extremes of sweet and sour

“Rick,” You pleaded, reaching for his sleeve. He took a step back, escaping from your grip. The rage on his face - you were scared for the first time that he might actually hurt you. You, the one person that he had whispered promises to, that he wouldn’t ever let anything bad happen to you. “You know me. You know that I would never double-cross our country.” 

With shaky legs, you fell down onto your knees, begging him to believe you. “Rick, please. I don’t know what that letter is, I don’t know how it got there. But I would never do something like this. I would never do anything that would put you in danger. You have to know that.” 

“Come on,” he said, motioning to the men that were behind him. You felt your hands being pulled roughly behind your back and secured by handcuffs. They lifted you roughly onto your feet, while you still felt like you couldn’t stand properly. The ground had fallen from beneath your feet. The air had been pushed out from your lungs. All that you could do was plead on deaf ears as the men took you to one of the cells that were meant for prisoners of war. Until the last second, you pathetically pleaded your innocence until the doors were closed and you were left alone in the dark. Alone except for the sound of your own sobbing and hasty breathing. 

“Please, Rick, believe me,” You whispered to yourself as you collapsed against the ground. There was not even a bed - the standards for POWs were subpar.  

Rick, despite the conflict of interest, had put himself on your case. He was going through every single piece of paper that had been anywhere near your desk, reading through it, looking for any more evidence. His anger wasn’t fading anytime soon. When he accidentally ripped the third file, he threw the papers to the side and held his head in his hands. His breathing was heavy. The rage that he was feeling was overpowering the sorrow, and he knew which he would rather feel. anger got shit done. Anger was easier. It felt better. He could use it better. 

There was more than one letter. They were encoded, but it wasn’t that hard of a cipher to crack. It was basically requests for ‘further’ information, which made it seem as if you had given them some before. From the looks of it, they were pretty recent. Just how long have you been doing this? How long has he been stupid, dead, blind to everything that you were doing? 

He wiped at his brow with the back of his head and leaned back in the chair. He took a deep breath, one that hurt his lungs, and then let out a loud yell that drew the attention of those around him. 

He ignored their stares. The way that they looked at him with pitying glances, suspicious glares. They were wondering the same thing that he was - how did he not know? Or maybe he did know, and now he was acting innocent, like he had nothing to do it? He could basically hear their thoughts through their stares.  

He covered his face, his palms going against the bristles of his mustache. He didn’t shave today. He hasn’t showered. He hasn’t eaten since you were taken. He wasn’t planning on eating either.  

He got up and picked up the papers again, staring at them, willing for them to say anything other than what they were saying. Looking for any sort of hint that they could have been faked somehow. But it seemed pretty cut and dry. The love of his life, the person who shared his bed, the person who he lived with and spent most of his time with, was a dirty traitor.  

“Flag,” The General said, coming up to him. Rick immediately stood at attention, like the good little soldier that he was. “Did you find any more evidence?”  

He hesitated for a moment. If he handed over what he had found, then everything for you was going to be over. You would be treated as a traitor, a confirmed traitor. There were already talks of handing you over to the enemies in exchange for one of their Prisoners, one of their own guys. People were eager to get rid of you, and what he held in his hands would only make them all the more delighted to do so.13 

He had no choice. He nodded and let out a “Yes Sir.” And he handed over those documents that he had found in and around your desk. A foolish mistake of yours, he thought. Normally you would never have been so careless. It was a little strange, but he wouldn’t let himself go down that path of thinking. He could not defend what you did. He couldn’t defend you, lest he be seen as a traitor as well. With the handing over of the letters, your fate was sealed, and the relationship was irrevocably over. 

Rick didn’t get to say goodbye. That’s one thing that still bothered him about this whole thing. After he had handed over the evidence to the General, just over a year ago, you had been packed up and sent to the enemy in exchange for a prisoner of war. The enemy seemed only too happy about it, to be getting their spy back.  

He focused on his work, doing his utmost to forget you. He didn’t date again. In fact, he was letting his facial hair grow out, something that used to get teased by you. He didn’t talk to anyone outside of the department, outside of the job. Didn’t date. Didn’t even really have any friends. His life had become the military, and he had built up so many walls around that, nothing else was getting in. 

Did he think of you from time to time? Of course. He had cleaned out your things and put them into storage in case you ever asked for them again, but the empty clothes hangers were constant reminders of what was missing. 

You popped into his head again as he was given his next mission. It was almost a year to the day since you had been traded to the enemy, and the chaos that had happened because of all of that. New protocols, new security, everything was monitored more closely than ever before. He had to go through getting his coms checked for the mission, which was to go into what was an apparently abandoned base of the enemy and go through any information that they might have that would help lead to where they were going next. It had been some kind of earthquake that had disrupted the base, so it would be dangerous, even while empty, because half of it had descended deeper into the ground and was still unstable. 

Rick Flagg headed the team. He had his second in command by his side, while the others spread out throughout the confusing layout of the building. There had been six floors, three of them aboveground, masquerading as some sort of garment factory, though really, they had been manufacturing weapons. The top three layers just barely held on, the roof having collapsed down and was in splinters. But there were still some floors beneath the rubble that looked as if they had been able to take the brunt of the quake. Of the avalanche of the stone and brick that had been the building. 

Holding up his gun, on high alert, flashlight attached and shining the way through the jet-black corridors, Rick Flagg was unafraid as he proceeded.  

“Reached a dead-end to the west side,” One of the soldiers' voices’ came through his radio. 

“Wall dead-end or rubble-dead end?” Flagg asked, his accent thick.  

“Rubble - may be able to find a way through it if we have a little time.” 

“Alright, you work on that. We want to search as much of this place as possible-” Rick said but then was cut off again by another voice on the radio. 

“Flagg? We’ve got a heat signature on the floor below you,” Another southern drawl came through. It sounded a little less than calm. Not frantic but concerned. “There’s someone else here with us. It’s not a strong one though. So, I think maybe one of the workers got caught in the quake. Might be injured.” 

“Everyone, stay on alert, I’m going in.” 

Rick managed to find a hole in the floor that had been caused by some of the structure going through. Inadvertently, it created a sort of slide for him to go down and he did, his boots landing roughly on the steel flooring. The ridges on the floor gave him balance as he stalked forward, his gun at the ready to shoot in case he saw anything move, but he wanted to take this person, whoever it was, alive. They could get more information out of them alive rather than dead. 

The further he walked down, the more he saw that this floor looked more like a prison. His flashlight shone off of metal bars. Some of the cells were smaller, like dog kennels, stacked on top of one another. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was animal testing going on here. They did seem to be monsters. 

The crates seemed to be empty though, going forward, the doors opened, or the cages crushed, and he didn’t look too deeply into them. He didn’t want to, nor need to, see that. 

The deeper down the hallway that he went, finding that it was at a bit of a slope and water was dripping from the piping, causing him to step into water, the larger the cages seemed to become. Now, it was just cells. Exactly like prison cells.  

“Is anybody down here?” He called out, not wanting to trudge into the water until he had to. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of noise as a response. Nobody called out, but there was a purposeful splashing sound. His eyes narrowed and he moved closer, finally stepping into the water. The noise of the splashes would give away his location, but he had to find out where this person was. A prisoner, by the looks of it. Even if it wasn’t the scientist or worker they were hoping for, they might still have some information. 

There were more splashing sounds. The water was cold, almost ice cold, but he powered through it, sweeping the flashlight through the cells until he saw someone. 

The flashlight dropped into the water, the light growing weaker, more like a beacon now than a flashlight. He had dropped it in surprise because of who he had seen. He ducked down to pick it up, quickly shining it back on the person to make sure that his eyes did not deceive him.  

It was you. 

You weren’t looking like the you that he had known and loved. You were emaciated, as if you hadn’t eaten properly for a year. You looked resigned, sitting on the bench screwed into the wall in your cell, the water up around your waist but you were too tired to stand or try to get away from it. You had one hand in the water, slapping it to make a splashing sound. Despite him coming in closer to you now, you could not see who was holding the flashlight. You had no hope left in your eyes.  

You were a prisoner. 

It called into question every action that he had taken over the past year. Why would your own people take you as prisoner - had he been wrong? Had those tiny little doubts been his brain trying to tell him the truth?  

“Flagg!” The voice came through his radio again, making you flinch. Your eyes were dilated due to the pitch-dark conditions that you had been in before Rick got there and now were slowly constricting to adjust to the brightness. Your ears were working just fine though, and your head raised at the sound of his surname. “Flagg! Report! Are they hostile?” 

Almost like in a dream, he brought his radio to his mouth and answered. “Not hostile. Prisoner. I’m bringing them in.” 

“One of ours?” The voice came through. “And they just left them there? Christ.” 

“Keep sweeping for anything, I’m bringing them topside,” Rick said, then replaced the radio back in its holster, moving in closer to the bars that were separating the two of you. “Y/N?” 

You looked almost like a startled mole, with the big eyes, turned away from the light. It was far too bright after who knows how long of sitting in the darkness. The building had fallen yesterday - had you really been sitting here in the cold water by yourself for that long? His heart ached just thinking about it. You didn’t speak, but you opened your mouth, making the shapes that would have formed his name if anything came out.  

He shone the light back at himself, revealing his face to you. You were able to look again, since the light wasn’t directly in your eyes, and he was just able to make out something.  

Hope. 

“It’s me,” he said, softly, putting one hand against the bar. He slid it down, trying to find the lock, but found that it wasn’t there. Everything was automatic - but the power was down. He cursed under his breath and then looked back up at you. “Save your strength. I’m going to get you out of here.” 

He called in the radio for backup - preferably with a saw of some sort. One of his soldiers said that he was on the way, and he breathed out with relief, looking back at you. He kept the flashlight’s stream of light down on the water, lighting up the room just enough to be able to see each other without being blinding.  

“How long have you been in here?” He asked, his eyes not leaving yours. Something in you wasn’t able to speak, your throat too dry, too painful. But you held your shackled hands out, mimicking a large span of time. And then you made a sort of circle. “The whole time?” You nodded, and it felt like a stab in the heart. 

How could he have been so goddamn wrong? 

“Gonna getchu outta here, get you to a doctor,” He promised. “We’ll make it right, okay y/n?” 

You nodded at him again, which took his breath away. How were you still able to trust him? How were you still able to look at him after what he had done to you? Believing that you had betrayed him, betrayed the military. He should have been able to look you in the eyes and know the truth, that you could never do such a thing. 

He could hear the sound of footsteps. His soldier was coming along with the saw. He only had another couple of seconds with you, and he seized the opportunity. “I’m so sorry,” he said, quietly, his voice barely heard over the ripples of the water as his soldier came stomping on in. “You never should have been here.” 

You flinched away from the bars when you heard someone else coming closer. Another flashlight beam shining through the darkness and landing on your face. You weakly lifted a hand to shield your face this time around, timid but not as afraid.  

“Holy shit,” The soldier by his side paused, holding the electrical saw in both hands. “Is that y/n?” 

“Just get the fucking bars open,” Flagg gritted his teeth, taking a step back. 

The soldier hesitated for a moment. “But - what if it’s a trap?”  

A burst of anger, a close friend of the guilt that he was feeling, took over Rick when he heard that question. He bared his teeth towards his soldier in a way that he never had before. “Open the goddamn bars.” He ordered. His tone was aggressive enough that the soldier did it with no more questions asked, sawing through the bars, making an exit large enough for you to go through. Only once it was quiet, once the drill was turned off, did you venture out, your legs barely making a sound in the water. Gliding through slowly, weakly. That wasn’t going to last long - Rick took you in his arms, carrying you bridal style so you were barely touching the cold water. “We’ll get you to med, stat,” He promised you. And oh, the look you gave him shook him to his core again. 

It was still full of that damn hope. There was no blame. No anger. No hatred. 

He couldn’t look at you anymore. His green eyes only focused on what was in front, making good time to get you back up to the surface. He could barely even look at you as he brought you into the light, terrified to see what shape you were truly in. As soon as he was able, he called for a medic-copter, and it came quickly. Until then, he stared straight forward, heart beating fast, listening to your breathing. It was labored, despite the fact that you had barely moved yourself. It sounded as if you weren’t getting enough air. 

“You’re going to be alright,” he told you. “I promise.” 

The helicopter landed in one of the few empty spots that weren’t covered with debris from the quake, and he ran you onto it, setting you down on the stretcher that it was equipped with. And as soon as you were down, he stepped back. Out. Everything in him was screaming at him that he didn’t belong with you in that helicopter. That you wouldn’t want to see him because he had believed the worst of you, and made you suffer. As the aircraft started to take off, your head turned to look out the window and direct eye contact was made for a second, and he lost his breath again. You still looked at him with love. 

Rick Flagg didn’t come to see you until three days after you had been admitted into the military hospital. He had read through the reports that were made, your testimony of what had happened to you after you had been traded. It was the hardest read of his life, knowing that he had betrayed you, had helped to put you in that situation. The state of you hadn’t quite been enough to convince the higher-ups that you hadn’t been on the side of the enemy, but your testimony had been enough.  

You gave them nothing. Even through the tortures that they put upon you; you were relentless in keeping the secrets of the military inside. Through waterboarding, through sleep deprivation, even through drugs your willpower persisted. This was proven by the fact that you had known about some of the missions that were going to happen through your imprisonment, and the enemy never made a move on them.  

Fuck, he was both impressed by your stubbornness and guilty for ever believing you’d turn. He was sure this was going to be eating at him for the rest of his life. 

When he walked in, he was in his fatigues, back straight, trying to be as impersonal as possible. He didn’t know what to expect coming in and didn’t know how to brace himself other than to try to separate himself from it. He knew what he was hoping for - screaming, and yelling, maybe even you would attack him. That would validate his guilt. His self-hatred.  

But you brightened up when he entered the room. Your countenance changed from the moment before you had seen him, to something entirely different. You were able to sit up more, a smile growing on your face despite your trauma and exhaustion. It was like you were inhaling with excitement rather than exhaling with despair. 

You said his name. You hadn’t been able to speak when he found you, and your voice was still raspy, but it was his name, and it was your voice, and it wasn’t said in anger. His breath got caught in his throat, something that often happened around him, and it took a minute for him to remember to let it out.  

He said your name back and approached the hospital bed stiffly. You weren’t tied down but there were still the grooves on your wrists and ankles that showed that you had been. Protocol. 

“I was waiting for you to come,” you said, clearing your throat. Rick grabbed the paper cup with water that was by your bed and handed it to you, and you took a drink thankfully. You swallowed and then licked your lips, attempting to wet them a little. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” 

“Of course I was going to come,” Rick said, though the truth was he hadn’t really intended to. He’d gone back and forth on it so many times. But here he was, just like you had hoped that he would be. He had to bite on his lower lip to keep it from trembling as he saw you in this state. 

You had lost a lot of weight. According to what you had told the doctors; you hadn’t eaten in four days. That’s why you were so weak and found it so hard to stand. They only fed you every other day while you were captured and left nothing for you when they vacated the premises. You were bruised, black and blue, purple and green. Some of the cuts you had were infected, and were now covered in salves and bandages, and you had antibiotics flowing through your IV. The worst of it seemed to be centred upon your neck, where a collar had torn through your flesh multiple times when you moved your head to try and sleep. That’s how they kept you awake for so long. And the music -  

Even though you were in a better place now, your body was still holding onto the trauma and healing slowly.  

“They cleared me,” you said, quietly. “They understand now that I never, ever betrayed our military. Never betrayed you.” 

Rick stiffened, expecting that now would be the moment that you would start to yell at him. Asking the questions that he had been asking himself. How did the documents get into the perfect place at the perfect time for him to come across them? It had all been planted, and almost sloppily so, but still. He had fallen for it. So eager to point a finger, to blame someone for all of the problems that the department was having, and someone made sure they landed on you.  

“I shouldn’t have thought that,” He finally admitted. “I should have known better.” 

“All the evidence was pointing to me, I understand,” you said, softly. “You’ve always put your position first, so I don’t blame you for having to report me.” 

But he was hardly listening, truth be told. He kept going on. 

“- and I understand that you’re probably angry with me. I deserve it. I wasn’t thinking properly, I was a soldier first when I should have been a man first. Your man. I’m supposed to protect you!” 

“... Rick,” you said, clearing your throat, trying to get his attention, though he was staring right at you. 

“- and I helped to hand you over? I wasn’t physically there but I might as well have been. I couldn’t even face you then, I couldn’t watch you walk away. I was a coward. I am a coward.” 

“No, you’re -” But he cut you off again. Now you just looked at him with amusement. Sometimes he was like the Duracell Bunny, just going and going and going. He had to tire himself out. Nothing was going to stop him.  

“- if you never forgive me, I understand. If you never want to see me again - I understand. Nothing I do will ever be able to make it up to you and I know that. But I need you to know how sorry I am. I would do anything to take back what I did. Anything at all.” 

You waited for a moment to make sure that he was done speaking. He let out a deep breath, his eyes boring holes into yours. You had a small smirk on your face, and you asked, “Are you done?” 

“Not even close,” He admitted. You chuckled, which made his jaw tense. He wasn’t sure how to handle this. You were not at all acting in the way that he had thought that you would. 

“Then take a break, and let me have my turn,” you said, reaching out your arm for him. He tentatively stepped a little closer, and your fingers played against his hand, worming their way into his clenched fist to grab hold of it. “I forgive you.” 

He stared at you, blankly. He wasn’t sure what to say. No words were coming to either his brain, or his tongue. But something else was rising. Something that hardly ever did. A swelling sensation in his throat, a pressure behind his eyes.  

Rick Flagg was not a man who cried. If he got hurt, he grit his teeth and worked through it. If he lost a man, he held strong for the others in his team. He could feel sorrow, but he never let it affect him like that. But right now? He felt like a kid that lost their parents in a grocery store. He felt like a kid who had just been told that their pet had gone to heaven. He felt the weight of his entire world on his shoulders, and it was streaming out his eyes now. 

“Are you crying?” You asked, blinking in confusion. You had never seen him come close to doing that. It was a vulnerability he never allowed himself to feel, but right now, he couldn’t help it. 

He dropped onto his knees beside your hospital bed, his hand clenching onto yours, his other arm resting on the thin mattress you were laying on. “I don’t know,” He whispered. “I’m feeling so many things - I -” 

“It’s okay,” you said, softly, stroking the back of his hand. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” 

“I’m so -” he said, struggling to come to terms with what he was feeling. And that Duracell Bunny was back, making him move on and on. “I’m so fucking mad at you.” 

“Really? Why?” You asked, curiously.  

“You’re being so calm! And so - nice!” He sputtered. “You’re supposed to be angry at me. You’re supposed to yell at me and hit me. But you’re - you’re actually comforting me.” 

“Well, I love you,” you said, continuing to stroke his hand. He was holding on so tight. It was close to the point of pain, but it wasn’t there yet. “I could never hurt you-” 

“Hurt me, the way I hurt you?” He laughed hollowly as the first tears escaped, rolling down his cheeks. “I deserve it, y/n. So please, hate me, hurt me, scream at me.”  

“I can’t-” you said, biting down on your lip. “I can’t hate you. I was mad at you for a long time, but I always knew in my heart that this was not your fault. It was theirs. The ones who framed me, who made this happen. None of that blame lies with you.” 

That hurt worse than a punch but wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it would have been to actually feel your fist against his face. “Please don’t forgive me-” He whispered. 

That’s when you seemed to realize something, and you held tighter onto his hand. “Rick - it’s never been my forgiveness that you needed. It’s your own. You need to forgive yourself.” 

“I can’t,” He breathed heavily. “I can’t do that. Not after seeing you like this.” 

“You have to,” you said, your voice no longer soft and loving, comforting. You were stern. You were back to the soldier that he had known you to be. “You want that weight off your shoulders, to be able to get back to work properly, to restart us? It’s the only way forward, Rick. You’re smart enough to know that.” 

He absolutely broke. His head leaned against the crisp white sheets, his cropped hair brushing against your ribs as he let it all out in that moment, crying in a way that you have never witnessed before. It felt like a good first step, this release of emotions in a man who usually kept them so bottled up. You stroked his hair and held his hand, taking in this moment for what it really was. 

Prequel to:

Killing Me Softly - You return home to find Dex in your kitchen, freshly sprung from prison.

Dex shouldn’t be in love with his adversary.

He should hate you with a passion of a thousand suns, he should take joy in your failures, laugh when you stumble but instead, he dusts you off when you slip from the climbing wall on the obstacle course, gives you pointers to up your game on the FBI Academy shooting range.

At first, he thinks it’s because you challenge him. On the track, at the obstacle course, during testing. The two of you rank in the top one percentile of your class, always vying for that coveted first spot. But when he’s at the range, he’s pressed up against you, his hands on your hips, foot kicking your ankles apart just enough to alter your positioning, he realises that the real reason is… you make him feel.

Not those violent impulses he keeps repressed underneath his routines and structure. But real emotion. Intense, vibrant, like the sun caressing his skin after a rainy day. You ignite something inside him, something real, something good and he wants to bask in it, to experience it every single moment of his life.

He thinks you must feel it too. It’s in the way your face lights up when you lay eyes on him. The way you take the extra time role playing interrogation techniques. Those light touches when you want to draw his attention to something that interests you. A case note you’ve found, an investigative technique, a clue to the task you’re meant to be completing together as part of the group work.

It comes to a head during a practice round on the mats late in the evening inside an empty gym. All of your classmates are out celebrating Britty’s birthday but you, you want to take advantage of this quiet time, use it to push yourself. You know how to handle yourself on the streets. You’d entered the academy as a decorated patrol officer in the NYPD, lived through some of the worst shit New York could through at you as a woman in uniform. But Dex, he has this unique skill set, a blend of military training and martial arts that always lands you on your ass no matter how much you might try.

Except this time, this time you get the upper hand on him. He’s too distracted by your proximity, by the press of your curves against his hard edges, the scent of sunshine and sea salt that clings to your hair when you jab your elbow into his solar plexus. That sharp strike knocks the air right out of his lungs, his diaphragm going into temporary paralysis, his grip on you releasing as he chokes for breath. You duck underneath his arm, twisting it behind his back as you drive your fist right into his kidney. His entire nervous system shuts down, his knees buckling as you hike the limb even higher up his spine.

You lean in close, your breath ghosting in his ear like a lover’s kiss as you whisper. “Got you.”

Your palm settles in the centre of his back before you shove him forward. He collapses, face down on the mat before rolling over and groaning his displeasure into the ceiling as he clutches his back.

“Oh shit Dex, did I really hurt-”

His foot lashes out, kicking yours out from underneath you. You collapse on top of him, your weight crashing just enough to wind you as he takes advantage of your surprise, leg hooking over yours, twisting you underneath him. His hands grasp your wrists pinning them to the mat as he stares down at your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“Never give them an opening.” He murmurs, his nose trailing lightly over yours, your chest heaving against his. He can feel the thunder of your heart through your Lady Gaga t-shirt, pounding the same beat as his own as his lips come close, so dangerously close that he can feel your breath across them. “Because the moment you do-”

His words are stolen, swallowed down by a kiss that that sets his whole body ablaze. In that moment he truly understands what it means to live, to breath, to exist. His tongue delves into your mouth, exploring the confines, stoking the fire that burns within him as he grinds his cock against your pussy making you moan. The fingers of his right hand entwine with yours, his left trailing along the underside of your forearm, past your elbow and bicep until it’s on your breast, thumb teasing the nipple hidden underneath the layers of cotton into a stiff peak.

You whimper into his mouth. Your own hand is already pushing down the waistband of his sweats. He feels the cool air on his ass from the HVAC system as his dick springs lose, slapping against the v of your leggings.

He shifts as you shove frantically at your own leggings, getting them halfway down your thighs before he guides takes them the rest of the way, your underwear going with them. He doesn’t bother to take his own off. instead, he notches himself at your entrance, our wetness dripping all over his cock.

“That all for me?” He mutters against your lips, your fingers sinking into the grooves of his knuckles as he exerts just the tiniest bit of pressure, the tip of his dick slipping barely inside. “You been like this every single time we’ve sparred?”

Your cheeks colour, a rosy tinge spreading across them and he has his answer. Loud and clear.

“I fuck my fist after every session.” He reveals, his free hand squeezing your waist as he sinks in that first magical inch. “When I get into the shower, I imagine what it would be like to feel you like this.”

He eases the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. Your hips arch up to meet him, and he watches the rapture in your features as you clench around his dick.

“I could keep you like this.” He whispers, his lips trace along the curve of your throat, soft like petals. His hand reaching between you, fingers settling on your clit as he starts to rub slow, teasing circles over your clit. “I wouldn’t have to move an inch, I’d just keep doing this, stroking your pussy until you come all over my cock.”

Your thighs tighten around him, pussy gripping him already. He smiles against that naughty little spot, right underneath the hinge of your jaw, his teeth grazing over it. “Come on baby, do it for me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You combust like a star, his name rolling off your lips like the hook of a song, drawing him deeper, making him thrust to the rhythm of your cries. The pressure builds, that delirious ecstasy sweeping through his synapses as your hand threads through his hair, grasping it in your fist, tugging at the roots. The eruption of pain erupts across his scalp, intermingling with the pleasure, driving him harder, faster until the slap of skin echoes throughout gym. Until you’re coming undone all over again and he’s coming with you in hot white spurts, spattering your insides, leaving his mark in the most intimate of places.

Your fingers card through his hair as he kisses you. Messy, languid things that come with falling in love, of tumbling so hard into that chasm you don’t want to scale the walls and climb back out.

He gives you his shirt to clean up with before whisking you away back to your room and ruining you all over again. The two of you are still tangled up with each other when the others come back from their night out, he kisses away your laughs as their chatter drifts past the door, easing himself inside you for the third time that night.

Fraternization, it’s frowned upon in the academy but that doesn’t stop him pursuing a relationship with you. Sneaking into your room late at night, fucking you in the shower in the early hours of the morning before slipping back into his own bed. He hates leaving you in those daybreak hours, hates the thought of being apart from you in any capacity which is why he’s so anxious when the letters arrive after graduation, the ones detailing your new field offices.

Agents, they go where the need is, where their skills are most suited. Only a third of academy graduates actually get the choices they’d submitted before the academy. There have already been dozens who’ve faced disappointment, over a hundred at least departing for placements in cities they didn’t bank on.

His heart pounds as you open yours, your eyes scanning across the pages as the edges of your mouth tip up into a smile. “I got New York! I report to Special Agent Ray Nadeem in a few days time.”

You throw your arms around him, and he holds you close, burying his face into the curve of your shoulder, his heart rate slowing as that relief fills him. He can’t imagine a life without you at his point, what kind of place the world would be without his North Star.

 “I got New York too.” He whispers into your ear, his lips brushing over your jaw as he starts to imagine the future the two of you will have. “They’re placing me with SWAT.”

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Nowadays, the ache in his back after a long day sitting at council, the crick in his neck if he slept strangely, his knee acting up when the air drew cold, were stark reminders of skills lost to time. Sure he was still a formidable fighter, besting squires and knights alike in the training yard and swinging a mace with the power of a man far younger, but he felt the edges of himself soften. His body, once hard and rippling with muscle, had eased some over the years. He was not as quick as he once was, nor did he have the same all-consuming drive to violence he now saw in none but his second son.   

Maekar knew you liked the gentler side of him. 

The bit of his heart that deep down yearned for the comfort of your arms. Which needed so badly to have you pressed against him, lips on your skin and hands in his hair. He’d fought against you, tooth and nail, for so long when you first wed. keeping you at arms length and refusing to take you to his bed. Certainly a lovely young lady like you wasn't

 interested in an aging prince, why force you to participate in what was surely a slight on your honor? 

As time passed, you’d wiggled your way into his heart, weaved yourself into his and his children’s lives until he could not remember why he’d been against the marriage in the first place. 

He thought of you as he rode behind his sons, absentmindedly picturing the lovely gown you were probably wearing, and the way said glow clung to your figure. He’d taken the boys out before dawn, leaving you reluctantly in bed with a kiss pressed to your brow and a promise of a swift return. So far there'd been nothing to show for it but damp cloaks and a poor attitudes.  

Maekar pictured you at the gates when they returned. You certainly had better things to do than wait around for your husband, but it eased him a little to think that you might miss him when he was gone. He planned to jump from his horse, take you in his arms, and kiss you there on the steps of Summerhall, decorum be damned. He almost smiled at the look of confusion and disgust that would surely grace the faces of his children at their father’s blatant affections. Perhaps he would even have a kill to present to you. Something with a lovely pelt you could fashion for the coming winter. A chance to prove himself, to provide for you, had him sitting up straighter in his saddle and casting his eyes across the gloomy forest. He could take down a stag or a boar, something hearty and impressive, it certainly would show he’d not lost his touch. 

Maekar had all but decided that he’d ride ahead like he did in his youth when a shout rang out in the wood.

“Come now, I have done it!” 

It was Aerion’s voice, sharp and clear. The older Prince scowled as he spurred his horse forward, joining the group surrounding the victor. 

Aerion was on the ground now, proudly standing above a fallen elk. The beast was enormous, a deep brown coat and arching antlers distinguishing the creature. A strange feeling overtook Maekar at the sight of his son- and the rather impressive kill. For the first time in a long time, the boy’s smile held no sign of smugness or cruelty, only the unbridled joy of someone who wanted to impress their father. 

Maekar tried to hide his grimace as he dismounted, awkwardly patting his son on the shoulder as he took in the fallen animal. He had to admit, it was a perfect shot. The arrow had pierced the elk through the eye, so quick he certainly hadn’t felt the pain. 

“Good, it’s- it's good.” 

He wasn’t sure what to say, but he was sure it wasn’t that. Aerion nodded, so gleeful he hadn’t quite caught on to the older Prince’s words. 

“Soon I’ll be beating you in the yard as well, father.” 

The words were, for once, meant to be harmless. An admission of a dream from a boy who looked up to him. Maekar’s eyes widened, giving a jerking nod before calling for men to prepare the elk for travel.

The hunt was over. 

The ride back to Summerhall had been uncomfortable for everyone- except maybe Aerion, still riding the high of his victory. 

Maekar took up the rear of the party, insisting he was only keeping an eye on his children. In reality, the gloominess surrounding him seeped into the other boys; Daeron was halfway to a drunken stupor, and poor Egg could do nothing but sit quietly and try to avoid conversation. 

How could he have let an elk, an animal of no small size, slip from his sight before he could take it down? He stewed in his anger, the mere thought of losing the edge he’d spent so long sharpening made the grip on his reins turn white. How foolish it was, to be upset at a son accomplishing something most grown men could not. He should have felt proud- and he did, truely- but there was also the creeping hand of jealousy, climbing up the Anvil’s spine. He was impressed. Aerion clearly listened and learned from the extensive lessons he’d tried to bestow on all of his children, and now it meant that he was no longer the only powerful blonde in the family.   

As the party cleared the gates, Maekar saw what he’d been dreaming of since leaving so early that morning. You were there on the steps, a soft gown of pinkish red flowing around your legs and a smile so bright it almost made up for the rainy afternoon. He dismounted in the courtyard, and watched as you quickly moved down to join them. You lifted your skirts as you descended the stairs, and Maekar had to look away at the glimpse of your ankles. Fiddling with his bridle, he did not turn as you approached. He felt you before he saw you, soft fingers running across the tips of his hair.

“Dear husband, tell me, how was your sport? You’re looking a little damp.” 

He could hear the jest in your voice, and any other day, his lip may have quirked up at the sound, but now he could only look down his long nose at you with a barely restrained glower. Your eyes widened at the expression, confusion evident on your lovely features. 

Maekar’s head snapped away from you when he felt a tug on the reins. A stableboy, not much older than Aegon, was attempting to guide the warhorse out of the courtyard- much to the chagrin of both the horse and her rider. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Commotion stopped as the Prince’s voice rang out, hard and rough. The boy looked like he’d rather be anywhere else at the moment. He dropped the reins, falling into a deep bow. 

“Forgive me, my Prince. I was- well I was trying to- begging your pardon-” His small voice wavered under Maekar’s harsh glare. The older man was breathing heavily, chest heaving under his leather and fists clenched. You stepped in, a hand on your husband’s shoulder and a soft smile for the boy. 

“It is alright, he meant no slight by it, only doing what he’s told.” 

Instantly, Maekar felt slightly calmer at the sound of your voice. He let the leather fall from his grip, though his glare did not waver as the small boy led the beast away as quickly as he could. You were already looking at him when he turned back to you, a grin on your face as you moved closer, raising up on your toes and bracing your hands on his chest for the kiss you he was hoping for. 

Maekar leaned forward, tension seeping from his body with the promise of your lips, when he was interrupted again.

“My dearest stepmother, look at what I’ve brought for you.” Aerion’s voice cut the Prince like a knife. He looked so pleased as he presented for you, bowing low and showing off the remarkable feat. You politely applauded him, complimenting his skill and thanking him for his gesture. It took everything in Maekar not to grab his boy by the collar and ask him just what he thought he was doing. He knew Aerion was only proud of himself, just as he knew, as the younger Prince did, that you would give him the praise he wished for. 

How could I, Maekar thought, in the midst of my son’s first victory in the hunt, want my wife’s kindness to myself? He’d convinced himself he’d failed Daeron, allowing him to spiral so far into drink and sorrow. This could be a step in the right direction for all his sons, so why did he still feel so blind with rage? Why could he not pat his boy on the back and tell him he was proud, that it was good of him to treat his stepmother so kindly? 

Aegon had now joined them, the youngest recounting the shot in dramatic detail, Aerion butting in to give his own commentary. Maekar felt a pang in his heart at the sight; his boys, surrounding the woman he loved, his own little family. Why could he not join them? Egg held tight to your hand as he tried to pull your attention from his older brother, the two of them beginning to bicker at the inconsistency of the stories. You calmly stepped in, attempting to bring them both down but only adding another voice to the argument. 

Maekar’s head was swimming, a ringing in his ears that made him feel like the courtyard was spinning. It was almost too much to bear.

“Enough, all of you, silence.” He all but shouted. The three of you stopped, turning to him as the breath left his body in short bursts. Immediately, regret set in deep. Aerion’s face fell, in the way of a child so desperately clinging for a parent’s attention. Aegon’s lip wobbled, face scrunched at his father’s scolding. Your brows drew together, a hand rubbing the youngest boy’s back as you glared up at your husband. Maekar felt the heat climbing up his neck, burning his ears and flaming his cheeks. 

Briskly, the older Prince turned on his heel, storming away before he caused any more grief to his family. 

 The door swinging open did not surprise Maekar in the least. He’d known, from the second he’d fled, that you would soon follow, determined to get to the bottom of his immature behavior. He turned from the fire and braced himself for the words he knew were coming. 

“Would you like to explain why you’re acting like a child?” 

Maekar sighed, how could he tell you how embarrassed he was? You gestured for him to talk, bringing your hands up in question and tilting your head. “It was… a difficult morning.” He finally replied. 

“A difficult morning, that’s all you have to say for yourself?” 

“And what am I supposed to say?” Maekar bit out, “That I was outperformed by a teenager? That my own son bested me in a sport I taught him?” 

You stepped closer to him, a hand on his shoulder. It grounded him, just a little, as you thought of what to say.

“Maekar, my love, you cannot think Aerion taking down that elk was anything but a compliment to you, and all the hard work you’ve put into training that boy. He looks up to you, I think you upset him.” Your voice was a little softer now, squeezing his shoulder and looking up at him in a way that made Maekar’s heart break. He was fully aware that you were correct, that he should be proud of the young man his son was becoming. He squeezed his eyes tightly and shook his head. 

“I did not mean to slight him.” 

“I’m sure not, but the hurt is still there.”  

Maekar nodded, taking your hands in his and bringing your knuckles to his lips. 

“You will apologize to him, then?” You asked softly.

Your Prince nodded slowly.

“I will tell him he performed well.” 

“You will tell him how proud he’s made you today.” 

Maekar grunted, a grumbled hum leaving his mouth. You smiled softly.

“Darling, you are proud of him, I can see it on your face.” 

“Very well then, woman.” 

You pressed up on your toes, kissing his jaw softly before taking his face in your hands. 

“Why are you fighting, my love? What is troubling you? Tell me, please.” 

“It is nothing.” He cut in, answering quickly. 

You gave him a look.

“Maekar, I can see something hurting you, let me help.” 

“Aren’t you disappointed you’ve been given to a man who’s gone soft?” 

You laughed, almost in disbelief, before realizing he was being serious. 

“I certainly wouldn’t call you soft, husband. Where would you even get that notion?” 

He turned his head from you, fingers brushing against your hips as he struggled with how to answer. 

“There was a time no man in the Realm could best me.”

Oh. 

Realization began to dawn on your features. Maekar continued, voice low. 

“I was never the clever brother, or the one who could charm a room full of noblemen. I certainly wasn’t the one maidens fawned over.” The grip on your hips tightened, “But once, with a spear in my hand, I was second to none.” 

Your face softened at his admission. You rubbed a hand over his chest, pressing your fingertips over his heart and feeling the rapid beat, betraying his hardened demeanor. 

“My love, you and I both know you are more than capable of the same power you had in your youth. I have seen it, you have nothing to fret over.” 

He shook his head.

“You weren’t there today. I should’ve seen it, the man I once was would never have let a kill escape. I have weakened, my dear girl, grown soft.” He pressed his forehead against yours, “It is my duty to keep you safe, to keep our children safe. How can you accept me as a husband worthy of you, worthy of protecting our family, if I cannot succeed in a fucking hunt? What if something happened, if someone tried to hurt you?”

Maekar spat the last words out, gritting his teeth like the very thought pained him. You thought for a moment, contemplating his words before you pressed a kiss to his chin. 

“Come here, husband.” 

You stepped back, taking his hand in yours and slowly pulling him deeper into the room. He followed you, he would always follow you, as you stopped before the great, bronze-cast mirror. 

“What are you-” 

“Hush now, dearest.” Lavender eyes followed you as you reached up and unclipped his cloak. The thick velvet fell to the floor, and was soon preceded by his leather doublet. He took your hands, stilling your movement. 

“You do not need to try and ease my spirits, woman.” 

“I only wish for you to see you as I do, the man I love.” 

A shiver cut through him as you freed your hands, tugging his linen shirt out from his trousers and running your nails up though the hair in his stomach. The fabric came up over his head, baring his chest to the mirror. 

You bit your lip, eying him up and down and rubbing your hands up his chest. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. 

“You look ridiculous, little lady, mooning over an old man.” 

The words were sharp, but the deep red around his neck and over his ears betrayed his true feelings. You gripped his hips, pressing kisses between his pecs and rubbing your nose against the silver hair. 

“You’re so big, so strong. Know, my dearest, that I always feel safe with you near.” 

A low groan escaped him as you grabbed the front of his trousers. You looked up at him expectantly. 

“I don’t deserve you, my darling wife.” Maekar grumbled, stroking your cheek with his fingertips. You kept your eyes on his as you unlaced him. Suddenly, he was naked before you, scarred and pale, reflecting back at him. He turned his head away. You walked around him, pressing yourself to his back and sliding your arms around his thick waist. You were warm against him, a lifeline in his troubled mind. 

“I want you to watch, handsome man, look at yourself as I touch you.” Your voice was soft as you mumbled against his spine, kissing up the flesh of his back. Maekar reluctantly listened, forcing his eyes back to the vision before him. His cock was ridged, angry and hot against his stomach. A shudder ripped through him as your hands slid down his front, pressing fingers into the soft flesh before you wrapped a fist around the base of his length. 

“Fuck, woman.” He groaned out, hands clenched at his sides. You stroked down the length of him agonizingly slow, squeezing the girth and rubbing a thumb across the dribbling tip. Your other hand gripped his hip, keeping him flush against you. 

“You’re so good to me, husband. Always thinking of me. My strong man.” 

He moaned at the praise, a whimper leaving his lips at your sweet words. The softness of your palm caressed him, a firm grip pulling him towards the edge. A guttural sound fell from his mouth when your free hand came down to cup his sac, gently fondling him. 

“Look at you, so lovely.” 

Maekar’s flesh was flushed rosy, a sheen of sweat glistening in the candlelight. Muscles taught, shoulders broad and square, no longer the angry boy of his youth, but a man grown. His stomach clenched, nearing the overwhelming precipice as you touched him. 

 And then your hands stilled. 

The Prince growled:

“Have you lost yourself?” 

He felt you giggling against his back. “I’m not done with you yet, old man.” 

Your teeth bit into him playfully, scraping at the muscles of his back before you walked around to stand before him again. His brows furrowed, cheeks red and chest heaving. The smirk you gave him made his cock throb. 

“Help me out of this, then.” You said, turning your back to him and gesturing to the laces of your gown. Immediately, Maekar surged forward, lips pressed to your hair as he tugged on your ties. You laughed softly as he dragged the fabric from your body, letting it fall alongside his own clothing before gripping the neckline of your shift. The cotton tore like tissue, splitting down the middle as he ripped it from your body. A gasp left you. “Maekar, I liked that!” 

“I thought you liked me strong?” He grumbled, pressing kisses against the side of your head before continuing down your neck. His hands reached around you; gripping your breasts, sliding over the curve of your stomach, pulling your hips against him. 

You wiggled around, turning back to him and pulling his face down to kiss him proper. Arms came round his shoulders, gripping the muscles to bring him closer. He held you firmly to his chest, an arm banded around your back as he fondled your bottom with his other hand. 

“Mmm darling, you’re so hard for me. big, hard man.” You teased against his lips. He growled, slipping his tongue into your mouth when it opened. Quickly, you pulled away from him again, kissing down his neck and chest before stepping out of his arms. 

Maekar tried to pull you back, chasing your lips to kiss you again. 

You grinned at him, grabbing his shoulders and pressing downward.

“No husband, on your knees now.” 

The Prince’s breath caught in his throat. 

Slowly, he sank down, knees hitting the scattering of clothing before the mirror. Your hands found his hair, scratching his head and running your fingers through his beard. He gripped your hips, turning his head to kiss against your palm and wrist. You joined him on the ground, a quick peck to his mouth before you spoke:

“I want you to watch how well you please me.” 

Maekar heard the waver in your voice as you turned, hands bracing on the floor in front of you as you leaned forward and presented yourself to him. 

You were wet.

Slickness coated the insides of your thighs, gooey heat glistening on your folds. Had the sight of him in the mirror brought you to this? He groaned at the sight of you giving yourself to him. Large hands found your bottom, squeezing the flesh and gripping your hips. He ran his knuckles up your spine, gently stroking your hair and pulling it away to expose your back. 

You shivered.

“Maekar, please. Take me, I’m yours.” 

Who was he to say no to his lady love?

Maekar took himself in hand, rubbing the achy tip of his cock through your wetness. You let out a choked groan as he lubed himself on your own arousal. 

“Gods woman, how good you feel.”

The thick of him notched at your opening. You met his lavender eyes in the mirror as you pressed your pelvis back against him, sheathing his cock in your core. He moaned, grabbing at your hips and pulling you until he was fully inside. His eyes cut down to where you joined, your puffy cunt stretched tight around him. 

A roll of his hips had your back arching, a shout leaving you. It was all the encouragement he needed, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back flush against your ass. His eyes rolled back at the sight of your flesh jiggling at the force. He set a hard pace, holding you firmly as he bullied his cock into your cunt. 

Your eyes were blown wide, mouth open as he pounded you. Maekar slid an arm around your waist, pulling you up against his chest to expose you fully. The new angle made you shout his name, hand grabbing at the back of his neck to steady yourself. 

“My lovely girl. My beautiful, beautiful girl.” He groaned against the shell of your ear as he kissed at your neck. Your knees shook, and you leaned against him as your strength weaned. His hand gripped one of your bouncing breasts, squeezing the flesh and rubbing your nipple. You whined for him, begging nonsense. 

A vision, you were, reflected in the mirror. He couldn’t deny he felt powerful; pleasing his wife, holding you close as he fucked himself into you. His arms flexed, keeping you up with your back to him. 

Maekar felt himself reaching his peak again, but grit his teeth at the thought of leaving you unsatisfied. His hand on your stomach slid further down, finding your clit and teasing at the nub. You writhed against him, arching your back as your cunt clenched around him. 

“Fuck, you take me so well. Made for me, sweet girl.” 

His voice was rough, hoarse from groaning your name against your neck. Your walls fluttered around him.  

“Give it to me, my love. Watch yourself fill your wife.” 

Maekar’s hips stuttered at the whine in your voice. His fingers moved faster, circling your sensitive clit. He’d be damned if you didn’t come on his cock. 

You quickly began clenching around him, a vicelike grip sucking him in as he pushed you over the edge. Your orgasam came with a cry. Tears peaked at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming feeling of him, wrapped around you and buried inside. He very quickly followed, the feeling of you finishing because of him stunning his senses. Hot come splattered inside you, filling you as he continued shallowly thrusting. You sagged against his chest, pelvis wiggling at the overstimulation. He slowed his fingers, pressing against your clit as he came down from his high. 

A quiet sob left your lips, your hands grabbing at his arms to keep him close. 

“Shhh, I have you now, sweetling.” He mumbled, wet kisses pressed against your cheek. A small part of him was extremely pleased at the state you were in; hair wild, sweat-slick, a ring of sticky white spend where the two of you were joined. You were gorgeous, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. 

And then you smiled at him. 

A small one, a sweet grin that had him giving you one last thrust at the sight. You let out a broken shout. 

Maekar reluctantly pulled himself from you, a wet noise ringing out in the quiet room. He collapsed back, pulling you into his lap. You let him pull your spent body against him, arms coming around his neck lazily as you tucked your head against his chest. 

“You’ll come to me next time, when you feel this way, won’t you? Instead of snapping at stableboys.” 

Your voice was soft and breathy, but Maekar snorted at your ability to tease him in your current state. He pressed a kiss to your brow, before tilting your chin up to kiss your lips. 

“If this is how you’ll ease my mind, I’ll do whatever you ask.” 

It was your turn to laugh, kissing him back and biting at his bottom lip. You stroked a hand down his chest, scratching softly at the silver hair.

“I’m glad to hear how simple it is to turn your mood. You think you can go again, old man?” 

Maekar was certain he could find the strength for you.

The cold chair pressed firmly against the back of her shirt as she laid across the couch. Four blank square walls surrounded her. They felt like that could cave in in an instant if she stayed too still.

“Have you told your husband the severity of being with Lewis that day?” Her therapist questioned waiting to scribble down her response.

“No.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t think he would understand. Lewis was a disturbed man and did horrible things. He doesn’t need to know.” She played with her hands in her lap. Anything to distract her from having to go over this ordeal again.

“You do realize you will have to tell him. He does know you come here, right?”

(Y/n) got up from her seat and began pacing around the room. She knew Nick needed to know. He was her husband after all. The man she was spending the rest of her life with, but she also knew his temper. She knew he was never mad at her, instead it was Lewis that he harbored resentment towards- he just had an odd way of showing it.

“I don’t see why you keep bringing up Nick in all this? This is about what happened with me.” The frustration continued to grow in her voice. She knew she had to tell Nick, but wanted it to be on her terms. Too many times she felt pushed to do something she wasn’t ready for.

(Y/n) grabbed her purse and stormed out of his office. Her lunch hour gone and now she had to pretend- pretend to be okay afterwards. She knew her therapist was right, but she wanted things to go back to normal. The days before Lewis. When she and Nick were happily married and could work together without any unnecessary tension.

She entered the squad room twenty minutes late as the whole SVU team was debriefing. The wrinkles in her blouse were becoming too much of a distraction even for (y/n). Looking as if she had rolled around on the floor for hours felt unprofessional. She hurriedly put on her royal blue sweater, pulling out her badge from her desk.

Rollins, Fin, and Munch looked between Nick and (y/n). Nick’s jaw tensed starring at his wife.

“What took you so long?” He questioned.

“Please Nick.” (Y/n)s voice went faint. She didn’t feel like hearing a speech or having an argument in front of everyone else.

“Then when?” Nick was becoming increasingly irritated.

“Nick.” She moved from around her desk reaching out for his hand, but he snatched it away. Black loafers stomped towards the lockers while (y/n) trailed behind discretely. She closed to door, looking out from the blinds to make sure no one was watching.

“Where were you?” Nick commanded.

“I had to do something for Liv.” Avoiding any amount of eye contact with him. She hated having to go this far. Constantly hiding the fact that she needed help, but afraid to admit it to the man she loved the most.

“Don’t lie to me (Y/n). I know Liv didn’t have you do anything. You come to work late. Barely spoke to me this morning- what’s going?” His voice began to escalate more. Surely everyone in the squad room could hear him by now.

“Nick, can we please talk about this at home?” He slammed his hand against the locker behind her. She flinched slightly. Not out fear but the loudness of the sound echoing in her ear. Nick stormed off slamming the door behind him.

(Y/n) could feel the tears well up in her eyes. When she heard the door squeal, she hoped it was Nick coming back to comfort her. Instead, it was Carisi. She wiped her eyes trying not to make more of a scene then necessary.

“Oh God, (y/n), are you okay?” Carisi walked up to her trying to get her to look him in the eye. He rubbed her arm seeing the tears slide down onto her cheeks and drop to the floor.

“Nick’s upset with me.” She kept shaking her head as the tears kept coming. Carisi pulled her in for a hug. She held him tight as her emotions involuntarily came rushing out. All the pressure to pretend was starting to catch up with her.

Nick was making his way back to (y/n) when he saw the scene unfold. He didn’t care for Carisi to began with, and seeing him with his arms warmly around his wife didn’t make it any better.

Carisi was abruptly shoved into the locker. (Y/n) didn’t even have enough time to react before her forearm was yanked over by Nick.

“Stay away from my wife!” Nick practically screamed at him.

“Nick!” Olivia yelled. “Go home.” His nostrils flared as he made his way to the doorway bumping shoulders with Olivia. She saw the tears in (y/n)s eyes and didn’t want anymore drama in her squad room. “(Y/n) go home too.”

The car ride with Nick was awkward. He refused to say a word to her. The cold shoulder act was driving her crazy. It had already been a stressful day and Nick was adding to it.

They entered their home and Nick immediately made his way to the kitchen to grab a beer. He took a sip, feeling the coldness hit his throat. The clinking of the glass consumed to room.

“Are you sleeping with him?” (Y/n) was caught off guard by the question. “Are you having an affair with Carisi?” He repeated.

“No. Why would you think that?” Her voice cracked.

“You’ve been coming to work late. Your clothes messy when you do show up. That wasn’t the first time I’ve seen the two of you. If you like him, I need to know.”

“I’ve been going to therapy Nick.” (Y/n) quietly said. The tension in Nicks face eased. (Y/n) held her head down, biting the corner of her lip. “Lewis was worse than I described. I never told you because I always felt bad for you having to see me that way.” (Y/n) thought back to that night.

*********

(Y/n)s bare feet stumbled across the pavement. Cops rushed past her and into the house. She nearly felt invisible as everyone moved around her. Nick ran up to her. The blood from her forehead seeped onto his shirt as he held her close.

“It’s over now baby. He can’t hurt you again.” Nick placed a kiss on the top of her head. Her body nearly crumbled into the ground feeling the heaviness of her own weight.

She fought hard to make sure she survived. Bile moved up her throat before she pushed Nick to the side to not get any on him. All of this was too much. She knew how they would treat her with kid gloves. However, she knew Nick would never let her out of his sight again.

“Amor, we need you to get to the hospital.” Nick walked beside her to help keep her balance.

“Nicky.” She flashed her wide weary eyes.

“Don’t. When you’re ready.” He replied.

*******

Days had passed since (y/n) told Nick the reality of her life since Lewis. How everyday she struggled knowing he took a piece of her.

A wave of relief came over her once she told Nick the truth, but she still felt him slipping away. Maybe he too felt shame. That he hadn’t provided the support his wife really needed.

Nick opened the front door of their home. (Y/n) sat on the couch waiting for his arrival. She decided it was best to take some time off to get her mind right.

He took a B-line to the bedroom. Nick was still avoiding her. Even in her most vulnerable moments he was distant.

“Nick?” He immediately stopped in his tracks. “Are you mad at me?”

The tears formed. His brown eyes stared down at his feet. A hard swallow and cough filled the silence between them.

“I could never be mad at you amor. I’m mad at myself. I thought, out of all things you were having an affair, when all you needed was me.” He choked before sobbing into the palm of his hand. (Y/n) got up, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her chin pressed against shoulder blade feeling his chest forcefully move up and down.

“It’s not your fault Nick.” He pulled away, wiping the tears from his eyes until they are dry and bloodshot.

“I lost a part of you that day (y/n). Things have been rough for us and all I want is you to be okay.”

“I’m okay. I just need you to trust me. I need you to know some days I’ll remember more than I want to, and on those days I will need you more than ever.” (Y/n) moved in closer to him. Her hand stroked the side of his cheek.