Amanda Rollins - Blog Posts

Really sticking to my first ever fanfic written be my, myself & I atm! I try to update about weekly as everything else is plain unrealistic for me currently; but it feels so good to be back into writing and to create this story for two of my fav fictional characters!

"Lessons in Love" - my first ever fanfic in the making (Law & Order: SVU)

I actually can't quite believe that I've posted 8 chapers on ff.net so far, but it does feel nice to have this little "side project" and to simply write something that brings me joy, distracts me from my current, difficult personal situation, and maybe even makes another person smile or feel the feelings TM or whatever. Reading fanfiction is just so magical - one can read exactly the type of stories one feels in the mood for, and there are so many crazily talented writers out there that it makes my head spin!

Can't wait to continue my story, hehe :)

Honestly I'm currently only rewatching older Law and Order: SVU seasons but I will very likely never watch the new ones without Amanda Rollins in it! She seriously is one of the best, nuanced, most complex characters of the show and watching her growth and her development really was one of the best parts of the later seasons, so why exactly let such an interesting character go???? I could warm to Amaro and Rollins and even Carisi, but I'm not interested in doing that again and again. It's like Grey's Anatomy, at some point I simply stop caring when they introduce new characters because it's just not the same anymore...

Every time I remember Kelli Giddish is leaving I start seething. Rollisi was just getting to a pivotal moment and I want to scream, Mariska fought for her and who is this new dillweed who thinks Rollins is the one who needs to leave. Rollins is one of the most complex characters on svu and she has had so much growth the last 3 seasons learning to love and be loved, I cannot fathom this reasoning

My first attempt at writing FanFiction myself :)

So I've really been wanting to get back into writing. I've actually started to write poetry again after a years-long break but I'm also trying to do stuff that is somewhat light and more "fun", and after discovering my love for fanfiction, I am now trying to give it a go!

So this is my veery first fanfic and updates will happen - hopefully - probably every couple of days. I know that I'll write only sapphic content so that's probably somewhat niche, especially because with Law and Order: SVU, there doesn't seem too much of a femslash-fandom, but I guess I write mostly for myself anyway so yeah: Rolivia, here we go!

Oh, my story is set in an alternative universe where Rollins is a teacher and Olivia a school principal.

Trigger warning for later mentions of sa and self-destructive behaviors (e.g. alcoholism), PTSD

I guess it will be mostly comfort/hurt, romance, but in a somewhat darker way maybe?

Okay! This isn't my usual stuff (mainly because I can never sit still long enough to write anything-) But over the past week, I had sat down and randomly decided that Munch and Fin are my new endgame because im gonna be old and gray by the time bensler GET THEIR ACT TOGETHER- But anyway, I just wanted an exuse to add more munch and fin fics--because there bearly are any!! And I wanted to test the waters. So take a...Join..?? Like John and Fin..? Munola..? munch and tutuola?? Do they have a ship name?? can someone check that out for me?? Anyway, take a John and Munch fanfiction :) That will burn, oh so slow--because we all need that kinda tension in our lives.

And some John Munch Enjoyers that ill be tagging, that I think might enjoy this :) :

@mister-warmth

@cherishsscene

@theorangejuicecup

These are the first 7 chapters! Let me know what I should name this fic, and if I should keep it going :) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: The Long Wait

(Seriously, its been years. Get these GILFS together already, damn-) 

Somewhere in Brooklyn, 2:43 a.m.

“You ever think about how this is probably just a decoy apartment?” Munch muttered, squinting through the foggy windshield.

Fin didn’t look up from his cup of burnt gas station coffee. “You ever not think about that?”

Munch sighed dramatically, settling deeper into his seat. “Fair. But come on, three hours of this surveillance and not even a twitch. I’ve had more exciting evenings clipping my toenails.”

“You’re nasty,” Fin said, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You bring the snacks?”

Munch wordlessly reached into his coat and pulled out a crinkled bag of off-brand cheese puffs, tossing it over.

“Man,” Fin said, grinning. “You always bring the worst snacks.”

“And yet you eat them every time.”

“‘Cause I’m polite.”

“Polite, huh. That why you nearly broke the vending machine last week tryin’ to get the last Snickers?”

Fin shot him a look, playful and exasperated. “You holdin’ grudges now?”

“I’m a Jew from Brooklyn. Holding grudges is our national pastime.”

The silence stretched comfortably. The heater buzzed softly. Streetlights flickered on the snow-dusted sidewalk, casting shadows that moved like ghosts.

Munch glanced sideways, more subtle than usual. Fin was staring ahead, one hand on the wheel, his profile calm and unreadable.

“You ever think about how long we’ve been partners?” Munch asked suddenly.

Fin didn’t flinch, but the stillness around him deepened. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Feels like decades.”

“Sometimes it feels like yesterday.”

Munch chuckled under his breath. “You always get poetic when you’re tired?”

Fin glanced at him then, a flash of something—something not quite teasing, not quite vulnerable. “You always get nostalgic when you’re lonely?”

Munch didn’t respond right away. His fingers tapped a soft rhythm on his knee.

“I’m never lonely,” he said, almost too fast. “I have… people.”

“You got conspiracy theorists in a Reddit group chat. Doesn’t count.”

“…You know what Reddit is?”

“Don’t dodge the point.”

That got a laugh out of Munch. Quiet, but real.

And then it was quiet again—this time heavier. Like the air was aware of something they hadn’t said out loud.

“You think we missed the window?” Munch asked finally, voice low.

Fin blinked. “For what?”

Munch tilted his head slightly. “I dunno. Something else. Something… different.”

Fin’s jaw tensed for a second, then loosened. “I don’t think we missed anything. I think some people just take longer to figure out what’s right in front of them.”

They looked at each other then—really looked.

Then radio crackled, spitting out static and boredom. 

They slipped into silence again.

Fin slouched in the driver’s seat, tapping a beat on the steering wheel with fingers half-numb from the cold. Munch, in the passenger seat, held a lukewarm coffee cup like it was a lifeline.

“Another thrilling Friday night on the force,” Munch muttered, voice thick with sarcasm. “Remind me again why we didn’t go into something more exciting, like accounting.”

Fin snorted. “Yeah, but then who’d babysit Manhattan’s worst creeps? You? Behind a desk? Please.”

They lapsed into silence again, not the comfortable kind, but not quite awkward either. They'd done a hundred of these stakeouts together—hours of stale air, greasy takeout, and waiting for nothing. But something about tonight felt… different. Maybe it was the way Munch kept sneaking glances at Fin when he thought he wasn’t looking. Or maybe it was the way Fin wasn’t pretending not to notice.

“You ever think about quitting?” Munch asked after a long pause, voice lower than usual. “Not like retiring. Just… walking away.”

Fin shrugged, eyes on the building across the street. “Sometimes. But what else would I do? This job’s all I’ve known for twenty years.”

“Exactly.” Munch turned slightly, facing him. “You ever think that’s… the problem?”

Fin finally looked at him. Really looked. And there was something there—tiredness, yeah. But also something softer. Warmer. Something that had nothing to do with the job.

“You good, man?” he asked, not unkindly. “You sound like you’re trying to tell me something.”

Munch laughed under his breath. “Nah. I just think about it sometimes. All the stuff we never did. The people we never got to be.”

The silence returned, but now it was loaded. Electric. Fin didn’t say anything for a long time, then quietly muttered, “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the suspect never showed. But inside that car, something cracked open. Just a little.

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Chapter Two: Almost Normal 

Location: SVU Precinct, 9:46 AM

Fin walked into the precinct wearing the same clothes from last night and a fresh layer of “don’t ask.” The only difference? The faintest shift in his usual chill exterior. Not enough for anyone else to clock it. But Munch… Munch would know.

And of course, Munch was already there. Sitting at his desk, reading the paper, pretending like he hadn’t been up all night sitting next to Fin in a parked car where feelings definitely almost happened.

Their eyes met for a split second. Just long enough. Too long.

“You look like hell,” Munch said, not looking up from his paper.

“Good morning to you too,” Fin replied, tossing his jacket over the back of his chair. “Coffee?”

“Already had three. But go ahead and try to catch up.”

Fin walked off toward the break room, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “smartass.” His fingers twitched around the coffee pot. He hated this feeling—the one that made him second-guess every glance, every breath between them last night.

When he came back, Munch was already standing, tossing a manila folder onto Fin’s desk.

“Cragen wants us on that Bronx case,” Munch said. “Couple of pervs luring girls online. Real feel-good story.”

Fin grunted. “Can’t wait.”

“You sure you’re up for it?” Munch asked, and it sounded way too casual. “Didn’t get much sleep.”

Fin looked up sharply. “I’m fine.”

Munch raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”

Olivia chose that exact moment to walk by, holding her phone and looking suspiciously amused. “You two fighting or flirting? Hard to tell before ten a.m.”

They both froze.

Munch recovered first, snapping the paper open again like a shield. “Please. Flirting implies interest. I’m just too tired to insult him properly.”

“Right,” Liv said, smirking as she walked off. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Fin watched her go, then glanced at Munch. “You always been this bad at hiding your crap?”

Munch didn’t look at him. “You always been this bad at recognizing it?”

Their eyes locked again—just a moment. But it felt heavier than it should’ve.

Then, as if on cue, Cragen’s door opened. “Munch. Fin. Let’s go.”

Whatever that was? Buried. Again. For now.

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Chapter Three: The Moment It Breaks 

Location: Abandoned warehouse, Queens. 11:06 PM.

“Units in position,” Fin said into the radio, his voice steady despite the cold wind cutting through his jacket. “On your word, Cap.”

“Copy that,” Benson’s voice crackled through. “Go.”

They moved fast. Olivia and Rollins through the front. Fin and Munch circling the back. Standard entry. Easy sweep. Except it wasn’t.

The second they stepped inside, a figure bolted from the shadows.

“Hey—!” Munch barely got the word out before the guy shoved him hard—then pulled a gun.

Shots rang out. One. Two.

“MUNCH!”

Fin was on him in seconds, but it felt like forever. The suspect was tackled by ESU, but Fin didn’t care.

Because Munch was on the ground.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” Fin said, breath ragged. He dropped to his knees, hands checking for blood, for a bullet wound, anything.

Munch groaned, blinking up at him. “Didn’t know you cared this much,” he rasped, and even half-conscious, the sarcasm was still there.

Fin’s jaw clenched. “Don’t joke. You could’ve—” His voice cracked. “You could’ve died, man.”

Munch stared at him like he was seeing something he wasn’t ready to look at yet.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, softer this time. “I’m fine.”

But Fin didn’t move. Didn’t let go.

By the time the EMTs arrived, Fin’s hand was still curled around Munch’s wrist, checking his pulse like he didn’t believe it was really there.

No one said anything in the moment. But later— In the hospital. In the waiting room. After Benson had gently told him to go home and rest—

Munch turned to him and said, “Why do you care that much?”

And for the first time in twenty years, Fin didn’t have a comeback.

Just a look. Raw. Real.

And something in Munch’s expression broke open.

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Chapter Three: The Usual Spot

 Location: O’Malley’s Bar, Friday night, 10:42 PM

The bar was loud enough to ignore your own thoughts and dim enough that you didn’t have to look at them if you tried. SVU had unofficially claimed a booth in the back corner—half-shadowed, half-propped up with duct tape and denial. It was tradition.

Also partly because it was always the only one open-

Munch nursed a whiskey, watching the condensation on the glass more intently than the conversation swirling around him. Fin sat across the booth, laughing at something Rollins had said, relaxed in a way he only ever was off duty.

That laugh. Goddamn. It had no right being that contagious.

“You okay?” Benson asked, sliding into the booth beside him, tone suspiciously casual. “You’ve been staring holes into Fin’s skull for ten minutes.”

“I haven’t,” Munch lied.

Benson gave him a look that screamed do not test me.

“I’m just wondering how someone that oblivious made it this far in law enforcement,” Munch muttered, sipping his drink.

As if on cue, a tall woman in a tight red dress leaned against the side of their booth, clearly already halfway through her third cosmo. “Hey,” she purred, eyes locked on Fin. “You a cop?”

Fin blinked up at her. “Uh. Yeah. Why?”

She smiled, leaning closer. “I always feel safe around strong men in uniforms.” Her hand rested on his arm, trailing down like she’d done this move a hundred times before.

Fin chuckled, clueless. “Thanks. But, uh, I’m not wearing a uniform.”

The woman giggled. “Doesn’t matter. You still look like you could arrest me any day.”

Across the booth, Munch’s eye twitched. He took a very long sip of whiskey.

Rollins bit her lip to keep from laughing. Benson didn’t bother. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Fin, ever the socially graceful tank, just smiled politely and said, “So, uh… you from around here?”

Munch set his glass down—firmly. “You know, there’s a line between flirty and thirsty, and I think we passed it about five sentences ago.”

The woman blinked at him, then looked him up and down with a slow, unimpressed sweep. “And you are?”

“The guy who was enjoying a peaceful drink before you turned this into a rerun of Sex and the City.”

She scowled. “Wow. Bitter much?”

“Only on Tuesdays,” Munch shot back, cool as ice. “And nights when someone hits on my…” he caught himself. “…partner. Poor taste, that.”

The woman’s lips twisted. “Whatever. Your loss, honey.” She flounced off, leaving a cloud of perfume and wounded pride behind her.

Fin turned to Munch, eyebrows raised. “Damn, man. You didn’t have to roast her like that.”

“She was interrupting our night,” Munch said, focusing very deliberately on the table. “Also, she had the personality of a dishrag.”

Rollins leaned in. “Mmm. Someone’s testy tonight.”

Munch deadpanned, “Must be the company.”

Fin just shook his head, sipping his beer. “I don’t get why she came over anyway. I was just sitting here.”

“You’re an idiot,” Benson said sweetly.

“What?”

“You look like a cop. You act like a cop. You sit in a dark booth brooding over a drink and you’re built like a fridge. It’s like moth to a flame.”

Munch scoffed. “If the flame was completely oblivious and had no idea it was on fire.”

Fin gave him a look. “You good?”

“Fine,” Munch replied quickly, too quickly. “Just ready to get back to real work.”

“Right,” Fin said, still squinting at him, trying to decode the sharp edge in his voice.

But before he could push, Cragen called from the other end of the bar, holding up a round of drinks. “One more for the team before we all go back to our depressing lives!”

Fin grinned and stood. “You want your usual?”

Munch waved him off. “I’m good.”

As Fin disappeared into the crowd, Rollins leaned across the table and said lowly, “You know, for a guy who sees every conspiracy in the world, you suck at hiding the one going on in your own chest.”

Munch stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She smiled. “You will.”

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Chapter Four: The Interrogation

 Location: SVU Squad Room, Tuesday, 11:03 AM

It was a quiet morning at the 16th—no new cases (yet), no victims waiting (yet), and the coffee machine actually worked (a miracle). The squad was taking full advantage of the rare lull.

Munch sat at his desk with a manila folder, pretending to read. He’d been on the same page for fifteen minutes. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked toward Fin, who was leaning against the file cabinets, talking to Carisi and laughing over something dumb.

He looked too good when he laughed. Which was unfair. And uncalled for.

“You keep looking at him like that and I’m gonna have to call HR,” Benson said, dropping into the chair beside him without warning.

Munch startled slightly. “Excuse me?”

Rollins plopped down on his other side. “Don’t play dumb, Munch. We were at the bar. We saw your face when Red Dress Barbie tried to climb Fin like a jungle gym.”

Benson grinned. “It was somewhere between ‘disgusted’ and ‘one restraining order away from snapping.’”

“I was annoyed,” Munch muttered, “because she was loud and disrespectful and had the subtlety of a freight train.”

Rollins raised an eyebrow. “And because she had her hand all over your partner.”

Munch blinked at her. “He’s not— He’s my— We’re partners, yes. Professionally.”

“Uh-huh,” Benson said, sipping her coffee like it was tea. “Professionally. You wanna try that again with a straight face?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to either of you,” Munch replied, voice clipped.

“No, but you do have to explain why you nearly bit her head off like a jealous boyfriend,” Rollins said sweetly.

Benson leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You like him, don’t you?”

Munch stared at her. “This feels like entrapment.”

“It is,” Rollins chirped. “And it’s also obvious. I mean, c’mon, Munch. You watch Fin like he’s a limited edition vinyl and someone’s about to scratch it.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” both women said in unison.

Munch dropped the folder on his desk with a sigh. “Even if I did, it’s irrelevant. He’s not— He wouldn’t…” He waved a hand vaguely. “You’ve met him. He’s Fin. Cool. Straight. Confident. Not exactly the type to fall for an old conspiracy theorist with two failed marriages and a bunker full of paranoia.”

Benson softened. “He’s also loyal. Smart. And not as clueless as you think.”

Rollins scoffed. “He’s exactly as clueless as we think. But that doesn’t mean he’d shut you down.”

Munch rubbed his eyes. “This is why I don’t talk to people.”

Benson patted his shoulder. “You do like him.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Rollins said, standing. “Your face says it every time he smiles at you.”

Munch looked down at his hands.

From across the room, Fin glanced up from whatever Carisi was saying and caught Munch’s eye. He gave a half-smile, easy and warm, like it was only for him.

Munch’s heart flipped traitorously.

Rollins leaned in close and whispered, “Just tell him before someone else does.”

Then she and Benson walked away, smug and victorious, leaving Munch alone at his desk—emotionally compromised and very much aware of it.

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Chapter Five: Seeing It Now

 Fin’s POV

 Location: SVU Precinct, Wednesday, 6:32 PM

Fin wasn’t dumb. People thought he was sometimes—usually the ones who underestimated him because he played it cool. But he saw things. Read people. That was half the job.

Which is why it was starting to bug the hell out of him that he couldn’t read Munch lately.

The guy had always been a little grumpy, a little intense, but he was different now. Fidgety. Quiet in a way that felt loaded. Weirdly protective all of a sudden. And last night at the bar? He damn near snapped at that woman for touching Fin’s arm.

Fin had brushed it off at the time, but now? Now it was itching at him. Something was off. And Munch wouldn’t say a word about it.

So when Rollins passed by his desk with a smirk and said, “Mornin’, hot stuff,” in that way, he didn’t let her get far.

“Yo. Amanda.”

She turned, innocent as sin. “Yeah?”

“You know something I don’t?”

Her smile widened. “About what?”

He gave her a look.

“Oh,” she said, pretending to think. “You mean about Munch being all weird around you lately? Like a high schooler with a crush?”

Fin blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I didn’t say it,” she said quickly, hands raised. “Liv said it. I just agreed. And watched it happen.”

“You’re serious?” Fin asked, arms crossing. “You think… Munch is into me?”

Rollins tilted her head. “I know Munch is into you. The man looked like he was gonna stab that woman with a cocktail straw when she flirted with you.”

Fin ran a hand over his face. “He’s never said anything.”

“Of course not,” Rollins said. “Because he’s Munch. He’d rather fake his own death than admit he has feelings.”

Fin didn’t know what to say to that.

Because… it was insane. Right?

Except it wasn’t.

Except now he was seeing it everywhere. The way Munch always paid attention to where he was. The way he relaxed a little when they were alone. The way he’d look at Fin like—hell, like he mattered in some way Fin couldn’t name.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

“You okay?” Rollins asked, suddenly a little softer.

Fin shrugged. “I don’t know. I never thought about it like that.”

“Maybe you should,” she said, voice gentler now. “Just ‘cause it never crossed your mind doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

He glanced over toward Munch’s desk. The guy wasn’t there—probably in the records room, dodging everyone. Classic.

But the idea wouldn’t leave his head now. Munch. Munch. Looking at him like that. Being into him. Maybe for a while now.

Fin shook his head. “I swear, if y’all been running bets on this—”

“Oh, Carisi’s got a whole bracket,” Rollins grinned.

“I hate this place.”

“You love this place.”

“…Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes drifting toward the hall where Munch had gone. “I guess I do.”

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Chapter Six: Gay Is Not A Dirty Word

 Location: Fin’s Apartment, Thursday Night, 10:01 PM

Fin had never been afraid of much.

Not gangs. Not guns. Not perps twice his size or ten years younger. Not even walking into rooms where the air was still hot with violence and the echo of screams.

But this?

This had him pacing his living room like a man about to jump out of his own skin.

He’d been avoiding it. The thoughts. The memories. The way Munch looked at him like he meant something—and the way it made Fin feel like he wanted to.

He’d buried the feelings under banter and bad jokes and years of no, not me. Because it wasn’t supposed to be him. He wasn’t that guy. He’d told himself that for decades.

But then there was John. Goddamn John.

Smart-ass, paranoid, grumpy-as-hell John Munch who always had his back, who knew how to make him laugh when he shouldn’t, who looked at him like he saw him. And for the first time, Fin realized it wasn’t just affection or comfort or some late-night stakeout bond—

It was love. The kind that crept in quietly and took root somewhere deep, deep down before he ever had the language for it. And now it was blooming all at once, and it hurt.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know who he was with this truth in his chest.

And so—God help him—he called the only person he could think of.

The phone rang twice before a surprised voice answered: “Dad?”

Fin swallowed. “Hey, Ken.”

A pause. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fin said, pacing again. “Just… I know it’s late. I needed to ask you something. Talk to you. Whatever.”

Ken sounded wary but not unkind. “Alright. What’s up?”

Fin sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees. “This is gonna sound weird. And maybe messed up. But… you’re the only gay guy I know.”

Ken let out a breath that might’ve been part laugh. “Okay…”

“And I’m not saying that to be funny,” Fin said quickly. “I just… I don’t know how to say this out loud to anyone else. And we’re still figuring things out, you and me, but—hell, you’re still my kid. And I trust you.”

The silence stretched.

“Alright,” Ken said gently. “I’m listening.”

Fin exhaled, tried to find words.

“I think I’m in love with a man.”

He said it. And it felt like the ground shifted.

Ken was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “Okay.”

“I mean, I don’t know when it started. It’s been years, maybe. I just kept telling myself it wasn’t real. I’ve never even thought about a guy like that before, you know? Not like this. But I can’t stop thinking about him. And now I’m wondering if I’ve been lying to myself this whole time.”

Ken’s voice stayed steady. “Are you scared?”

“Yeah,” Fin admitted. “A lot. Of what it means. Of how I missed it. Of what people’ll think. I spent my whole life thinking I was one thing. But now…”

“Now it doesn’t fit anymore,” Ken said. “I know what that’s like.”

Fin felt something in his throat tighten.

“I don’t want this to be a phase,” he said. “I don’t want it to be a fluke. I don’t want it to be something I run from like a coward.”

Ken’s voice was warm now. “It’s not cowardly to be scared, Dad. Especially when you’ve been taught your whole life not to even look at this kind of love. But it is real. And if it’s Munch—”

Fin’s head snapped up. “Wait, how—?”

“Rollins texted me three weeks ago and said ‘your dad is helplessly in love with his weird coworker.’ I assumed she meant Munch.”

Fin groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

“I think it’s kinda sweet,” Ken said, teasing now. “Two old dudes finally figuring it out.”

Fin chuckled despite himself. “We’re not that old.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ken said. Then he sobered. “But seriously… if you love him, you should tell him. Or at least let yourself feel it. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Least of all to yourself.”

Fin nodded slowly. “I’m trying, kid. I really am.”

Ken smiled through the line. “You’re doing better than you think.”

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Later that night, Fin sat in the dark, phone still in his hand, heart a little lighter. Still scared. Still unsure.

But for the first time in maybe ever, he wasn’t denying it.

He was in love with John Munch.

And maybe—just maybe—that was worth everything.

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Chapter Seven: Testing The Conspirital Waters

 Location: Squad Room & Coffee Run Territory 

Fin’s POV

 Friday Morning, 9:12 AM

Fin got in early.

Not on purpose. At least, that’s what he told himself. But he’d barely slept, and showing up before the squad meant he didn’t have to answer any questions about the very real, very big realization that had wrecked his sleep like a brick through a window.

He was in love with John Munch. And now that the words had formed in his mind, they wouldn’t go away.

He thought maybe it’d be like other feelings—things he could push down, drink away, laugh off.

It wasn’t.

It sat heavy in his chest. Constant. Present.

And it had him glancing up way too fast when the elevator doors opened and Munch walked in, coat flapping, coffee in hand.

“Morning,” Munch said, blinking at him. “You here before nine? Did I time-travel?”

Fin shrugged. “Didn’t sleep.”

Munch’s eyes softened, just a fraction. “Something wrong?”

Fin almost said everything, but instead he said, “Nah. Just thinking too much.”

Munch nodded and sat down at his desk, groaning a little. Fin watched him lower himself into the chair like his bones were made of antique furniture. God, he was such a grump. And Fin adored him for it.

He hated how easy it was to get used to the way Munch looked when he wasn’t performing—quiet and real and worn-in.

He also hated that now he wanted to be near him all the damn time.

“You eat?” Fin asked suddenly.

Munch looked up, surprised. “No. Why?”

“Gonna walk down to get a bagel. You want one?”

There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to tell Fin that Munch had noticed the change. He almost never offered.

“…Everything. Toasted. Cream cheese,” Munch said slowly, watching him like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Fin nodded. “Cool.”

He walked out like it was no big deal. But his heart was hammering.

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They ate at their desks. The rest of the squad trickled in around them—Benson with her “Captain face” on, Rollins smirking knowingly, Carisi complaining about the vending machine eating his dollar.

But Fin barely noticed. He was too busy watching Munch eat like he hadn’t had a real meal in three days.

“Didn’t realize you were this easy to please,” Fin said, tone light.

“You should’ve figured that out by now,” Munch replied, licking cream cheese off his thumb in a way that should not have short-circuited Fin’s brain but absolutely did.

Fin looked away. Jesus.

He felt like he was fourteen again, noticing his friend’s hands and then hating himself for it.

Only now, he wasn’t a kid. He knew what this was.

Munch stood to throw away his napkin. “Coffee machine’s broken again,” he muttered, like this was personally offensive.

Fin stood too. “Come on. I’ll get you a real one.”

Munch blinked. “You’re being weird.”

“You’re being ungrateful.”

Munch’s mouth twitched. “Fair point.”

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They walked to the corner bodega together. It wasn’t far, maybe three minutes. But it felt like a lifetime.

Fin caught himself brushing against Munch’s arm once. He didn’t apologize.

Munch didn’t move away.

They didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt like something. Not tension, exactly—but weight.

On the way back, Munch asked, “So… what’s really going on with you?”

Fin sipped his coffee. “Why you think something’s up?”

“Because I know you,” Munch said. “And you keep looking at me like you’re gonna say something and then don’t.”

Fin hesitated. “Maybe I will. Just… not yet.”

Munch gave him a long look. “Okay.”

Fin didn’t miss the way his voice softened.

Back at the precinct, Rollins leaned over her desk and whispered to Benson, “He brought him a bagel and coffee. That’s basically a proposal.”

Benson grinned. “Give it three more chapters.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What I think some of the ADAs do while waiting for a jury verdict:

Rafael: he’s either A, fighting off a headache and practically downing ibuprofen- or he’s squabbling with Liv- heavy in the last one-

Alex: Skimming though law Text books for absolute funsies (also because she’s over thinking the court cases she mentioned during indictment and she has to double check or Liz will never hear the end of it-) that or she would go chat it up with Cragen over some drinks (only Alex is drinking, cragens AA boys would have his ass if he drank-)

Sonny: Oh my boy is stressing. He’s pacing, biting his nails, loosening his tie because suddenly it’s a million degrees in that room- then he panics even more and the second someone asks if he’s okay, especially Rollins- the nausea hit him-

Casey: To be honest she’s probably just chilling in her office, and this is for simpler cases, I feel like she will just sit in her mess of an office (Seriously it looks like a mad scientist lives in there-) and mess with her soft ball things, that or going to bat with Elliot, that usually ends in her having to book it back to the court house quick enough to get the verdict-

calex and rolivia incorrect tweets because i enjoy making these

1x07 / 2x07 / 2x10 / 2x11

Temporary Guardians | Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

the accidental baby acquisition you have all been waiting for

fluff (what else would it be?)

I will finish editing this when i have the energy to open my laptop

It’s 5:03 a.m. when the doorbell rings.

Casey stumbles toward the front door in her pajamas, hair a mess, eyes barely open. She peers through the peephole, squints, and opens the door a crack.

“Amanda?” she mumbles.

Rollins looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. She’s balancing a squirming toddler on her hip, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and car keys clenched between her teeth. She spits them into her hand and thrusts the baby—Jesse—into Casey’s arms.

“I have to go to Georgia,” Amanda says in a rush. “My sister got arrested again, my mom is spiraling, I booked the first flight out—can you please just—just take her for a day or two?”

Casey blinks. “Wait, huh—?”

Amanda’s already tossing over the diaper bag and fishing another key off her keyring. “Here’s the spare to my apartment if you need anything. Her snacks are labeled. Oh, and she doesn’t like oranges this week.”

Casey fumbles to catch the diaper bag while Jesse clings to her like a koala. She stares down at the child like she’s holding a live grenade.

Amanda’s halfway down the hallway. “Thank you! I owe you big time! Love you, bye!”

The door shuts.

Casey looks at the baby.

The baby looks back.

Five minutes later, Alex blinks awake to the sound of creaking floorboards and a faint rustling. She sits up groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Casey?”

Casey is standing at the edge of the bed, frozen, holding Jesse at arm’s length. Her voice is quiet but wild with disbelief. “Alex…?”

Alex squints at the bundle. “…Why do you have Amanda’s baby?”

“I don’t know!” Casey whisper-yells. “She just showed up, dumped her on me, and vanished into the sunrise like some southern child-depositing cryptid!”

Alex stares for a long beat.

Then, because it’s 5:12 a.m. and nothing makes sense anymore, she scoots over and lifts the covers. “Get in. We’ll figure it out after sleep.”

Casey carefully climbs into bed, still holding Jesse like she might detonate at any moment.

Jesse curls into Casey’s chest and is asleep within seconds.

Casey glances down, awestruck. “She’s…kind of cute.”

Alex yawns and rests her head against Casey’s shoulder. “That’s how they get you.”

They fall asleep like that: Alex’s head on Casey’s shoulder, Casey holding Jesse like she’s made of glass, the early morning light just starting to peek through the blinds.

By mid-morning, the apartment is a war zone of makeshift baby safety strategies.

The coffee table has been repurposed as a gate. Couch cushions block off sharp corners. The actual couch? Shoved halfway across the room to form a barricade between Jesse and the bookshelves.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Casey grunts, shoving the armrest into place. “We are two very educated women. With degrees. And this is what we’ve been reduced to.”

Alex, sitting crisscross on the floor with Jesse, doesn’t look up. “You’re the one who opened the door.”

“I didn’t know there’d be a baby on the other side!”

Jesse squeals happily and bangs a toy dinosaur on Alex’s knee.

Alex winces but smiles. “At least she likes me.”

“Yeah, well,” Casey huffs, brushing her hair out of her face and heading for the kitchen, “I’m the one trying to keep her alive.”

She opens the fridge and stares at the contents like she’s defusing a bomb. “Okay… does it—does she—have teeth?”

No response from the living room.

Casey leans around the fridge door. “Alex?”

Alex glances up. “What?”

“Does. She. Have. Teeth? We have to feed her. I don’t want her choking and dying in our care.”

Alex looks at Jesse, who’s now attempting to feed her dinosaur a sock. “I think she has, like, four?”

“Four?” Casey mutters, turning back to the counter. “Great. So… mushy.”

She ends up chopping a banana into microscopic pieces, so small they look like they’ve been grated. She sprinkles them onto a paper plate with the care of a Michelin-starred chef plating caviar.

When she walks back into the living room, banana plate in hand, she stops in her tracks.

Alex is completely engrossed in Dinosaur Tales. Jesse is snuggled up beside her, wide-eyed and drooling slightly.

“Are you seriously into that?”

Alex doesn’t even blink. “It’s surprisingly educational.”

Casey raises a brow. “You’re watching it without her now.”

“She wandered off and came back,” Alex murmurs, eyes still glued to the screen. “There’s character development.”

Casey sits beside them, balancing the plate on her knees. “Do I give it to her like birdseed?”

Alex takes a banana piece, offers it to Jesse, and watches as she shoves it in her mouth with enthusiasm. “You did great.”

Casey leans back against the couch barricade and lets out a breath. “Okay. One banana down. Just… however long to go.”

Jesse claps and throws a piece of banana at the TV.

Casey sighs. “Perfect.”

Morning came and went, and Jesse is no longer the sweet, drooling cherub they woke up to.

She’s fussy. Grouchy. Whining just enough to fray nerves but not enough to indicate what’s wrong. She refuses banana. She throws her sippy cup. She lays on the floor, face down, in full silent protest.

Alex stands near the barricaded living room like she’s observing a wild animal. “What’s happening? Is she broken?”

Casey paces nearby, hands on her hips. “I gave her food, she had water, her diaper is clean. That’s the whole baby checklist, right?”

Jesse lets out a long, miserable groan and kicks a stuffed giraffe across the floor.

Alex glances at Casey, exasperated. “Don’t you have, like, eight cousins? Shouldn’t you know babies?”

Casey shoots her a look and rubs her temples. “Not when they’re surrendered with no warning at five in the morning.”

Jesse grunts and curls into a ball.

Alex sighs and crouches down. “Okay, maybe she’s—wait. Do babies… get tired?”

Casey blinks. “Oh my God. She needs a nap.”

Alex straightens. “We let her skip the nap. We broke the baby.”

“We broke Amanda’s baby,” Casey mutters, eyes wide. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Ten minutes later, the apartment is dimmed, the white noise machine is an old fan on medium, and Jesse is passed out in the middle of Casey and Alex’s bed, starfished and snoring softly.

Casey tiptoes out of the room like it’s a crime scene.

Alex meets her in the hallway, whispering: “That was horrifying.”

Casey nods, dazed. “I think she looked into my soul.”

Alex pats her on the back. “She’s asleep now.”

Casey leans her forehead against the wall. “I feel like I need a nap.”

Alex sighs and rests her head next to hers. “I say next time, we leave you on Amanda’s doorstep at five in the morning.”

By dinnertime, the illusion of control is gone.

Casey stands in front of the fridge again, hands clasped behind her neck, staring into the abyss of condiments, expired yogurt, and a suspiciously soft cucumber.

“Unless we want to feed her mustard and shredded cheese, we’re out of options,” she says grimly.

Alex sits at the kitchen table, Jesse balanced on her hip, chewing contentedly on her own fingers. “Didn’t Amanda leave snacks?”

“She left a pack of teething biscuits and three squeezable pouches that expired in March.” Casey closes the fridge. “We’re taking her out.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Like… to a restaurant?”

“Do you have a better idea? Because I’m five seconds from giving her dry cereal and hoping for the best.”

They settle into a booth at a quiet diner with the kind of sticky menus and warm lighting that says “we don’t judge.” Jesse is in a borrowed high chair—too big for her, but she’s thrilled regardless.

Casey orders pancakes and applesauce for her, pancakes and coffee for herself and Alex. The waitress coos at Jesse, who responds by flinging her spoon across the floor.

“She’s got an arm,” Alex mutters.

By the time the food arrives, Jesse’s in a mood again—fussy until the moment applesauce hits her tray. Then she digs in like she’s been stranded on a desert island.

Alex watches, completely entranced. “Okay, she’s… kind of cute.”

Casey sips her coffee. “Don’t say it.”

Alex gently brushes a crumb off Jesse’s cheek. “What? I didn’t want to like her. But she’s got these little—these cheeks.”

“You’re bonding.” Casey points at her, mock-accusing. “You’re emotionally compromised.”

Alex scoffs but she doesn’t put Jesse down for the rest of the meal. Even when the baby finishes eating and starts dozing against her shoulder, Alex just shifts her gently, resting her hand protectively over Jesse’s back.

Casey watches with a soft smile. “You’re a natural.”

Alex snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I also once tried to microwave a frozen burrito with the foil still on.”

Back in the car, Amanda still hasn’t responded to any texts or calls. Casey sighs and taps the wheel at a red light. “We should swing by her place. Grab extra diapers, maybe a couple of changes of clothes.”

Alex nods, looking down at Jesse snoozing peacefully in the backseat. “If she stays another night, we’ll need reinforcements.”

Casey glances at her. “You okay with that?”

Alex smiles. “She’s already survived one day with us. We owe her a second one.”

Amanda’s spare key sticks a little in the lock, but Casey jimmies it open with a grunt and pushes the door inward.

The apartment is warm and cluttered, with baby toys scattered everywhere, an overstuffed diaper bag flopped in the entryway, and at least two mismatched socks on the kitchen counter.

Alex steps in cautiously, Jesse once again on her hip, peering around. “This place is… lived in.”

“Yeah,” Casey says, flicking on a light. “Lived in by a tornado.”

They start gathering essentials: diapers from the hall closet, a box of wipes from under the sink, a crumpled grocery list scrawled in Sharpie that just says “cheddar bunnies???” and “plums?”

Alex sets Jesse down on a play mat in the living room, where she immediately grabs a plastic truck and starts chewing on it.

Casey reappears from the hallway holding a tiny pair of dinosaur footie pajamas. “Okay, this is unfairly cute.”

Alex smiles. “You’re the one getting emotionally compromised now.”

Casey glares halfheartedly and tosses the pajamas in their growing supply pile. “I’m being practical. Pajamas are necessary.”

As Alex digs through the changing table drawers, she finds a small, dog-eared notebook jammed between a pile of extra bibs and a lavender-scented burp cloth. She flips it open curiously.

Inside are scribbled notes in Amanda’s messy handwriting: “Jesse loves ceiling fans,” “sings along to Grey’s Anatomy theme(??),” “says ‘mama’ only when mad at me,” and “likes when Casey talks. seriously, her voice calms her down.”

Alex freezes. “Casey.”

Casey looks up from the pile of baby socks. “Hmm?”

Alex holds up the notebook, open to the page. “You’re in here.”

Casey steps closer and reads, eyebrows rising. “Well, that’s weirdly flattering.”

Alex smiles. “Or incriminating. You’ve got baby-calming powers.”

“I demand that be added to my résumé immediately.”

Jesse lets out a squeaky giggle from the play mat. Casey looks over, watching her lift the truck and smash it gently onto her lap with great pride. She can’t help it. Her face softens.

Alex watches her watching Jesse and murmurs, “We’re kind of good at this.”

Casey turns to her, surprised. “You think so?”

“I mean,” Alex shrugs, “no one’s died. She’s fed, clean, and we only got banana in one shoe.”

Casey grins. “That’s basically parenting, right?”

They gather up the loot: pajamas, diapers, a handful of teething toys, and the weirdly sentimental notebook, and head out, Jesse now fast asleep in Alex’s arms again.

As they walk down the hallway, Alex whispers, “Think Amanda planned this?”

Casey glances sideways. “Planned as in… tricked us into babysitting to prove a point?”

“She is from Georgia. Southern guilt is a deadly weapon.”

Casey smirks. “Next time, I’m leaving you on her doorstep.”

The next morning dawns soft and sleepy. No new texts. No calls. Amanda’s radio silence stretches into its second day like a held breath.

Casey wakes to the smell of coffee and the faint sound of cartoon voices drifting down the hallway.

She rubs her eyes, pads into the kitchen barefoot, and stops.

Alex is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her hair loosely tied back, a mug of coffee balanced on the armrest beside her. Jesse is tucked into her lap, babbling quietly between spoonfuls of oatmeal.

Alex guides each spoon with a calm focus, occasionally pausing to wipe Jesse’s mouth with a napkin, murmuring, “Slow down, kiddo,” with a fond little smile that Casey can’t remember seeing before.

It’s gentle. It’s quiet.

Casey leans against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.

She doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t want to break the spell, but Alex eventually senses her and glances over.

She startles just a bit. “How long have you been standing there?”

Casey smiles softly. “Long enough to question if I woke up in an alternate universe.”

Alex snorts, scooping up another bite of oatmeal. “You were out cold. Jesse and I decided to have an early breakfast.”

Casey steps forward, voice low. “She’s letting you feed her.”

“She also let me put her hair in these ridiculous little antenna buns,” Alex says, tilting her head toward the baby, who indeed has two tiny, lopsided pigtails sticking out like she’s halfway to becoming a Teletubby.

Casey grins. “Okay, that’s adorable. You’re doomed now. She’s imprinted on you.”

Alex looks down at Jesse, who’s now stuffing oatmeal into her own mouth with one determined fist. “Could be worse.”

Casey watches them for another moment, quieter now. “You’re good at this.”

Alex shrugs, pretending not to blush. “She makes it kind of easy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Casey says. “That’s what makes it impressive.”

Their eyes meet—just for a second too long—and then Jesse sneezes oatmeal onto Alex’s shirt, breaking the moment entirely.

Alex groans. “Okay, no one tells Amanda about this part.”

Casey grabs a napkin and hands it over with a smile. “Too late. I’m mentally drafting the group chat now.”

Alex narrows her eyes. “I will take this child and flee the country.”

Casey laughs as Jesse squeals with delight, oatmeal-covered fingers waving in the air like she knows she’s won something.

As the sun sets on the second day, the apartment looks like a daycare collided with a crime scene.

There are board books in the couch cushions, a half-eaten apple on the windowsill, and someone (definitely not Jesse) has drawn on the wall with a purple crayon.

Casey is lying face-down on the rug, one arm stretched out dramatically. “This is how I die.”

Alex sits cross-legged nearby, her blouse stained with juice, gently brushing Jesse’s hair back as the baby dozes in her lap. “We survived. Barely.”

“You made her macaroni.”

“You bribed her with Tinkerbell.”

“You enjoyed Tinkerbell.”

“I was desperate,” Alex mutters.

They sit in exhausted silence, the only sound the faint hum of the dishwasher and Jesse’s soft breathing. For a moment, it’s peaceful again. Still, soft, even a little comforting.

Then Casey’s phone rings.

She fumbles for it and groans. “It’s Amanda.”

Alex perks up. “Put her on speaker.”

Casey does and Amanda’s tired face fills the screen. She’s clearly in some rundown motel room, hair up in a messy bun, a bottle of gas station iced tea in one hand.

“Hey,” Amanda says. “Don’t hate me.”

Casey and Alex exchange a look. “What happened?”

“My sister’s a trainwreck, my mom’s yelling at everybody, and I had to chase my nephew through a Walmart in heels. Anyway, I’ve got to stay two more days.”

Casey audibly groans. Alex slumps backward against the couch.

Amanda winces. “I know. I’m sorry. I owe you both like, ten brunches and a kidney.”

“Make it two kidneys,” Casey mutters.

Jesse stirs in Alex’s lap, then lets out a loud, dramatic sigh in her sleep. Amanda’s face softens.

“Is she okay?”

Alex adjusts the blanket around Jesse. “She’s fine. Chaos incarnate. But fine.”

Amanda smiles a little. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Casey waves a hand weakly. “Don’t thank us yet. You still have to come get her.”

Amanda laughs, and then the screen freezes for a moment—her connection dropping just long enough for them to miss her goodbye.

Casey stares at the frozen screen. “Did she hang up, or did we lose her?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Alex mumbles, already lying down. “We’re in this now.”

Jesse shifts in her lap, snuggles deeper.

Casey exhales, then reaches over to pull a blanket across both of them. “We really are.”

The three of them fall asleep tangled together on the couch.