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megalony · 2 days ago

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Special Victim- Part 2

Here is the second part to my Elliot Stabler imagine, I hope you will all like it.

Feedback is always appreciated.

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@elizaelaine

Main Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: While Elliot is at work over the weekend, (Y/n) takes the kids out for a while. But things take a turn for the worst when their youngest girl goes missing.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his shoulders hunched up near his jaw, Elliot stormed ahead. It felt like his body was on the verge of combusting as he veered through the car park that was now swarming with people.

Some looked like they were being allowed to leave or sent home after questioning. Some were trying to get into the shopping centre but weren't allowed inside. Others were police officers canvasing the area and questioning anyone within walking distance.

Elliot had prayed on the way down here that he would be told that Rosie had been found. He willed (Y/n) or even one of the kids to call and say they had her back and there was no need to panic. Or that the security officers there had stopped someone and gotten Rosie back.

He didn't mind being told a stranger had tried to take her as long as someone had gotten her back. But no one had contacted him, and no news was bad news right now.

Elliot could feel his wallet burning a hole in his back pocket. He had two photos hidden away in there, one of the kids from a few years ago just before he and Kathy got divorced. And then one of Rosie that was a few months old. He was ready to start showing that picture of her around and demand people look and tell him if they had seen her anywhere. He wanted to demand that everyone within the vacinity stop and help find his daughter.

He could feel Olivia a few steps behind him as they stormed towards the entrance to the shopping centre.

Without saying a word, Elliot expertly weaved and pushed his way through the few officers and gathering crowds to get to the door. At least there was someone on security at the door to stop people from trying to leave and prevent anyone else from entering and disrrupting the search for Rosie.

His hand reached down and grabbed the badge clipped to his belt which he flashed to show he was allowed to enter.

"Detective Stabler and Benson. Where's my daughter, have you found her yet?"

When his badge was clipped back onto his waistband, Elliot's hands started to flex and clench at his sides again. He had far too much energy radiating through him and he didn't know what to do with himself.

"We haven't found her yet."

Exactly the words Elliot was expecting, and yet it scorched him and made his heart clench to hear them be spoken outloud. He wasn't ready to be doing this or dealing with this situation.

This was his everyday struggle, this is the kind of thing he investigated and dealt with on the job, but it was never this close to home. None of his kids had ever gone missing or wandered off or become a missing child's case. Elliot didn't want to start now. He didn't want to be searching for his own daughter because he had seen it far too many times where the outcome was horrid and a child died or was never found.

He didn't want that happening to his little girl.

He barely felt Olivia's hand on his shoulder as the security guard beckoned them both inside and guided them through the rather vacant hall. They were clearly scouting out each level and corner of the shopping centre and not allowing anyone to hang around or daudle in corridors.

Elliot followed closely behind, his irritation growing with each passing second. How long had his daughter been missing? Was she alright? Was someone with her? Was Rosie wandering this place- or God forbid, the streets, all alone? No. Someone would have seen her wandering alone, they would have stopped her, questioned her, tried to help her or look after her. No one would let her get far on her own.

Someone had to be with her, whether they were a friend or an enemy. Elliot didn't like either option.

He had seen it far too many times when someone posing as a friend took advantage and took a child. They saw one wandering alone, frightened and lost and made the situation ten times worse. He didn't want his daughter wandering the streets alone, but he didn't want her being taken in by the wrong kind of person.

"Then where's my wife and the rest of my kids?"

"This way."

As they walked down the wide hall, Elliot let his eyes dart around him. Shops were still open. People were still fluttering in and out. But out of the shops, in the middle of the centre, people were confined to the sides. They were told to walk in single file and stay close close to the wall. No one could wander or flutter about the middle of the floor. They needed clear views of every angle to find Rosie.

Security were posted near every shop, not letting people in or out if they had a child.

Elliot shuddered when he heard an announcement rattle through the speakers that almost deafened him.

"If anyone sees a little girl, Rosie Stabler, three years old. Wearing a purple dress, white tights and red shoes, they should stop her and alert security immediately."

That gave Elliot some sort of hint, at least now he knew what she was wearing. He hadn't seen any of the kids this morning, he had been at work since yesterday morning. At least now he knew what she was wearing and the colours to look out for. Not that Elliot really thought he would see Rosie wandering about the shopping centre. If nobody had found her by now then she wasn't here. Someone had managed to get out with her already.

Elliot found himself shaking his head as if to shake away the bad thoughts clouding his mind but he felt his heart stuttering when he set his sights on the rest of his family up ahead.

He sped up, bypassing the security man in front of him and leaving Olivia trailing behind.

There they were. When his eyes set on (Y/n), he could feel his heart breaking all over again. He felt his heart impale itself on his ribs, wanting to bleed out and commit his body to the ground then and there.

She was sat with her forehead propped up on her hand, her arm trembling, her upper body hunched over the table. Tears streaked down her face, trembles set in all across her body sending her shoulders rocking back and forth. And the look on her face was what Elliot could only describe as despair. She looked like she had lost all her hope already, and maybe that was his fault.

Maybe he had brought his work home with him too often. Maybe he had let (Y/n) see behind the curtains and see through the cracks. He had let her see how it got to him when they couldn't save a victim or when their cases went cold and they didn't find the child they were looking for. She had seen how often things went wrong, and she was starting to believe that it was their turn now to feel that pain.

"Dad!"

Even though it had been Dickie who initially spotted him and called out for him, it was Maureen who set off into a run first. Her shoes skidded against the polished floor and she knocked into a chair on her way as she aimed for Elliot.

Tears were dried onto her reddened features, her eyes were puffy and barely open and her blonde curly hair whipped behind her shoulders as she aimed for him. The moment she was within reach, Maureen deadlocked her arms around Elliot's middle and smothered her face into his chest.

Elliot quickly bound his arms around her, keeping one arm around her waist and moving the other to cup the back of her neck. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, tilting his head down so he could smother his face into her hair and breathe in her scent to try and calm himself down. But he could feel his system overworking and panicking itself already.

He didn't want to blink, breathe, move, eat or scream until Rosie was back. He didn't want to carry on dwindling through the minutes, the hours, the days. He wanted everything to stop until his fourth daughter was here and safe in his arms.

"I'm here. It's okay honey I'm here." He took a second to breathe deeply and hold her as close as he could. He wanted all of them encased into his chest, hidden behind his ribs with his heart so he could keep them safe.

"I'm- I'm so sorry, dad. I didn't- I swear, I…" Maureen couldn't seem to get a simple sentence out, for each time she tried she ended up choking on another sob.

Her hands tightened in the back of Elliot's blazer until her nails were threatening to pierce through the material. And the way she was shaking caused Elliot to begin to tremor along with her.

He carefully moved his hands as he tilted back so he could try and look down at her, but he had to cup her face in his hands and angle her head so they were actually looking at one another. The sadness pooling in his eyes made his daughter quiver and she clutched at his wrists, trying to hold him as tightly as she could as if to anchor herself to him and make sure that he would set things right. He had to.

"Hey, hey, what're you sorry for, hm?" His thumbs stroked across her cheeks but it only made her release a sob.

"I was… I was watching Rosie, b-but I didn't see her go. She was playing, t-then she disappeared. It's my fault,"

She had been the one in charge of Rosie. She said she would take her up the escalator and look around upstairs with her. Maureen had been the one holding her hand, the one who let go and who should have followed her as soon as Rosie started to weave in and out of the aisles and play with the clothes.

She shouldn't have let Rosie out of her sights for more than a few seconds, but she did. And someone had taken their opportunity and snatched her. And now she was gone, and it was all Maureen's fault.

She shivered when Elliot tilted her head down so he could attach his lips to her temple, and she felt the way he hushed and breathed heavily against her skin.

"No honey, that's not your fault. You haven't done anything wrong, you hear me?"

When she tried to apologise again, Elliot shook his head and forced a smile. He wouldn't have her panicking and upsetting herself when she hadn't done anything wrong. Letting Rosie out of her sights for a few seconds was normal. Maybe if they had been holding hands, this wouldn't have happened, but that didn't mean that Maureen had done anything wrong. Someone had clearly intervened at some point, and that was the problem here. Not any of Elliot's kids.

With a hushed "Come on," against her temple, Elliot began walking Maureen back towards the rest of their family seated in the food court which had thankfully been evacuated.

A few security officers and police were filtering around the food court to remain close to the centre of attention while everyone else must be searching and scouting around for Rosie. At least this area was empty of others, they could sit and wait in agony and privacy.

Once they were back with the others, Elliot gently ushered Maureen to sit down next to Lizzy.

He leant over to kiss the top of Lizzy's head before he reeled Dickie in for a sideways hug when he saw the panic and longing in his boy's eyes. It wasn't often that Elliot saw any of his kids upset or panicked like this and he hated it.

He was slightly surprised to see that Kathleen wasn't sat down with the rest of her siblings. But the anxiety was radiating off of her in waves, that was clear. She was stood beside the pushchair, the empty pushchair that was carrying the few bits of shopping they had gotten before this disaster happened. Both Kathleen's arms were folded over her chest but her fingers were squeezing and clenching her upper arms. And her foot was tapping away against the floor like she was slipping into a silent state of despair.

Elliot almost couldn't breathe when he turned to look at his wife. He didn't quite know what to do with himself for the first few seconds, especially when (Y/n) tilted her head back like her neck had broken so she could look up at him. A flood wave of tears poured down her face and her shallow breaths became forceful as she stared up at him, waiting for him to say or do something.

For the first time in a long while, tears began to burn in the corners of Elliot's eyes and one finally broke the barrier and trickled down his face.

His heart skipped a beat as he slowly moved so he was crouched down in front of (Y/n). His hands reached out for her and he nudged her knees until he was knelt in between her thighs. The feeling of her knees pressing into his chest was grounding and comforting and Elliot settled his hands on (Y/n)'s thighs as he stared up at her.

A single tear jumped free from the end of (Y/n)'s nose and Elliot could see the tracks slithered down her face from how badly she had been crying.

Why did he go into work this weekend?

Why didn't he ask for a swap so he could of been here with the kids? Why didn't he ask to go home this morning when he worked all day yesterday and then pulled an all-nighter too? He should have tried harder to bargain for some time off, to be home earlier or switch shifts so he could of been here with (Y/n) and the kids.

They might not have come here if Elliot had been home, they might have gone out somewhere else or stayed home. Rosie might not have wandered or been snatched like this if Elliot had been with them. Or if she had, he might have been able to run after them and find her before this situation got out of hand if he had been here from the beginning.

"She's s-still not here." (Y/n) brushed her sleeve against her nose and beneath her eyes to try and stop her face from feeling so tight and taut.

But when she looked back down at Elliot, she could feel another tidal wave washing over her. She reached her arms out and wrapped them around his neck and slid forward until she almost fell off her chair and onto his lap. She felt him push upwards so they were level and he let her head slump onto his shoulder.

His arm circled around her waist while his right hand moved to cup the back of her neck. He smothered his lips against her temple and brushed her hair back behind her ear.

"We're gonna find her, okay? We're gonna go find her and take all our family back home safe and sound."

(Y/n) brushed her nose against Elliot's neck and tried to take a deep breath, but all she could do was wheeze and croak small, shallow gulps of air. Having him here made a difference, though. She could feel her heartbeat thinning out, it wasn't throbbing in her temple or pulsing beneath her skin anymore. She could close her eyes for a few seconds now, instead of look around and try not to blink in case she missed a potential sight of her baby girl.

She could feel Elliot's fingers gliding up and down her back and she stayed tucked up into his chest, pressing her face as close to his neck as she could until she could feel his thundering heartbeat.

Where was their little toddler who brightened up a room and made everyone smile, no matter what mood they were in? How had someone managed to get away with her? How had she slipped away from them in less than three minutes without someone stopping her or seeing or noticing?

How did something like this happen?

Leaning forward, Elliot carefully nudged (Y/n) back so she was sitting up straight again and his hands slithered down her sides until he was holding her thighs again.

"Alright baby, tell me what happened." Elliot knew he didn't need to ask for specific details and times and anything that might seem insignificant. (Y/n) knew that. She knew how this went and what Elliot needed to hear, and she wasn't just another victim's parent. She was Elliot's wife, this was as personal as a case could get.

(Y/n) moved her hand to wipe her eyes once again and she took a deep breath as she tried to gather her thoughts that were as mixed up as clothes in a washer.

"We went into that shop," She tried pointing to the clothes shop but it was further down the hall. "Uh, me and Kathleen and Lizzy were downstairs, Dickie went up, a-and Maureen took Rosie up. We were only apart for a few minutes, that's all. Just- just a few minutes,"

"She was hiding in the clothes." Maureen chipped in, sounding a little calmer now that she knew her dad wasn't going to blame her or think that she was at fault for any of this.

"We went up, and then we couldn't find her, w-we all looked, security checked everyone leaving, she's just not here."

"How long since you noticed she was gone?" Olivia hated to interrupt, but she was the one taking notes and they had no idea how long Rosie had been missing for. They didn't know how long (Y/n) and the kids had been searching before they decided to call Elliot.

Leaning forward, (Y/n) took Elliot's hand up until she was almost kissing the back of his hand. For a moment, he wasn't sure what he was doing until he realised that she was trying to check the time on his watch.

"Nearly an hour."

"Okay, I know you probably weren't looking, but did any of you notice anyone watching you? Walking close behind you or paying attention to you or Rosie?" Olivia looked round the family, but she was met with blank faces.

They hadn't spoken to anyone but each other and the cashiers when they paid for the stuff they bought in the other shops. They hadn't bumped into anyone while walking or noticed anyone walking close up behind them or smiling at them or watching them. And no one had said anything about Rosie or admired her or said she was cute or asked how old she was.

When Elliot looked up over his shoulder at his partner, he could tell they were both thinking the same thing, and Olivia muttered "Opportunist," under her breath.

No one had followed them or seemed to have planned this. They couldn't have foreseen that Maureen would let go of Rosie's hand or that the family would split up or go into that particular shop at that exact moment.

This was someone taking a big risk in an opportune moment, they took Rosie because they had the chance, not because they had planned this or wanted her specifically.

"What now?" (Y/n)'s voice was as quiet as a whisper on the wind and her bleak eyes drifted between Elliot and Olivia.

Rosie wasn't here.

That was the only thought (Y/n) could comprehend and she couldn't fathom out how they were going to find her. She wasn't in this shopping centre, (Y/n) could feel it deep in her bones. Her heart was reaching out for her baby, but she wasn't here. Rosie was too far out of reach and they had no means of getting her back.

She felt Elliot's hands running up and down her thighs before he pushed up to his feet again. And when his hands moved to settle on her shoulders, (Y/n) reached up and held onto his arms and leant her cheek against his forearm. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and wish herself to disappear, she had to be awake and alert.

"I presume you have security cameras around here? We need to see them." Elliot looked ahead to one of the security guards stood next to a uniformed officer.

He didn't feel very confident when he saw the panic that flooded the man's face, but he nodded quickly.

"Yes, they should be working."

"You'd better pray they are." Elliot's snappy response made the guard advert his eyes down to his boots as if he had been shamed. No one wanted to imagine the outcome if the cameras around this centre weren't all operational or in good working condition.

Elliot couldn't believe that Rosie would willingly wander off alone, she was too young and nervous for that. And after all the announcements, the security running around and now the police, if Rosie was on her own they would have found her by now. She had to be with someone.

And if she was, the chances were that they should be able to spot her on the security tapes. They would know which direction she had gone, whether someone had gotten her into a car or left on foot. It had been an hour since she had been taken, they had to be swift so they could get her back unharmed.

(Y/n) could barely feel her legs when she pushed up from the chair, it felt like her entire body had turned numb and all she wanted to do was curl up and wait for someone to bring Rosie back to her.

Her arms moved to secure around her chest and her fingers began to dig into her arms, piercing through her flesh until the skin started to tear beneath her nails. But it helped. The pressure and the sting stopped (Y/n)'s mind from overworking and collapsing itself like a black hole, drawing in every thought possible and consuming them all.

She knew what Elliot was doing before she heard a word pass through his lips. She knew he was asking Olivia if she would stay here with the kids, if she would take their statements and make sure none of them tried to go looking for Rosie on their own. They all wanted to help, they wanted to find their sister and they hated just sitting here like ducks in a pond, waiting for everyone else to do the hard work for them. They wanted to find her themselves and bring her back to safety.

Elliot was in the midst of muttering something to Olivia, something about asking the kids for details. They might have seen something they didn't think was important or they might have seen someone that they didn't think was a threat but could have been. Or they might know of a shop or a little coin ride that had caught Rosie's attention that she might try and stray towards if someone was trying to make her hide or leave the building.

But whatever Elliot said, (Y/n) didn't hear it anymore. Despite standing so close behind him that her arm and shoulder were brushing his back, she didn't hear what he said.

(Y/n)'s head angled to one side and she narrowed her eyes when she watched Dickie get up.

He had been sat for the last ten or fifteen minutes, watching every passer by like a hawk. His neck must have been hurting from how he was constantly looking from left to right to try and scan for clues or people who looked like they shouldn't be here. And now he had gotten up and was leaving the food court.

He was walking with determination in his steps and his hands balled up into fists at his sides. Had he seen something? Had he remembered something important?

(Y/n)'s arms dropped from around her chest and she weaved in between the chairs, ignoring Kathleen trying to reach out for her and Elliot who abruptly stopped talking to see what she was up to.

She made a beeline after Dickie and she sped up when she realised he had approached a security guard.

"…Where? Where did you get this?"

(Y/n) could feel her chest seizing up before she knew what Dickie was trying to argue about. She gingerly reached out and clamped her hand down on his shoulder, causing him to spin on his heels to look at her. There was an overwhelming sense of panic hidden within his eyes and his lips were parted into a bleak expression that made her stomach churn.

"What?"

Looking down, she realised he was gripping something tightly in his hands. What had the security guard found? Was it a clue as to where Rosie might be? Was it something of hers? Was it something belonging to the person who might have snatched her?

Dickie didn't realise he was shaking his head until he watched something twist in (Y/n)'s expression like she was about to smile. She took a shallow breath before she reached out for him, clearly wanting to know what he had in his hands, but he didn't want to give it up. He didn't want to show her. It wasn't fair. It was only going to upset her.

"No-" His whole body started to shake when his step-mum took it from his hands and he stood there, rooted to the spot as he watched every emotion under the sun filter across her face.

A quiet "It's hers," left Dickie's lips as another wave of tears burned behind his eyes, despite how he kept telling himself that he shouldn't be crying. He should be looking for his sister and doing something helpful.

The sorrow continued to build up in Dickie's eyes and he reached forward to shakily rest his hands on (Y/n)'s arm and he realised she was starting to tremor like she had been electrocuted. He sniffed but his head quickly lifted when he saw his dad fast approaching them.

"Baby, what have you got?"

Elliot pushed forward and latched his hands onto (Y/n)'s hips so he could look over her shoulder, but his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he saw what she was holding.

Rosie's shoe.

One little, polished red shoe with a bow glued onto the velcro strap. It was Rosie's. They didn't need any forensics to prove that. This was their daughter's shoe, just one of them. She had been struggling, she had been kicking and fighting and she had lost a shoe. She had left them a clue that was as daunting as it was helpful.

(Y/n) found herself unable to breathe as she stared down at the shoe that she had seen Dickie strap up for Rosie before they left the house this morning.

Her baby was lost somewhere with a stranger and only one shoe on her feet. She would be crying that she had lost one shoe, she wouldn't want to walk anymore. She would be crying for her parents, her sisters, her big brother, her family. Something bad had happened to her and they weren't any closer to finding her.

Elliot's lips clamped together and Dickie visibly winced when (Y/n) suddenly launched the shoe. An echo sounded through the hall when the small heel collided with the wall before it hit the floor with a loud clobber.

Both Elliot's hands moved from (Y/n)'s hips to curve around her middle and he reeled her backwards until her back was pressed into his chest and his lips could attach to the back of her head. He held her close in fear that her knees might give way on her and he could tell that she was barely taking in a proper breath.

His shaking hand tried to run up and down her chest before his eyes that were full of malice looked towards the guard in front of them.

"Where did you find that?"

He could feel (Y/n)'s shoulders shaking and her wheezing, croaky breaths. And when she turned her head and pressed her face into his neck, he wanted to scream. His wife shouldn't be in this state of distress, his daughter shouldn't be missing, his other kids shouldn't be frightened and traumatised.

"That's my daughter's shoe, so tell me where you found it!" Elliot's voice rose until he was almost shouting and he could feel his voice travelling around the walls and bouncing off the glass ceiling.

Suddenly it didn't matter if the girls heard him or if he panicked the rest of his family. All Elliot cared about was finding Rosie. They had to know where her shoe had been found.

"On the search, just outside the East exit." The guard pointed to their right but he shrunk back when (Y/n) stuttered through her next breath.

"She's gone- Elliot…"

Elliot turned (Y/n) around in his arms, keeping his right arm around her waist while his other hand cradled the back of her head. His fingers knotted in her hair and he smothered his wet lips against her burning temple, quietly shushing her as he fought off tears.

"No, no baby she's not gone. We're gonna find her."

(Y/n) couldn't help but shake her head against Elliot's chest. Rosie wasn't here, she had felt it in her gut and now she knew she had been right. Whoever took her had managed to get out the shopping centre before it was placed on lockdown. They had gotten her out and they could be anywhere by now, miles away in a car or far away on foot or on the subway. She was gone.

When Dickie stomped his foot, Elliot looked over at him just as his boy shook his head and took off into a sprint.

"No- Dickie don't-" A deep growl left Elliot's lips as he unwillingly unravelled his arms from around (Y/n) so he could set off after his son.

He held his hand out and muttered a rendition of 'it's okay' and 'police', flashing the badge on his hip so no security would set off after Dickie and think he was some kind of criminal or accomplice. Elliot was used to chasing suspects but he would admit that his boy was a fast sprinter and it was clear where Dickie was aiming for.

he was trying to get to the exit. He wanted to get out of here and start combing the streets. He wanted to find his sister because no one else seemed to be doing it for them. No one was doing their jobs efficiently and they had now found that Rosie wasn't even in this place anymore but they were still on lockdown. They had let the perp escape and had locked the rest of them up in here. The one job they had been tasked with, they had failed.

Stretching his right arm out, Elliot managed to clamp his fingers around Dickie's shoulder just before he got too close to the guarded exit and security would have to tackle him to stop him from leaving.

He yanked his son back by the shoulder, causing both of them to stumble and trip and Elliot held him by both shoulders to stop himself from tripping over.

Deep breaths raged past Elliot's lips as he tried to turn his son around but Dickie shook his hands off and stumbled back a few steps. His jacket began to slide off one shoulder, his blue eyes were dark and watering and his chapped lips were parted as he tried to catch his breath back.

He rolled his neck while his chest heaved and he looked around before he knitted his hands together behind his head.

"She's gone, dad. S-someone's got out there with her. We have to get her back."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?"

"She's out there with some creep! We- we have to go out and search for her-" Shaking set in Dickie's system when Elliot pulled him close, both to try and comfort him and get him away from the exit in case he tried to bolt again.

"Dickie, look at this place. There's uniformed officers everywhere and we're going to put up traffic blocks and get people on the streets to find Rosie. But I can't have you running around out there, you need to stay here and talk to Liv and let us find her."

"No."

"No?" Disbelief spread across Elliot's face and he moved one hand to run along his jaw that cracked when he pulled a long expression. This wasn't the time or the place for Dickie to try and argue about his age and how responsible he could be. There was no bargaining today.

"I'm- I'm supposed to protect her. I can't just fucking wait in here-"

"Language. You can and you will, because I need you to. If you want to help, then you go and help Liv and maybe you can help at the station rather than going to your mums, okay? Please?"

It was clear that Dickie wasn't happy with this arrangement, but he knew he didn't have a choice. He was thirteen. Maybe if he was Kathleen's age then Elliot would agree to him going out to look for Rosie, and it was commendable how concerned he was.

He was the only boy, he was Rosie's big brother and he had taken that role seriously. He wouldn't let anyone hurt her or pick on her and he would look after her if she was frightened. He wanted to go out and look for her, he would be good at that. He knew his sister, he knew she would be pulling and crying and causing a scene if someone was trying to drag her away or carry her somewhere.

Dickie could spot her if she was on the streets and he could watch the passing cars and look out for any driver that looked familiar or anyone driving with kids in the back. He could do something useful.

But he was thirteen and Elliot wouldn't have him going out alone, he wouldn't risk losing two of his kids today. One going missing was enough.

He would let Dickie help Olivia, he would let him talk to her and try and look at any photos from the security tapes to see if the kids thought someone looked familiar or too close. He would let them go down to the station if necessary rather than having them all go back to Kathy and just sit and wait in panic. But he wouldn't have them going out roaming the streets looking for their sister.

Deep breaths raged past Dickie's lips and this time, when Elliot wrapped an arm around his shoulders, he didn't pull away. He let his dad walk him back towards the food court and steered him over to where Kathleen was stood, looking desperate to help but not knowing exactly what she could do.

"Everything okay?" Olivia looked sceptical as she stood with her notepad in one hand and her other hand tucked into her pocket, but the grave look on Elliot's face gave her the answer she needed.

"Rosie's shoe was found outside the East exit. I need Munch and Fin helping patrol out looking for her. Can you stay with them if we go look at the security tapes? Rosie isn't on her own, someone's definitely got her."

"Sure."

With a quiet "Come on baby," Elliot took (Y/n)'s hand in his and moved towards one of the security guards.

All the kids heard his deep, guttural voice telling them to stay with Olivia and they watched as he and (Y/n) shakily followed the security guard towards one of the locked doors that was clearly for employees only.

For a minute, maybe two, (Y/n) closed her eyes and meshed her cheek into Elliot's bicep. She tried to calm down her raging thoughts and soak up some of Elliot's calm manner. She didn't know how he managed to do this day in and day out, helping families while remaining so calm and collected. And she had no idea how he was holding himself together right now, knowing that it was their daughter that had disappeared. (Y/n) was losing her sanity already.

She didn't want to be stood in this security office. She wanted to go looking on the streets or wait down at the precinct. Staring at tapes showing just how she had failed and let someone take her daughter wasn't what (Y/n) wanted to do. She had failed. Rosie was gone. And now she was going to witness it on the tapes, as if she hadn't already gone through this earlier.

There were so many monitors to look at that (Y/n) couldn't keep in focus. She heard the man say that they had rewound the tapes to the time that Rosie went missing.

She watched Elliot lean forward, both hands clamping down on the desk causing his shoulders to spread out like wings and his back to arch over as he tried to look at every screen at the same time.

(Y/n) was afraid to look in fear of what she was going to find. Who would be walking away with her daughter? Why would they be taking her away?

Had they just taken her hand and walked her out of here? Had they picked her up? Did they smother her cries or pretend she was a child having a tantrum? Did Rosie go willingly or did she put up a fight and cry out for her mum who was nowhere to be found?

All the questions sent (Y/n)'s body into spasms and trembles. And when the security guard pointed out the tape that showed their group going into the clothing store, (Y/n) turned away.

She didn't want to see herself letting Rosie run off. She didn't want to see her family turn their backs for one second and have Rosie snatched away from them.

They were going to go through each security camera in the area, one by one, tracking Rosie's movements. No one had seen her leave the shop, but she must have left with someone. Security would have noticed a three year old walking out the shop on her own and people would have seen her if she had been walking around the shopping centre all alone. Someone must have taken her in the shop and guided her out.

"She must be coming out with someone around now…" Elliot trailed off as he looked between two screens showing the outside of the shop. Rosie had to be leaving the shop because by all accounts, his family hadn't been in that shop long before Rosie went missing. And when Kathleen alerted security, they stopped people going in and out of the shop.

"There."

Elliot's eyes managed to tear from the screen he was watching and look down at (Y/n) when she jolted forward. She was looking at a different screen. One of the ones on the right in the bottom corner. Her hands lunged out and patted the screen, drawing a circle with the pad of her finger around Rosie.

The security officer sat just to the side of Elliot was quick to pause the tape, and all eyes went to that screen.

There she was. Hidden in plain sight. Her hair, thin as the first layer of snow and straight as a ruler until it crimped at the very ends that touched her shoulders. Her hand gripped tightly by a young woman, not too much older than (Y/n) herself.

Rosie was leaning backwards like she was trying to pull away or wanted to turn around and run back to her family. Tears were streaked down her face and her lips were parted like she was in the middle or about to burst into a sob.

They were stood in front of the exit where Rosie's shoe had been found just outside.

That exit led out onto the street. It didn't lead into the multistory carpark that belonged to the shopping centre. Maybe they were walking on foot. That would slow them down; she couldn't take Rosie far on foot. She couldn't have gotten far in the hour that Rosie had been missing, if they didn't get straight into a car, that meant there was a better chance of getting her back.

"Play it slowly, frame by frame."

She dragged her out. The woman dragged Rosie out the door like she was a child having a tantrum who she was taking back home.

No one stopped her.

How could they? If (Y/n) had been passing by, she wouldn't have the courage or the nerve to stop another woman and her child. It wasn't normal to stop women when their children were having a tantrum. Even if Rosie had been screaming that she wanted her mummy or her sister or even her brother. People passing by would presume the woman was Rosie's guardian, her aunt or her babysitter or someone familiar rather than a stranger dragging her away.

"Where's the nearest camera after that one?"

The guard pointed at the same screen but switched the video feed to the camera posted outside the exit.

The woman swooped down, hoisted Rosie up onto her hip, and walked down the street as if nothing was wrong.

Turning to look behind him, Elliot flagged one of the police officers over. "I need you to canvas any shops or traffic cameras from that street at around half past two. Follow their movements and find out which way they went."

There would be security cameras on shops or street cameras nearby. They might pick up this woman and Rosie and see where she was headed and catch whether she continued to walk, if she got a taxi or into a car or if she went down the subway. They needed to know where she went and track her so they could put out amber alerts. If she got in a car they had to find the make and number plate and put out alerts for police to stop them.

This news seemed to calm Elliot down somewhat and make him feel hopeful, but (Y/n) wasn't so assured.

It didn't matter that it was a woman who had taken Rosie. There were thousands of derranged, twisted women in the world. That woman could have taken Rosie because she wanted a child, it could be innocent. She could have lost a child and wanted a replacement, or thought she was looking after Rosie or saving her from something.

Or she could have chosen Rosie because she wanted to hurt her. She could be doing anything to her by now. Plenty of women in this world could be cold and ruthless and murderers. That woman could be sadistic, she could get off on hurting people or find amusement in hurting children. She could be attacking Rosie right now with no one any the wiser or around to stop her.

(Y/n) wanted her baby back this very second.

"Baby- baby wait!" A growl tore from the back of Elliot's throat as he set of into a sprint when (Y/n) bolted.

She flung the door open and flew out the room with her bag bashing against her waist and her heart beating out of her chest. She wanted her daughter back. They were going to open the shopping centre again and let people leave now they knew for certain that Rosie wasn't in here. (Y/n) was going to leave the exact same way that woman had and try to find her. She didn't know how and she didn't care, she just wanted to find her.

Elliot's hands curled into fists at his sides and he darted out of the room and down the corridor to the left.

His heart jumped into his throat when he watched (Y/n)'s foot slip on the top step and he cringed, biting down on his tongue at the thought of her falling down. But she regained her balance and stumbled down the stairs two at a time, flinging herself around the corner to propel down the second flight and get down to the ground floor.

All the air got caught at the back of (Y/n)'s throat when she stumbled onto the ground floor and felt a hand curl around her upper arm. She tripped, sliding back on her heel until her shoulders crashed into a tense, hard chest and a familiar set of strong arms bound around her waist.

"Baby," Elliot rasped into her hair, his voice deep and guttural as he breathed harshly against the top of her head. "Take a breath. We don't know which way she went after that road, and that was nearly an hour ago."

When (Y/n) tried to break out of his arms, Elliot tightened them around her and pulled her back. He moulded his chest over her back and leaned forward, smothering his face against her neck. He tried hard not to start trembling as his stuttering breaths fanned against (Y/n)'s neck and he felt her start to tremble and shake in his arms.

(Y/n) tried for a few seconds to fling her arms out and break out of Elliot's arms, but it didn't take long before she gave in. A broken sob left her lips and her eyes snapped closed as she curled in on herself and pressed back into Elliot as her knees caved in.

She felt him hushing and whispering into her neck while he carefully went down on his knees and pulled (Y/n) along with him until he was sitting on the bottom step with (Y/n) in between his thighs.

Her hands suddenly clamped around his bicep and she cried, pressing herself into Elliot's chest as much as she could. Her face smothered in his blazer and she felt Elliot kissing the top of her head while his hand slowly glided up and down her arm.

"We're gonna find her."

(Y/n) began to shake her head as she held Elliot's arm tighter and tighter until she was cutting off the blood supply to his hand. She felt him start to rock them back and forth, but she continued to shake her head.

"No we won't. You f- you found that girl last month, killed after one day…" She couldn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. The implication was clear.

(Y/n) remembered Elliot getting a case last month where a little girl went missing and she was only five. Elliot and the team had searched for her all day, followed leads, went up and down the streets and all around the city. Only for her to be found near a lake.

That night when Elliot came home, (Y/n) saw that look in his eyes. That repulsion, that terror and heartbreak at seeing a dead child. She knew Elliot felt responsible for not finding her in time. And she remembered how he had gone and cuddled Rosie that same evening like he was making sure his own child was safe and that terror wouldn't happen to him.

(Y/n) didn't like their odds at getting their daughter back safe and sound or even alive. She hated herself for thinking like that, but she couldn't help it.

"That was different, okay? That- that girl was taken by someone she knew. We didn't know that woman with Rosie, we don't know why she's got her. But we'll find out and we'll get her back."

"I can't- I can't wait here," (Y/n) tilted her head back onto Elliot's shoulder and looked up at him with those big, pleading eyes that made his stomach flip and sent his heart reeling. He would do anything she asked when she looked at him like that and they both knew it. "Ell… she was crying."

"We're not waiting here. We're going back to the precinct and we can start looking for her."

Elliot attached his lips back to (Y/n)'s temple and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to sit here and wait, not when Rosie wasn't anywhere in this building. They would go back to the precinct and look through any tapes that Munch and Fin found from shops or security cameras nearby.

They would track down this woman's movements and pin point where their daughter was.

Then they would go and get her back.

#elliot stabler x reader #elliot x reader #elliot stabler imagine #elliot stabler #elliot imagine #law and order x reader #law and order imagine #law and order #law and order svu

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startrekfangirl2233 · 3 days ago

Text

Oh, we'll see 😉

Thanks for reading!

Law and Order - A Once In A Blue Moon Story

Part II

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: When a blind date leads to disaster, you’re almost ready to give up on men. Until he sits down on the bar stool in front of you. This man is different - sensual, gorgeous, confident. He makes you want to live a little on the wild side. What do you do when a night you don’t want to forget turns into a forbidden relationship by light of day? How do you cope, especially when he doesn’t seem to want a thing to do with you?

Warnings: Rough sex, illicit relationship, dom/sub overtones, toxic relationship, imbalance of power in the work place

This chapter includes sections which may be too much for sensitive readers. They will be denoted by *** Trigger Warnings *** Please do not read these sections if you believe you will be triggered by it. Bradley is rude, cruel and incredibly rough while having sex with the reader and she feels it acutely.

Word Count: 4893

Author’s Note: Hiya lovelies! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a story on here. I kind of lost my muse and had to find her, and my love for writing all over again.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern for chatting with me about this story and making sure I’m handling all of the things which happen in the best way I can!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

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Part II

“Garcia!”

It would normally be funny to see your training partner’s head stick up over his files at your mentor’s shout from his office across the bullpen if you weren’t so desperately waiting for your own to be called every once in a while. You’ve been working at Kazansky, Mitchell and Bradshaw for three months. But it has been three months of digging through files and typing out the transcripts of interviews while Mickey gets to sit in on the interviews and learn how to prosecute a breach of contract case. It stings, the outright rejection. Outwardly, your mentor is all smiles, never hesitating to include you in the trial and pre-trial preparations.

But you know your mentor won't call your name. He hasn’t looked twice at you, not since that disastrous first day. And you're not sure there is anything you could do to change how he feels. You’ve pulled long hours, working ceaselessly to make yourself irreplaceable, make him see you’re worth keeping on at the firm. But all your effort hasn’t made a dent; your hard work, for naught. He talks to Mickey, only Mickey. Any time he needs someone, he calls for Mickey.

The others all look at you like you’re some pariah or martyr, seated in your cold, dismal cube night after night, long past the time when everyone else is packing up to go home. You have ears after all. And they’re not subtle in the slightest with their snarky mutters of how, “she must’ve pissed Bradshaw off already, goody-two-shoes.”

It’s true. You have pissed him off already. Nobody knows how, nor are you inclined to share the secret either. It’s a filthy little thing you keep trapped behind iron gates in the back of your mind. You swallow the glib words down with every word they say, ignoring the harsh observations. Instead, you smile blandly as they poke and needle at you over the lunch table, when you eat with them and not in your cube, of course.

The office always feels colder, almost menacing when you’re left here alone. It’s dark and silent in the room, only the rustling of the papers in front of you and the absent-minded tapping of your pen echoing in the room.

“What are you still doing here?”

You squeak, knee colliding painfully against the underside of the desk, pen rolling away as the tremors cause a paperwork avalanche.

“M-Mr Bradshaw!” You’re stuttering as you stand, trying desperately to remember whether your hair is as much of a mess as you remember it being the last time you wandered into the restroom. You undid your braid hours ago, your head aching from the pressure the length of your hair was putting on your scalp. You’ve been running your fingers through your hair ever since. So you wouldn’t be surprised if your hair is climbing to the rafters by now. But more importantly, there isn’t supposed to be anyone left in the building. Even the janitors ignore you sitting hunched over your desk as you sob pathetically into your paperwork.

Honestly, you’re not sure why you’re surprised. Who else would it be on a Friday evening? His eyebrow quirks up higher the longer you scramble for your heels under the desk. You don’t find them, but instead, do your best to hide your toes as well as you can.

“I was going over the briefs for Monday morning.”

He blinks then, one curl slipping free over his forehead.

“Seriously,” he sighs, running a big hand over his face. “Go home. You’ve done more than enough work this week. Don’t you have Friday plans like all the rest of them?”

You would have been gratified all those months ago at the compliment couched in an observation. You would have been touched, maybe even pleased. Now, though, you’re starting to see red.

How dare he? How dare he be nice to you when he’s the reason why you don’t have a life? You’re moving into his space before you’ve even thought about the movement, your bare toes toe-to-toe with his polished leather brogues.

“And whose fault is that, Mr. Bradshaw?” Your voice is still quiet, hushed in the dark office space. He looks taken aback by the vitriol in your voice, eyes widening imperceptibly. “I’ve been here every night because my mentor, the person who is supposed to be teaching me how to be a lawyer, Kazansy, Mitchell and Bradshaw would be proud of, simply can’t bother.”

You smirked then, all the hurt you’ve been plastering band-aids over finally spilled over.

“And why is that, Mr. Bradshaw?” You hum condescendingly, relishing how his nostrils flare at your flippant, impertinent tone. “Could it be because you picked me up in a bar before I started working for you? Because you fucked me?”

“Or is it because you liked it?” There’s a flush building across his cheeks. He swallows then, Adam's apple bobbing as he licks his lips.

You laugh then, the sounds harsh and cruel as they echo through the space.

“Oh, look at you, Mr. Bradshaw!” You trail a finger over the triangle of skin exposed by the undone top button of his shirt. His breath hitches gorgeously as you turn away, an exhale of breath following you. “Oh wait…. You like Bradley in bed.”

You sit on Mickey’s desk across the way, the surface clear where yours isn’t. When you cross your legs, your skirt rucks up a little. His eyes trace over the inches of exposed skin like they’re the best thing he’s ever seen. You are. You’re not so insecure as to pretend otherwise. Bradley Bradshaw had wanted you three months ago, and it’s abundantly obvious he still wants you now.

“See?” You grin wickedly. “You did like it. So why am I the problem here?”

You lean back, trusting in your splayed out arm to hold your weight. His eyes are on your breasts now, scorching as they trace over your figure on display.

“I agreed to your deal, Bradshaw.” You chuckle mirthlessly at the words. “I mean, you didn’t exactly give me much of an option otherwise. I wanted to keep my job. I wanted to work for Kazansky, Mitchell and Bradshaw. I told you we wouldn’t talk about that night. So why are you going out of your way to torpedo my career?”

The hurt shows itself for the first time since your anger spilled out of your crimson-stained lips.

“Either mentor me, switch me to work with Trace or Seresin, or fucking fire me. I’m done playing this game. I’m not doing a single thing for this firm like this, and I refuse to waste any more of my time when I could have gone to any other firm in the state.”

Your ultimatum has his lips flattening.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He rolls his sleeves up, then, something derisive in his tone as he ignores you. “Maybe you can get a job at another firm in California. Maybe they’d give you a little bump in pay and set you up to be a perfectly average lawyer. But you won’t be a Kazansky, Mitchell, and Bradshaw lawyer. We’re the best of the best, sweetheart.”

It’s his turn to smirk as he takes a step forward.

“But you know that.” He curls a lock of your hair around his long fingers. “You wouldn’t have applied here otherwise. And we wouldn’t have hired you if we didn’t think you could flourish here.”

He hums then, undoing a single button in your blouse, one of the little ones at your cuff. He doesn’t seem to mind how inconvenient it is, your sleeves having been rolled up to your elbows hours ago. “But you may have a point. I have been unfair.”

You’re ready to jump for joy at his words. Is he finally, finally going to give you a chance?

“What was it you said?” His hands are just a little cruel as they yank on the lock of your hair. “Mentor you, switch you to work with Trace or Seresin or fucking fire you, right?”

You nod then, head falling at the cold, hard look in his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to face it, unable to keep eye contact as he looms over you.

“How about if I just fuck you, instead?”

Your head snaps up fast at those words.

“What do you mean?” Your voice sounds as lost as you feel. “Y-you can’t do that.”

He just smiles, pinching your chin between his fingers.“What can’t I do, hmm?”

His tongue flicks over his lips as his eyes twinkle.

“You can’t be serious.” Your voice is stuttery, paper-soft as your chest heaves under his steady gaze.

“We can’t fuck each other. Not anymore.”

He ignores your words, curling a warm hand around your hip. You know what he’s doing is wrong. He’s supposed to be your mentor, to teach you how to be a good lawyer. He’s not supposed to be propositioning you in the office like this.

“Why not, sweetheart?” Bradley smirks at you, then. You’re a little disgusted to find how turned on you are. He feels so good, despite the danger and all the reasons why you shouldn’t and can't.

You’ve thought about him. About the night you shared quite a bit over the past few months. But you also thought you’d laid the feelings to bed. When you voiced your frustrations earlier, you only wanted an honest conversation with your direct supervisor. You’re not sure what you were expecting. You should step away, leave him standing in the center of the dark office. If you had any integrity at all, you’d go to HR as soon as you can, to report him for his inappropriate conduct. But it’s obvious your integrity and morality are just as flawed as his own. Because you curl into the warmth of his skin, relish in the scent of his cologne.

He laughs as you draw him even closer, just a little cruel, as his arms clasp around your form. They’re insistent and searching, tugging your skirt up and squeezing your ass periodically. His lips slant over yours, claiming and ferocious. It's a series of rough kisses, his mustache and stubble abrading over your sensitive skin as he steals your thoughts from your head. Every kiss disarms you more, which is why you shouldn’t be doing this. The arguments for why you shouldn’t do this dissipate like you’d never thought of them at all. It’s passion, pure and simple, which has the buttons of your blouse scattering with one tug as his teeth sink into the muscle at the side of your neck. It stings, the ache acute and echoing the persistent throb of your heartbeat between your legs.

He doesn’t let you take control. Not when his big hands cradle your skull, tangling in your hair.

“God, look at you, sweetheart.” His voice is a harsh purr. “You’ve been waiting for this, huh? Three months with that little pussy wet?”

He tugs your bra off with another insistent yank. It falls to the floor in a pile of rags, the pristine pastel lace in shreds, underwire bent out of shape, the clasp ripped free. You’re kneeling before you can blink, skin bare, lips parted.

*** Trigger Warnings ***

He hisses as he pulls himself free. Your lips, your tongue are forced wide as he pushes himself between your lips. He cradles your skull in his hands as you take him to the hilt. You’ve never done this before. He treats you like a doll, like you’re expendable. Yet you’ve never been so turned on. He pistons his hips into your face, uncaring of how your eyes tear at the rough treatment. He’s using you for his pleasure, eyes dark as his hands position you as he wants. You’re choking and gagging on his length, saliva dribbling from your parted lips in long strings. The only sounds in the office are his grunts and growls. Your whimpers are cut off quietly.

But you’ve never been wetter. You can barely breathe when he pulls you up.

*** Trigger Warnings ***

“Shh, sweetheart.” He brushes the tears away as you cough. “C’mon. Let’s go to my office. Grab your clothes.”

Your bra is nearly torn to shreds. The pretty blouse you donned this morning was definitely damaged beyond repair. Your skirt has survived, rucked up around your waist as it is.

Your panties, however?

They’re probably ruined, just from how wet you are. On the other hand, Bradley is nearly pristine, only the unbuttoned state of his trousers showing what the two of you have been up to. It makes you feel cheap and tawdry as you pick your way to his office. It’s dark as you step in. You should pull on what is left of your clothes and walk away. A glance towards the deserted bullpen gives you pause, you don't have to continue, you can leave.

And if someone walks in on you? On the two of you in Bradley’s all-too-visible glass-walled office? Everything would be over. But you can’t bring yourself to walk away. His touch is seductive, elusive, and you chase after it like an addict chasing their next high. So, you set your blouse and bra in a wrinkled bundle on the chair in front of his desk and sit on the sofa.

“Mmm, don’t you look pretty sitting on my sofa like this.” He pulls you up by your hair. “But I don’t remember giving you permission to sit there.”

You shiver as he pinches one taut nipple.

“Nuh, uh, beautiful. Take off that skirt and your panties.”

You feel like you’ve been bewitched, spellbound as you wriggle gracelessly out of your skirt and panties. They join the bundle of your blouse and bra on the chair. You can feel his eyes on you with every motion. When you turn around again, your heart is in your throat, and you are fighting your need to hide yourself from his piercing, intense eyes.

“On the floor, sweetheart. On your hands and knees.” The carpet stings against your skin as he pushes you down. You expect to settle on your haunches, staring up at him like you were earlier. But when he pulls away, your forehead rests on your folded arms, nipples brushing against the fibers.

You’re completely exposed, knees parted, and cold air brushing over every bit of you. The clink of his belt buckle echoes through the small space as he frees himself. But he doesn’t touch you, content to have you there instead. You can hear him walking around behind you, the rustle of papers. It’s the second time he’s had you splayed out for him. You can’t help but muse how different it feels this time.

Last time, you had the pleasure of feeling his lips against your skin, his mouth lapping at your wetness like you’re the sweetest nectar. Last time, you felt like the most precious thing in his eyes. This time, he swats at the meat of your ass, jolting you forward as your nipples brush over the carpet. It’s harsh and hard—your skin stings and prickles with every swat. You crave the roughness and how he makes you feel so small, yet wholly owned, like you are his.

“Oh, you’re so wet, sweetheart.” Finally, he laps over your folds. The touch is light, teasing. And maddening. Every pass of his tongue over you drives you crazier. But he doesn’t let you come.

“Please!” You’re begging. But the more you beg, the less likely it seems Bradley will give you what you so desperately want. His hands pull away just as you’re about to orgasm, once, twice, thrice. By the final time, you’re practically sobbing as he pulls away. His laughter is mocking and harsh as he settles in the chair he’d pushed so carelessly to the side before this latest round of his game began. His eyes crawl over every inch of your exposed skin. He swats the meat of your ass with every motion, watching silently, mercilessly as you yelp.

*** Trigger Warnings ***

“You’re so pathetic.” There’s a dark curl to his voice as he watches you beg and writhe on the carpet. He’s been saying similar things for a while now. You hate it, hate how it makes you feel. But you love it, too. Love how small the words make you feel. You know they aren’t true. But they curl into your brain and burrow into your thoughts. Every growled phrase, every sharp smack drives them deeper. They also make you wetter, needier and inexplicably louder. You no longer care that someone could walk in and see you with your boss. All you want is Bradley’s hands on your skin, big, hot, and so rough you could cry as he positions you as he wants.

Maybe you’re a little messed up to crave this as much as you have. But you’re starting to realize how strong a hold Bradley has on you, even months later. During the first night, Bradley Bradshaw had fisted an iron hand around your heart. It was perfect, then, just tight enough to make you want to give up the control you chase after on a daily basis. Tonight, with you laid out on his office floor, it feels stiflingly hard and harsh. You’re strung up like a marionette on its strings, lips sewn shut like the most pathetic of little dolls. You can whimper, sure. You’re not completely silent. But you’re a slave to his demands, a slave to his desires and a slave to your own.

Bradley lets you beg until tears are dripping down your face, creating damp drops on the carpet below. Your face feels red, eyes puffy and swollen as you sob for the second time in as many hours. There has to be something wrong with you. Why else would someone want to tear you down so easily? Why else would you like it? Bradley’s shuddery growl when he finally buries himself in you is like a balm for your shivery muscles and cotton-filled head. There’s no slow glide, no adjustment period. From the beginning, it is harsh and rough as he pounds away at you. It’s a relentless assault as he teases you, strung out and wet, so wet. Your muscles twinge as he fucks into you. The abused flesh between your legs stinging and aching, the pain melding with pleasure as he yanks you where he likes. You squeal and sob, begging for more, begging for your release, begging for the pleasure and satisfaction of his.

“Bradley!”

You meet every thrust with pumps of your hips. He drags you up until you can feel the heat of his chest against your bare back. He traps your arms between your bodies, using the firm grasp he has on your crossed arms to move you on his cock. He pinches your nipples harshly as he bites at your throat, every action calculated to make you cum with a scream.

He continues to fuck you like that, skin slapping wetly as he pounds into you over and over. You cum for the second time just like that, your head thrown back over his shoulder. He lets go of you shortly after, pressing you into the carpet in his office, as he chases his release. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh echo through the room as he fucks into you, interspersed with the moans, mostly pained, leaving your lips.

And when he cums, it’s with little concern for your comfort.

He pulls away soon after, leaving you sprawled over the carpet with your mixed releases cooling over your aching skin.

*** Trigger Warnings ***

There are no gentle kisses or soft touches, not tonight.

Your knees ache when you stagger to your feet, muscles twinging painfully as you pull your clothes back on. Bradley looks unbelievably smug, a lit cigar perched on his pouty lower lip as he looks coldly over you. It takes only a few minutes for you to tie your blouse over the ruined rags he’s reduced your undergarments to. You feel a little more put-together than you were before. But it doesn’t ease the knowledge that anyone who sees you will be able to see exactly what you were up to.

“Well, don’t you look deliciously fucked, sweetheart.”

You can’t read the expression on his face any more tonight than you have any other day since you started working at Kazansky, Mitchell and Bradshaw. But you do know the expression isn’t nice, kind, or even loving. It’s distant, oddly amused, with a cruel tint to it.

“Go back to work.”

It’s a dismissal, clear and simple. You feel dirty as you limp away. There is cum trickling into the ruined lace of your panties with every step you take. Why doesn’t he seem to care about you anymore? Where is the sweetheart of a man who wiped you down, peppered gentle kisses across your skin? Inexplicably, your throat feels tight, breath hitching as you try to swallow back the tears welling in your eyes. It’s horrifying, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror afterward, using wadded-up up damp paper towels to clean yourself up, at least a little. The odd sob leaves you as you try your best to undo the damage and put yourself back together, at least outwardly.

Your head is spinning, muscles aching just as much as your heart does. Why did you try to reason with him? He’s only made it clear over and over again what your worth is in his eyes. Yet you’d still tried to reason with him, professional to professional. But he’d subverted your questions, turned them into a tug-of–war set within the sex game he’d wanted to play with you all along.

You can’t believe you fell for his games. It was different when he was a stranger. Then you’d found his dominance sexy and willingly submitted to it. You thought he wanted you as his equal. But he’s made it clear since then where you stand with him. You’re a subordinate, an employee, and not even a good one.

Now you’ve broken the only rule you had since you started working here.

You can’t ever have sex with him again.

Well, you’ve gone and done it now, breaking the rules like they never existed in the first place. And you can’t help hating him and yourself just for doing it. The heat of his body had drugged you, the scent of his cologne. You’d let him destroy you. You let him drop you into the most vulnerable place you’ve ever been in, keep you there while he uses you for his pleasure. And you hadn’t been enough to keep him with you after everything was over and done. You want his hugs, his kisses, the soft pressure of his limbs as they curl around you.

But he didn’t want to stay. He didn’t see anything in you worth sticking around for. He isn’t the first, and you know, he won’t be the last. You should go home, but somehow you can’t make yourself leave, can’t allow yourself the comfort of one of your safest places. But the longer you sit at your desk, the screensaver on your company laptop cycling in front of your eyes, the worse you feel. The papers are still stacked around you, a flimsy wall of protection as your skin cools and the aches become known.

The clock ticks onward to midnight, even though you would desperately like to freeze it, to turn the time back. But you can’t. It would be easier to forget what just happened. You turn your feelings over and over in your mind until you could be sick. All you want is to forget everything, or barring that, become numb to the actions, the words, and above all, the feelings themselves.

What's that phrase people like to use so often?

You made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.

They make it seem so binary. You made a choice. You - in the singular. What happens if multiple people are playing the game, multiple decisions colluding into a perfect storm? Who is to blame then? Obviously, you are, for letting a man make a fool of you, deceiving you so thoroughly. You're frozen in your office chair, angrier than you've ever been before. But you can blame him, too.

He's made choices of his own tonight, damaging choices, vicious, cruel choices. His choice was to blur the line between mentor and mentee, employer and employee. It was his choice to rip at the softest parts of you until he saw blood. His prerogative was to mark you up in the scarlet substance until you bore the letter A like Hester Prynne did. But the act has marked him, too. His fingers, his person, are now just as smeared with the shade as yours are.

How come he doesn’t feel the weight of that brand like you do? Maybe it’s because you’re the only person physically branded here. When you finally drag yourself home, it’s to find bruises blooming on your knees, and on the meat of your hips. The bites he’d left against your skin, littered all the way from behind your ear lurid and deep to your jugular are lurid and deep, the crescent impressions tender to the touch and burgundy from where blood has pooled under the skin. He’s left you feeling like one big bruise, tender and sore.

That disquieting, uncomfortable feeling niggles at you through the night. Your thoughts don't let you sleep, not a wink, nor does the ache of your muscles. All you can think about is Bradley. You drag the memories forward in your mind over and over again, trying to figure out what you did. Trying to make it okay. Sure you were maybe a little flirtatious when you sat on Mickey's desk. But you'd never hid how much you wanted him, not once since the day you met him. You had goaded him into acting, into making the move he made so easily. But he had taken your interest and ran with it. Maybe you’d wished he would take you out for dinner, and then brought you back to his gorgeous apartment in the city. Maybe you’d hoped he would lead you into HR on Monday morning, ready to disclose your romantic relationship. But now? Now, how do you walk back into the office on Monday morning? How do you know Bradley didn't go out with Trace or Seresin later that night and bragged about getting to fuck you again?

He'd said he doesn’t want his mother to know. But she’s going to find out. She might not find out now, or even in the next week or month. But now that the seal has been ripped away, eventually somebody will find out. Knowing corporate America, you'll be the one to blame.

So what can you do? You love your job. It’s something you’ve always wanted to do. How do you work with a man who has so little respect for you that he’d leave you hurt when you didn’t ask for the pain? It’s obvious you won’t get the chance to practice or learn how to practice what you love at Kazansky, Mitchell and Bradshaw.

But how do you keep one bad decision, a string of bad decisions really, from ruining your life? Leaving behind everyone you know in San Francisco is definitely an option. After all, who hasn’t thought of running from their problems? But you’re an adult. You can’t run quite so easily. Your mind keeps circling back to how Bradley has treated you. And over and over again, you come back to the thought of running away. But you don’t desert the city and disappear halfway across the country.

Instead, you draft an email.

to: Human Resources <[email protected]> subject: I humbly tender my resignation CC: [email protected] To whom it may concern, I joined Kazansky, Mitchell, and Bradshaw with the goal of becoming the best lawyer I could be. I wanted to learn from the esteemed partners and develop my own style as a law professional. But over the past three months, I have spent more time with the law books, doing the work of a glorified paralegal, rather than learning how to prosecute and apply the law. I want to explore opportunities where I can do so. So, it is with a heavy heart that I take this step. Please consider this my formal resignation from the law firm of Kazansky, Mitchell and Bradshaw, effective immediately. The past three months have been an amazing experience. I appreciate the opportunities you've given me to learn and grow, and I value all of the professional relationships I've developed here. They weren’t quite the lessons I hoped to learn, but they were vital lessons nonetheless. I hope to stay in touch. Sincerely,

It shows none of the pain you feel, nor does it show the exhaustion, the rage. It’s bland as well as short, sweet and to-the-point. But the moment you hit send, you feel a weight you’ve unknowingly carried for months dissipate. The pre-dawn hours feel easier to face. Obviously, hard work is coming your way in the coming days, but for now, you put your weary mind and body to rest.

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