Sorry!! I didn’t know that you didn’t write smut! Then...hot cocoa Rita/Sonny fluff?
Sonny couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed to sleep in. Even on his days off, there was always a need to get up early and set out to do all the things he hadn’t had time to do while at work. But finally, his brain seemed to have taken the hint that they were properly on holiday now. Two complete weeks of uninterrupted peace, just him and the woman he loves in a cabin in the woods, removed from everyone and everything else.
Bliss.
The bed dipped beside him and he groaned as he stretched, smile working its way onto his face as he blinked the sleep from his eyes and turned to face Rita.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said softly, smoothing his unruly hair back from his forehead.
Sonny grunted in response, allowing his eyes to flutter closed again as he leaned into the touch. “Holidays,” he mumbled.
Rita laughed in response. “I made you hot cocoa. You don’t even have to leave the bed.”
Sonny grinned and pushed himself up so he was sitting beside her, resting against the cushioned headboard, and she handed him one of the mugs sitting on the nightstand, just short of too-hot to the touch. There were two marshmallows sitting in the top, steadily melting into the liquid, and he sighed contentedly before taking a sip.
“Don’t tell my ma, but you make the best cocoa.”
“I know,” she said with a laugh, settling against his side with her own mug.
He wrapped his arm around her, heart fluttering as she rested her head against his shoulder. After all this time, she still made him feel like it was the first time every time she was soft with him, and he never grew tired of it.
“I love you, you know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before resting his cheek there, breathing her in.
“I know,” she shot back, and he could picture the teasing glint in her eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “I love you, too.”
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61. “I hope someday you get a taste of your own medicine.” - Carhoun
“Please, you’re like a lost puppy the way you follow me around. I don’t need you, nor do I want you.”
Rita knew she’d said the wrong thing even as the words were leaving her mouth, before Sonny’s face twisted in pain as he tried to push down the emotion that was likely bubbling inside of him.
“You don’t mean that.” His voice was soft. Unbearably soft. There was a tenderness there that she knew she didn’t deserve, and it made her feel sick.
In lieu of a response, and in an attempt to calm her erratic heart, she turned away from him, downing the contents of her wine glass before pulling her robe around her a little tighter, as though it would help protect her further.
Sonny followed her to the kitchen, watched her pour the remainder of the bottle into her glass, and the longer he stayed the harder it became to not fall back into his arms.
But it had gone on for too long. She knew that, and it was about time he did too. It would hurt for now, but it was better in the long run. For the both of them.
“Rita, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Rita snorted, moving around Sonny to take her place in her beloved armchair once more. She longed to fold herself into it, knees to her chest, but instead she sat straight and tall and proud, legs crossed over, allowing a look of boredom to cross her face.
“We had fun,” she said with a lazy shrug, reaching for the book she had been reading the previous night. “And now I’ve grown bored of you.”
She could feel Sonny’s eyes on her as she stared at the book in her hands, brain not comprehending the words in front of her. Her heart was screaming at her to stop, to apologize, to tell him she was wrong, that she knew she was wrong, that she would likely always choose distance and cruelty over accepting love that she knew she didn’t deserve, but that it didn’t mean she loved him any less.
But she said none of that.
Instead, she glanced up from her book with a sigh, ignoring the way her chest tightened at the wetness in Sonny’s eyes, his hands balled into fists inside his pockets as he stared at her, heartbreak and disbelief evident.
“I hope someday you get a taste of your own medicine,” he spat with a bitterness that almost made her flinch.
Almost.
As the slam of her apartment door rang through the silent space around her, Rita sank back into her armchair, pulling her knees to her chest as she clutched her wine glass tight in her hands.
“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Sonny said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes but complied, unwilling to dampen his spirits in any way. It felt like so long since she’d seen him smile so bright. So long since he’d come to her with any ounce of energy in him.
It felt like forever since she last got to spend the night with him, with the cases at SVU piling high while being perpetually short-staffed. But she knew not to complain. She knew from the pain in his eyes and the bags underneath them that he wished things were different.
She felt something cool, thin and metallic hit her palm, and she opened her eyes. There was a key, fresh cut and catching in the light. She looked up at him, hiding her shock with a smirk as she twirled the key around her fingers.
“Move in with me.”
“What?” She asked with a laugh. “Into your shoebox? Unlikely.”
Sonny rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t fall from his face. “It’s a gesture. We can find a place. If you want.”
Rita pursed her lips and studied him for a moment before offering him a soft smile. She couldn’t deny him anything, even if she wanted to.
118. "Forget the douche. He’s a dick. He’s a dickdouche." Carhoun
It took a lot to rattle Rita Calhoun. She’d cultivated an armour that had become who she was, cold, hard, clever. To succeed in a man’s world she had no other option.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel things. That didn’t mean that seeing her boyfriend of two years eating a much younger woman’s face off at the NYPD charity ball didn’t shatter her heart and wound her ego all in one go.
She resisted the urge to reach out and slap them both. She kept her arms folded, expression firm despite the lump rising in her throat. She was sure everything around them had gone silent, all eyes on her, and she could feel her face burning against her will. The humiliation somehow hurt the most.
“Rita…I…you weren’t…I didn’t…” he stuttered, eyes wide, darting between the girl he’d been kissing and Rita.
“Save it,” she hissed. “If you come home tonight, or ever again, you’ll regret it.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked right back the way she came, out the door and onto the street. She walked half a block before she found a suitable bar to get drunk in.
Four rather quick drinks in and the weight in her chest seemed no less heavy.
“Mind if I sit?” Came a familiar Staten Island drawl from behind her.
“Be my guest,” she rolled her eyes, gesturing to the stool beside her.
When she turned to look at him, she felt her heart stutter just a bit. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were shining and his lips were the pinkest she’d ever seen them. She watched as his tongue darted out to wet them before shaking her head and looking away again.
“What are you drinking?”
“I don’t need your pity,” she spat, shame welling up inside her once more with the realization that he’d just come from the charity ball and had more than likely seen everything.
“I’m not pitying you. I’m buying you a drink.” When she turned to look at him again he was grinning, and she couldn’t help the small smile that flitted across her face.
“Gin and tonic.”
He laughed, shaking his head as he flagged down the bartender. “Of course you drink gin and tonic.”
They drank in silence for a bit before Sonny leaned into her space, hand resting on the back of her chair. “You know–”
“Save it,” she muttered, slapping his hand away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m just sayin’,” he said with a shrug.
“Well don’t say,” she narrowed her eyes, but she could already feel the lump re-forming in her throat.
She’d wasted two years on this man, and he wasn’t just any man. Rita didn’t open her heart up to just anyone. She’d honestly thought she was going to marry him. For the first time in her life, she could picture being married. Wasn’t that sad?
Sonny’s smile softened, as though he could read her thoughts, and she felt rage and grief well up inside her at once, her eyes burning with tears she would never let fall, not if she could help it.
She downed the rest of her drink and grabbed her purse, sliding off the stool with as much grace as she could muster before strutting outside, away from kind blue eyes, away from someone she was sure could force her defences down if he wanted to.
“Forget the douche!” She heard called behind her. She didn’t stop walking, but she slowed, allowing Sonny to catch up with her. “He’s a dick. He’s…a dickdouche.”
“You’re drunk,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, but she broke out in a smile nonetheless.
“Doesn’t make me wrong.”
“No,” she conceded, voice softer now. “It doesn’t.”
She paused for a brief moment as his hand took hold of hers, but then she threaded their fingers together, giving his hand a small squeeze. It felt nice, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it felt right, too.
“Wow,” he said with a laugh, squeezing her hand back. “Rita Calhoun admitting I’m right.”
“I’ll take it back,” she warned, though her voice had taken on a teasing edge as the weight in her chest lifted somewhat.
“Too late,” he whispered against her ear, before pressing a kiss into her hair. “No take backs.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Rita Calhoun/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Characters: Rita Calhoun, Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Olivia Benson, Amanda Rollins, Mickey D'Angelo
Additional Tags: Light Angst, the lightest of angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Summary:
Sonny Carisi was only meant to be a fling, a bit of fun, something to relieve the stress of work and life. He was easy to be around, and always eager to please, and the things he could do with his mouth-- Nonetheless, it was casual. She would call, and he would come around with a bottle of wine, and he’d start on her before the bottle was even half gone.
But now, with the possibility of him being dead, she was hit with the realisation that, somewhere along the way, it had come to be more than that. Somewhere along the way, she had developed real, genuine feelings for the young detective. As she tried to picture what her life would be like without his dimpled smiles and home-cooked pastries and effortless charm and endless kindness, her stomach twisted and churned, and she felt her eyes sting. Suddenly the thought of a life without Sonny Carisi was simply unbearable. When did that happen?
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