Please, Nick. I need you. I need your cock inside me."

Nick grins wickedly, reveling in how his touch reduces you to a needy mess. He swiftly pushes your legs apart, settling between them.

He leans down his face level with yours. His eyes are dark, almost black with hunger. "And how do you want it, princess?"

You practically moan out. "I want it hard, Nick. Make me feel you for days. Please, god, just give it to me. I need you."

Nick's low growl rumbles through his chest. "That's my girl," he whispers against your skin, then kisses and bites down on your neck, sucking another mark into your flesh. He takes the tip of his cock and taps it against your mound, relishing the whines it elicited from you. Sliding his length up and down your slick slit, he watches you squirm beneath him, a smirk playing on his lips as he teases you. Finally, he locks eyes with you before spitting onto the place where you are touching, making the contact even more sloppy and intense.

He lets out a guttural groan as you shudder and moan. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he asks, eyes fixed intently on you. His hands firmly grip your hips, pinning you in place. He hovers just above you, the barest of contact between your bodies. "Are you ready?" he murmurs.

You whimper with eagerness, your body trembling in anticipation. "I'm ready, Nick. Please, god, please..." you plead breathlessly.

You both moan as he enters you, savoring the sensation. He pauses, allowing you time to adjust to his size. You groan, feeling the delicious stretch as he fills you. The slight burn mingles with the intense pleasure, creating a heady, intoxicating mix.

Nick groans, his hands gripping your hips. "God, you're so tight, so perfect." After a moment, you nod and bite your lip, signaling him to begin moving. He pulls back slowly before pushing back in, watching your expression intently. Starting at a leisurely pace, he rolls his hips.

“Oh, fuck, Nick, so good.” You bable.

His movements quicken the pace building. "You're taking me so well," he murmurs, releasing your hip to trail his hand up your stomach, across your chest, and back down. One light, a fleeting brush of his thumb against your clit makes your back arch, and a needy whine escapes your lips. "God, Nick. Please, more. I need more of that," you gasp, and he grins wolfishly. Hips snapping, he picks up speed, watching you intently.

With a hand on your flushed cheek, he says, "You're beautiful like this, princesa." Brushing back the stray hair from your face, his lips then crash against yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The hunger in his embrace is palpable as he claims you, leaving you breathless.

Nick pulls you closer, his mouth against your ear, "I've been gone for too long, god..." he sighs. He nuzzles his face into your neck, pressing a kiss there as he speaks.

"Thought about you every night in California, when I was on my own, picturing you just like this, laid out in my bed and all mine." He runs his nose back up your neck, your skin tingling in its wake. He presses his lips against your ear, his tongue lightly brushing over the shell of it before he nips at it.

Nick grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to get a look at your face. Seeing you this way, all flustered, all because of him, it makes him shiver in pleasure. “God, you’re so pretty when you’re all breathless and desperate for me.” He picks up the pace, determined to make you come for him. His mouth is at your ear again spewing filth. His hot breath on your sensitive skin is driving you crazy. The feel of him against you and inside of you, his strong hands holding you in place.

"Look at me, I want to watch you come on my cock," Nick demands, he grips your chin. The sound of his voice, authoritative and rough, combined with what he’s saying, makes your head spin and your heart race. He’s taking control and you love it. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his.

“That’s it. Look at me just like that. You're all mine, Hermosa. Mine.” The possessive edge to his tone makes you shiver. He grabs your hips again, the grip tight, his fingers digging into your skin. He's starting to lose control as he watches you, the need to push you over the edge growing stronger. "You're so close, aren't you princess? I know you are. Show me. I want to watch you." He leans down, his breath hot against your ear again. His tongue darts out, licking a small bit of skin.

“Oh… Nick…. Oh fuck yes, you’re making me feel so good… God, I missed this…” You trail off. Your cry and the way you tense is all it takes to push him over the edge. He grins against your skin at hearing you break apart for him. It’s a beautiful sight, one that he will be replaying in his head when he’s back in California, the sound of his name on your lips a sweet melody in his ears.

“Yeah, that’s my girl. That’s my good princess.” He moans your name as he comes, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He paints your walls with his release, and the hot gush of his come steadily drips down your thighs onto the bed. The two of you stay there looking into each other’s eyes, panting.

He pulls out slowly, leaving you feeling both empty and satisfied. He collapses next to you, pulling you on top of him, wrapping his arms tightly around you, and holding you close to his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he runs his fingers through your hair. He's breathing heavily, still coming down from his high. You look up at his face, studying it at this moment. His eyes are closed, a look of satisfaction and content on his face. He's still a little flushed and breathless, and there's a faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His hair is tousled and messy, sticking out at all angles. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, that same satisfied look in his eyes. Nick gives you a small smile before he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. He looks down at your neck and sees the marks he's left. He runs his fingers lightly over the bruised and tender skin as he speaks.

"I may have gotten a little carried away there... I left quite a few marks on you." He looks a little sheepish, but he doesn't seem too apologetic.

"It's fine, I see I left my fair share as well with my nails." You grin, touching the red lines you left on him. "Just hope Finn doesn't notice, I'll never hear the end of it." You laugh, hiding your face against his neck. You brush your lips along the column of his throat.

He laughs as well at the mention of Finn, and how he'd react if he saw the state you two were in. He runs his hand back up your thigh and then back around to rest on your waist.

"God, you're right," Nick chuckles. "I should stop in tomorrow and see what the squad is up to, you work tomorrow?"

"Yeah," you nod.

"Maybe I'll swing by in the morning." He grins and pulls you closer to him. You can feel the heat coming off his body, and your body tingles in response. You let your hand run over his bare chest, feeling his heart thump softly beneath your palm. 

The two of you talk for a while before drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As Olivia and Finn walk through the precinct, she asks, "So what's this about a suspect?"

Fin replies, "He turned himself in. He hasn't confessed yet, but he says he'll only speak to the captain. And get this - he's quite the charmer." Olivia sighed before opening the door to the interrogation room.

Nick raises his hands, a wide grin spreading across his face. You stand behind him, your smile mirroring his mischievous expression.

"Oh, my God, Nick," Liv laughs as she and Finn walk into the room. "Whose idea was this?" She looks around the group to see who was the one who set this up.

“Mine.” You answer, raising your hand, and moving around the table closer to the squad.

“What, you’re captain now, you don’t like surprises?” Nick asks, stepping closer to the Captain.

Liv shakes her head with a grin, closing the distance between her and Nick, and pulling him into a hug. Nick now faces you as the captain asks, "What brings you to New York?"

"Besides you guys," Nick replies, giving you a tender look, "I missed you all. But this isn't just a personal trip - I've been working for a company called FORYM for the last few years, and I'm here because of an old SVU case I want to reopen." Nick proceeds to inform the squad about the developments in his life over the past few years.

You listen intently as Nick recounts his time in California, describing the cases he worked on and the people he's met. You can see the passion on his face, his eyes lighting up as he talks about his work. He pauses for a moment before he continues, glancing at you and the way you look at him. There's a spark between the two of you, a connection that's still strong and present even after all the time that's passed.

Finn and Olivia look between the two of you, taking in the way you're looking at each other. Neither of them misses the tension in the air, and they both know what's going on. Finn in particular gives you a knowing smirk, and you can tell he's enjoying this.

Your phone buzzes with a new text message. "Carisi got the warrant, I'm going to pick it up. Text me if you need anything," After bidding farewell to the group, you make your way to Carisi’s office.

Nick: You busy tonight?

 You: No. You?

Nick: Nope, nightcap?

You: Of course, you’d think I’d say no after last night’s performance.

Nick: See ya then. 

You: <3

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 3

Summary: When you unexpectedly discover you're pregnant, you're thrust into navigating the complexities of your new reality. As the baby's father remains distant, it's your partner, Sonny Carisi, who steps up in ways you couldn't dream of. You find yourself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, including the unexpected feelings of slowly falling in love with your partner. Pairings: Sonny Carisi/Reader, Rafael Barba/Reader. Masterlist.

“I have these feelings, and they’re stupid and complicated and I don’t know if I’m able to stop them.” Your eyes watched as Rafael placed his drink down and placed his hands in his pockets, leaning against the front of his desk like he was waiting for you to finish, like he already knew what you were trying to say; “or even if I want too,” You finished in a whisper. You saw the ghost of a smirk cross Rafael’s face, his hands moving out of his pockets and stepping a bit closer to you, before placing his hands on either side of your neck. The warmth of his skin searing into your skin, his thumbs gently caressing you; “I don’t think I want you to either,” He finished, his voice low and heavy. The smell of aging scotch violating your nostrils as he leant down and pressed his lips to your own. His kiss was tentative at first, a soft brush of lips that left you breathless. Your heart raced, every beat echoing in your ears as his hands slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. You felt his hesitance, his fear of rejection, but you also felt his need, his longing that matched your own.

You reached up, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palms. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you were trying to make up for all the moments you had denied yourselves this closeness. His body pressed against yours, and you melted into him, losing yourself in the sensation.

The waiting room was sterile and cold, with its bland, off-white walls and outdated, uncomfortable chairs. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glow over everything. A few scattered magazines sat untouched on a low table, their pages worn and curled, dated by months. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, along with the occasional ding of the automatic sliding doors as people came and went.

You had been sitting in this waiting room for what felt like hours, though it had probably only been thirty minutes. Your eyes were glued to the clock above the receptionist’s desk, each second ticking by painfully slow, so slow that it almost seemed like time was moving backwards. Your hand rested on your slightly protruding stomach, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns as you waited for something—anything—to happen. Whether it was Rafael walking through those sliding doors or the ultrasound technician calling your name, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. You just wanted to move forward, to get through this moment.

A small sigh escaped your lips. You were trying—really trying—to keep Rafael involved. You had sent him reminders of all the appointments, kept him updated on the pregnancy, and tried to make space for him in this process. But out of the three appointments so far, he had only shown up to one. The other two, he claimed, were due to court obligations. You understood, of course—his job was demanding, and you had always admired his dedication. But as much as you tried to rationalize it, each missed appointment felt like a little more distance growing between you and him, and between him and the child you were carrying.

His mother had been more involved, in her own way. She had sent you a care package, filled with maternity clothes and little baby trinkets, and had called to promise that she would come visit when she had time off work. But promises were just that—empty until fulfilled—and you weren’t sure when, or if, she would actually make it.

And in the end, you realized there was only one person you could truly count on, the one person who had been there for every appointment, every late-night craving, every moment of uncertainty.

“How’s your bladder feeling?” Sonny’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He sat beside you, tucking his phone back into his suit jacket, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

You gave him a side-eye, not really in the mood but still amused by his attempt to lighten things up. “This is almost as bad as that time we were on stakeout in Brooklyn. You know, with the trafficking case?”

Sonny nodded, chuckling at the memory. “Oh yeah, and you drank all that coffee after being told not to drink all that coffee? I remember that. You barely made it through the night without exploding.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was just a small one. “Bright side is, as soon as this is over, you can go pee,” he added with a grin.

“My tiny bladder can’t cope with this,” you mumbled, rubbing your stomach gently as you shifted in your seat. Despite the light banter, your mind kept drifting back to Rafael. You wanted so badly to believe that he cared, that he would eventually step up and be present. After all, you had shared so much once, and this baby was a part of both of you. But with each passing appointment, each reminder left unanswered, each text that went without a reply, the hope you clung to grew dimmer. It was like watching a candle flicker and slowly burn out in a dark, quiet room. You didn’t want to admit it, not even to yourself, but a part of you was beginning to accept the hard truth: Rafael might never be the partner or father you had hoped for. The man you had once trusted to stand beside you through thick and thin was slowly becoming a distant figure, a ghost in the background of your life.

You sighed again, though this time it came from a deeper place. A weight settled in your chest, the kind of heaviness that comes from loving someone who might never love you back in the way you need them to. The silence between you and Sonny was comfortable, but your thoughts were anything but.

Just then, the soft hiss of the sliding doors caught your attention, but out of habit more than hope. You didn’t even bother turning around. You had stopped expecting Rafael to show up. It was easier that way—easier than enduring the constant disappointment of hoping, only to have it dashed again. Whoever had just walked through those doors, it wasn’t him. You knew that much. It was what you had come to expect.

“You know you can go if you need to,” you said quietly, watching as Sonny pulled out his phone again, likely checking his messages or glancing at the time. “You don’t have to hold my hand through this. Really.”

Sonny shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket without even looking at it. “I know you don’t need me here,” he said softly, his voice as steady and warm as ever. “But I want to be here.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the simple sincerity in his words. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you felt the world quiet around you. There was no judgment in his gaze, no impatience, no sense that he had anywhere else to be. Just him, right here, fully present.

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeated, more to reassure yourself than him. Despite how much you appreciated Sonny’s presence, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. This wasn’t his responsibility. He wasn’t the father. He wasn’t obligated to sit in this waiting room with you. “It’s not your problem.”

Sonny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned slightly toward you. “I know it’s not my problem,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “But you’re my partner, and my friend and friends don’t let each other go through this stuff alone. And besides…” He paused, his eyes softening as he glanced down at your hand resting on your belly, “…I care about you. Both of you.”

His words hung in the air, and for a second, you didn’t know how to respond. The tenderness in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—it was more than you were used to. More than you had expected from him, or anyone for that matter. And yet, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt... right.

You swallowed, turning your gaze back to the floor as your fingers absently traced the curve of your stomach. “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability crept up on you before you could stop it. “I thought I’d be doing this with Rafael, you know? I thought he’d be here, that we’d be figuring this out together. But now… now I don’t even know if he’ll be here at all.” The last part slipped out before you could catch it, and your chest tightened at the confession. Saying it out loud made it feel real—the kind of real that you couldn’t take back. The weight of your words hung between you and Sonny, heavy and undeniable.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “After that meeting a few weeks ago, it’s just been… weird,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like, Rafael will call, he’ll show up for appointments sometimes, and he’ll say these things that make me think—maybe, just maybe—this co-parenting thing could actually work. That he’s willing to be involved, you know?”

You could feel Sonny’s eyes on you, quietly listening, giving you the space to let it all out. You took another breath, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you continued. “But then… sometimes he just goes silent. No calls. No texts. It’s like he disappears, and I’m left hanging again. Wondering. Waiting.” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I dunno. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering how he just walked out on me without much of an explanation. But I thought… I thought it would be different with the baby.” You let out a half-hearted, bitter laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. "You think you know a guy," you said, your voice tinged with frustration and disbelief. "I mean, I knew we weren't perfect. I knew he had his issues, especially after everything that happened with his job, his family, all of it. But I didn’t think he’d just… leave. Not like that.”

The memory of Rafael walking out still stung, even though you had spent weeks trying to convince yourself it didn’t. You had told yourself over and over that you were fine, that you were strong enough to handle it. But late at night, when the apartment was dark and quiet, those thoughts would creep back in. You’d replay the moment you realised he left-finding that note on your bedside table-and wonder if there had been something you could’ve done, something you could’ve said, to make him stay.

You had spent weeks in limbo, waiting for a call, an explanation, anything that would make sense of it all. But instead, all you got was silence. Eventually, you had no choice but to accept it—that you and Rafael, no matter how much you loved him, were never really meant to be. The relationship you had clung to, the future you had imagined, had slipped through your fingers the moment he decided to walk away.

The weight of that truth settled heavily in your chest, the bitter finality of it. Maybe you’d never fully understand why he left, but you couldn’t keep torturing yourself with the question. It was like chasing a shadow—something you could never quite catch, something that would always elude you.

Sonny shifted beside you, his expression concerned, his lips parting as if he were about to say something. But before he could, you heard your name called from the far side of the room. You blinked, snapping out of the spiral of thoughts as you realized it was finally time for your appointment.

You pulled yourself to your feet, feeling the weight of your growing belly as you stood. The baby shifted inside you, pressing down hard on your bladder, and you winced at the uncomfortable sensation.

"I swear I’m going to wet myself any second now," you muttered under your breath, half-joking, half-serious.

Sonny was already on his feet beside you, his hand instinctively reaching out to offer support. You didn’t even have to ask. He was there, steady and reliable as always, making sure you were okay as you made your way toward the ultrasound room.

The technician, a woman with a warm smile and kind eyes, greeted you as you approached. “Ready to see your little one today?” she asked in a cheerful tone, clearly trying to put you at ease.

You nodded, though your thoughts were still tangled in the emotions that Rafael’s absence had stirred up. You wished, deep down, that he were here to experience this moment with you. But at the same time, part of you was relieved that he wasn’t. The constant back-and-forth with him, the uncertainty—it was exhausting. And right now, you needed peace more than anything.

Sonny hovered just behind you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you walked. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. It grounded you, reminded you that no matter how messy things felt, you weren’t alone in this. Not really.

<><><><><><><>

The late afternoon sun filtered through the light canopy above, casting golden dapples across the small iron café table. You swirled the straw in your iced drink, watching the condensation drip down the side of the cup as you studied Sonny across from you. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, hands animated as he spoke—his whole expression lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“You’re like a child who just saw Santa for the first time,” you teased, laughing as you sipped through the straw.

Sonny chuckled, that warm, soft sound that always seemed to make everything feel a little easier. “There’s something incredible about seeing that though,” he said, eyes wide with something close to awe. “Knowing that in there, a whole little person is growin’, moving around and just… existing. It’s the miracle of life, you know?”

You tilted your head with a fond smile. “What? So no comment about how the tech thought the baby was yours?” You raised an eyebrow as you took another drink.

Sonny gave you a look, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “Hey, I didn’t hear you clearing that up the first time she said it either.”

You blushed slightly and looked away, sheepish. “I didn’t hear her until the second time she said it,” you muttered. “I was too busy focusing on not wetting myself.”

He laughed and shook his head, reaching for his espresso.

Just then, your phone buzzed across the table, the screen lighting up with Rafael Barba. Your stomach flipped.

“Speaking of baby daddies,” you murmured under your breath, ignoring the way Sonny’s brows rose in immediate interest.

You leaned back in your chair, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” Rafael’s voice came through, slightly breathless. You could hear street sounds behind him. “I got caught up and lost track of time. How’d it go?”

You didn’t even bother softening your tone. “Well, you’ll be glad to know that it’s a baby.”

There was a short huff of amusement on the other end. “I was wondering,” he replied, his voice just as dry. “Can I make it up to you?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “How?”

A pause. “Dinner? I know you’re not really one for going out these days, but I could pick something up and swing by your apartment?”

You stared down at your half-empty drink, your jaw tightening before you responded. “Are you actually gonna show up?”

Sonny’s eyes flicked up from his coffee, quietly watching you. You caught his look and gave him a sharp glance that said not now.

“I’ll show up,” Rafael said quietly. “I’ll be there.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. There was a time you never would have doubted him—when he was everything solid and safe in a world that often wasn’t. He was your constant, your person.

But now? Now, all you could feel was the ache of hesitation. The disappointment that had crept in, little by little, until it felt like a permanent fixture in your chest. You hated that you couldn’t trust him, hated how hard it was becoming to believe in him again.

“Yeah, fine. Okay,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

You didn’t answer. Just ended the call and set the phone down.

Sonny was still watching you, that same quiet, patient look on his face.

“Barba’s coming over tonight,” you said slowly, turning your straw again in the cup, “bringing dinner.” You snorted. “If he does.”

“He will,” Sonny said, his voice gentle but firm.

You looked away, your fingers tightening on the plastic cup. “Yeah, but will he though? Come on, he’s gotten pretty damn good at flaking on me lately.”

You gave a bitter little laugh and stirred your drink again, the ice clinking against the sides. Sonny didn’t say anything right away. “He cares about you. He still does—you know that,” Sonny finally offered, his voice gentle but sure, the kind of tone he used when coaxing the truth out of scared witnesses or calming down someone on the edge.

You let out a short, bitter laugh and leaned back in your chair, the metal legs scraping faintly against the concrete patio. “Let’s count this down, shall we?” you said, holding up a finger. “He left me. With a fucking note, Sonny. Like a goddamn teenager ghosting a summer fling.”

You lifted another finger. “Then he ignored me. Weeks went by—weeks—and it wasn’t until Liv reached out that he finally acknowledged me. Or this baby.”

Sonny’s jaw tightened slightly, his brows furrowed with a flicker of sympathy, but he stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“And even now, knowing everything—knowing what this is—he still doesn’t come to appointments.” You paused, letting out a breath as you held up another finger. “Sorry. Correction. He came to one doctor’s appointment. A few weeks ago. Made a whole show of asking questions and acting like he gave a damn.”

You blinked, slow and deliberate, then dropped your hand and shook your head. “My point is... everything else is always more important to him. His work, his ego, whatever’s going on in that head of his—it’s all more important than this.” You gestured to yourself, to the small swell under your jacket, barely visible now but all-consuming to you. “Than me. Than this baby.”

The weight of your words lingered in the air. A siren wailed faintly in the distance. Someone laughed from inside the café. The world kept moving.

“It’s really hard,” you went on, quieter now, “trying to co-parent and do the whole thing with someone who only wants to be involved when it’s convenient. It makes me feel like I’m walking a tightrope every time I let him in. Like I can’t rely on him, but if I don’t let him try, then maybe I’m the bad guy.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna stick around?” Sonny asked carefully, eyes soft but searching. He didn’t push—you could always count on that with him. Just asked, just listened.

“I didn’t say that.” You shrugged a shoulder, half-hearted. “I just mean... I’m not expecting a lot from him. Which is fine. Loads of people do this alone, right? Liv managed. Amanda did it—twice. I can do this too.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers loosely knotted together in your lap. Your nails were chipped. You hadn’t even noticed.

Sonny gave you a small smile then, warm and steady. “Yeah, you can,” he said, without a hint of doubt. Not just encouraging, but believing it. Believing you.

You glanced up at him, your throat tightening unexpectedly. It was that look—pure, unwavering support, no agenda, no strings. Just Sonny, sitting across from you like he always did. Showing up.

<><><><><><><> It was just past seven when a knock on the door pulled you from the half-watched rerun playing on the TV. You blinked, slow and heavy-lidded, the soft glow from the screen casting flickering shadows across your apartment. You stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs, one hand instinctively brushing over your stomach as you padded toward the door.

When you opened it, Rafael Barba stood on the other side, slightly out of breath like he’d jogged the last block, a white paper bag in one hand and that familiar uncertain look in his eyes—the one he used in court when he wasn’t sure how the jury would swing.

“Got you those, uh… those snacks from the bodega on the corner,” he said, holding out the bag like an olive branch. “The ones you used to love. I thought we could choose dinner once I got here—I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

You looked at him for a long second, your expression unreadable. He looked a little thinner, like stress had been gnawing at him. His tie was loosened, his shirt slightly wrinkled under the navy vest. Still polished—but not pristine.

“I didn’t even think you’d show up,” you said quietly.

His face faltered. You stepped aside after a pause, silently letting him in. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the world.

“I deserved that,” Rafael murmured, placing the bag carefully on the coffee table like it might break. He took a breath and turned to look at you properly—eyes scanning, almost studying you, like he was trying to memorize every change. You dropped into the armchair with a small exhale, curling your feet under you as he unbuttoned his vest and eased down onto the couch.

“God, this couch has only just gotten worse,” he muttered, shifting his weight with a soft groan. “It always tried to swallow me whole.” Then he looked over at you with a tired smirk. “It suits you.”

You raised a brow. “What does?”

“Pregnancy,” he finished softly, his voice gentler now.

Your eyes flicked away. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m only doing it the once,” you replied, giving a small huff. His gaze lingered too long, and it made you shift in your seat, your body suddenly too aware of itself under his scrutiny. You rubbed your hand over the curve of your belly, not protectively—reflexively.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked, settling back into the cushions, his tone more clinical now, like it might be safer.

You shrugged. “Tired. Hungry. The usual.”

“Nothing much has changed then?” he teased.

You cracked a smile. “Not particularly, no.”

Rafael leaned his head back with a quiet laugh. It was small, but it was real, “Any cravings yet?” he asked, smirking again as he glanced over.

“These, uh… spicy burger things from the place down the street from the precinct. Pretty sure the workers know Carisi by name at this point.” You laughed again, more relaxed now. “He keeps picking them up for me without even asking.”

Rafael hesitated, the smirk fading just slightly. His gaze sharpened—just a bit too interested, “Carisi?” he echoed, slow and cautious. “He, uh… he been doing a lot for you?”

You paused, something in his tone catching your attention. You met his eyes, your own suddenly cooler, “Well,” you said, voice even, “he’s the only one I’ve really been able to rely on.” The words hung heavy in the space between you, pointed but not raised. Just true. Rafael dropped his gaze, studying his hands like they might hold answers he hadn’t been able to say aloud. His jaw clenched once, the way it always did when emotion threatened to push past his control. After a moment, he cleared his throat and looked back up. “I’m glad you’ve had someone here for you.”

“I would have much rather it be you,” you replied, voice low, tight in your throat. “But it just seems like everything’s more important, you know? This—” you gestured vaguely between yourself and your stomach “—never seemed like it made the cut.”

He didn’t speak right away. You saw it—how his eyes flicked to the side, how he exhaled hard through his nose, fighting the swell of guilt that was clearly choking him. When he finally looked back at you, his gaze was softer, wounded.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off that way,” he said. “Trust me, nothing is more important than this. Than you—” He stopped as your expression shifted. Something must’ve cracked across your face, because he winced and backed off, sighing sharply. “What do you need from me?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, letting the weight of everything press in for just a second. “Just be there. Show up. I’m almost halfway through this pregnancy and I haven’t even started shopping, haven’t looked at a single thing because I can’t. Because every time I try, I hear your voice in my head—like I need your fucking approval for everything I do for this baby.”

“You don’t—” he began, instinctive.

“I know I don’t,” you cut in, looking at him now, hard and direct. “But you’re the father, Rafael. You are. And you’re supposed to have a say in this. You should. But you’re not around long enough to have one.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed through it. “What happens when this case is done? You gonna pack your bags again? Head back upstate, back to your perfect, curated life, and leave me here doing this alone?”

Rafael swallowed hard, his throat working. Then, barely above a whisper: “Then come with me.”

Your eyes snapped to him.

“I have a place,” he continued quickly. “It’s big enough. Quiet. It’s not forever, just… long enough for the three of us to figure this out.”

You scoffed, a bitter little laugh as you looked away, shaking your head. “If you asked me that question months ago—before you left—I would’ve come in a heartbeat. No hesitation. But now?” Your voice dropped. “I’m not going to leave everything behind for someone who left me without a second thought.”

He flinched like you’d hit him, “We’re still bringing this up?” he asked, the frustration in his voice creeping in.

“Yeah, we’re still bringing it up,” you snapped. “Because it still hits pretty damn raw. You didn’t come back for me. You came back because Liv called you. Do you even understand what that feels like? To know the person you loved more than anything didn’t love you enough to come back on their own?” You blinked hard. The burn behind your eyes was impossible to ignore now. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Rafael’s mouth parted, his face drawn tight with emotion. “I loved you, okay?” he said quickly, his voice rising with the force of it. “I still love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”

You didn’t move, but your breath caught.

“But knowing I left you,” he continued, “knowing you were carrying my child—it terrified me. I didn’t know how to come back from that. How the hell do I walk into your life again after doing the one thing I swore I’d never do to you?”

“You just do it,” you shot back. “Because I needed you. You think you were scared? I found out I was pregnant and you wouldn’t answer your damn phone. For weeks, Rafael. And by the time you finally showed up, I was in my second trimester.” Your voice cracked again. You didn’t care. “The only person who’s been there—who stepped up where you didn’t—is the one person who shouldn’t have had to. But he did. Because he wanted to. Because he actually gives a shit about me.”

Rafael looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he nodded, once. Twice. “You’re right,” he said, quietly. “Okay? You’re right. I was gutless. Hell, I’m still gutless. But I’m here now.”

“You’re still leaving after this case,” you reminded him, not cruel—just tired.

He gave a helpless shrug. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But for now? I’m here. And I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. I’ll step up where it matters.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his eyes shifted—earnest, vulnerable, cracked open. “Tomorrow,” he said with new resolve. “Okay? Tomorrow, you and I—we’ll go shopping. Get baby stuff. Clear out that spare room of yours—because I know it still has boxes you’ve been avoiding, and let’s be honest, you’re not getting rid of those without someone pushing you.” He offered you the smallest of smiles. Not perfect, not entirely confident—but real.

You stared at him for a long moment, then gave a soft, quiet, “Okay.”

Rafael nodded, the smile widening a touch. “Okay.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, it felt like maybe something was beginning to mend.

[aspenmissing]

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ -

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ, ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ, ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ, ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ, ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ, ᴊɪɴx (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ, ᴠɪ, ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ, ᴄᴀɪᴛᴠɪ, ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ, ᴇᴋᴋᴏ, ᴍᴇʟ, ᴍᴇʟᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ

ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ -

ꜱᴀᴍ ᴡɪɴᴄʜᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ, ᴅᴇᴀɴ ᴡɪɴᴄʜᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ, ᴄᴀꜱᴛɪᴇʟ ɴᴏᴠᴀᴋ, ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪᴇʟ, ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ᴋʟɪɴᴇ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ɢᴀʙʀɪᴇʟ, ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ, ᴄʀᴏᴡʟᴇʏ, ʀᴏᴡᴇɴᴀ

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ -

ʀɪᴄᴋ ɢʀɪᴍᴇꜱ, ᴅᴀʀʏʟ ᴅɪxᴏɴ, ʀɪᴄᴋʟʏ, ɴᴇɢᴀɴ ꜱᴍɪᴛʜ, ɢʟᴇɴɴ ʀʜᴇᴇ, ᴍᴀɢɢɪᴇ ɢʀᴇᴇɴᴇ

ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴍɪɴᴅꜱ -

ꜱᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ ʀᴇɪᴅ, ᴀᴀʀᴏɴ ʜᴏᴛᴄʜɴᴇʀ, ᴇᴍɪʟʏ ᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪꜱꜱ, ᴅᴀᴠɪᴅ ʀᴏꜱꜱɪ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ᴅᴇʀᴇᴋ ᴍᴏʀɢᴀɴ

ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ -

ʀʜᴀᴇɴᴇʏʀᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ, ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏɢᴇɴ, ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ, ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ , ᴀᴇɢᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ, ᴄʀᴇɢᴀɴ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ

ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇꜱ -

ᴊᴏɴ ꜱɴᴏᴡ, ʀᴏʙʙ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ, ᴛʏʀɪᴏɴ ʟᴀɴɴɪꜱᴛᴇʀ, ᴊᴀᴍɪᴇ ʟᴀɴɴɪꜱᴛᴇʀ, ᴅᴀᴇɴᴇʀʏꜱ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ, ᴛʜᴇᴏɴ ɢʀᴇʏᴊᴏʏ, ʙʀɪᴇɴɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴀʀᴛʜ, ʀᴀᴍꜱᴀʏ ʙᴏʟᴛᴏɴ

ʟᴀᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ -

ᴏʟɪᴠɪᴀ ʙᴇɴꜱᴏɴ, ᴅᴏᴍɪɴɪᴄᴋ "ꜱᴏɴɴʏ" ᴄᴀʀɪꜱɪ ᴊʀ, ʀᴀꜰᴀᴇʟ ʙᴀʀʙᴀ, ʙᴀʀɪꜱɪ, ᴀᴍᴀɴᴅᴀ ʀᴏʟʟɪɴꜱ, ɴɪᴄᴋ ᴀᴍᴀʀᴏ, ᴅᴇᴄʟᴀɴ ᴍᴜʀᴘʜʏ, ᴍɪᴋᴇ ᴅᴏᴅᴅꜱ, ᴛᴇʀʀʏ ʙʀᴜɴᴏ

ʜᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟ (ᴛᴠ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ) -

ʜᴀɴɴʙᴀʟ ʟᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ, ᴡɪʟʟ ɢʀᴀʜᴀᴍ, ʜᴀɴɴɪɢʀᴀᴍ, ꜰʀᴇᴅʀɪᴄᴋ ᴄʜɪʟᴛᴏ��

ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ -

ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜɴꜱᴏɴ, ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ, ꜱᴛᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ, ​🇯​​🇮​​🇲​ ​🇭​​🇴​​🇵​​🇵​​🇪​​🇷​, ʙɪʟʟʏ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴏᴠᴇ, ɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟᴇʀ, ʀᴏʙɪɴ ʙᴜᴄᴋʟᴇʏ, ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ʙʏᴇʀꜱ

ᴄꜱɪ (ᴍɪᴀᴍɪ/ʟᴀꜱ ᴠᴇɢᴀꜱ) -

ɢɪʟ ɢʀɪꜱꜱᴏᴍ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ɴɪᴄᴋ ꜱᴛᴏᴋᴇꜱ, ɢʀᴇɢ ꜱᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱ, ᴅᴀᴠɪᴅ ʜᴏᴅɢᴇꜱ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ʜᴇɴʀʏ ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴡꜱ, ᴀʀᴄʜɪᴇ ᴊᴏʜɴꜱᴏɴ, ᴅ.ʙ. ʀᴜꜱꜱᴇʟʟ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ᴍᴏʀɢᴀɴ ʙʀᴏᴅʏ, ᴛɪᴍ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅʟᴇ, ʀʏᴀɴ ᴡᴏʟꜰᴇ

ɴᴄɪꜱ -

ʟᴇʀᴏʏ ᴊᴇᴛʜʀᴏ ɢɪʙʙꜱ, ᴀʙʙʏ ꜱᴄɪᴜᴛᴏ, ᴛɪᴍᴏᴛʜʏ ᴍᴄɢᴇᴇ, ᴀɴᴛʜᴏɴʏ ᴅɪɴᴏᴢᴢᴏ

ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴡʜᴏ -

10ᴛʜ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, 11ᴛʜ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, 12ᴛʜ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, 13ᴛʜ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, ꜱᴘʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ, ʀɪᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴏɴɢ, ᴄʟᴀʀᴀ ᴏꜱᴡᴀʟᴅ

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏʏꜱ -

ʙɪʟʟʏ ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ, ʜᴜɢʜɪᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴘʙᴇʟʟ, Qᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴀᴇᴠᴇ, ʜᴏᴍᴇʟᴀɴᴅᴇʀ, ꜱᴏʟɪᴅᴇʀ ʙᴏʏ, ᴀɴɴɪᴇ ᴊᴀɴᴜᴀʀʏ

ɢʀɪᴍᴍ -

ᴍᴏɴʀᴏᴇ, ʀᴏꜱᴀʟᴇᴇ ᴄᴀʟᴠᴇʀᴛ, ᴍᴏɴᴀʟᴇᴇ, ɴɪᴄᴋ ʙᴜʀᴄᴋʜᴀʀᴅᴛ, ꜱᴇᴀɴ ʀᴇɴᴀʀᴅ, ᴛʀᴜʙᴇʟ

ɢᴏᴛʜᴀᴍ -

ᴊᴇʀᴏᴍᴇ ᴠᴀʟᴇꜱᴋᴀ, ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀʜ ᴠᴀʟᴇꜱᴋᴀ, ᴏꜱᴡᴀʟᴅ ᴄᴏʙʙʟᴇᴘᴏᴛ, ᴊɪᴍ ɢᴏʀᴅᴏɴ, ʜᴀʀᴠᴇʏ ʙᴜʟʟᴏᴄᴋ, ꜰɪꜱʜ ᴍᴏᴏɴᴇʏ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)

ᴘᴇᴀᴋʏ ʙʟɪɴᴅᴇʀꜱ -

ᴛᴏᴍᴍʏ ꜱʜᴇʟʙʏ, ᴊᴏʜɴ ꜱʜᴇʟʙʏ, ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ꜱʜᴇʟʙʏ, ᴀʟꜰɪᴇ ꜱᴏʟᴏᴍᴏɴꜱ, ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ -

ᴛᴀᴛᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴅᴏɴ, ʟᴀɴᴀ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀꜱ, ᴋɪᴛ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇʀ, ᴄᴏʀᴅᴇʟɪᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅᴇ, ᴋʏʟᴇ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ, ᴍɪꜱᴛʏ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴊɪᴍᴍʏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ, ᴅᴀɴᴅʏ ᴍᴏᴛᴛ, ᴇʟꜱᴀ ᴍᴀʀꜱ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ᴊᴏʜɴ ʟᴏᴡᴇ, ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴍᴀʀᴄʜ, ᴇʟɪᴢᴀʙᴇᴛʜ, ᴋᴀɪ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ, ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴅᴏɴ, xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ ᴘʟʏᴍᴘᴛᴏɴ

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ -

ᴄʀᴏᴡʟᴇʏ, ᴀᴢɪʀᴀᴘʜᴀʟᴇ, ᴘᴏʟʏ

ʀᴇᴅ ᴅᴡᴀʀꜰ -

ᴀʀɴᴏʟᴅ ʀɪᴍᴍᴇʀ, ᴅᴀᴠᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇʀ, ᴄᴀᴛ, ᴀᴄᴇ ʀɪᴍᴍᴇʀ

ꜱɴᴏᴡᴘɪᴇʀᴄᴇʀ -

ᴊᴏꜱᴇᴘʜ ᴡɪʟꜰᴏʀᴅ, ʙᴇꜱꜱ ᴛɪʟʟ, ᴀʟᴇxᴀɴᴅʀᴀ ᴄᴀᴠɪʟʟ, ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴀᴜᴅʀᴇʏ, ʙᴇɴɴᴇᴛ ᴋɴᴏx, ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴏꜱᴡᴇɪʟʟᴇʀ, ᴊᴀᴠɪᴇʀ ᴅᴇ ʟᴀ ᴛᴏʀʀᴇ, ʙᴏᴊᴀɴ ʙᴏꜱᴄᴏᴠɪᴄ

2/ʟᴇꜱꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ -

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ (ᴘᴇᴅʀᴏ ᴘᴀꜱᴄᴀʟ), ꜱʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ ʜᴏʟᴍᴇꜱ, ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀɪᴀʀᴛʏ, ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢꜱᴛᴀʀ, ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ "ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɴᴅᴍᴀɴ"

[maddiesentmehere118]

All Isn't Calm, or Bright

This is my first fic, so please be gentle! I've been writing my own self-indulgent fics for years, but decided to post one to get over my fear. This is set around Christmas and reader and the SVU squad are attending a precinct party. The line "He's not good enough for you" is inspired by Lucas' line to Peyton in One Tree Hill!

Rafael Barba x Reader

Word Count: 1,043

Warnings: Rafael is a jealous dick, heartbreak, drinking, angst

Masterlist

____________________________________________________________

You’re leaning against your apartment door frame, fumbling with the key to the door. As the keys slip from your fingers and drop onto the floor, more tears fall down your face. You glance down at the wristlet keychain splayed out on the floor, and it takes all or your willpower to not slide down into a heap on the floor and give up alongside it.

Taking a steadying breath, you pick up the key and work on the lock again. You finally get the key into the hole after a few more attempts, twisting the door before locking it behind you. In your tear filled haze and the few flutes of champagne at the party, you forget to put the deadbolt in place. Instead, your mind is set on getting more alcohol into your system to numb the heartbreak. And a hot bath to warm you up after the three block walk in the below freezing temperature of New York.  

You find a bottle of pink moscato in your fridge and twist it open, thankful that you were still set in your old ways of drinking the cheap moscato on the average night and saving the expensive stuff for special occassions. You couldn’t remember the last time you were in the apartment this week, maybe it had been two weeks. Honestly, it didn’t matter right now- you just needed a place to sleep and some more alcohol. And now that you think of it, you could use a hot bath with the wine. 

Half stumbling through the studio apartment, you land in the bathroom. Setting the bottle on the floor by the tub, you turn the facet on. You let out a small yelp with a quick jerk of your hand as you test the water temperature, adding more cold water. Once satisfied, you lean down to grab the bubble bath from underneath the small sink to pour a large capful in. 

Sober you would have known this was a bad idea, climbing into the tub, late at night, with a bottle of wine and plenty of alcohol already in your bloodstream.

But currently, you need to find a way to relax so you don't sob yourself to death- or end up doing something you regretted. And since there were quite a few things on that said list of possible regrets, maybe it was the best choice for you to make your way to the west side of Manhattan and make questionable decisions in the comfort of your own home. 

***

You can tell who has walked up behind you based on the smell of the citrus, woodsy Terre d’Hermes cologne and the way their hands perfectly hold onto your hips. You insticinvtively lean back against Rafael as he gives a firm squeeze of your curves, the large amount of alcohol in your system inhibting your self-awareness of who may be watching. And you are sure that he has also consumed a good amount of alcohol himself. 

But as good as the moment is, it is ruined by some of the most infuriating words you have ever heard come out of his mouth being whispered into your ears. 

“Te ves hermosa, detective,” there is a pause, a subtle kiss being placed below your ear. His hot breath hits your neck, causing a shiver to roll down your spine. The smell of orange and bourbon invades your senses, a tell tale sign of the Old Fashions he must have been nursing tonight. “Pero el no es lo suficientemente bueno para ti.”

initially you are caught off guard. It takes your mind longer than normal to process the words, but once you put the pieces together, the weight of his body is gone. 

You look beautiful, detective But he’s not good enough for you.

***

With the scene replaying in your head, the barrier breaks and you sob again. You tug on the dress you bought for the special occasion, not caring if you heard any tearing sounds. You wanted to forget about the night and any reminders of it as you tossed it by the trash can in the corner.

 As the water reaches the top and you turn it off,  you sink down into the tub, hitting the water hard as some splashes over the sides. And with a laugh of indifference, you place the bottle up to your lips and give a good few gulps of the liquid. 

“That’s it, pretty girl.”

Your world is going in and out. You are in your bed, but you don’t remember getting out of the tub. Rafael stands in front of you, putting pills up to your lips. You open your mouth and let him put a water bottle up to your lips. 

Your vision flirts over to your nightstand as the water is set down, the light on the dim setting. Two used makeup wipes are in a pile. Your eyes are dry and burn. He is looking down at you, in a t-shirt and sweats. 

“You broke my heart.”

“I know,” he pauses, his fingers pushing a few wet strands of hair off of your face “you scared me falling asleep in the tub.”

Ah, that’s why you can’t remember. You fell asleep and he must have helped you stumble to your bed in a blackout state. Ooopsies.

“Is the wine gone?”

You are met with tight lips, worried eyes, and a nod. With a sigh, you slide down onto the bed. The light goes out and a few blinks, he walks off. You watch in the dark, seeing him with a pillow and blanket in his hands as he makes his way over to the couch. 

“Where are you going, don’t leave me. Please, don’t. I don’t want to feel alone anymore.”

Silence. He freezes in his spot. You take it as a sign that you’ve been rejected for the second time that night, so you roll over to start sobbing into your pillow. But when the bed dips, your tears stop. 

Wordlesly, you are pulled into his side, arm wrapped under your neck. Your fingers wrap around his hand, squeezing tightly. 

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up. We can talk about it when you wake up.”

“Mmmkay," you sleepily mutter, saying words that you won't remember in the morning "I love you.”

[kryptonitejelly]

nick amaro x reader // law and order SVU

yes, we are going there - what have i done 😭 no plot, really. just a moment.

-

The last thing Nick had expected to find when walking back into the SVU bullpen was you; and yet, here he was, eyes fixed on you as his strides quickened. He notices Fin’s smirk that finds itself aimed his way as he weaves his way between Amanda and Liv to get to you, but he ignores it.

He lets his gaze drag itself over your form, head down on his desk, the lamp on his desk casting a soft glow around your features; the extra suit jacket he leaves hanging on the back of his chair draped over your shoulders. You have a laptop open in front of you, a case file and note pad within reach, all topped off by an uncapped pen lying caged between your curled fingers. He sees the pair of heels which you had shed, one standing, one lying on its side peeking out from under his desk. A dip of his gaze reveals the deep green of the dress which you had on, one of his favourite dresses on you - one that he knew you had worn in to work today in anticipation of Friday having supposed to be date night.

Nick slows his pace as he approaches you, content in the few seconds to allow himself to watch the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders. The sight stirs a mix of emotions in his chest - the swell of emotion that came rushing in whenever he set his eyes on you, and a heavy tinge of guilt. Guilt that he had to cancel the first date night you both had managed to plan after weeks of clashing schedules, guilt that you taken it so well, and guilt that you had somehow found your way here, to the SVU bullpen so that you could both head home together.

Nick drops to a knee, bringing himself to eye level with your face. He raises his hand to cup the side of your face gently. His touch on your skin is light, soft, but it makes you stir immediately.

“Hey,” Nick’s voice grounds you as you let your mind grind to a start, your surroundings shifting into focus. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought we could go home together,” your lips furl up into a gentle smile, voice soft, your eyes, still hazy with sleep, locked onto Nick’s. You forget your bearings for a moment until you hear a cough from behind Nick as various footsteps shuffle into the bullpen. You straighten up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes, legs stretching out beneath you as you offer a wave to the rest of the team trudging in.

“An ADA slumming it at Amaro’s desk?” Fin muses, voice joking and light.

“What would Barba say,” Munch follows, expression deadpan.

“Unbecoming isn’t it?” Liv continues with a quirk of one end of her lip.

“What can I say,” you play along, “not all of us have Barba’s flair.”

“Clearly,” Amanda states, looking pointedly at Nick which earns a series of chuckles from the rest of the team and yourself.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick waves a hand in the air dismissively, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. You tilt your body downward slightly, hands reaching for your discarded heels. Nick notices and he is back on a knee in one fluid motion.

“Nick,” you protest as he places a hand along your calf, his other propping your heel up, helping you back into your heels. You hazard a glance behind your boyfriend, only to find the rest of the team, tactfully busying themselves with their desks. “I’m not Cinderalla,” you state, but with no real protest as you let him guide your other heel back on.

“I’m not your Prince Charming?” He teases, not caring who else heard, giving your calf a gentle squeeze before winking at you and straightening back into a stand.

“I’ll get back to you on that,” you pull a face as you turn to gather your belongings, making quick work of shoving them into your bag with Nick’s help.

“Way to hurt a man,” he places a hand on his chest as you shrug his spare jacket off your shoulders; Nick takes it from you, hanging it back on his chair.

“She could hurt you more” Fin cuts in again with a sing-song voice. It makes you chuckle, as you catch a wink Amanda throws in your direction.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be Detective Tutuola,” Nick asks all while shrugging off the jacket on his shoulders to place it over yours, letting it hang off your frame. He flicks off the light switch on his desk and picks your bag up.

“If I say no, will you let me tag along?”

Your yes comes at the same time as Nick’s absolutely not, and it earns you another series of chuckles around the room.

“Don’t call me till Monday,” Nick calls out, while threading his fingers through yours as he starts to guide you towards the lift. You barely manage to call out a goodbye, before the lift doors shut on you both.

“I didn’t-” your protest is cut short by Nick’s lips on yours, his free hand circling your waist, going over the fabric of his jacket on your shoulders. You let yourself sink into the kiss, hand sliding up his shoulder and behind his neck as the lift descends to the parking garage.

“I’m sorry I had to cancel today,” he says, forehead resting against yours as he breaks the kiss. His eyes are closed, but you flicker yours open as you run your hand from the back of his neck to cup the side of his jaw.

“You have nothing to apologise for Detective Amaro,” you end with the professional term of address in attempt to diffuse some of the guilt you see in his eyes. “Work,” you continue with a light shrug - Nick was a victim of you cancelling on him as well, and you understood.

“I was really looking forward to tonight,” he says, still apologetic as he finally opens his eyes while leaning his face into your palm.

“I can think of a few ways you can spend the rest of the weekend making it up to me,” you say, dropping your voice to a lower, almost sultry tone as you lean into him, pressing the front of your body into his. Nick responds by pulling you in closer, his hand dipping down the hem of his jacket on your shoulders to slide down onto the curve of your ass.

“Take me home Detective Amaro,” you say as the lift door dings open.

“Your wish is my command,” Nick says in response, taking the opportunity to sear another quick kiss onto your lips before tugging you out of the lift.

[rqgnarok]

a house upon the hill - nolan price

love you better now (sequel, original work)- leave a light on (prequel part 1) - this work is prequel part 2 but can be read individually!

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 8,838

warnings: conversations about ptsd and ptsd episodes, aftermath of a traumatic event. canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader

summary: after being shot and waking up in the hospital, the relief of your survival is short-lived.

ao3 / masterlist / buy me a coffee!

author's note below!

The relief of your survival is short-lived.

You’re tired and in pain, the doctors slowly wear you off the meds and your answers to how are doing? gets shorter and shorter to anyone who asks. Your grip around Nolan’s hand tightens further every time someone comes and goes, and by the time you’re leaving the hospital the bags under your eyes are prominent, your cheeks sharper than they were when you first got there. 

Nolan, the trooper, writes down and listens carefully to all the instructions given to him about your care. He packs your bags with all the things he brought from your appartment and the get-well-soon gifts given by family and friends. He doen’t notice you shifting restlessly as he struggles to manhandle the wheelchair, regarding it with distrust.

“Okay,” he says faux brightly, hands at his hips and looking between you and the wheelchair. “You ready to get out of here?”

Your smile is brittle as you nod. That should be Nolan’s first clue, how you don’t rise to the banter at the first chance of it. “Alright, come here. The nurse will kill me if I let you pop your stitches.”

Your jaw tightens but you go, holding onto Nolan and digging your fingers into his arms when you rise off the bed and your body feels like it’s being lit on fire. You curse under your breath and Nolan catches it, tries to meet your eye while you struggle to conceal how much you’re hurting.

“If you need a second–”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, you can’t push yourself too hard,” he reminds you as if you don’t know. “This type of thing doesn’t heal overnight. We can take as long as you need.”

“I just want to go home,” you say, and it sounds so much like begging it makes you sick, makes you mad. “Just– can you just help me out here, please?”

“You just gotta–”

Your reply is biting. “I know, Nolan.”

The room is engulfed by silence. His hands tense where they’re holding you but to Nolan’s credit, he doesn’t let go, even if his mouth is now set in an upset, even line.Your guilt rises like waves but your annoyance drowns it out, and there’s no apology made as you finally sit in the wheelchair, exhaling in relief. 

Nolan doesn’t let go until you’re settled in nicely, and even then he remains close; gripping the handles of the chair and standing behind you where you can’t see him.

You’re buried under two sweatshirts and a coat, but the lack of touch leaves you cold nevertheless. 

Your almost-month long stay at the hospital has left your home rotting in neglect. Your furniture lays under a thin layer of dust and the dishes from your last dinner together are still in the dishwasher. The dirty laundry hamper is about to blow.

Nolan appears sheepish when your eyes inevitably go towards the chaos, expression unreadable. He’s got his arm around your waist and his grip is tight as you make your way through the apartment. “I was hoping for time to clean up a little before you came home, but I’ll take care of it, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you say, monotone. Nolan can’t really read into it, unsure if you mean it or not. Halfway to the bedroom, you dig your nails into his shoulder, pulling him to a stop near the couch. “This. Here. Here is fine.”

Nolan frowns disapprovingly. “You should really lay down.”

“I can lay down here,” you say, stubborn as always but through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna go to bed, okay, just– here is fine.”

Nolan visibly disagrees but relents, his mind still stuck in the way you’d snapped at him back at the hospital. You unclench slightly when he finally stops touching you, body limp on the couch. Nolan tries not to bristle. 

It’s the first of many uncomfortable, tense interactions. You can’t move around the house on your own and stiffen whenever Nolan reaches out to support you. You’re quiet and short when you’re not, trying and failing to keep everything polite.

You drive each other crazy. Nolan works from home as much as he can and you don’t work at all. No matter how much you beg Cragen to send you some files, your day remains sans responsibilities. There are only so many reruns of Seinfeld you can stand before you’re making up a psychological profile for each of the characters just for the hell of it before you realize you’re losing your damn mind. 

“What happened?” he asks one afternoon when you don’t come out for dinner. You’re lying face down on the made bed, curtains drawn shut. When you don’t answer, don’t move, Nolan’s voice turns sharp, calling your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you snap, muffled by the sheets. Your sigh takes over your entire body, pushing yourself up to glare at him. “Nothing. Fucking nothing. Cragen won’t let me back without a therapist’s okay, alright? But other than that, everything’s perfect.”

“Isn’t that standard procedure?” he asks, sitting on the bed with a bowl of pasta on his lap. Your frown deepens like he’s the one who’s keeping you locked inside the house against your will. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen get shot in this job? I don’t see why this is necessary.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says, quietly. 

“You know how department’s shrinks are,” he has never heard you speak about psychological aid with such hatred. “But Stabler used to get a pat on the back and he’d be back to work within the hour. Go figure.”

“And look how that worked out for him,” Nolan says, the wrong thing to add, he can tell, for how you settle back into bed and refuse to face him. He sighs and speaks to your back. “What else did the Captain say?”

“‘You want back on the field, come to my office with discharge papers from Dr. Masters office,” you parrot in a poor imitation of Captain Cragen. “Other than that, he’ll be sending some paperwork my way. As if that’s the fucking point.”

Nolan lets the silence stretch, unsure of how to follow up. He flinches when you turn to scream into the pillow, raw and frustrated. You say, venomous. “Motherfucker.”

He leaves your dinner on the bedside table and leaves without a word like a chastised child, feeling like he’s walking away from something bigger than your wirldwind temper. 

—

It gets better before it gets worse. There are days in which you don’t utter a single word and walk through the apartment like you’re haunting it; from bed to the living room to the kitchen, unaware or uncaring of Nolan’s presence. Others, you’re out the door as soon as you’re physically able, disappearing for hours on end, phone off to Nolan’s alarmed dismay.

He calls Liv, Cragen, Munch, anyone who knows you and has the resources to pull a nation wide man hunt until he realizes you always come back and it’s better to welcome you than drive you away by asking questions. Those conversations usually lead to one of you sleeping on the couch and your injuries are still a little too tender for Nolan to let you pass the night on that old thing. 

One night he leaves the bedroom for a glass of water and finds you standing in front of the open window in just your pajamas. The air is chilly and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but it’s the look on your face that scares Nolan the most. 

“Honey,” Nolan, bleary and confused, comes up behind you. You don’t even flinch. It wakes him up quicker than anything else ever has. Saying your name urgently, he wonders, “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine,” you say, detached, not even there. You blink, staring dazedly into the night. You don’t snap out of it as he leads you back into your room. 

When he asks you about it the following morning you just stare at him, blank-faced, without a single memory of the event. 

To no one’s surprise, Dr. Masters gently refuses to sign your discharge papers after two months of leave and therapy sessions. Cragen takes one look at you and caves, albeit hesitantly, to reinstate you to a desk job as long as you follow the mandated breaks to talk about your feelings in an office that smells too much like lavender and vanilla.

You hate it. Absolutely abhor it. Dr. Masters, just like everyone else, wants you to talk about the shooting and nothing else. It doesn’t matter that your memory betrays you, keeping the event locked away in some faraway corner of your mind. According to her, refusing to acknowledge it is refusing to heal from it.

It leaves you short-fused. Home is a few curt words of polite conversation before you begin to snap, annoyed at Nolan’s placid attitude. Even the squad begins to lose their patience, you find yourself in Cragen’s office more often than not, glowering like a kid sent to the principal.

“Talk to me,” is all he says, not we’ve already been too lenient with you or shouldn’t you be over it by now? because he genuinely cares about you, which warms and enrages you all at once. 

“What,” you say, purposely dense, arms crossed defensively.

“You’re biting heads off out there like you’re a suspect for a crime,” Cragen replies, no-nonsense. “You’re not in trouble here, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not on me that no one gets shit done around here,” you lean back against the chair, tense shoulders and sweaty hands. “We wouldn’t be so slammed if you all worried about me a little less. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Cragen says, waiting you out. 

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you continue, rough. “You can’t hurt me. I’m not gonna break, Cap.”

“Everyone keeps asking what I need– I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m dead,” you say rushedly. You’ve started now and can’t bring yourself to stop. “I breathe a little funny and they’re on me, wanting to– to make me tea and give me casseroles that won’t fit in my fridge and ask me how I’ve been sleeping, I don’t need that shit–”

Cragen hums knowingly. Then, after a silence:

“How’s Nolan?” 

You huff. “Fine. Fine, he’s always fine. Always looking for something to do. He’s cooked more these past few months than in our entire marriage, you know?”

“He’s only trying to help–”

“I know,” you snap. Cragen only stares as you pull yourself together, filled with everloving patience. It’s why he called you in, not to reprimand or punish but to let you breathe without people accusing you of doing it wrong. 

“I know,” you say again after several exhales, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the ceiling, avoiding his eye. “Just because he’s trying doesn’t mean it’s working.”

“Have you thought of telling him that?”

“Sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, honey, can you not ask me how my day went? I zoned out for thirty minutes at my desk and picked at my scar until I snapped myself out of it.’”

“There’s help for that, you know,” Cragen says. “I heard they call it therapy, these days.”

“Name it, I’m on it,” you reply, smiling wryly. “Physical, for anxiety, for PTSD. I should get a goddamned discount.”

The Captain doesn’t laugh. Neither had any of your therapists, for that matter. 

“I don’t want to be like this,” you continue after a moment of silence, unsure if you’re allowed, but Cragen only nods. Decades on the job have made him wise beyond his years, sometimes even to his own detriment. “You– I know what you’re all thinking–”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“–but I don’t–” your breath hitches. “If I could be over it already, I would. This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you.”

“No one thinks badly of you for reacting to something that happened to you,” he tells you, and it’s so close to absolution you could cry right here in front of him with all your coworkers at the other side of the door. You didn’t know it was something you were seeking. 

“I can see how they look at me,” you say, quiet. “I know what they want, who they want. I just can’t give it to them.”

“What do you want?” he uses your first name and it disarms something inside of you. It’s an innocent enough question, but it reaches for your lungs and squeezes mercilessly.

“I want it to stop,” the niceties, people explaining your own PTSD to you. The racing thoughts, the breathlessness, the chest pains you haven’t been able to get rid of even if the doctor says there’s nothing wrong with you anymore. Not physically. 

You sigh and it comes out shaky. Your eyes burn. “I just want everything to stop.”

Two days later, you mistakenly say this to your therapist, who throws the question back to you with interest. “What do you mean by that? What needs to stop?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, infinitely more annoyed than when you’d been talking about this with Cragen. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you do know. And that’s what scares you, what has you lashing out over the simplest innocent things. Think about that.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to do all of the work here? I thought you said this was a partnership.”

Dr. Masters sighs, keeping careful watch over her exasperation. She writes something down, tries again.

You leave the sessions sans any breakthroughs but with enough recommendations to implement at home in hopes of finding normalcy in your marriage once more. 

Try doing something together, the suggestion has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Have a movie night or breakfast together before work, host dinners with friends. Make your home yours again, is what I mean.

You try. It’s not a relaxing endeavor. God knows your work schedules suck even now that you’re both working half time, tempers gone through the shredder more than once. Still, you mention it to Liv and she suggests a double date kind of thing, and suddenly you’ve got a full dining table while a migraine inside your temples builds and builds and builds and–

“How you holdin’ up?” Brian asks casually, cutting off your racing thoughts like a record scratching. Your hands tighten around your fork and knife as you swallow down the urge to scream that washes over you at the question. 

You think about the sleepless nights and the anger that comes out of nowhere, the inexplicable lack of patience directed at Nolan despite loving him more than anything else. You wonder if Brian would understand, having been shot before. If this is a good as any place to let everything out.

The thought fades as soon as it forms.

“Working on it,” you shrug simply. “Everything hurts and therapy’s a bitch. You know what it’s like.”

Brian snorts. “Fuck yeah, I do. Last time I went down I was so restless, Liv was gonna shoot me herself.”

“Hey now,” Liv says, but she’s smiling behind her wine and has a hand on Cassidy’s knee that inches slightly higher as she teases him. “I will say, going to work sounded like a dream just to get out of the house. You’re get better, though.” 

“Hey, anything for the time off, I guess,” you say faux-brightly, a cynical twist of your lips that resembles a smile. “Next time I’ll make sure they shoot me somewhere less tedious, though.”

Brian scoffs and Liv shakes her head, but no one laughs. Nolan clears his throat after an awkward pause, obviously upset. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leaves it gently on the table as he stands, avoiding your eye. “Excuse me.”

He walks away and closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the living room falling into uneasy silence. You pipe up with dark humor, “You think I’d get more time of if I was stabbed?”

The fight after Liv and Brian leave is a massive, unavoidable bloodbath. 

There’s relief in the heat of it all, in a fucked up way. All the pent up agression you’ve been harboring finally has an opponent, even if Nolan doesn’t know he’s bringing knives to a gunfight.

“I hate when you say things like that and you know it–”

“It was a joke, Nolan, for Christ's sake–”

“Well, it’s not funny. For none of us, Liv was there with you in the ambulance and I–”

“Oh, please, tell me how I ruined your life by almost dying,” you scoff, goading. “Please, honey, the floor is yours.”

“Stop,” he says, firm, but his voice wobbles, and his eyes fill up with tears. You hate the sight of him like this and you hate to be the one who causes it. Still, the part of you aching for chaos, for emotion, can’t help but to press at the bruise. “I’m not doing this, I’m not having this argument with you.”

“You don’t have any arguments with me!” you exclaim in disbelief. Nolan purses his mouth in discontent and look away. “You tell me how to feel, what to do, what this whole thing has been like but the second I try to have an actual conversation it’s like your eyes glaze over and you’re fucking gone–”

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Nolan snaps, tear stained cheeks glittering against the warm light of the bedroom. He hasn’t stopped crying ever since you came home. You hear him sometimes when he locks himself in his office or in the bathroom in the middle of the night. “Getting Liv’s call, the hospital, watching you like that–”

“This didn’t happen to you, Nolan!” you scream. The world has taken a sharper edge after the shooting, and all you can do is attack it likewise. “I laid in my own blood hoping someone would notice I was gone. I wasted away in the hospital for weeks, I am living a life where not a damn thing is right!”

“I’m drowning here,” your voice breaks, losing all its volume and vehemence. “And all everyone keeps telling me is how they feel about it, how I’m supposed to be getting better. I’m not. I’m not, Nolan. For the love of God, can we make this about me for half a second?”

“You,” Nolan begins, but it gets caught up in his throat, dissolves into nothing before you can hear what it is. Nolan shakes his head, adamant. “I’m not doing this.” He gathers his things all while you desperately call his name. The door closing behind him echoes through the apartment not unlike a gunshot in your ear.

That same week, Nolan goes to therapy.

He doesn’t tell you about it, just like he hasn’t told you about the past couple of months worth of sessions. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually. It starts when a victim’s husband loses it mid trial and lounges at her killer right in front of God, the judge and a panicking Nolan. He’s sure he conceals his feelings well, yet his boss takes one look at him and stops by his office at the end of the day.

“Someone recommended him to me,” he says while Nolan traces the dark blue letters of the contact card he just handed him. “I haven’t been to him in years, but he’s good. If you don’t think he can help you then I’m sure he’ll find you someone who can.”

“I–” Nolan begins and leaves it at that. It’s such a quietly kind thing to do for him that it renders him speechless. 

“It can’t be easy,” he continues when Nolan doesn’t, endlessly patient, oddly personal. “What she went through, what you’re going through. I’m sure you’re both doing the best you can, but if you ever feel like you need more, well. It’s good to have options available.”

Everything that’s been offered the last few months; the casseroles and the rides to work, home, the hospital, a shoulder to cry on– it’s all been about you, for you. Nolan appreciates it but there’s something conditional about the whole thing, like he’s not worthy of help unless it’s somehow related to his wife. 

He loves you. By God, he loves you with everything there’s in him to the point of ruin, but this– this is for him. His boss is offering him a lifeguard he so desperately needs, and it has both everything and nothing to do with you. He gets to be selfish about this one thing, and the thrill of it drowns out the guilt he feels about leaving you in the dark. 

“Thanks,” he says, choked. Nolan clears his throat, hoping it comes out with at least some of the gratitude he’s feeling. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The older man smiles, already at the door and saying his goodbyes. “See you tomorrow, Nolan.”

So Nolan goes to therapy. His first time on Dr. Rhymes’ couch he begins to weep before he can introduce himself. When he resurfaces from his grief, the man is offering him a box of tissues without a hint of judgement in his gaze. 

He gets now why you come back frustrated more times than not after a session. It’s like pulling teeth, no matter how badly he knows he needs it. But it helps more than he hoped it would and the nightmares about your death slowly lose some of its gore. His once rusted instincts coming back to its brilliance in court after a week’s worth of full night’s rest. 

He gets better. Starts to, anyways, but not you. In your dreams, you still bleed and bleed and bleed.

No one comes to get you. Liv misses the alleyway and chases after the perp, Nolan doesn’t call to wonder when you’re coming home, your gut pulsates with pain until there’s nothing but numbness, nothing but darkness, nothing left of you.

You wake up and don't know where you are. Your flail is purely instinctive, and despite the sharp pain that pulls at your chest you do so again, eyesight blurry, panic rising sharp and quick. Your entire body’s on fire but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you don’t know where you are and the perp is getting away, and Liv is still blocks away and, and, and, and–

Bleeding. You’re bleeding, bleeding out and your radio’s too far away and you can see the perp running but can’t hear his steps, there’s only your heartbeat echoing in your ears and the wet taste of death in your mouth as the world fades to black around you–

Sometimes you wake up from nightmares so quietly that Nolan doesn’t notice. Your eyes are closed and then they’re not and that’s all the movement your body can produce even if your heart is hammering against your ribcage. Other nights– nights like this one– you’re drenched in sweat and sprinting to the bathroom before your stomach returns the dinner you ate mere hours ago.

You hear Nolan fussing in the bedroom and picture him as clear as day in your mind; hair rumpled from sleep and eyes bleary, creased pajamas and worry lines on his features like he was supposed to grow into them. And he’s looking for you. Always, always looking for you.

You hate doing this to him but you hate having to go through it alone more. When you feel a cool, protective hand soothe up and down your back where your shirt sticks to your skin, you sob through your gags. 

Nolan only says let it out, honey, I’ve got you, just let it go in different variations until the panic subsides. You focus on the timber of his voice, the roughness of sleep coating his vowels and the tilt of his consonants. 

The bathroom tile is rough against your knees and your mouth tastes like acid, arms shaking with the effort of keeping you upright against the toilet seat. When you’re done, you fall back to the floor and Nolan is there next to you, ready to catch you. 

He cradles you almost like one would a baby and you nestle against his chest, exhausted. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak against his heartbeat. Nolan’s hand finds the sweaty nape of your neck and massages the tension out of it, hairs sticking to his fingers. 

His soothing reply is automatic but no less honest. “It’s alright. It’s just a dream.”

“Not for this,” you correct, panting against his cotton grey shirt and reaching to hold it in a tight, shaky fist. “I mean– yes, for this, but for before. Everything. In the hospital and for fighting, for not… For everything. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“Don’t be,” he defends, awfully vehement for a man who’s been awake for less than 10 minutes and is sitting on his bathroom floor at 4 in the morning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since your last fight and you could weep with the relief it brings you. “Never be. You’re in pain. I’m allowed to want to help you when you’re in pain.”

“I’m tired of being in pain.”

Nolan’s chest shudders and you unclench your fist to lay your palm against it, the beat of his heart fluttering despite his calm demeanor. He shifts his hand to brush his thumb against your cheek, calming. “I know, honey. I know.”

He doesn’t say it’s okay or it’ll get better because as much as you know Nolan hopes so, it’s not the kind of thing he can promise. You wouldn’t want him to. 

The sun rises through the horizon. Nolan holds you, holds you, and holds you. 

“It’s stupid,” you say against your hands, hours later in your emergency session with Dr. Masters, wet and high-pitched. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You don't elaborate. She  gently goads. “What is?”

“It’s so simple,” your voice drips with disbelief, muscles coiled tight. “It’s so– it was one bullet. One second, and I’m– I can’t let it go. Why can’t I let it go?”

No answer, but you don’t need it. You’re already on a roll. “I’m okay. I’m alright, I recovered. I have my job and my husband and my life back then why am I like this? Why–”

Your voice breaks, a sign of weakness you’re done trying to hide. “Do I not want it? To get better, do I not want it enough? What am I doing wrong?”

“You have to understand, this isn’t something you did,” she sighs, leaving her notebook and pen to lean in closer. “Are you listening to me? This is something that happened to you, not because of you. Healing isn’t linear, isn’t that what you always say to the victims you encounter at work–”

You sniff, sharply wiping at your nose. “Yes, but–”

“But it’s different,” she finishes for you, leaning back against her seat. “Why? Because it’s you? Because you know better since you’re a cop? Because you’re not allowed any moment of weakness in the face of adversity?”

You’re rendered quiet, almost but not quite pouting after being called out so thoroughly. Masters continues. “You keep punishing yourself for reacting to trauma in an unpredictable way. Even that in itself is predictable. There’s no rulebook for this.”

“I know,” you say like you’ve done so many times since this whole thing started, but this is different. It’s not angry or sarcastic. It feels like a tipping point.

“This happened to you. You didn’t chose it,” your therapist says. Then, carefully, like she too is aware you’re on the cusp of something that you might be, finally, ready to hear. “But what you do with it– that is up to you.”

“You got handed this ugly, terrible thing,” she continues. “It’s yours now. And you can let it take over your life or you can take it in your hands and mold it into something you can live with.”

“That’s awful,” you say; tired, honest, terrified. Why should it be up to you? Why is it your job to fix what someone else broke? Master smiles. 

“It is. It’s all work,” you say. “At least at first. And then, piece by piece, you make a life with the fragments from before. You get new ones. It’s not gonna be the same, but it’ll be yours. But work. It’s the only way out.” 

It’s all work. 

The session hollows you from the inside out and the day at the office is a blur. You get home much, much later, weary and exhausted. The sun is already deep behind the horizon and your head is filled with statistics and suspect heights, ethnicities, possible sightings…

Your eyes hurt and Nolan is already in bed, bent over his book with his glasses perched low on his nose. A lifetime ago he would’ve joked they made him look old, and you would kiss him senseless until they went askew and tell him he looked distinguished. It’s such an old, nice memory, both distant and right there for the taking. You get a little breathless just thinking about it. 

He looks up to greet you when he hears you come in, tired but genuine. You think mold it into something you can live with and make a decision. 

“Hey,” he welcomes you. “How was work?”

“I…” whatever your apprehension is, you visibly shake it off before focusing on Nolan with a sense of determination he hasn’t seen from you in a very, very long time. “I would like you to come with me. To therapy.”

“You… would?” he hates that he sounds so surprised. He places his book on the bedside table, taking his glasses off. 

You look as uncomfortable as he feels, but aren’t backing down. You lessen the chasm between you, sitting on your side of the bed and laying your palm flat on the sheets. Realization hits Nolan like a slap to the face. 

Here you are, the strange shape that is his wife after hell and back, reaching. 

“I think… there are so many things I want to tell you,” you continue slowly, the way you do when you’ve rehearsed before speaking in court as a witness, presenting the case. “that I don’t know how. And so many things you have to say that I haven’t… wanted to hear.”

“But I’m ready,” you nod, grave. “To put in the work. Or– I want to be. And I’d– I’d like you to be with me, when I am.”

“We can go to Dr. Masters or– or I’m sure there’s some names she can draw up. Couples therapy,” you rush to say when Nolan doesn’t answer, desperate for his support. “Or– I mean, maybe you wouldn’t be comfortable with that, but I was really hoping we could–”

“Okay,” it comes out quiet. His nod, though, is resolute. “Yeah.”

You blink, a little startled and hesitatingly hopeful. “You– Yeah?”

“Yes. Okay. Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” you say, relieved, as if he’d ever say no to you. You laugh a little, deflating, running a hand through your hair. “Jesus, okay. Okay.”

A beat, two. Then you say, fragile as a baby bird, breaking the silence. “I’ve been so unfair to you.”

That finally gets him moving. He says your name, devastated. He opens up his arms, surer than he’s been in months. “Come here.”

You sigh out heavily, shakily. Standing, you move to his side of the bed and fall into his arms, work clothes and all. 

“We’re alright,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I love you. I’m coming with you. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize anyways, crying into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, too,” his voice breaks and his arms tighten. There’s a kiss pressed to your hair that only makes you cry harder. “I’m so sorry, honey, for so many things. But we’re gonna be okay.”

It’s all, all work. 

…Mostly.

“The files are on my desk,” Nick nods dutifully as you rattle off instructions, making sure your hair isn’t messed up by your coat. “Fin knows my notes backwards and forwards, if he tries to convince you he doesn’t it’s because he’s lazy, and I already let Cap know–”

Nick laughs, saying your last name knowingly. “It’s okay. Everything’s set, there’s nothing you’ve forgotten. Go have fun for once, will you?”

“Yeah, let us live vicariously through you,” Rollins pipes up as she passes by, an overflowing evidence box in her arms. “I’d kill for a hot date with a hotter lawyer right now.”

“You’d bite his head off before the appetizers came in,” Amaro smirks at her cockily, and you roll your eyes when Rollins predictably rises to the challenge. Behind them, Fin stares at them like he’s regretting all the life choices that led him to work with these people. 

“You know what, Bernardo–” Rollins begins.

“Speaking of the devil,” Much pipes up loudly before Rollins starts humming the notes to the West Side Story score at Nick. You shoot him a grateful look but your attention is soon refocused on Nolan, who looks tall and sharp as he enters the precinct. “Good to see you, kiddo.”

“You too, old man. Hey, everyone,” Nolan smiles as he greets everyone else, though it turns shy when he acknowledges you, suddenly unaware of the rest of the room. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, handsome,” you can’t help yourself, feeling young and foolish. “You look good.”

“Had to match you, didn’t I?” he gives you a once over, long and interested, and you’re so into it you can’t even hear your coworkers making fun of you. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready,” you wave everyone goodbye and then, as soon as you’re out of ear shot, you admit sheepishly, “I’m actually a little nervous. Is that weird?”

Nolan’s laugh is tender, relieved. “No,” he says, looking more relaxed by the admission with his arm poised while you loop your own around it, keeping him close. “I am, too. I haven’t felt like this since you kissed me for the first time.”

“I’m sorry, I kissed you?” you reply. “I very vividly remember being cut off mid sentence about serious crimes punishable by law because someone couldn’t help himself.”

“Our study sessions always were interesting,” Nolan agrees, grin boyish. “Ivery vividly don’t remember hearing you complain about it.”

“Only that it took you so long to do it,” you quip.

“Well,” he tells you as you go into the empty elevator and the doors close behind you, already drawing you in. “Who am I to keep you waiting now?”

Some other weekend, the day is bright and gorgeous and neither you nor Nolan are able to to stay in. You move your slow weekend routines out of the apartment for once, going out for brunch and bringing reading material that doesn't involve case files or suspects statements for once. 

You walk around the city with a wonder rarely available to you lately and hold each other close. Halfway through the afternoon Nolan disappears across the street in search of your favorite coffee cart, telling you to stay put with a loud kiss to your cheek that leaves you giddy long after he’s gone.

“Hey, sorry,” he says breathlessly when he comes back, carefully keeping both coffees from overflowing. “They had to make a fresh pot just now.”

“‘s alright,” you say after a beat, smiling at him with an unusual shape to your mouth. It makes Nolan pause. 

He asks, endearingly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s–” you begin and then cut yourself off. You look around, calculating. You shake your head, hoping to drop it. “No. Sorry. I just thought–”

Your breaths come out short despite your best tries to keep the previous atmosphere going. Nolan places the coffees on the sidewalk and stands back up, already reaching. He tries to keep his tone even. Calm. “Honey. Is it okay if I touch you?”

“You– yeah,” you blink, almost surprised to see him. The words rush out of you with relief, like you weren’t sure you still had it in you to be verbal. “Yes, please. Please.”

“Come here,” it’s a relief to him too, both your answer and permission. He draws you in with a protective hand on your back and you shudder into the touch, breathing in and out slowly like Dr. Masters taught you. “Great, you’re doing great. I got you.”

“Sorry,” you says again after a while, back in your body. “I thought it was the street where…” you admit. You’re embarrassed, Nolan doesn’t have to see your face to know it. “For a second, I. I saw the alley and it’s– it was literally just that but I was sure…”

You don’t finish your sentence, drifting off, but Nolan knows you too well. Understanding dawns in and he holds you tighter, protective. The perfectly harmless landscape of the city suddenly shifts before his eyes and he starts to panic. He can’t get you out of here fast enough, but maybe if he tries… an Uber would probably be quicker than walking home…

“Nolan,” you cut off his racing thoughts, oddly comforted by the fact that you’re not alone in your freak out, even if Nolan has been rendered useless by his own agitation. “It’s okay. I was wrong, it’s not the street. I’m good.”

“We can go,” he offers, terribly disappointed that your day is about to be cut short but willing to do that and more for your wellbeing. This? In the grand scheme of things this is nothing. You were gonna spend today in bed anyways. “Or– is there something you need, do you want to call–”

“I want to stay,” you say, sure, cupping his face. Your touch helps him breathe, unclogs his throat and opens up his lungs. “I want to be here with you. I want to keep living my life even with… this. It doesn’t get to win.”

Nolan’s eyes burn, but his grin is too big for his face. He kisses you, long and deep and careless of who’s watching. It’s New York, its streets have seen far worse things than a man knee deep in love with his wife. “It doesn’t get to win,” he affirms, catching his breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You grin, shaky, bright. “You’ve told me so once or twice.”

Hand on hand, you pass by the alley. The day is beautiful.  

One night Nolan gets out of the bathroom to find you already in bed, frowning at your book. He passes a towel through his wet hair as he asks, “Is it any good?”

You only keep frowning. “It’s– I mean, yeah, but I. I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Have I read this before?” you ask him, showing him the cover. 

Nolan squints, mouthing the words, then his expression clears. “Oh, I know. Did Munch give it to you?”

“Yeah,” you sound surprised. You hadn’t told him about John’s offhand gift, a tattered copy of a book he lent to you the other week. “ How’d you know?”

“He was reading it to you,” Nolan begins, then shrugs and seems to hesitate before he continues. “At the hospital.”

You make a face like you just tasted something sour. “Oh.”

“A part of you must’ve heard,” he continues, softer, searching your face for signs to shut the hell up. Other than the initial realization, he finds only pensiveness. “Must remember.”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of days so far away and so present still, sometimes laying between you in bed. “It’d be silly, wouldn’t it? That my brain chose to retain bits of a book I heard while unconscious rather than… you know.”

Nolan breathes in deeply, holds it, and lets it out. He tries feeling comfortable in the silence you’ve built as he thinks his words through. His therapist told him once that if he expected a fight to start out of a conversation then he’d start fighting before he realized what he was doing. He’s trying to be better.

“What do you remember?” he dares to ask. You tilt your head towards your lap, fingers running over the edges of the book to ground yourself in the movements. “About the hospital?”

Your smile is brittle and you don’t look at him when you say, “I didn’t even remember what had happened at first.”

“When I first woke up after– after. I still don’t, mostly,” He watches you, patient and encouraging even when you can’t meet his eye. “Like, you know what happened. I got shot and spent weeks in there, but I don’t– It’s pretty much a blur.”

You sigh deeply. “But I woke up and I was afraid anyways. Like my body caught up to the situation before my mind did and I just– I was in pain, and I needed to get out,” you retell. 

There’s barely a memory there; of Nolan’s hand in yours and the sheer relief in his voice, the smell and sounds of a hospital that are too familiar in your line of work. 

“Sometimes,” you begin, and that’s where you cut yourself off, turning to him and smiling, fixing the facade back on. Nolan rushes to stop you before you completely hide from him, cupping your face tenderly.

You meet his eye and you look afraid. Nolan can’t blame you, it hasn’t been long since he stopped physically fleeing the room whenever you even hinted at the shooting. But he stays rooted in his spot, even if just to prove you both wrong. 

“Sometimes?” he goads, braver than he feels. You look at him intensely for what feels a very long time, then begin to relax against his touch.

“Sometimes,” you say, slowly, like you’re still expecting him to make an excuse and leave you to your feelings. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still there,” you admit, lip wobbling. “Just. Lying there. Waiting for someone to find me. To realize something’s not right.”

Nolan’s throat closes off. You’re not talking about the hospital, he realizes as his stomach drops. You’re talking about the alleyway. 

“It’s what I dream about, usually,” you sniff. Talking about the nightmare is better than having it, but it makes you nauseous nevertheless. You breathe in and out, deeply, a couple of times before you find your words again. “I’m lying there and it takes forever for someone to find me. Sometimes no one ever does and I wake up thinking I haven’t left that alley.”

That’s where Nolan’s perspective comes into view. He watches you wake, though only sometimes because there are nights in which you refuse to bother him despite how adamant he’s been about waking him up when you need him. He watches you wake and draws you back from the metaphorical cliff into his arms and your bed. 

You’d never told him about the dreams. This is definitely a first.

He does his best to breathe, to keep eye contact. He meant it, the silent vow he made to himself when you came forward and asked him to go to therapy together. He’s through running away from this. If he keeps leaving you every time you feel like this, what makes him any different than the man who left you in that alley, fighting for your life?

He does his best. “I don’t know if I can help,” he admits shamefully, out loud for the first time but for the thousandth time to himself. “But I’m here.”

You shudder with a sniff. Shifting closer to him, Nolan takes your weight effortlessly, like this is what he was meant for. That, he’s never doubted. 

“We found you,” he continues, a comfort that works for him as he hopes works for you. “We brought you home. I know exactly where you are.”

You lose the fight and bury your face in his shoulder, shaking in Nolan’s arms for a long, long time. Crying, he can tell, but quietly. He doesn’t tell you to be loud about it if you want to. He’s done telling you how to live through your grief.

“I kept thinking of you,” you admit later, much later, into his shirt. Nolan closes his eyes, wrecked. “Of who would call you, or if you… If you’d have to… to come claim a body.”

You feel him tighten his grip around you. 

“You were the first thing I recognized,” you continue, quiet. You’re toying with his shirt, soothing your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. “When I woke up, amidst all that panic, there was you.”

You huff a laugh against him, breath warm. “I don’t know if I’ve thanked you for that lately. Calming me down. You’ve always been good at that.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing much,” he admits shamefully. 

He feels the way you shake your head, unwavering in your truth. “You do everything. You’re everything.”

“Right back at you, honey,” he says, and you hold each other for a very long time. 

Halfway through getting your life back, almost nine months after the shooting that shattered your life to the ground, the team finds and collars the perp.

The same gun he used on you shows up in CODIS for another recent crime and you get a warning text from Fin less than ten minutes before he walks in with the suspect. Rollins is stone-faced by his side, both of them holding on to him despite his very obvious lack of struggle. 

He barely even looks at you before he’s glancing away, bored. You remain unrecognizable to him but his features spark a flash of awareness deep in your unconscious and you’re excuse yourself to go dry heave in a bathroom while he gets processed. 

Your thumb shakes over the screen of your phone, right on top of Nolan’s contact. You should just call him, you know it. You’ve done it before, and your husband would cross the city during rush hour and bend time to his will just to be by your side and hold you through the panic. 

You know, but you can’t. You’ve been doing so good lately, finally; after the year from hell your lives are finally getting a glimpse of normalcy, and this– this is a Setback. Capital S setback, and after everything you’ve put him through… God, you can’t keep doing this to him.

You won’t do this to him. You call your therapist instead and hate every single second of it, hate even more that it works; forty minutes on the phone with her and you exit the bathroom with bloodshot eyes but with your chin held high and hands steady. 

Amaro is the first to notice you and he catches your stare immediately, but he only nudges a tower of paperwork from his desk to yours and says, “You snooze, you lose, partner.”

“Dick,” you answer, your voice only a bit nasal. You’re so incredibly thankful for him that you could weep again right there and then. 

You sit to get back to work, perp nowhere in sight, and bite the inside of your cheek in thought before you pull your phone back out, sending some rapid-fire texts. 

Hey

I love you

You sigh and leaf through the papers, looking for where to start. Working through an equally ridiculous amount of files in his office across the city, Nolan’s eyebrows lift in curiosity at your  texts.

I love you too

Is everything alright?

The three dots signifying your reply appear and disappear over the course of a few moments. After a while, his phone chimes again. 

Rough day. Just wanted the reminder.

But I’m okay, I promise. 

I’ll tell you all about it at home tonight.

Nolan sighs out slowly, and trusts you. Because of it, he watches you grow into your own skin again. 

Your visits to Dr. Masters get less and less frequent and the damned paper finally gets signed. The nightmares, though not gone, lessen and don’t make you sick to your stomach anymore as you trace Nolan’s features in the dark to soothe yourself back into a slumber. You tell him everything, become more lenient with your resurfacing memories and in return, you hold Nolan as he talks about those days at the hospital and cries until he physically can’t anymore. 

It’s so familiar and so, so new. You’re who you’ve always been and yet Nolan finds himself staring at you sometimes, amazed at the differences– a woman reshaped entirely by trauma and victorious over it nevertheless. Victorious because of it.

When you drag him away from the kitchen sink where dirty dishes sit after dinner, he barely puts up a fight. Nolan eagerly follows you to the couch and sinks into your embrace when you tangle your fingers in his hair, shivering against your welcoming touch.

You’re making out like teenagers– like you used to when you were in college– with no specific purpose until Nolan starts to forget himself. His hands are around your waist, squeezing unconsciously while you, on top of him, swallow his sound of elation and run your tongue along his teeth, wet and dirty. 

Jesus, Nolan thinks unabashedly, and wants, wants, wants–

He nudges his leg between your thighs, pants uncomfortably tight, when you call his name. You’re pulling away suddenly, bringing him back from a daze, a hand tangled in his hair. Your fingers twitch with restraint as you look him over, pensive.

Nolan sighs, leaning his temple against yours and trying to get his breathing back into a less agitated rhythm. All he gets is a whisk of your perfume and the warmth of your skin, his efforts useless. 

“Right,” he murmurs, voice velvet quiet. He’s still trying to preserve the moment even after your new set of boundaries. “Right. I’m sorry.”

You haven’t gone that far since– Since. Nolan can’t recall the details of the last time you were together, one random night the week you were shot. He didn’t think he’d have to, but now he wishes he had committed the night to memory; your skin under his hands, the sounds you made, how you reached bliss together–

“Don’t be,” you say equally as lowly, pupils blown, gaze ardent. “I want…”

You drift off. It’s suddenly urgent, imperative that Nolan knows what you’re asking for, needs to give it to you immediately.

“What?” he murmurs back, thumbing at your bottom lip, bruised and kissed. Your breath is hot against his skin. “What, honey, what do you want? What can I do?”

“Kiss me again,” You say. Then, before he can comply– “Don’t– don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

“You…” Nolan says, shaking his head to pull himself together, attention still hazy around the edges. Your name tastes so sweet when he says it. “You mean…”

“Please,” you whine, and Nolan’s body reacts to the sound all on its own, hips subtly canting up towards you. You press your mouth to his jaw, tongue barely caressing the skin. “Please, Nole, please keep touching me.”

Nolan curses, both at your words and the realization he might not last as long as he’d like if you keep saying these things to him. “Sweetheart. Oh, are you sure?”

Your breath hitches. “God, Nolan, more than anything else.”

“Come on. Come here,” Nolan insists, turning to kiss you so thoroughly he almost forgets the point he’s trying to make. “I’m gonna do this right, okay? We have a perfectly good bed in the other room–”

He scrambles up and takes your hand, taking you with him. You surrender to him and he kisses your hand, the crook of your elbow, your shoulder and neck, in a rush and yet wanting to make this last as long as possible. 

You laugh amidst your urgency, rich and lovely, cupping his face and kissing him soundly, rubbing against him. Nolan is a weak, weak man. 

“I love you,” you say while he buries himself inside you later in bed, sheets pooled around the both of you, and looking up at him like you can’t believe he’s real. Nolan’s on top of you and he’s got your fingers tangled together; your hands pinned against the sides of your face. They’re points of steadiness as the tension inside him threatens to snap with each thrust, however small. “I love you, Nole, I love you so much–”

He’s not ashamed to say he’s crying when he finally comes, and you cup his face in your hands with a wounded sound when you realize. You kiss him as you finally let yourself go and it tastes like victory. Like work; like blood, sweat and tears. It feels like being yourself, added scars and all, Nolan’s warmth a steady, sure thing against your side. 

started this over a year ago and it's finally yours!!! sorry i've been so absent, i've been having the worst writer's block of my life lol but i hope you love this as much as i do! let me know what you think and i hope you see more from me in the next months! thanks for reading <3

[gatefleet]

Comfort

Law & Order; SVU: Jose 'Joe' Velasco Word Count: 720 (T)W: Period pains Request: No A/N: Reader is Female coded. GIF Credit to original owner

It was dinner time when Joe made an appearance at your door. You had called in sick to work due to your cramping being much worse than normal, to the point were getting out of bed and moving from certain positions was causing pain. You knew you had to eat, but the thought of moving and eating was making your nausea from the cramping worse. You silently cursed whoever was at your door, making you move from the first position you had found all day that alleviated some of the pain.

When you answered the door Joe was taken aback by how pale you looked and the discomfort radiating off your face. The first thing he did was quickly survey you to check for any wound or injury which may explain your discomfort. When he saw there was nothing to explain your discomfort, he slowly lifted the bag of takeaway food he had grabbed on his way to your apartment, you stepped aside and allowed him entrance. Joe went straight to the kitchenette and prepared the plates while you tried to fight down the nausea building and moved over to the couch to make space for you both to eat. Joe noticed this and moved himself to a spot that made it easier for him to reach you should you need him. Joe brought out glasses of water and then returned to collect the food and bring it through. You pushed through your nausea during the meal as you hadn’t had anything to eat that day.

After dinner, Joe looked like he was fighting with himself about whether or not he was going to say something about your evident discomfort. You tried your best to brush off his questions and concerns, when he realised that you were too uncomfortable to talk about it, he backed down, taking the dishes through to the kitchen and scraping off the food. While Joe was soaking the dishes you decided to readjust the couch so it was comfortable enough for you two to lay down while watching films. While in the kitchen Joe decided to do some light investigation and looked through your wall calendar for any sign of anniversaries or some clue to your pain, his mother always taught him to never assume anything about a lady.

He came back through as you were finishing off the couch and he sat some fresh drinks down for you both. Once things were sorted Joe lay down on the couch and you snuggled in next to him, with your head on his chest and your leg over his, his arm wrapped around you and pressing a kiss to your head. You managed to angle your body in a way that the warmth of his body was easing the cramping in your abdomen. Neither of you had realised that you had fallen asleep until Joe’s twitching awakened you both. You managed to manoeuvre yourself off of Joe and made your way to the kitchen to take some painkillers before the discomfort settled back in. You heard Joe make his way to the bathroom.

As you were finishing off washing the dishes that had been soaking while you were sleeping you felt Joe come up behind you and felt his warmth heat up your back as his arms wrapped around your midriff. His lips finding purchase on your neck. You moaned silently and allowed yourself to melt into his touch, into his warmth. You turned around in his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as his lips met yours. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours and told you that he had a surprise waiting for you in the bathroom. You hadn’t expected the statemen that came out of his mouth. You warily followed him to the bathroom and found that he had ran you a hot bubble bath and lit some of your candles. He gave you a soft kiss and left you to your bath while he tidied up the couch and your kitchen. As you got into he bath you silently thanked the heavens for Joe entering your life as you let the heat of the bath slowly ebb away your pain. Even if you did miss having Joe’s additional warmth beside you.

Taglist open

[gatefleet]

Jose! I'm OBSSESSED WITH THIS SERIES

Down Bad Ch 3

Joe Velasco x fem!reader with a hint of Terry Bruno Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, smut, mentions of threesomes, oral, sexuality discussions and exploration, minor kink exploration/discussion. I think that's it? lol. hopefully the next chapter comes quicker cause i'm obsessed with this story! 6.5k

Behind you, Joe stirred, the arm he had thrown around your waist tightening briefly before it fell slack and he nuzzled closer into the crook of your neck. His naked body pressed against you, warmth flowing into your skin, combating the slight breeze coming from the cracked open window. Even without opening your eyes you could tell by the level of brightness that it was late morning, the air smelling like fresh rain, lingering drips hitting the fire escape sending pings through the air. You let out a quiet groan, stretching your limbs the best you could without waking Joe, your hand darting out to poke your phone screen.

A weather alert for rain, a notification from Spotify about new music from an artist you’d never heard of and a text from Terry from nearly four hours ago. Judging by the fact that it was eleven o’ four, he’d sent it while getting ready for work.

‘You two enjoy yourselves today. Keep me posted ;)’

A puff of air resembling a laugh left your lips and you tossed the device back onto the nightstand, squeezing at Joe’s arm. His body tensed around you again and you heard a small grumble coming from the back of his throat, one that made you chuckle.

“Oh c’mon sleepy head, you never wake up this late.”

“Late night.” He grunted in reply, his lips brushing against your bare shoulder and you nearly snorted.

“Please. You had me out of that bar by eight fifteen and you were the first to fall asleep. No T.V. binge, no massage, no white noise, just out like a light.”

“Hmm.” He pulled on your hip, rolling you onto your back and you rolled your head to see his still half buried in your pillows, his brow furrowed as he rubbed at his eyes, “you didn’t turn anything on after I passed out?” He asked with a yawn and you shook your head, reaching for one of the water bottles.

“Nope. Did you wake up at all?”

“Thanks.” He took the bottle, pushing upwards to take a generous gulp before passing it back to you with a shake of his head, “no.”

“When’s the last time that happened?”

Joe pursed his lips, his hand running up and down your side as he thought, “’m not even sure. Years.” His hand trailed up your arm until he was cupping your face, pulling you in for a kiss. “Guess I can thank you for that.”

You chuckled against his lips, “pretty sure it was more than just my doing.”

With a grin he rolled onto you, lips moving against yours, “I’d say you played a pretty big part.”

“I guess I can accept that.”

“How about I say thank you in the best way I can?” He pulled back just enough, a brow raised at you and you laughed, yanking him down for another kiss, one that your tongue quickly slid into his mouth.

“Pretty boy…I can already feel your hard on.”

“So that’s a yes?” He asked, his lips already making marks on your neck.

“You’re insatiable.” You groaned, your hands sliding into his hair as one of his hands slid between your legs. A chuckle escaping his lips when he found you just as ready as he was.

*

Two rounds --a lengthy nap after Joe had sufficiently worn you out-- and two long, luxurious showers later (Joe would always rave about how much better your water pressure was than his) and the two of you were starving. Rather than put any more effort into the day, you headed down a couple of blocks to find somewhere to grab what some would call a late lunch and others would call an early dinner.

The two of you ended up at Alfie’s Kitchen and Craft Beer Bar on the corner of ninth and West 53rd, beers for both of you, a burger for Joe and a flatbread for you. The predicted rain wasn’t scheduled to hit until later that evening so you’d opted to take advantage of the sun while you could, perched at a table in the corner of the patio. Not only was it best to appreciate the weather, warm breeze blowing through your air dried hair while you ate, it was also perfect for people watching.

Some would think your love of people watching came from the two of you being cops, that it was a grown instinct, always keeping an eye out for trouble makers or things that could go wrong. While that may have been partially true, the instinct was pretty natural, especially in a city like New York. There was always something going on, sometimes it was something to turn a blind eye to while others it turned out to brighten your day or curve the path you were on. Those little curves could easily change what plan you had for the day, week or month. Joe noticing Terry over your shoulder the previous night was a perfect example of a greatly beneficial curve, what would have been a night of the two of you quickly disappearing alone turned into a smattering of very naughty thoughts that were still floating around in your brain.

As you picked up your beer your eyes drifted across the table, settling on the dark mark peeking out from under Joe’s collar, you were always pretty careful to not leave any super visible ones, knowing that Fin or Grace would tease him relentlessly. (and Grace would without a doubt pester him until she found out who gave it to him.) Not to mention it wasn’t even that bad, it could easily be played off as a sports bruise, the same could definitely not be said about the forming mark on your inner thigh. It was so bad you were certain Joe had left fucking teeth marks indented into your skin. Maybe next time you would return the favour, part of you was pretty sure he’d actually like that, his fingers tracing the mark as his mind wandered back to the dirty things he’d begged you to do when you were leaving it. That would definitely give Grace something to taunt him about. Your brow furrowed at the thought, watching as his throat bobbed when he swallowed, not sensing you watching him at all.

“Have you told Grace?”

“Hmm?” He pulled his gaze away from the street to you.

“Grace,” you asked again with a small laugh, “does she know we’re fucking?”

“She’s got a pretty good idea.” The corner of his mouth twitched up into a grin, “said she could tell I got laid on that conference trip. Took her a while to put it together, thought I was just in a better mood ‘cause of the change of scenery, not that I was still getting laid..” He took a swig of his beer, “why? Do you not want her knowing?”

“No, I don’t care.” You waved it off, “she’s a friend and she knows when to keep her mouth shut. Besides, I know all about her and Tamin from homicide.”

Joe’s eyes widened for a flash, “you do?”

“Yeah,” it was your turn to smirk, “I was in the academy with her, we’ve kept in touch.”

He nodded, fiddling with one of his fries, “have… you and Grace ever…”

“God no.” You laughed, “she’s way too much of a brat for me. A little bit is fine but with her? You’re talking spreader bar, flogger, probably a ball gag ‘cause she never shuts—”

“Okay, okay!” He waved his hands to regain your attention and stop you in your tracks, “that’s enough!”

“You asked.”

“Not for hypothetical details.” He groaned, “she’s like my sister. I don’t need to know anything.”

“She knows about your sex life though.” You pointed out, picking up the last piece of your flatbread.

“She’s a little fiend, you know how she gets. Things don’t get into specific details but we chat.”

“Does she know Terry’s been involved?”

“I’ve never brought it up.” He shrugged, “figured if you wanted her to know you were getting double teamed, you could tell her.”

You laughed, shaking your head at the glint in his eyes, “thanks.”

“She did see the two of you leave the bar together a few weeks ago, when I was on nightshift. Said the two of you were all over each other while waiting for the Uber, I got an unbelievably detailed account of the night. Flirting, buying drinks, Terry’s usual tactic of pool, you pretending you had no idea how to play despite absolutely obliterating Grace two days earlier.” He chuckled and you puffed a laugh out, “she asked if I was jealous.”

“And?” You raised a brow at him as you picked up your beer.

“I said I was a good boy and knew how to share my playthings.”

His wording had your lips curving up into a grin, “you certainly are a good boy, aren’t you?”

Joe’s cheek’s flushed and he immediately busied himself with his drink in an attempt to hide it. You shook your head at him, taking another sip of your beer, briefly saying a thank you to the server when they cleared your plates and asked if you wanted another round. With a glance in Joe’s direction you took the initiative, ordering another two beers and a round of green tea shots for the both of you.

“As long as Grace doesn’t come for me like a fucking guard dog thinking that I’m two timing you or hurting your feelings.”

“Nah,” he laughed, slightly thankful for the redirection, “I told her those kind of details. She knows all three of us talked after that and set down some boundaries and that it’s all casual. She definitely knows we’re not dating, probably thinks its all one on one sessions.” He paused, thanking the server for the new round and taking the time to clink his shot glass with yours before sinking back the liquor. “Though I think she was kind of trying to push me and you dating, maybe just knows that you’re good people and we click…”

Your absorption of his words trailed off, though he continued talking as he watched your gaze land on a very cute girl who’d just crossed to your side of the street. He watched the way you sat back in your chair, your elbow draping over the back of it as your lips formed a smirk. You’d caught the eye of the other girl long before she’d reached the sidewalk alongside the patio, the two of you eyeing each other until she was past, your head following her path and she glanced over her shoulder, a giggle on her lips before she turned back to her friend.

“Fucking hell.” Joe laughed,

“What?” You asked, turning back to him and picking up your beer, ���I was listening.”

“Sure you were.”

“Grace thinks we’d work well together, wants you dating someone who’s good for you and knows more about your past rather than you having to go through all your onion layers with someone new who might not react well.” You stated blankly and Joe huffed a laugh, amazed that you’d comprehended anything he’d said, “I can eye fuck a hot girl and still actively listen to you pretty boy.”

He hummed over the rim of his glass, eyes flicking past you to the girl who was now at the end of the block and he caught himself fidgeting, thumb brushing against his ring finger. “How’d you know?”

“Well for starters girls usually appreciate other girls complimenting or checking them out, it’s not as leery and creepy as when dude’s do it. Second, she has an undercut, and third, she came out of the queer bookstore across the street and has a pan flag pin on her bag.”

“Not what I meant, but thanks for the analysis.” He chuckled and you rolled your eyes.

“What then?”

“How did you know that you weren’t straight.”

You shrugged, “I was obsessed with Jessica Rabbit and Poison Ivy as a kid, kinda thought it was just cause they were cool. Then we had family movie night, I was like, twelve or thirteen, we watched Matilda, you seen it?” You looked his way and he shook his head, making a mental note to add it to the watchlist, “instantly fell in love with Miss Honey. And like, we’re not talking, ‘oh she’s so sweet’ it’s more like, ‘oh… oh… I want her to take care of me, but I also want her to take care of me. Ya know?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, “you didn’t like, think you were totally gay?”

“No.” You shook your head again, picking up your glass, “I knew I still liked guys, I just also liked girls. It just felt normal and right, I just didn’t know what the label was for it ‘til a few years later when I met another bi girl at college orientation.”

“No internal conflict or like… shame?” His eyes ducked to his beer, suddenly wishing it was a mixed drink instead so he could occupy himself with a straw or shaking ice cubes around.

“No. But like you said last night, it’s much more socially acceptable for girls, we start holding hands when we’re little kids and no one tells us not to. I know just as many straight girls who have made out with female friends on drunken nights out.”

“You think it’s different for guys?” He asked, risking a glance up at you and your gaze softened at the look in the green eyes looking back at you, “has Terry ever mentioned anything?”

“Terry and I haven’t really ever sat down and discussed his side of experience. He just playfully cursed me out one night after I got a guy to come home with me, apparently we’d both been chasing after him and I hadn’t realized. It just got left at that, though he was more open about it around me afterwards.” You shrugged a shoulder, “but yeah, I think it’s definitely different for guys, there’s probably more of a stigma around it, but I don’t think they deserve it in the least. And a lot more guys experiment than you would think.”

“Really?” He raised a brow at you and you nodded. “Huh.”

He took a swig of his beer, getting lost in his thoughts while you finished your drink. He could feel your gaze on him, but it wasn’t heated, wasn’t pressing, you were just observing, waiting for when he was ready to move forward. It was part of what he liked so much about you, about Bruno, things were always peaceful when he was around the two of you (even when they weren’t and you were ganging up on him like the night before). He knew neither of you were going to press him on any matter, waiting until he would come around on his own. He took another mouthful of beer, letting it swirl around in his mouth, the taste settling on his tongue before he swallowed it down, taking a breath.

“When you say experiment…” He let his voice trail off, eyes flicking up to yours so you could put two and two together.

“Depends on the guy, some people are intrigued, others are much more curious, some want hands on experience. It can be something like a kiss, a make out session for them to realize that they aren’t into it, or…that sparks something even more, some people tend to dive right into the deep end and it’s full blown sex. And that could end in a one time thing that was like checking something off a to-do list, or it could end up being how they shape their identity moving forward.”

“You think kissing’s the baby step into it?” He asked, feeling a blush taking over his cheeks again.

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, “I think the real baby step would be watching gay porn, maybe…partaking in a devil’s three way.”

Joe’s eyes caught the way the corner of your lips twitched up, the mischievous glint in your eye when you picked up your drink.

“You sayin’ what I think you are?” He asked, his pulse picking up and he suddenly wished his drink wasn’t empty.

You smiled softly at him, shifting forward in your chair, an elbow coming to rest on the table, “I’m saying that you’ve been naked in the same room as Terry on more than one occasion. And neither of you have exactly shied away from looking at the other’s cock.”

Joe swallowed; his mouth dry at the insinuation of your words, tongue tied in his mouth as he tried to think of something to say. You stalled a moment, giving him a chance before chuckling softly, draining your beer.

“In fact… I do believe there was a moment you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his dick last night. I mean, I don’t blame you, watching the way he strokes himself is rather…intoxicating… and we already knew you wanted him watching.” You leant in further across the table, “so I guess my question to you is, are you thinking about a little more experimenting? Or do you think it’s specifically Terry that you want?”

“What I think.” He finally found his voice, waving down the server for the bill, “is that I need another couple of drinks first…”

You held up your hands in surrender, chuckling softly as you relaxed back into your chair.

“More importantly, the privacy of your apartment.”

“You want me to take you home pretty boy?” You swiped the bill from him, pulling cash from your wallet, “that can definitely be arranged.”

*

When you returned to your apartment there was almost a thickness in the air, something heaving with want, heat captured between the four walls of your living room like they weren’t before. Joe could feel it throbbing through his veins, scratching at the back of his neck as he peeled off his flannel, dropping into a chair as he crossed the living room. You’d disappeared down the hallway without saying anything and he thought he could hear water running from your en-suite. Knowing you wouldn’t care, he shoved open the windows, letting the cool air breeze through the screens, the smell of rain wafting through your apartment. It wasn’t as late as it felt, storm clouds having taken over the skies, only the occasional streak of sunlight managed to make it through.

He felt the wind tickle across his skin as he moved back through your apartment, pulling open the fridge to check out what kind of stash you had going on. He found a pack of his preferred beer in a corner, no likely left from the last time he was over, grabbing one for himself before selecting a seltzer from the diverse collection in the door for you. Just as he cracked his drink you were padding back into the main space, your hair was tugged up off your neck and you’d changed into an NYPD tee, pj shorts on your lower half, always aiming for comfort, especially in the solace of your own space.

“Thanks.” You cast him a grin when he passed you the seltzer and he followed you to the couch. You let him take a few sips, watching the way his body began to sink into the couch, the alcohol working its way into his system before you nudged his thigh with your foot. “So? You think you have an answer now?”

Joe exhaled a long breath, “I think…that it’s both.” He glanced in your direction, unsurprised to find you in your usual corner perch, legs pulled up onto the couch. “I never really thought about it before… I mean, if guys talked about threesomes with only one girl, all the attention was on her, all eyes on her and definitely not the other guy.”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, watching him take a gulp of beer.

“Like, it would be weird to even look at the other guy, much less talk about it after.” His gaze redirected out the window, watching the raindrops hitting the glass, “but it doesn’t feel weird when Bruno watches. And I know he’s not just watching you.”

“You are a very pretty sight to look at.”

He chuckled softly, “I like it. I didn’t really realize it at first but I’ve been playing over our other nights, he’s not just telling you what to do, he’s fully in control and… it’s…” He trailed off, looking up at you expectantly and it was your turn to softly laugh.

“Hot?” You finished.

“Yeah.” Involuntarily his tongue swept across his lips, “remember the night he guided me on how to edge you?”

Your cheeks nearly flushed at the memory, spread out on Terry’s bed, legs on Joe’s shoulders while you begged him to fuck you. Terry had been verballing instructions from the other end of the bed at first, stroking himself, planning on finishing in your mouth. He wanted Joe to tease you, to really drag it out and the younger man didn’t have the self control, wanting to pound into you, giving you both what you wanted. Terry scolded him, shifting off the bed to stand behind him, a hand settling on Joe’s shoulder to warm up, his voice low as he instructed him to go slower, when he felt Joe’s body shift pliantly under his touch his hands moved lower, gently wrapping around his waist to guide how slow and deep his thrusts should be.

“How could I forget?” It was your turn to latch your gaze on the window, flashes of the night replaying through your brain.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that night. I could be wrong but I think it was the first time he touched me in the bedroom.”

“Like I said, we both assumed you were straight, we weren’t gonna push anything you didn’t want.” Your arm fell across the back of the couch, your fingers threading into his hair, “and we still aren’t, you get that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” His head rocked backwards into your touch, a soft sigh leaving his lips, “and you have no idea how much I appreciate that.” He turned his face to you and your thumb brushed against his cheek, vulnerability glazing over his eyes.

“Jose..”

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, shifting your hand so he could leave a kiss in your palm. “I mean it. I wouldn’t trust anyone else but the two of you to start exploring into these new feelings.”

“You’ve gotta feel safe in situations like this, I wouldn’t have been comfortable sharing a hotel room with any other two dudes I know.”

“You’ll always be safe with us.”

“I know.” Your fingers scratched at his head again, “and that goes right back to you.” Joe hummed softly, taking a swig of his drink, “so you do want to try some things out?”

“Of course.” He nearly groaned, it already felt like his pants were getting too tight and he shifted on the couch, “I’m just not sure where to start.”

“Well…” you moved toward him, swinging a leg over his lap, hands cupping his cheeks as your lips brushed against his, “you just leave that to us, okay.” You tapped the tip of his nose with your finger before sliding off his lap, “now drink up.”

Joe watched as you moved through the room, turning on a soft playlist on your phone, flicking off the overhead lights to leave only a dim lamp in the corner. You crossed to the shelf by the window that housed your candle collection and that caught his interest.

“What’re you doing?”

“People always think about candles for light in romantic situations, but scented ones can bring back memories, associate with certain people, a place, I like to use them to set the mood in that sort of way.” You plucked the lid off one, “Christmas baking, summer rain, sitting on the beach with a pina colada.” Walking back up to him you held up the candle in your hand, “what’d you think?”

He took it from you, taking a long sniff, his eyes shutting and letting the smell infiltrate his senses and it hit him immediately, his eyes flashing open. “What the fuck?” He twisted the jar in his hand to find the name, “that smells so much like my cologne.”

“Which smells amazing.” You took the candle back from him, “and sometimes a girl’s gotta play imagination games when she’s home all alone and you’re out of town.” A smirk played across your lips and Joe’s memory flashed back to a video of you fucking yourself with a bright blue toy as you moaned his name, candle burning on your nightstand.

“What else have you got over there?” He asked, watching as you placed the candle back, picking up another one alongside a lighter.

“You’ll figure it out.” The grin was still on your lips as you lit it, placing it down on the coffee table, “do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then close your eyes.” You instructed and he did as asked, “relax. Turn that busy brain off, let your body and your senses do the work, wake up that imagination.”

Your hand caressed the side of his face and that’s when he realized you’d washed off your perfume, he could usually catch the subtle spicy floral scent from your wrist. Before he could figure out what replaced it, he felt you move away from the couch, your footsteps fading as you entered the kitchen. Rather than try and figure out what you were up to, he did as you wanted, sinking deeper into the couch, the tension in his shoulders easing. The slow, steady beat of the music drummed through his ears, moving into his body and he realized you certainly were good at setting a specific mood.

It was just as you came back into the living room, your movement bringing a breeze with it that the scent of the candle wafted in his direction. He inhaled deeply, letting it wash over his senses, there was a hint of something similar to leather, maybe some amber with a spice he couldn’t quite identify yet. But the overwhelming theme was there, if had to bottle a scent to remind him of Terry, this was the one.

“Eyes still closed,” your voice came out low from in front of him, “glad to know you remember how to follow instructions.”

“What’s next?”

“Picture Terry.”

“Mmhm…” His eyebrows scrunched as he listened to your voice, slowly forming a setting and picture in his mind.

“Imagine the two of you together. You guys have had a good night, fun, playful, relaxed. Probably out at the game, had a few drinks but weren’t ready to call it a night you head back to an apartment for another round or two. He’s got that little grin on his face, that dark gleam in his eyes he gets when he’s feeling feisty, the one I just know you like so much.”

A small grunt of acknowledgement came from Joe and you smiled, stepping toward the couch, your hands bracing on his shoulders, gripping a little tighter than you normal would as you slid into his lap.

“You’ve got to pretend everything you’re feeling is him.” You settled over his hips, hands dragging down his torso slowly, “I know there’s differences..” your lips began kissing across his jaw, “his hands are bigger… rougher…” your gripped his sides harder and felt him inhale sharply as your mouth began to descend along the column of his neck. “You’ll feel his scruff scraping across your skin,” your teeth grazed him, “and fair warning,” you giggled softly, “he bites harder than I do.”

Joe let out a low groan when your teeth sunk into the crook of his neck and his body tensed underneath you, his hands automatically coming to rest on your waist. Fingers wound into the fabric, bunching it in his hands and when he noticed how much of it there was he realized it wasn’t yours, rather one Terry had left at your apartment. The scent of the other man lingered on it and Joe felt his cock start to harden in his pants. He bit back a moan when your tongue swept over his neck and you pinched at his sides.

“Keep your eyes closed pretty boy. Let your senses take over, now tell me… what else?”

“Smells like him.” He mumbled, “cologne… soap maybe?”

“Mmm.” Your fingers wrapped around his jaw, pulling his mouth to yours and you kissed him roughly.

When your tongue surged into his mouth Joe couldn’t help but moan, electrified by everything surrounding him, if it wasn’t for the softness of your hands, the curve of your breasts pressed against him he would’ve sworn your fantasy play was reality. His hands twitched around your waist when you pulled away from the kiss, his lips quickly forming a pout.

“And?”

“Tastes like his scotch,” he was certain you must’ve had a bottle stashed away for whenever Terry was here after a long day, “maybe he stepped out of the bar earlier to have a smoke.”

“Good boy.” You purred, your hands sliding down his body and swiftly undoing his belt before they disappeared into his pants, palming him through his briefs. “now… picture Terry. How does that sound?” Your fingers squeezed around him and Joe moaned.

“Fuckin’ fantastic.” When he inhaled again the fantasy heightened, he could nearly see Bruno in the room, feel his weight against his body.

“Good.” Leaning in you left a kiss then a bite on his neck before slinking to your knees, pulling his pants down as you went. “If my suspicions are right, he wants this too and he’s gonna have zero complaints sucking your cock.” Your hands spread his thighs wide as you settled between them, slicking your hand with spit before pumping his dick, “I want you imagining it’s his mouth wrapped around you, alright pretty boy?”

“Yeah.” He sighed.

“Yes, what?” Your hand squeezed around him and Joe’s head dropped back against the couch.

He could still taste the scotch on his tongue, sucking the taste deeper into his mouth. He pictured Terry sitting across from the bed last night, how fixated on each other the two men were while he stroked himself. He imagined you sitting back, nodding to Terry to take over while you started to toy with yourself on the other side of the bed. Terry’s cock grin on his lips as he sauntered toward the bed to suck the other man off.

“Yes sir.”

“Good boy.”

Your praise made his cock throb in your hand, a drop of pre-cum dripping out the head right as your lips wrapped around it, tongue swiping it away.

Joe let out a low swear, doing his best not to jolt his hips off the couch, letting you take control as he began to pant. He had no idea how you’d done it, how you’d managed to set everything up so perfectly and so quickly, your words and instructions together with the other senses painted such an incredibly clear picture. He could feel your nails digging into his thighs as your mouth worked his cock but it was as if you were off to the side, holding him down while Terry did whatever he wanted. He couldn’t help it, hands wrapping around the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock, a string of swears leaving his lips as his body began to tense. Pleasure was soaring through him higher and higher in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

He moaned, this one louder than the last, his cock twitching in your mouth and you doubled your efforts, hands cupping his balls, cheeks hollowing around him. Your tongue traced the veins of his cock, muffled whines and groans coming from your throat. You picked up the pace, bobbing up and down faster until you sunk his cock into the back of your throat and held it there, letting him inch further, deeper than before.

“Shit.” He grunted, “fuck, gonna…oh god..” His thighs clenched around you as the tension in his gut hardened, sparks flying through his body, “gon’ make me come.”

Your hands squeezed tightly around his thighs as if telling him it was okay to do so and he let out a whine, his hips rocking up off the couch. The image of Terry, naked and on his knees in front of him resurfaced back into his imagination and Joe couldn’t help himself, swearing loudly and his cock pulsed intensely and before he knew it he was coming. Long, thick ropes of cum, shooting into your throat, his dick twitching with each burst, harder than he’d experienced before. He eyes were squeezed shut, seeing spots and he could feel your lips still wrapped around him, sucking every drip that you could, your tongue darting out, stroking along his shaft to lick him clean. Your mouth stayed on him until he was starting to soften, finally catching his breath again, coming back to the real world. Your hands smoothed up and down his thighs as you let him drop from your mouth and when he cracked open his eyes he found you looking up at him expectantly. Rather than the sassy smirk normally splayed across your lips there was a soft smile, a brow raised in interest instead of daring.

“Fuck.” He muttered, a small laugh following as he ran a hand over his face.

“Fun?” You asked, slowly standing in front of him.

“Didn’t realize imagination was that powerful.” He admitted, his hands winding around your waist as you settled into his lap again.

“It’s a magical thing.” You murmured, kissing him gently, “how do you think you’d feel about the real thing?”

“Good.” His hands rubbed up and down your back, sneaking under the stolen shirt. His eyes found yours, a curious look in them, “would you be there?”

“Of course.” You cupped his cheeks again, “whatever our pretty boy wants, he gets.” A smirk took over your lips, “well, to an extent of course. Terry can be a bit of an ass, but you already knew that. We start small, go at your speed, need you begging before we think about moving on.” Joe groaned, his hands gripping your waist tighter as you continued, “what do you want?”

“I wanna know what it’s like,” his eyes fluttered shut when your hands started threading into his hair. “To be controlled totally, told what to do and when to do it.”

“Is that it?” You asked and he shook his head.

“So much more.” He managed to catch your lips in a kiss, “I want him to touch me, want to know what his mouth actually feels like, what it feels like to be fucked… like that.”

“I think we can definitely work with that.” You nipped at his lower lip, a grin breaking out on your face and Joe nearly growled.

“Good.”

A second later and you were letting out a yelp as Joe flipped you onto your back, pinning you onto the couch, his hips already grinding down against yours. You let out a loud laugh, your hands pressing against his chest,

“Babe, no.”

“But…” he froze above you, an expression similar to a confused puppy on his face, “I came…”

“And I’m still fuckin sore from this morning.” You laughed, pulling him to you for a quick kiss, “trust me Jose, you’ve done plenty and I certainly don’t feel under-satisfied.”

“Okay.” It was with near reluctance that he sat back, scooping his pants up from the floor and tugging them back on before looking back at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You laughed again, “besides, you’ve got to work in the morning. You’re welcome to stay if you want, but I’m not gonna be bummed or anything if you leave.”

He groaned, standing up from the couch and stretching his body out with a sigh, “I should go. I need clean clothes or Grace’ll know I haven’t been home yet and grill me until she figures out every single fucking detail.”

“You need to start leaving some spare clothes here.” You suggested, getting up from the couch and gathering the empty containers, tossing them into the recycle as you followed him to the door.

Joe slipped back into his flannel, shoving his shoes back on before he turned back to you, a hand curling around the back of your neck as his eyes searched yours, “you sure you’re okay if I go?”

“Absolutely.” You returned the sentiment from earlier, twisting to leave a kiss in his palm and he smiled, “g’night.”

He leaned in, leaving a soft kiss against your lips, “night baby.” His thumb brushed over your skin, lingering for a bit and you saw the flash of worry move through his eyes, “and, uh…” His hand dropped, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey…” your hand pressed against his chest gently, grounding him, “this stays between us, I know. The only person I’ll mention anything to is Terry. Scouts honour.”

“No dirty details? Please. I don’t want him to get weirded out or think I’m some creep.”

“Cross my heart.” You made the motion over his, pressing a kiss to his chest, “I’ll just let him know we want to move things forward in the future, no specific timeline, just that you’re into it and want to explore some uncharted territory.”

“Thank you.” He picked up your hand, lips brushing over your knuckles.

“Drive safe.”

With one last kiss to your cheek, Joe was gone from your apartment and you locked the door behind him, letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction as you moved through the space. You put away the minuscule amount of clean dishes in the drying rack, turned off the lights in the kitchen and moved into the living room. You closed and latched the windows, casting one more glance through the space before a flash of light caught your eye and you realized it was your phone, screen lighting up with Terry’s name.

“Hey.” You answered, “what’s up?”

“It’s late, hadn’t heard a peep from you, got worried.”

You chuckled, “more like you were bored and a little jealous.” You flicked off the light, padding down the hallway toward the bedroom, “and I couldn’t call, my mouth was full.”

“Oh really?” There was a smile in his voice you could hear.

“Yup.”

“And?”

“My intuition was right. Progress was made.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about a case sweetheart. How about you actually tell me?”

“How about take out and drinks tomorrow? We’re both off.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Yours. And you’re buying, moneybags.”

He chuckled into the phone, “sure. But you could always come over now, I could show you how many more times I can make you come.”

“I’m getting in the shower.”

“Wish I was there. You gonna think about me while you’re naked and wet?”

“Goodnight Terrance.”

____________

@kmc1989 @bulletproof-love-replies @silversprings-mp3 @rosaliedepp @irishavengersassemble @spaghettificationandpretzels @bowdre @dreadfulxives18 @bubbleswrld @gatefleet @amelia-song-pond @witches-unruly-heart @fandom-princess-forevermore @cycat4077 @xoxabs88xox @alwaysachorusgirl @baubeautyandthegeek @plaidbooks @thatesqcrush @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @wandas-wife @katieslotherford @momlifebehard @dondivajade @misscharlielulu @alexxavicry @legit9thlunaticwarrior @daffodil-heart @onmykneesformarvel @silversprings-mp3

[idontplaytrack]

✧ Sick

Olivia Benson x college student daughter! reader

Warnings: implied sexual assault, coarse language. your typical SVU case discussion scenes.

Reader becomes an SVU case. Olivia gets the shock of her life seeing you walk into the precinct, teary eyed and bruised all over.

It was two a.m., the smell of the precinct’s cheap coffee hung around the air as the squad was in a heated discussion of their leads for a current case. Everybody was a little annoyed due to the lack of sleep, Liv included. Especially Liv— she was in charge. Fighting the sleep and taking another gulp of the black coffee, her ears perked up when she heard footsteps approaching herself and her squad. Her eyes briefly out of focus due to tiredness but quickly came into focus. She squints, her heart sank to the floor when she realised who it was. It was you. In tears, bruised jaw, bleeding cheek. She rushes over to you, asking you what happened.

She knew you weren’t supposed to be home from college until the day after. So you must’ve came back early. You disclosed the attack to your Mother, who then accompanied you to the hospital for an examination. She sat by your side as you laid on the exam table, feeling more vulnerable and in pain than ever as the doctor began asking you questions, swabbing, poking and prodding you. Each action sent a knife through Liv’s heart— she lets you squeeze her hand to divert away the inescapable pain, your cries made her want to double over and burst into tears, but she stayed strong for you. After a few hours, you were finally back home— the sun was rising, signalling the start of a new day but the adrenaline…it was wearing off and you were hit with exhaustion like a ton of bricks. The squad — Kat and Fin wanted to talk to you but Olivia refused to let them, wanting you to get some sleep first.

Olivia pulled the blinds down then sat in your bed with you, “You wanna get some sleep, honey?”

“Will you stay with me?” You asked meekly.

“Of course, sweet girl. I’ll be right here. Okay? Lay down, close your eyes.” And so you did, snuggling under the covers with Olivia sat in the spot beside you holding your hand.

At noon, Fin came by the apartment with Kat. They needed to talk to you, you knew you needed to tell them everything you know, but you were still feeling like a mess. Your heart still felt like it was racing, you constantly felt like someone was watching you...

They were patient with you, maybe more so than they would any other victim, but you appreciated it nonetheless. You recounted your night, letting them know where you were, who you were with and what you were doing. What you saw, what you heard and even smelt were just as crucial.Your Mom left the room hearing you talk about all that went down, and that was when you spotted a blonde in the doorway consoling her- Rollins.

When they were done with their questions, the promptly left you alone knowing you needed the space and peace. They went back to the precinct and your Mom walks back in with Rollins who came by to see you.

————

"This happened late at night the guy followed her from a bar to the subway. She tried to lose him but he kept following her. She was on her way to the precinct anyway because she knew Liv was working late and wanted to keep her company." Fin began, "Rape kit came back positive for fluids with a match to two cases in other SVUs."

"What bar was she at?" Carisi asks, looking through the file.

"A gay bar."

"Just like in these two cases. The perp did the exact same thing, only this time- they left us DNA.”

Carisi squints, taking a closer look at the information, “Our perp is a woman.”

That evening, Olivia returned to work after you persuaded her to. “We know who it is. The victims on the first two cases refused to testify.”

“One of them responded to us— she wants to testify now. And her case is still within the statute of limitations.” Carisi informs.

“Good, let’s nail this sick bitch.” Olivia declared, “y/n told me she’d testify too if that’s what it takes.”

“Hell yes. Attagirl.” Fin nodded, “We’ll get her, Liv. I promise.”

Olivia scoffs, “Fin- I appreciate it, but don’t speak too soon.”

“We will.”

[hugedancys]

Nolan Price x Reader Masterlist

All fics are explicit and 18+, posted on AO3.

Secretary Series

➝ corpus delicti 

You're secretary to the new District Attorney. One night you stay late and console him after a bad day.

➝ ex delicto

Nolan has been too busy to pay attention to you lately. He makes it up to you with a quickie in a storage cupboard.

➝ in extremis 

Nolan seeks comfort after witnessing the aftermath of the shooting.

Other

➝ in pari delicto 

Price just lost the case - to you. You go to his office to console him.

[fawtyy]

A Hard Day

Rafael Barba x fem! Reader (this is so short, I’m so sorry)

Warnings: oral (male receiving), public sex

Word count: 758

Barba sat at his desk, his head in his hands. It was only two in the afternoon and he was already done with the day. The files just kept piling up and he couldn’t catch a break.

You knocked on his office door, walking in to see him at his desk. You had brought some lunch by for the two of you. He told you he probably wouldn’t be home until late, if he even came home at all. Deciding bringing dinner would be too late, you brought some lunch for the two of you. He was able to make some time to spend with you.

“God, this is delicious.” You knew he hadn’t ate all day with the way he was inhaling his food. This was most days, especially when his work load piled up like it has. “Thank you, mi amor.”

You smiled and nodded, standing up to walk to his side of the desk. You looked down at all of his papers scattered across the desk, notes scribbled here and there. He was writing more notes down when he started rubbing his head, him relaxing into you.

“You’re so stressed, baby.” He nodded, holding your other hand. You leaned down, close to his ear. “I can help you out.”

Rafael paused, his pen falling from his hand while his other hands grip tightened. He took a deep breath, turning his seat and leaning back, his legs spreading and pulling you between them.

He smoothed both hands down your sides, looking up at you. “Cariño, don’t make false promises.”

You smiled, slightly biting your lip. “I would never, Rafa.”

You ended up under his desk, his pants slightly down, and his fat cock down your throat. He was a groaning mess, both hands on your head as you swallowed around his cock. He let your head come up, the pre-cum covering your lips as you licked your tongue up his length.

“You keep doing that and I will cum, querida.”

You smiled and looked up at him through your lashes. “That’s the goal, baby.”

You smirked down at you, pushing your head back down. It was great for another minute until a knock came upon his door and it opened, Rafael pushing you off and pulling himself up. “Olivia, hey.” Your eyes widened as you scooted further back to give him some room. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I thought you were coming to the station but I know you’re busy.” She started talking about some of the cases while you scooted back up, rubbing your hand up his leg. He jumped, before becoming steady again. “You okay, Rafael?”

He nodded, waving her off. “Probably one too many coffees.” She started talking again and you leaned up, licking his still hard cock. He took a deep breath, trying not to make a sound while Olivia spoke. “Go ahead.”

Bringing your head all the way down, he tapped his desk, the urge becoming hard. You pulled your head back up, sucking right on his tip and he hissed. The fact that you were doing this in his office was insane enough. But for you to do this while someone was in there?

He was definitely making it home tonight.

“Anyways, I have to get back.” They bid goodbyes but Olivia stopped at the door, turning back. “Oh, the last three cases we brought you confessed so, hopefully that takes some off your plate.”

He nodded with a smile, leaning back as soon as the door shut. His head was thrown back as you kept going up and down, his hands gripping the chair. “I am fucking you so hard tonight.”

Heat went straight to your core as you heard that, getting excited at the thought. Pulling your head back up, you swirled his tip around your mouth, the moans from his mouth sounding like music to your ears. “Is that a promise?”

He was so close, ignoring your words and pushing your head back down. Hitting the back of your throat a few times and he was done, his hot cum shooting down as you swallowed it all up. He sighed his content, pulling you off and out from under the desk. You had tears running down your face, spit and cum around your mouth but he thought you were prettiest like this.

Gripping your cheeks, he pulled you up and he bent down to meet you half way. He watched as you swallowed, smirking down. “Yeah, I’m going to ruin you for this stunt.”