#but the person who raised olivia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaiyunsim · 2 months ago

Text

all i want —

pairing : popular boy!jay x gn!reader

summary : your main objective is to gain the attention of the popular boy, park jongseong, and once you do some things don't go to plan.

warnings : angst, ANGST, like quite literally the littlest amount of fluff, college au, featuring heeseung and jake, huening kai from txt, yunah from illit, yunjin, chaewon, and sakura from le sserafim.

a/n : BACK TO DOING REQUESTS !! this was the modren au of the pierrot request (i hope it turned out like you liked anon!)

queueing : all i want - olivia rodrigo

[requested]

— wc : 3.9k — not proof read ! —

you don’t think you’re in love with jay park...

really, you don’t.

but there’s something about him that makes you pay attention. the way he walks through campus like he belongs everywhere, always greeted by someone, always flashing that effortless, lopsided grin that seems to make people forget whatever they were talking about before he arrived. he’s just that kind of person, the type everyone seems to like without him even trying.

and maybe that’s why you notice him.

you wouldn’t call it an obsession, not even close, but you do find yourself looking for him in crowded lecture halls, in the dining hall, at whatever random student event yunah drags you to. it’s not on purpose. not really...

“it’s a little on purpose,” kai says one afternoon, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth as he gives you a knowing look.

yunah snickers beside him, chin propped up in her hand. “a lot on purpose, actually.”

you roll your eyes. “you guys are exaggerating.”

“sure,” yunah says, dragging out the word like she doesn’t believe you at all. “so you just happened to sit right in his line of sight at lunch yesterday?”

“it’s not my fault that’s where the only open seats were.”

kai snorts. “right. and you just accidentally wore your nicest jacket that day, too?”

you huff, turning your attention back to your food as heat crawls up your neck. okay, so maybe you put a little effort into your presence around jay. but can you be blamed? it’s not like you’re the only one who notices him. half the school probably has a crush on him, and why wouldn’t they? he’s good-looking, confident, and way too charming for his own good.

but unlike everyone else, you want him to notice you. so try and you make it happen.

it starts small, passing by him in the library and making a quick comment about whatever book he has in his hand. holding the door open for him when you both leave the same building. sitting just close enough in class that he might overhear you cracking a joke to yunah or kai, just in case he finds you funny.

and eventually, he does notice.

the first time jay actually acknowledges you beyond a passing glance, it’s in the middle of a group study session for one of your shared classes. the conversation shifts to a ridiculous debate over the best late-night snacks, and when you confidently declare that convenience store ramen at 2 a.m. is objectively the best, jay raises an eyebrow at you.

“that’s the most broke college student thing i’ve ever heard,” he says, but there’s amusement in his tone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

you shrug. “i never claimed to be high-class.”

he laughs at that. a real laugh, not just the polite kind. and for the first time, his full attention is on you.

it feels like a win.

after that, it’s easier. jay doesn’t just glance past you anymore; he acknowledges you. he returns your passing comments with witty remarks of his own, sometimes even initiates conversation. he’s not overly warm, not the kind to suddenly become your best friend overnight, but you can tell he enjoys the back-and-forth. and that’s enough.

for now.

yunah, of course, is convinced this is all hilarious. “you’re playing a dangerous game,” she warns one evening as the two of you walk across campus. “this whole ‘subtly inserting yourself into his life’ thing? it’s a lot.”

“it’s not a lot,” you argue. “it’s casual.”

“right,” she says, dragging the word out again.

kai, when you recount the conversation to him later, just shakes his head. “i give it a month before you start actually falling for him.”

you scoff. “i am not falling for jay park.”

but kai just gives you a knowing look, and something about it makes you uneasy.

because if you’re being honest, completely honest, you’re not sure if he’s wrong.

you don’t expect jay to start texting you.

sure, he acknowledges you now. you exchange jokes in class, he actually meets your eyes when you speak, and sometimes... sometimes. he even leans in when you say something, like he actually cares about your words. but that’s different from texting.

so when his name pops up on your screen for the first time, you nearly drop your phone.

jay park: did you get the notes for today’s lecture?

it takes you way too long to process those six simple words, and even longer to figure out what to say back. because, sure, it’s a normal text, nothing special, but it’s jay. texting you. on purpose.

your fingers hover over the keyboard. do you play it cool? act casual? should you tease him about it? no, that’s too much. you settle on something neutral.

you: yeah, want me to send them?

the read receipt pops up almost instantly.

jay park: yeah, thanks. appreciate it.

you send a picture of your notes and lock your phone, setting it face down on your desk like that will stop you from overanalyzing the situation.

“you good?” yunah asks, raising an eyebrow at your suddenly frozen state.

kai, always observant, glances between you and your phone and immediately narrows his eyes. “no way,” he says slowly. “don’t tell me—”

“jay texted me,” you blurt out, then slap a hand over your mouth like you just confessed to a crime.

yunah’s eyes go wide. “shut up.”

kai looks like he’s waiting for a punchline. “you’re lying.”

you flip your phone over, showing them the screen, and instantly, yunah grabs your wrist to pull it closer while kai gapes at you.

“oh my god,” yunah breathes. “he has your number?”

“i—yeah?” you laugh, feeling a little dizzy. “i mean, i didn’t give it to him, but i guess he got it from someone.”

kai groans, leaning back in his chair. “this is it. this is how it starts.”

“how what starts?” you ask, even though you think you already know the answer.

“you, falling headfirst for this guy.”

you scoff, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “it’s just a text.”

yunah smirks. “for now.”

—

the texts don’t stop.

it’s nothing excessive, mostly casual messages about class, sometimes the occasional comment about something that happened that day. but then it starts shifting.

jay sends you a meme once, completely unprompted. you stare at it for a full minute before sending back a laughing emoji, unsure of what reaction is expected.

jay park: thought you’d appreciate that one.

you: oh, so now you’re studying my sense of humor?

jay park: maybe. gotta keep up with you somehow.

and just like that, it starts to become something more.

it’s little things at first. he responds faster, starts teasing you more, even initiates conversations that aren’t about class. you notice how his friends start giving him looks when he talks to you, how heeseung nudges him in the ribs when he passes you in the hallway, how jake smirks every time jay lingers near you after class.

one night, you’re sitting in your dorm scrolling mindlessly when your phone buzzes.

jay park: we’re getting food. you in?

you blink at the message.

you: we?

jay park: me, heeseung, jake. maybe a couple others.

it takes you a second to process. jay park, who you’ve spent weeks trying to get to notice you, is inviting you out. voluntarily.

you don’t even hesitate before typing out a response.

you: where?

—

when you show up at the burger place jay mentioned, it’s easy to spot their table—mostly because jake is laughing way too loudly at something heeseung said.

jay catches sight of you first, raising an eyebrow. “didn’t think you’d actually come.”

you scoff, sliding into the open seat across from him. “why invite me if you thought i wouldn’t?”

he shrugs, smirking. “figured i’d give you a chance to prove you’re cool enough to hang with us.”

“and if i’m not?”

“then we’ll kick you out, obviously.”

heeseung snorts. “nah, you’re fine. we need someone to humble jay every now and then.”

“i don’t need humbling,” jay says, rolling his eyes.

jake just grins. “sure, man.”

the night is surprisingly easy. conversation flowing effortlessly, laughter coming naturally. you don’t miss the way jay leans back in his seat, arms crossed as he watches you banter with his friends, like he’s assessing you. but he doesn’t seem bored. if anything, he looks amused.

and when the night ends, as you’re heading back to your dorm, your phone vibrates again.

jay park: not bad. you might actually survive in our group.

you bite back a smile.

you: gee, thanks for the approval.

you don’t think too hard about the fact that jay park, who could easily ignore you, who used to barely acknowledge you, now texts you first. now invites you out. now looks at you like you’re someone worth paying attention to.

but maybe, just maybe, you should.

you don’t hesitate when jay invites you to the party.

it’s casual. the way he mentions it, the way he shrugs like it’s no big deal. but the moment he says, you should come, there’s no question about whether or not you’ll be there. you tell yunah and kai immediately, mostly so they can’t talk you out of it.

"this is a terrible idea," kai groans as you drag him toward the house, music already thudding through the walls.

"but we're already here, so you have no choice," you grin, nudging him forward.

yunah, always up for chaos, just laughs. "it's one party, kai. let them live a little."

"yeah, yeah," kai sighs. "just don’t say i didn’t warn you."

you roll your eyes but don’t say anything. because tonight—you know tonight is going to be different and it starts off exactly how you want it to.

jay finds you fast, like he was waiting. he’s got that easy grin, a drink in hand, eyes bright under the dim lighting.

"look who actually showed up," he says, bumping his shoulder against yours.

"what, you didn’t think i would?"

he tilts his head, considering. "nah. i figured you'd follow me anywhere at this point."

you scoff, shoving him lightly. "you're delusional."

he just laughs.

but the thing is... he doesn’t leave your side.

he finds ways to stay close, to lean in when he talks, to rest an arm on the couch behind you like it’s second nature. every little thing. every glance, every smirk, every low-spoken joke, feels intentional. like he’s choosing to focus on you.

yunah shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrow raised, like shes saying 'oh, so we’re winning now?'

you grin, triumphant. maybe you are.

and then the door opens, and everything changes.

you don’t see her at first. but you feel it. the shift in energy, the way jay stiffens slightly beside you. you follow his gaze, and there she is.

huh yunjin.

she steps in like she belongs here, and maybe she does. kura and chaewon are right beside her, laughing at something she says. she’s glowing, not literally, but she might as well be, because suddenly, it feels like she’s the brightest thing in the room.

jay notices. of course he does.

but it’s how he notices that gets you.

his body shifts, attention snapping to her completely. he doesn’t call out to her or wave her over. he just watches, eyes sharp, focused. you recognize it instantly. it’s the same way you’ve been looking at him.

"ah, shit," kai mutters under his breath, low enough that only you hear.

yunah catches it too. her expression hardens slightly, but she doesn’t say anything.

you swallow down whatever weird feeling creeps up your throat. "it’s fine," you say, even though no one asked.

because it is fine. yunjin doesn’t even notice jay yet. she’s too busy greeting people, laughing with her friends, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s in a movie. she’s effortless. natural.

jay shifts beside you, sitting up a little straighter, like he’s bracing himself.

and then, as if the universe is playing a joke on you, she looks over and jay moves before you can process it.

he doesn’t leave entirely, doesn’t abandon you completely, but he leans forward, elbows on his knees, suddenly more present. more intentional. his usual laid-back smirk fades into something more composed, like he actually cares about the impression he’s making.

it’s subtle, but it’s there. and you notice.

you always notice.

because it’s different from how he is with you.

yunah squeezes your wrist under the table. you barely realize you’ve gone quiet.

you breathe in, slow. force yourself to smile.

"i need another drink," you mutter.

kai frowns. "you good?"

"yeah," you say quickly, already standing up. "i’m fine."

but the thing is, you’re not so sure anymore.

and the next thing you know, you wake up with a headache and the vague memory of kai shoving water into your hands last night, telling you to drink this before you pass out on my couch.

turns out, you did pass out on his couch.

the ceiling above you is unfamiliar, but the weight of a blanket over your shoulders and the distant sound of yunah humming in the kitchen reminds you where you are. kai's apartment. safe.

your head is pounding. maybe you drank a little too much last night. maybe you just needed an excuse to forget the way jay looked at yunjin like she was the only person in the room.

kai walks past the couch, arms crossed, unimpressed. "so, you really wanna do this to yourself?"

you groan, pulling the blanket over your face. "what are you talking about?"

"you know exactly what i’m talking about," he deadpans.

yunah walks in, placing a bottle of water and a slice of toast on the coffee table. "you were quiet the whole walk home. that’s never a good sign."

you peek out from under the blanket, blinking at them. "i was tired."

"you were thinking," yunah corrects. "about him."

you don't answer, but the way you hesitate says enough. yunah and kai share a glance, then sigh at the same time.

"this is bad," kai mutters.

"this is really bad," yunah agrees.

you sit up slowly, stretching out your sore limbs. "guys, it’s not that deep."

kai gives you a look. "not that deep? he spent the whole night staring at someone else while you were right there. and you still think it’s not that deep?"

you shrug, even though the memory stings. "i never expected anything from him."

"that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck," yunah says gently.

you don’t answer. because what are you supposed to say?

yeah, it sucks. yeah, i noticed the way he changed when she walked in. yeah, i feel like an idiot.

instead, you just take the water bottle and sip slowly.

—

the thing is, jay doesn’t ignore you after the party. if anything, he starts texting more.

but the texts aren’t what you expect.

hey, do you know where yunjin usually gets coffee? i feel like she mentioned a favorite café before. any idea what it is? does she have a type? just wondering lol.

the first time it happens, you stare at your phone for a long time before answering.

the second time, you laugh to yourself, because of course this is how it’s going to go.

the third time, you almost don’t respond. but you do.

because if this is what it takes to stay in his orbit a little longer, isn’t it worth it?

you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. you tell yourself this was never supposed to be serious. you tell yourself it’s fine.

so you text him back. you tell him what you know. you play along.

you pretend it doesn’t hurt.

—

"this is pathetic," kai says.

you scowl at him over your laptop. "you’re dramatic."

"no, you’re dramatic," he argues, pointing at your phone. "you’re literally feeding him intel on another girl."

yunah sighs, flopping onto the couch beside you. "kai’s right. he’s using you."

"it’s not that serious," you mumble, pretending to focus on your screen.

"then why do you look like you wanna throw your phone into the sun every time he texts?"

you don’t have an answer for that.

yunah reaches for your phone, and you yank it out of reach. she glares. "just admit it. this sucks. he sucks. and you’re letting it happen."

"it’s not like i thought this would go anywhere," you mutter, picking at the corner of your laptop.

kai softens. "yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to let yourself get hurt."

yunah nudges your shoulder. "you deserve better than this, you know?"

you force a smile. "i know."

but deep down, something bitter curls in your chest. because maybe you don’t.

the first time you notice it, you don’t think much of it.

jay’s replies come slower, a little shorter. instead of texting you back immediately, minutes stretch into hours. sometimes, he doesn’t respond at all.

it’s fine. you’re not obsessed with him or anything. you have your own life, your own friends. it’s not like you’re waiting by your phone.

but then it happens again. and again.

soon, the texts stop altogether.

"just say it," you sigh, stirring your iced coffee with the straw.

yunah doesn’t even pretend to be subtle. "he’s ghosting you."

kai, always a little softer, presses his lips together. "maybe not ghosting. just… phasing out?"

"wow, that makes it sooo much better," you roll your eyes.

kai shrugs. "i’m just saying, he’s not the type to cut people off all at once. he’s probably just—"

"getting closer to yunjin," yunah finishes, rolling her eyes. "as if we didn’t all see that coming."

you glance down at your phone. still nothing.

you shouldn’t care this much. you really shouldn’t.

"are you gonna text him?" kai asks.

"why would i?"

"because you obviously want to," yunah says, propping her chin in her palm.

you hesitate. you could text him. ask if things are still cool. act like you’re totally unbothered, like you haven’t noticed the way he’s been pulling away.

but would it even matter?

the things is... eventually, you give in.

you : are we still cool?

the message sits there, unread, for a while. long enough for you to regret sending it.

jay park : of course. just been busy.

busy.

you stare at the words, feeling something uneasy settle in your stomach.

maybe that’s true. maybe you’re overthinking. maybe he really has just been busy.

but a part of you knows better.

—

you see him at a party a few nights later.

he’s not alone.

yunjin is next to him, laughing, her hand brushing against his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. kura and chaewon are there too, but you barely notice them. all you can see is jay. how he leans in when yunjin speaks, how he looks at her like she’s interesting, like he actually wants to be there.

like the way he never looked at you.

"busy, huh?" yunah mutters beside you, sipping her drink.

kai watches you carefully. "we can leave if you want."

"i don’t care," you say, forcing a smile. "it’s whatever."

but the drink in your hand feels heavier than it should.

and you tell yourself you won’t text him. kai and yunah would kill you if they knew you were even thinking about it.

but after days of nothing,no accidental run-ins, no random messages, not even a halfhearted like on your instagram stories, you cave.

you don’t overthink it. you just type and hit send before you can regret it.

you : hey, been a while.

it’s casual. easy. something a normal, unbothered person would send.

you wait. five minutes. ten. an hour.

then—

he reads it.

and then—

nothing.

no reply. no reaction. just silence.

—

you stare at your phone, blinking at the message screen like if you look long enough, maybe it’ll change. maybe he’ll say sorry, just saw this or been meaning to text you.

maybe he’ll say something but the hours keep stretching, and your phone stays quiet.

your throat tightens. you don’t cry. you don’t even feel angry, not at first.

just... hollow.

because this is it. the final confirmation.

you weren’t anything to him. just a convenient distraction. a means to an end.

the next time you see him, you almost don’t recognize him.

he’s sitting outside the student center, laughing at something yunjin says. his arm is draped over the back of the bench she’s sitting on, close but not quite touching. heeseung and jake are there too, but they don’t seem to notice you standing a few feet away, gripping your coffee cup a little too tight.

jay doesn’t notice either.

doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t react. it’s like you’re invisible.

like you were never there at all.

—

“he’s an asshole.”

kai is pacing your dorm room, voice sharp with irritation. yunah sits cross-legged on your bed, scrolling on her phone, but you can tell she’s only half paying attention to whatever’s on the screen. she’s been sneaking glances at you all night, eyes careful, like she’s waiting for you to break.

but you don’t.

“he’s not an asshole,” you mumble instead, leaning back against the wall. “he just… lost interest.”

kai stops mid-step. “lost interest? you’re acting like he was interested in the first place.”

yunah shoots him a look. “kai.”

“no, really.” he throws up his hands. “we all told you this would happen. you knew this would happen.”

you let out a breath, staring at the ceiling. “yeah. i did.”

kai falters, like he wasn’t expecting you to agree. “so why does it still bother you?”

yunah elbows him. “subtle.”

but he’s right. it does bother you. more than you want to admit.

because it’s not just that jay cut you off. it’s how he did it. no explanation. no confrontation. just silence, like you never mattered enough to even deserve a proper goodbye.

like you were always disposable.

—

the following week, you try to move on.

yunah drags you to the campus café, pulling you into conversations about professors and weekend plans. kai forces you into game night at his dorm, playing aggressively just to get a reaction out of you.

and for a while, it works.

you laugh. you focus on other things. you tell yourself you don’t care anymore.

then you see him again.

it’s late, and you’re leaving the library, rubbing at your tired eyes when a familiar voice reaches your ears.

jay.

he’s walking ahead of you, talking to yunjin, their steps in sync. the sight of them makes something twist in your stomach, but you ignore it. you don’t have the energy for this tonight.

but then she laughs at something he says, and he turns to her with that same easy smile, the one he used to give you.

and something inside you snaps.

you don’t even know why, but you take your phone out and open your messages. your last text is still there, still unanswered. for a second, you think about deleting it. erasing any evidence of your own stupidity.

but instead, you just type out one more message.

got your answer loud and clear.

then, before you can think twice, you hit send.

and block his number.

ty for reading and enjoying !

enha taglist :

perm taglist : @s0shroe

#kaiyunsim #kpop x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen #kpop angst #kpop fanfic #enhypen angst #enha angst #jay angst #jay x reader #jay park x reader #jay park angst #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay angst #enhypen jay #park jongseong #park jongseong x reader #park jongseong angst

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xveenusx · 1 year ago

Text

Wanted

Paring(s): JJ maybank x fem!reader

Summary: in a world where someone had everything, she still got treated like she was nothing. all she wanted was to be wanted.

Authors note: I wanted this piece piece to be as real as possible. It's not simple, its messy. We've all gone back to that one person we know we shouldn't just because being alone seemed worse. Also she gets absolutely railed so that helps. So please be kind to her lmfao.

Rating: smut, 18+, mdni, ANGST

Song rec: making the bed by olivia rodrigo

Part 1: Guilty

Bored.

I was so incredibly bored. I leaned against the built in bar as I watched Topper and Kelce take body shots off some tourists they invited. The loud bass of the music did little to tune out the annoying voice of Amy Culpo, who stood next to me, and rattled on about my mother’s latest line.

“I mean, it’s absolutely stunning.” I know it is. I was there when she designed it. “Any chance you have tickets to her next show?”

Ah, there it was. The brutal truth he reminded me of all those months ago. Every interaction was a strategic move to climbing the next prong on the social ladder. Everyone always wanted something.

I used to fight that notion. I thought I was better than them because I actually cared about other people. My wealth did not define me nor how I treated other people, but despite every effort I made both before and after him, I realized none of it mattered.

I couldn’t escape my wealth. It was permanently engraved into my body and no matter how hard I tried to scrub, it wouldn’t go away. I’ve now fully embraced that ugly truth and decided that I might as well use it to my advantage. I almost always had something that others wanted and I just had to figure out what they were willing to give. I didn’t need any more money, but there were things that were far more valuable. Favors, tickets to the hottest openings, plane rides. Since everyone already saw me as a spoiled little rich girl, I might as well play the part.

‘Depends. Are those last season MIU MIU?” I asked, tossing a look at the shoes on her feet.

“There from the season before-“ I pulled a face at her words. Before last season? I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything last season let alone the season before.

“Oh honey, if those are two seasons old, then I highly doubt you have anything I want.” The shocked look on her face dulled the aching pain that seemed to permanently reside in my chest.

“I can charter a plane-“

I raised my hand to silence her. “You don’t have your own?”

What was she even doing here?

This was a new little project of mine. I tossed away all those societal niceties that did little for me in the end. I still couldn’t get anyone to stay. This was much more fun. You’d be surprised by how much stuff you could get away with if you cut out all the bullshit.

Amy’s cheeks flushed red and maybe once I’d have felt bad or be disgusted by how I was treating her but I was numb. I realized nothing really mattered. Whether I was nice or rude, people all wanted the same things from me. At least this way, I could armor myself.

“There’s my pretty girl.” Warm hands curled around my waist, tugging me against a hard body.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't his anything, Rafe knew that but he’s always had a flare for the dramatics. Tom Ford’s Noir de Noir filled my nose as I swatted at his hands, hands that I’ve grown quite familiar with.

“You left me.” I shot him a bratty look, one he met head on with a smile. Amy still stood there awkwardly, clearing her throat in an obvious attempt to gain my attention.

I turned around in Rafe’s arms, debating my next move. Almost immediately his chin came to rest on the top of my head while his arms curled around my front.

My eyes shot one last distasteful look at her outfit, before tossing out my arm in the opposite direction. “Shoo.”

She huffed before stomping away but not before shooting me one final glare. A look that would have made me cry before, but now it simply dinged off the impenetrable armor I’ve suited myself with.

“I was hoping it’d build character, but clearly that didn’t work.” I could hear the smile in his words as he pressed a kiss on the top of my head.

“The entire conversation was dull. She didn’t even have a jet, plus her shoes were two seasons ago.” I shuddered in disgust. Could never be me.

Rafe clutched his chest in mock disgust,”Not two seasons.”

I let out a huff, my chest going warm at the teasing glint in his eye.

There was no spark. There were no butterflies. Just familiarity and warmth. It was safe. We both knew what this was and expected nothing more. For now, we were just having fun. Despite the fact that I spent most nights at his place and rarely found myself without him.

I’ve found somewhat of a friend in Rafe. Someone to share the burden of being from a family like ours. He understood me. He enjoyed shiny things just as I did.

We spent a lot of our time going to the mainland because the idea of running into him still sent me to my knees. This was a small island. One that he was spending all his time running around with her instead of me. Rafe never said a word about it, never mentioned his sister or her pogue friends. And for that, maybe I do love him a little.

“You make fun of me now, but you’d still be wearing polo shirts and plaid shorts if it weren’t for me.” My hands smooth down the front of his linen light blue shirt, the first several buttons open paired with some black Gucci slacks and a black belt from Dolce & Gabbana. He no longer looked like a frat douche but a member of upper class society.

The same can’t be said about his friends.

“C’mon. Top and Kelce want us over there.” Rafe grasped my hand and tugged me in the direction of drunken yells. I pursed my lips but trudged behind him. The idea of being thrown up on was less than appealing, but being by myself was even less appealing.

“Hey guys.” Rafe nodded at them, taking a seat on the adjacent couch, a table with all sorts of drugs littered on it in between them.

The pair of them were obliterated, both their pupils blown wide and their speech slurred. That didn’t stop them from tossing me a sloppy grin and shouting a greeting.

The spot next to Rafe was vacant but on the other end was a couple gnawing each other's faces off that had me scrunching my nose up in disgust. He surely didn’t expect me to sit next to that?

He didn’t even bat an eye, instead Rafe patted his lap, tugging at my hand to sit down. “Wanna drink, baby?”

I nodded, deciding to once again indulge. It was better than feeling that stabbing pain that burned in my chest. It was a horrible solution but one that Rafe always supported, in fact he often took part in self-destructing with me. We were done with trying to be perfect for parents who couldn’t give less of a fuck.

A red solo cup with a familiar yellow concoction was waved in front of me. The pungent scent of tequila burned my nose and I shot him a secret smile. Rafe’s blue eyes narrowed in on me, glued on my smile before he shook his head in amusement.

“That’s the kinda night we’re going for?” He asked, his hand slowly gripping my thigh.

“Unless you don’t want to?” I sighed dramatically, pushing his dark blonde strands back from his face, something I knew he loved.

“If I ever say no to that question, feel free to shoot me.”

A giggle escaped my lips as I tapped my cup against his before bringing it to my lips, tilting my head back and zeroing it out.

The tequila left a burning trail down my stomach that I welcomed. It meant I was one step closer to not feeling anything at all.

“Another?” Rafe’s eyes pointed at my now empty cup and I nodded.

Being responsible was so overrated.

Lifting his hand up, almost immediately two younger boys, about 16, appear. Rafe pointed at me, muttering something before the pair nodded and took off.

I raised my eyebrow at him, confused.

He just shrugged, leaning forward to touch the golden pendant that hung from my neck. “I promised them tickets to the Charleston basketball game if they did whatever I said.”

“Why?”

“I was bored,” He hummed in response,”This is new, it’s pretty..”

I smiled back at him, the very picture of nonchalance, before replying,”Thank you. You bought it for me.”

His ocean eyes rested on me, the infatuation clear as day that had my stomach clenching. “Course I did. I have great taste.”

Rafe gave me his card about two months ago, not that I needed it, but he enjoyed taking care of me and I didnt mind. Plus, whenever he made me mad, I made sure to run the bill up, hoping for some type of reaction but it only left him amused.

Nerves gnawed at my stomach at the intense eye contact. Maybe the lines have blurred slightly. Clearing my throat to try and break the tension, I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Want to see what else you bought me?”

“Enlighten me.”

I flashed him my freshly manicured nails, “What do you think?”

Rafe caught my hand, a half smile painted on his face, and kissed it. “Is that passion pink?”

“It’s actually bubblegum blush.”

“Beautiful, baby. I love it.” His words burned into my chest.

It was hard to describe. His approval had butterflies thrumming in my stomach. Maybe it was because we were stuck in similar situations, but his approval suddenly meant something to me. Being with him meant I wasn’t alone.

“You know we’re right here, right?” Topper's voice cut through the tension and I let out a laugh, relieved to look away.

“Fuck off.” Rafe laughed, regaining his composure as well.

Topper leaned forward holding out a black AMEX for me to take. My eyes paused on the card before shooting him a flat look.

“Are you kidding?”

Topper gave me a blank look, not a thought behind those eyes.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my nose up in mock outrage. “Rafe does it for me.”

The annoyed look on Topper’s face sent a thrill through my body. He was the easiest to rile up and Rafe knew it as he hid his chuckle with a quick cough.

The hand on my bare thigh slowly drew circles, the action almost unconscious, which had my brain blanking. It was a relief to not think. To not remember. To not feel.

“Are your hands broken?”

“No. I’m too pretty.” I shrugged, batting my lashes at him.

Topper openly scowled at me, his eyes dropping to where Rafe’s hands held me tightly. “What happened to the nice little girl who cried about everything?”

“Lay off.” Rafe snipped, leaning forward and snatching the AMEX out of his hand. His movements were quick and precise, with ease that only came with experience.

He separated the coke into three lines, one for me and two for him, just like always.

Bending over, I snorted the line quickly. Turning to hand Rafe the hundred dollar bill, his fingers dust off any remaining powder off my nose, before he bent over and did the same.

I leaned back into Rafe, the mixture of the tequila and the sting of the coke had me feeling sublime. It was a perfect balance. The alcohol got me warm and buzzed while the coke kept me awake and alert, an upper and a downer, a perfect description for every emotion in my body.

“I grew up.”

Topper hummed. “You certainly did.”

For the next hour, my mind never drifted to him. I enjoyed having thoughts that were my own, that didn’t revolve around him. Instead, my thoughts focused on the man below me. Rafe was always touching me. Even more so than usual, his hand never left my body once. If I let go of his hand to reach for my drink, he’s just moved it to my thigh. It was almost possessive which was odd, we didn’t do possessive.

Every couple moments, he’d pause in the middle of a conversation to press small kisses anywhere his lips could reach. It seemed performative, but I just couldn’t prove it.

“You’re thinking too hard.” His hot breath hot against the shell of my ear.

I said nothing for a moment before licking my lips and muttering,”Are you okay? You seem more clingy than usual?”

He just nodded, pulling me to his hard chest, his eyes darting to the side. “I just like having you with me.”

The sentiment was sweet and my heart tugged at his words. But, I couldn’t let go of the feeling that I was missing something. “I like having you with me too.” I allowed myself to give him a sliver of vulnerability, something I’ve avoided like plague, because it was true. He made living just a bit easier.

My head began to spin as I felt the lines of our odd friendship begin to blur. I knew neither of us would admit the sudden shift but it was there. I could tell with each lingering gaze and those secret touches. Maybe there was something here. I just had to give in.

“I’m glad you came to your senses,” He responded, but once again his eyes are not on mine but darting around me.

“What does that have to do with anything?” My voice comes out hushed, hoping it would get him to lower his voice.

My smile from his previous confession dimmed. Nerves slowly began to surface as I tried to read between the lines.

“You do belong with me, at least that's what you scream every night, isn’t that right baby?” He was boasting, loud enough to have his boys give him lame-ass high fives.

The small burst of happiness curdled like old milk in my stomach. I wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but I was a private person. Rafe knew this and he was still flaunting our private moments in a way that made me feel dirty.

“Stop talking about me like that.” I said, “What’s gotten into you?”

I felt Rafe go rigid under me. Frowning, I tilted my head back to make sure he was alright but his eyes were glued ahead.

“Rafe, I’m here for my stuff. Where did you say you put it again?”

My head turned and my stomach did a backflip. Sarah stood at the entrance of the room, looking immensely uncomfortable.

John B stood behind her, his big brown puppy-like eyes widened at the sight of me on Rafe’s lap. Or maybe it was because of the coke laid out in front of me?

But wherever he was, JJ wasn’t far behind. John B whispered something in Sarah’s ear, her eyes jumped to me for a split second before returning to his. She nodded and John B made a beeline for the other room.

I let out a choked laugh. I’m sure he was going to report back to his little lap dog. What were they even doing here in the first place? It’s not like Rafe knew-

My brain clicked into place. The constant need to touch me and the over the top PDA was because he was here. Rafe knew he was here and wanted to rub it in his face.

Rafe’s words were never for me. They were for him.

None of this was real. Not the endearing names, not the proclamations of affection. An ice bucket of realization poured over me and I felt like a fool. A fool for thinking that somebody else could want me, could maybe even love me.

Fuck this. Fuck both of them.

“You knew.” I accused, shoving his hands off of my body.

Rafe said nothing, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. I wasn’t safe with him either. Embarrassment oozed into me, the feeling painstakingly familiar. We agreed to never make each other feel this way since our parents did it enough, but he did it to me.

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Snatching the cup out of his hand, I forced it down, gulp by gulp, wincing at the burn. Straight tequila. “Babe-“

“Shut up.” I hissed, moving off his lap and shoving Topper to move over. Everyone always wanted something from me.

They never just wanted me.

Maybe I was defective. I had to be.

JJ didn’t love me when I was me. When I cared about other people and sacrificed pieces of my happiness for them.

Rafe didn’t love me now. When I was a spoiled brat who treated everyone like a transaction.

It didn’t matter if I was nice or a total raging bitch. Either way, I couldn't get anyone to love me.

I was just the stepping stone they used before they found the person they really wanted to be with. I was just there to make them feel good about themselves. For them to take and take just to toss me aside when they were done. Leaving me a shell of a person with no one, not even myself.

I guess, I was impossible to love.

“Line it up, Topper.”

“Can I at least get a please?”

“Be lucky that I’m even talking to you.”

Topper scoffed but did what I asked, lining up two lines of chalky white powder. “There you go, princess:”

A rolled hundred dollar bill was held out in front of me. Plucking it out of his fingers. I bent over the table. Don’t think. Don’t feel.

Dragging the cylinder bill down the crystal snow powder I’ve grown to love, I inhaled deeply. The chemicals flowing through the nose. I could practically feel the coke dissolving into my bloodstream, my body vibrating in response.

Dropping the bill on the table, I tilt my head back, begging my brain to shut off. I closed my eyes and chose to focus on the beat of the music that had my heart thrumming in my chest.

Then it happened.

All the air in the room was sucked up. The hair behind my neck stood up and my body suddenly awakened in a way it hadn’t in months.

My body recognized him before my brain did. The moment I opened my eyes, his eyes clashed with mine.

JJ.

It was like seeing him for the first time, a memory I thought I would never get the chance to feel again.

Heavy set blonde brows framed his bright blue eyes beautifully, the strong cut jaw that was currently clenched, and his lips soft and pouty, tightly pressed in a flat line. This face, his beautiful face, wouldn’t be complete without some mark. A bruise, a soft purple and yellow hue, decorated his cheek bone. His bottom lip busted.

He was so beautiful.

My body reacted before my brain could follow. I stood up quickly, too quickly that the blood rushed to my head and the room seemed to spin.

God, he was beautiful. And I fucking hated him for it. He was supposed to be like me, a complete and total mess, but instead, he looked the same, even better actually.

That thought alone had me ready to jump off the balcony.

My movements were clumsy and I drunkenly stumbled while standing still, his eyes clocking that in seconds.

Despite the loud music, I noticed the silence coming from the couch.

My eyes jumped to Rafe. All the laughter around us died off and everyone was exchanging nervous looks. It didn’t take a genius to read the room and the situation I’ve somehow managed to put myself in.

Blue eyes flickered between the two of us. It cracked my chest open wide and opened the floodgates I’ve been trying so hard to keep closed.

The crushing inescapable weight of shame hit me first. I was plastered, obviously so, and high as a kite. The evidence of what I’d been doing displayed out in front of me like a flashing sign. And I was fucking the one guy he hated.

It was unreasonable, I know. He left me and even pushed me in the direction of the one guy he hated and yet, I was the one feeling bad. He hasn’t even opened his mouth yet and it’s been turned onto me. But love never makes sense. It made the most sane people lose every coherent thought, I was the prime example.

“You should probably go, bro.” Rafe said, his tone was anything but.

He moved from his spot on the couch and stopped beside me. Rafe shoved a hand in one pocket while the other reached for mine, but I folded my arms across my chest. Mostly because I was mad at him, but a part of me didn’t want JJ seeing that.

JJ didn’t spare him a second glance.

He had on a dark blue short sleeve button down shirt with black cargos and chunky black boots on his feet. A backwards red hat settled nicely on the blonde mass of wavy hair and his shark necklace hanging against the exposed part of his chest.

It was so JJ. All of it, right down to the colorful bracelets that littered his wrists.

A hand grasped my chin and tilted up. I held my breath. His fingers slid along my jaw and he rubbed his thumb over the skin. His eyes felt like lasers, honing in on every detail of my face.

I swallowed audibly. JJ leaned in closer, bringing his height down to mine. His thumb brushed a soft stroke below my nose while his lips brushed against my ear.

“You had a little something on your nose.”

JJ let go of my face, his expression hard. Then he brushed past me, leaving a gaping wound in his wake.

Tears burned behind my closed eyes. He didn’t need to say it because I already knew what he was thinking. Sure, JJ smoked some weed but he never touched any of the hard stuff, not wanting to pick up the same habits as his dad. Hard drugs were a hard limit for him and he found me snorting several lines of it.

I went and became the very thing he hated, just like he wanted. It didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would. Instead, I felt like I lost another piece of myself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said to Rafe, finally gathering the courage to open my eyes.

He shuffled beside me. “Him being here wasn’t going to change anything.”

We both knew that was a lie.

“It’s him, Rafe. It changes everything for me.”

Rafe scoffed and shook his head. “You’re really going to try and go back to that?”

“I’m not saying that-” I spluttered out, outraged as his voice continued to carry across the room.

“He didn’t want you.”

People around us began to whisper, their heads huddled together with their phones out. Wet hot tears threatened to fall as the control I took months to master began to unravel.

“Yeah, well you don’t either.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Before he got here, everything was perfect.”

“I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t notice what you were doing? That wasn’t for us, that was for him.”

“I didn't mean for you to think I was using you-“

I gripped his chin, and pulled his face down to my height, my eyes brimming with angry tears. “You don’t use me. I use you.” I shoved his face back, needing to collect my composure.

Everyone’s eyes were on us and I was desperate to save face. It was the only thing I had left.

“Get the fucking picture?”

“Crystal clear.” He responded through gritted teeth, his eyes hard.

“If you want a whore, go buy one.”

Rafe cleared his throat, his face iced over. “I thought that’s what I was already doing.”

I stood there for a moment, not understanding what I did to deserve to be treated like this by not one man but two. I felt like an idiot. Like the stupidest fucking person on this god forsaken planet.

Two hours ago, I thought that maybe Rafe had feelings for me and played with the idea of exploring that with him. And now, I was a gold digging whore.

I felt another piece of my heart break off, mourning the loss of the only friendship I really had.

Pressing my hair down with my hands, I look down to fix my dress, swallowing as I went, hoping to pull myself together and buy some time.

“I’m glad to hear how little you think of me.” I sent him a sad smile,” I guess I’m keeping up with everyone’s expectations.”

I stepped around him, heading to the direction of the bar, the adrenaline from all the excitement having effectively killed my buzz.

Staring at the bottles of liquor on the counter had me frowning, all being some bottom shelf brand I’ve never heard of. I moved around the bar to the cabinets behind it, looking for the good tequila. It was the least Rafe could do seeing as though he just blew up whatever the fuck we were doing.

Spotting the only tequila I drank, I grabbed the entire handle. Twisting the top off, I tossed it aside carelessly before taking a healthy swig. Then another. And another.

I stumbled into another room, shoving people out of my way. I ignored the angry shouts because I was way past the point of caring. I just-I just wanted to see him.

As if someone heard my thoughts, I spotted JJ leaning against a wall with a lit joint dangled between his fingers and a beer in the other.

He had so much charisma, it demanded the attention of the room. People gravitated towards him all the time but he refused to see himself that way.

Even now, he stood surrounded by several people, including a girl who was too close for my liking, and they were hanging onto every word. All of their bodies angled towards him, nodding along. The people around them curiously moving in to hear more of the story that had so many of them laughing.

It was almost ironic. It was the point I was trying to prove all those months ago. Kooks vs. Pouges was bullshit. Because, right now JJ is telling a story to a bunch of Kooks who were eating it right up. Neither parties cared about their status, they just wanted to socialize and have fun.

Why couldn’t he see that?

The organ in my chest began to flutter, the butterflies erupting in my stomach at his nearness. Panic began to set in. I thought I’d pushed it all down.

All it took was seeing him. Just once. For the last couple months of progress to be thrown out the window. I made sure to not feel anything anymore, because the alternative destroyed me. And yet, there he stood, looking like every dream I’ve ever had, and completely disarming my very being with one look.

I never wanted to feel that way again. My heart was open and my soul was bared, but I was naive. I thought love was supposed to be empowering. But really, it was poison. It slowly entered your bloodstream, coating every vein before slowly taking over every organ. It leaked into your brain and made you lose all common sense. The poison tricked you into thinking that certain treatment was okay because at least they were here. At least, they still wanted to be with you because they love you, right?

But eventually, like all things lacking an antidote, it began to cut off your oxygen. It curled around your lungs and squeezed until you gasped for breath with tears staining your face. It didn’t matter how much you screamed and shouted, nothing came out. The last organ it takes over is your heart. That silly little organ who was so trusting begins to pump faster, desperately trying to get that oxygen to your brain, because maybe then you’ll finally be able to think clearly. But in the end, it slows down. Each pump is slower than the last until finally it comes to a stop. The heart broke.

It’s the closest thing to dying I’ve ever experienced.

It was like drowning on dry land.

His words did not leave me dented, but destroyed.

I lost my sense of myself. I lost my identity. I put on a performance every time I left my house, wanting to see just how far I could get away with treating people the same way they treat me.

At first it didn’t feel good, but now I didn’t feel anything at all. Or so I thought until I saw him again. And I just want to see that he was doing okay and maybe, if I can admit it, to see if he still loved me, however little that may be.

I watched from my spot on the other side of the room as the crowd began to disperse, leaving JJ with some blonde. I vaguely recognized her from a shoot for one of my mom’s brands. I believe her parents worked in the fashion industry as well. Which would have been fine, had she not said something that had him give her one of those rare smiles, the ones he used to give me in private.

Nausea roiled in my stomach, maybe it was all the tequila or maybe it was seeing him smile at someone else when all I wanted was for him to smile at me.

She leaned into him, a coy smile played her lips, running her fingers down the shirt I bought him, which basically made it mine. And I hated when people touched my things.

The mix of tequila and coke emboldened me. I found my feet moving in their direction before I could stop myself.

“I wouldn't waste your time.” I could not get myself to stop talking.

“Why’s that?” The blonde’s eyes narrowed, her cheaply manicured hand resting on JJ’s bicep.

“JJ doesn’t go for kooks or so I’ve been told.”

“Maybe he just didn’t go for you.” Oh, how cute.

“Oh honey,” I sighed dramatically and took one step towards her, tilting my head to the side, dragging my eyes up her body, in obvious distaste. “Are you new here?”

“Well, yeah but-“ She tried to explain.

Clearly, she needed a run through on how the social ladder worked here. I was at the top and everyone else was at the bottom.

“Your mom works for some brand from Paris right?” I watched as her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“She does. We moved here because she’s doing a collab with-“

“With my mom.”

“So I suggest you take your hand off of him,” I smiled on cue, my tone dipped in sugar before batting my eyelashes at her innocently,” Unless you want her blacklisted?”

I could see her debating what to do. She didn’t know if I was bluffing but she'd learn rather quickly just how far I was willing to go.

“Hmm, cute shoes.” I hummed, “Chanel?”

She nodded, apprehension on her face.

“Won’t be able to buy those anymore if your mom doesn’t have a job.”

Her hand fell and satisfaction settled into my like molten lava. “You can go now.”

The blonde pursed her lips and stalked off, leaving me alone with JJ. “Trying a new type”

“And what type would that be?”

“Desperate.”

JJ tipped his mouth, saluting me before taking a sip of his drink. His eyes already glazed over from the joint in his hand.

“A thank you would be nice?” I muttered, taking another pull from my tequila. I couldn’t talk to him sober or I’d lose my nerve.

“A thank you?” He appeared almost amused, adjusting his red hat.

“Yeah, I just saved you.”

“I didn't realize I needed saving.”

“Self-preservation was never really your strong suit was it?”

JJ laughed, his eyes straying to the bottle cradled in my arms. “I could say the same thing, Princess.”

Fuck him for calling me that. So what, I’ve learned to indulge just a little. It made everything in my life a little more manageable.

“It’s called having fun, JJ.” Pouting as he snatched the bottle from arms just as I went to take another shot. “Since when did you become the responsible one?”

JJ leveled me with an unamused stare.

I huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face. “Tough crowd.”

JJ snorted, pushing the leaves of a nearby plant back before dumping the remaining tequila. My mouth dropped open as he wasted every last drop of my liquid courage.

How the hell was I going to talk to him now?

I pursed my lips, “That was mean.”

“I’m doing what your boyfriend should have done an hour ago.” His gaze fixed on my face, the intense stare causing my cheeks to turn red. God, would he stop staring at me?

“He doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“Then he shouldn’t have left you alone.” His tone laced with annoyance, “You have all these fuckers staring at you and you’re wasted.”

I tilted my head back to stare up at him, the annoyance I knew came from a place of panic. That was just how JJ was wired.

“So you’re in love with me?” Someone come arrest me, because I cannot keep my mouth closed.

JJ shook his head clearly fighting back a smile. “You’re so crazy.”

“What else could that mean?” I asked truthfully and I knew I had a love struck smile on my face. One that I’ve only given to one man in my life and he stood in front of me.

I just wanted to be near him. I wanted to hear his laugh and see him smile.

His face softened at my words. “Are you okay? Does he take care of you?”

“Of course, I’m okay. Why do you ask?”

“Only one of us is fucking loaded.”

I rolled my eyes and plucked the joint from his fingers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, and we both know I rarely am, are you not high too?”

“Not from cocaine.”

“Already back to judging so soon?” I mused, taking a hit off the joint, the familiar stinging sensation wrapped around my lungs and squeezed. “Careful, I might think you care.”

Kill me now. Thank god, he took away the tequila.

“Who said I ever stopped?” My heart lurched in my throat.

I blew the smoke out slowly, my fogged up brain rushing to keep up with his words.

Someone stumbled in front of me, slamming into my shoulder sending me flying forward into JJ’s arms. Something cold and wet splattered onto me, the bitter liquid dripping down my legs.

“Are you blind?” I shouted, shoving another drunk party goer off me. Looked like a tourist.

She held her hands up in apology.

“I’m so sorry. Here, let me help.” To my absolute horror, this fucking tourist used a napkin and went to scrub the stain. Are these people animals? This was custom versace.

“Stop!” My cheeks flushed, from the weed or from my constant streak of bad luck. “Clearly, you’ve never owned anything worth keeping but this is Versace, you dick.”

I needed to go home before I burned this entire house down.

“Is that how you talk to people now?”

I let out a loud groan. “Oh fuck off, JJ.”

I shoved him away from me, before grabbing the skirt of my dress and heading into the nearest bathroom, which just so happened to be Rafe’s.

In reality, I just needed to get away from him. I needed my hands to be busy so that I couldn't grab his face and kiss him. Because I really wanted to do that.

The sound of footsteps have my eyes widening in panic as I take in my ruined dress. All because of that blonde asshole next to me, if he hadn’t showed up, I’d still have my tequila and my sanity.

“I wanted to talk.”

I made a noise at the back of my throat. That didn’t sound like JJ at all.

“Fine, whatever. Close the door.” I didn’t need a million other people to see me lose my shit. I was already at my quota for the day.

Jj stared at me with a confused look. “Close the door.” I nearly shout as the footsteps get closer but he moves just as quickly and slammed it shut, putting the lock in place.

“I just got this piece too.” I grumbled, huffing at the stained skirt. It was the Medusa 95’ Cut Out Mini dress in a stunning pastel pink. And now ruined with a beer stain from that horrible girl outside.

“I remember this one.” JJ spoke from behind me. Of course he did. He remembered everything I bought.

He always demanded fashion shows after all my shopping trips. He knew nothing about clothes but he always paid attention to me. He used to sit for hours while I prattled on and on about clothes.

“Unzip me?”

“I’m sorry?” He choked out, setting his beer down.

“I need to clean it before it stains. Unzip me.”

In hindsight, I was goading him. I wanted to see what he would do. I could tell he was already on edge since seeing me with Rafe. I wondered what a little push would do.

Neither of us moved for a beat. JJ puffed out a breath from his cheeks before he walked toward me slowly. I remained stock still, watching his every move in the mirror. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

My heart fluttered at his nearness. Something I wanted since the minute he turned around and left. Home, I wanted my home back.

I jumped up at the feel of his warm breath against the back of my neck, goosebumps rising instantly. The tug of the zipper had me swallowing the lump in my throat. His other finger caressing every inch of skin, the zipper surrendered.

The sound of the zipper stopped but he never dropped his hand. Instead, I watched as JJ swallowed before lifting his head, those storming blue eyes connecting with mine in the mirror.

I stood on my Magda Butrym Appliquéd satin sandals and a flimsy pair of tiny panties.

“I feel like this is a test.” I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

“Is it?” I mused, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Yeah and I’m failing.”

The pads of his thumb brushed along my bottom lip, dragging it down slowly. My lips parted as a soft whimper escaped.

“You’re still so beautiful, it hurts.” He murmured, almost angry with the revelation.

Blistering hot satisfaction dripped over me.

JJ’s other hand grazed my bare back, the contact immediately chasing my back to arch. Sparks of sensitivity erupted from my skin as my body trembled with hot desire.

His hand moved higher, gripping onto my hair before wrapping the long strands around his hand, tugging my head back, demanding my attention.

He stared at me with heavy lids, eyes like ocean blue blades. My body began to heat up.

JJ’s eyes dropped back to my lips causing me to the lick them quickly. He backed me up against the Jack and Jill sink, my back resting against the cool granite counter.

I blinked slowly, making the decision for him, angling my head up and smashing my lips to his.

A groan ripped from his chest as he met my kiss with the same crippling desperation. His rough hands dropped from my face to my hips, his nails digging crescent shaped marks in the skin.

My legs began to slightly shake as his tongue finally brushed against mine. Oxygen was something neither of us needed as we fed off each other's energy.

His tongue licked and twirled around my own, another moan vibrating between us. JJ’s large hand trailed up skin, goosebumps appearing in its wake, before locking around my throat.

His grip was strong, not enough to cut off my oxygen but enough to garner my attention. He pulled me up to my tippy toes by my neck, my nipples brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt making me gasp at the contact. His mouth clashed with mine once more, his lips wrapped around my tongue, sucking gently before pulling back and biting out a curse.

My hands were desperate as they began to unbutton his shirt quickly, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. JJ whipped off the shirt just as my hands began reaching for his shorts, my fingers fumbling with the button.

The laugh he let out was devastating. His smile was purely lethal for my heart. “We got all the time in the world, princess.”

My stomach clenched at the nickname he gave me all those years ago. But, we didn’t. We both knew this moment would end the minute we came to our senses.

JJ unbuttoned his pants and dropped them in one smooth movement before pressing his warm body against mine once more.

“Up, baby.” My arms wrapped around his neck immediately, my nose grazing his. JJ gripped my thighs tight as he placed me on top of the counter.

He rested the palm of his hands on either side of me, enclosing my frame, daring me to move. JJ leaned down, his lips leaving phantom kisses along my collarbone, nipping as he went along. He stopped at the swell of my breasts, both hands encasing my heavy aching breasts before pressing them together.

He pressed scorching hot, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of exposed skin. His tongue pressing against my swollen nipples before closing around one and giving a strong suck. I was a mess beneath him, my chest heaving with heavy pants.

He nipped and tugged at the soft flesh of my breasts, leaving small purple love bites scattered on my chest. He pressed a kiss on each one, a pleased hum echoing within the bathroom.

JJ dropped to his knees slowly, each hand running down my bare legs. I wanted to see him.

I leaned back on the palm of my hands and arched my back in a teasing invitation. Pulling my legs from his grasp, I propped my feet up on the counter, but kept my knees bent, the tops touching.

The utter obsession that painted his face had me biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. “Please, Jayj.”

He stood stock still, similar to a statue. It looked like he almost stopped breathing as I slowly pushed my knees apart. I was drenched, I could feel myself soaking the skimpy fabric of my thong, my thighs glistening with the evidence of my arousal.

JJ’s eyes went black, locking in on my wet pussy before jumping back up to me. His hands found my thighs and roughly dug into the skin to keep my legs from closing.

He leaned forward, his index finger hooking the front of my thong before curling the fabric and tugging it up roughly between my lips. “Fuck.” I mewled, watching as he pressed his face between my legs and inhaled deeply.

I could feel my clit throbbing, needing to be touched. With one more tug, JJ slaps the side of my thigh, having me lift my hips up to take the last piece of fabric off my body. An insatiable grin formed on his face that went straight to my clit.

The first touch onto my lips had my hips shooting off the counter, his touch like electricity. He blew a breath against the aching skin, his hot mouth watering at the sight of me. Two fingers pushed apart my drenched folds, rubbing against the sensitive skin again and again, turning me into a mindless puddle.

He smirked at my trembling legs. “You okay, baby?”

“Fuck off.” I responded through gritted teeth, trying to gather myself.

He dipped forward, gathering saliva before slowly spitting it out, the stream of spit pattering against my spread lips. The sound was obscene.

“That’s not very nice.”

Tears of frustration began to build up as I discarded my hands into those loose blonde strands, knocking his hat off. “You love it.”

The grin he sent me was feral and I knew this was exactly what I needed. “I sure do, princess.”

He enclosed his mouth against my swollen clit and sucked roughly, a loud shout erupting from the depths of my chest. JJ parted my lips again, forcing his tongue inside and out, again and again, devouring every inch of my pussy.

My cunt clenched against his tongue making him moan loudly. My body was burning as he swirled his tongue along the bundle of nerves once more. Another cry left me as I tried to find something to grab onto. His tongue lapped up all the fluids that continued to come out and I found myself forgetting how to breathe.

I pushed his face deeper, grinding against his nose that continuously rubbed against my clit, my fingers tugging at his hair, needing a release. The knot in my lower stomach began to tighten as I whispered his name again and again like a prayer. The sound of my breathy pleas spur him on as he slipped two fingers in my pussy, meeting no resistance.

The squelching noises had me throwing my head back against the mirror which had begun to fog up. I clenched around his large fingers that rubbed against my sensitive walls wanting him to lose control.

JJ curled his fingers upward causing my knees to buckle and my mind go blank. I was close and he knew based on the tremors the shook my legs. I could barely hold myself up as everything went fuzzy.

A choked moan escaped my lips that curled into a ‘o’ as his mouth sucked that rigid spot of flesh while his fingers continued to hammer into me. The invisible band snapped and as a wave of pleasure washed over me. My body finally began to relax as I tried to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling dramatically.

I spared a glance at him. JJ’s eyes were low, eyes pitch black and glued to my face, and his cheeks flushed red. He looked pussy drunk.

“Looks like I have to clean you up.” He mumbled against the flesh of my thighs. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as his hot tongue began to catch all the arousal that dripped down my thighs. I was sensitive and tried to move back, but his hands locked around my thighs to keep them open. Shives forced their way up my spine as he lapped all my fluids up, humming as he went along, not leaving one bit of skin untouched. JJ pressed one last kiss before pulling back and licking his lips.

My heart hammered through my chest and vaguely though my haze of pleasure did I hear a murmur.

“Huh?” I felt him smile against my thigh, clearly finding my delirious state funny.

“Barry, man, have you seen her?” Rafe’s voice drifted under the door.

I froze at the sound of his voice, my eyes darting to JJ who just smirked from his spot between my legs.

“She’s right here, man.” JJ whispered, straightening up to press a kiss on the crown of my head. I shook my head at him, my eyes wide with a silent plea, but JJ disregarded it.

“She’s a little busy at the moment.”

I shook my head, pressing my palm against his mouth, his next words coming out muffled. He never knew when to shut up. The last thing I needed was Rafe finding us in his bathroom.

I kept my hand on JJ’s mouth until footsteps faded and we were alone once again.

JJ nipped at the palm of my hands, his tongue slipping out. My face screwed up as I let out a squeal, “Ew, Jayj.”

“Shouldn’t have tried to shut me up to protect your boyfriend’s feelings.” He said the words lightly, but I could hear the slight edge in his tone.

Pushing him off my softly, I hopped off the counter with shaky legs. “Since when do you care about Rafe’s feelings?”

I winced as I tried to take a step, my knees nearly knocking together from the aftershock. JJ always left me a shaking disheveled mess afterwards, but I felt lighter, because he was looking at me the way he used to.

And, I wanted that to last just a bit longer.

“I don’t care about his feelings-“ He scoffed, before pausing at the teasing smile on my lips. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Too easy.” I let out a shriek of laughter as JJ's arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me up in the air.

That was how I found myself sweaty, pressed against Rafe’s sheets, struggling to breathe. The violent sound of skin slapping echoing in the room, my raspy moans intertwining with his hot pants.

One of JJ’s hands gripped the back of my head, pinning me to the mattress, the other pushing down on my back, forming a deep arch, to pull his cock in deeper.

I couldn’t register anything he was muttering as he bottomed out since of me, my mind go blank. My walls spasmed against him with each rut of his hip, sucking him back in every time he pulled back.

I was soaked, my pussy dripping around him. The sopping wet noises spurring him on, his pace quickening with those deep purposeful strokes.

I couldn’t focus on anything but him. The smell; the feel of him. The way his cock continued to brush against my cervix made me borderline delicious.

“Fuck,” JJ shuddered, rolling his hips in and out of my pussy had me clamping around him once more, a tidal wave beginning to build up inside me.

I whimper left me, the coil in my stomach pulling tight as I searched for a release. The tip of his cock pressed into me repeatedly, forcing my legs to shake once more.

My hands searched for something to hold onto as I tried to anchor myself from being drowned in pleasure. “J. J, I-I cant-I’m gonna-“

I felt his pace begin to pick him, his cock twitching inside me as he continued his movements, grinding his hips against the globes of my ass, until there was no space between us.

It was like he was imprinting himself into my skin. Like he didn’t want me to forget him.

As if I could ever forget JJ Maybank.

My whines got louder, his words becoming more and more depraved. His large calloused hands ran all over my body like he was etching it to memory.

Quick and quiet gasps bled from my parted lips, as he hammered into me from behind, his hands lacing with mine against the sheets.

The coil in my stomach snapped, white flash blinding my vision, this orgasim more intense than the first. I could feel myself coating his hips and upper thighs, fluids dripping on the sheets.

I could hear JJ’s voice whine, he began to babble nonsense under his breath, with each languid thrust.

My heartbeat was in my ears as I pushed my hips back to match his thrusts, wanting him to finish despite all my sensitivity coming to head. His nails dug my hips, my cunt suffocating as he continued to grunt his cock into me.

“Fuck, Kiara.” His grunt echoed in the room.

Kiara?

I went numb. I couldn’t breathe-I couldn’t, I needed-

Bile coated my throat as whatever childish hope I had shriveled up in my chest. So I laid there, not knowing what to do, as JJ continued to pump in and out of me, but the soft intimacy we shared before dissipated.

Why did no one ever pick me? Why didn’t anyone want me?

I let my body go limp even though everything in me wanted to shove him off, but I just couldn’t get myself to move.

That was all it took for JJ to realize the slip of his tongue. JJ froze behind me as I shoved my face into my arms and choked on a gut wrenching sob.

“Fuck, I-hold on,” JJ’s panick was audible as he slowly pulled out of me. I cupped my mouth to try and muffle the scream I wanted to let out.

His blue eyes widened in horror at his mistake but it was too late. The words were already burned into my mind, replaying on a torturous loop.

JJ’s hand reached out for me, but I shrank back, scrambling to the headboard, desperate to put distance between us.

I curled into myself, pressing my back hard against the headboard, willing for myself to disappear.

“What did you just call me?” My chin wobbled. I tried to remind myself to breathe but with each inhale, my lungs were saturated with pain.

“I-That was an accident.” He stuttered, raking his hands through his hair roughly.

“Get out.”

“It just slipped out, I didn’t mean it.”

“Get the hell out, JJ.” I yelled, and pointed at the door with a shaky finger.

Like I said, his words never dented me, no they completely destroyed me. They cut me like a freshly honed razor blade.

And I was going to die of blood loss if I didn’t get him to leave this room. He had no problem leaving me then, why was he fighting it now?

Was he thinking about her the whole time he was inside me?

Thought after thought haunted me. Was he comparing our bodies? Was he comparing the sex?

Mortification had my stomach churning as I debated what to do next. My body was wound tight, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Did he love her? Did he love her like he used to love me? Did he fuck her the way he fucked me?

I hated him. Before him, none of these thoughts would have crossed my mind. I may have been alone but at least I liked who I was. I never would have questioned myself the way I am now. But after him, the only thing I hated more than him was myself.

“Was Kiara not available,” I murmured, “so you came to the one person you knew would say yes?”

JJ didn’t find my joke funny. The air was tense, as if we were trapped in a steamed up bathroom, making each breath harder than the last.

“Kie and I aren’t together.”

“JJ, you know where the door is. Use it.”

“I don’t want to leave.” He shook his head, his eyes flickering with something heavy.

“You had no problem doing it before.”

“That was-“ JJ squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He shuffled closer to my body, but still wasn't touching me. I nibbled on my bottom lip and wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks hastily.

“I’m sorry.” He said, clearing his throat. “I am so so sorry.”

I lost my grip completely as those eyes perverted mine. His eyes were so blue, it was easy to get lost in them.

Words couldn’t find their way out of my mouth. With wary eyes, I watched as he stood up and disappeared in the bathroom before appearing again with his shirt.

JJ reached for me before pausing, his eyes asking a silent question. I nodded, forcing myself to loosen the grip I had on the sheets.

I let him put the shirt on me, its protection better than the flimsy sheet. JJ dropped his head on my chest, his tan arms wrapped around my waist, curling himself into me.

“I’m sorry.”

I was sorry too. I waited for months for him to be back in my arms, but he ruined every independent thought I had. I couldn’t stop the overthinking. I couldn’t stop the pain.

I was hurting too, but I was the one comforting him. I was always the one comforting him. What about me?

I laid on the soft sheets and stared up at the ceiling. Our heavy breathing echoing in an otherwise silent room. His heavy arm tossed over naked torso, his fingers softly tracing the curve. The whisper of his breath caressing the nape of my neck where his face was buried. The familiar tickle of his golden strands brushing against my nose, his coconut shampoo wafting my senses.

The JJ induced haze began to clear up and the ugliness began to set in.

A single tear escaped my eye, its trailing burning it’s way down the side of my face. I loved him. Even after he willingly abandoned me. After he humiliated me in front of everyone. After he called me her name.

I couldn’t cut him out. It didn’t matter what he did to me, the minute we’re within the same vicinity, my self preservation disappeared. Then I was left, treading water in the middle of a storm, with nothing but a life jacket.

I had no one to blame but myself in this situation. I knew how he spoke to me, how easily he left me, how embarrassed he was of me. But he just smiled and it was like everything melted away.

I so badly wanted to feel again, but not like this.

So all I can do is lay here. In this bed. With a boy who made me hate the kind person that I was.

I made my bed. I didn’t realize this was how I’d feel when I lied in it. I turned into someone I hated. And suddenly I was bone-tired, exhaustion suffocating my lungs. I had no idea who I was and I was tired of being someone I wasn’t.

“Where are my clothes?” I said. God, I needed to leave this room before Rafe found me.

“I wasn’t really focused on that part, babe.” JJ mumbled, burrowing himself deeper into my side.

My stomach lurched. I thought I’d feel different. I thought that maybe this would fix everything. That in some deluded way, we would get back together and everything else didn’t matter. Like he didn’t leave me standing at the party after stomping on my chest.

“I need them.” I mumbled. I choked down the need to throw up. The feel of our sweat coating my body and his soft breaths against my skin had me almost hyperventilating.

Home, he used to be home. But, I’ve never felt like more of a stranger than in his arms right now. This was no longer my home.

Kook pussy. Daddy issues.

I fucked up. Fuck, I fucked up.

This only made me feel worse. I was good enough to fuck, but not enough to stay.

“What are you in such a hurry for?” His fingers paused their persistent movement.

“I have to get back-“

“To who?” JJ snapped.

I moved to sit up, dragging the sheet with me as I avoided his gaze. “You know who.”

He didn’t need to know that Rafe and I basically ended. I just wanted him to hurt in the same way I did.

He let out a scoff. “You can’t be serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“This isn’t like you-“

“You left. You don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Clearly,” he chuckled under his breath, “But suddenly Rafe does?”

I shrugged. “He’s my friend.”

“I don’t give a fuck who he is-“

I tuned him out. I was too busy trying to get his actual voice out of my head.

Kiara. Not me. Kiara. Not me.

It had taken every bit of strength to not chase after him that day. To not call and text, begging for him to give me the time of day. And I know, I know I should be stronger. I know I should have said good riddance and moved on, but love was never simple.

When I saw him tonight, I thought that maybe it was fate. So all the waiting, all the practice of self control paid off because he came back. But, was this what was waiting for me?

“You slept with me,” I said, “ but you’re thinking about her?”

I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask it. It was just one of a million questions I had since the day he walked away. Was there something I could have done differently?

I was wracking my brain to see where I had gone wrong, but maybe I just fell in love with the wrong person.

“From what I hear, you don’t care about anything these days. Why would you care about this?” I couldn’t detect any emotion in his words, just cold hard facts.

I really was out here exceeding everyone’s expectations of me.

But, he had to know that when it came to him, I always cared too much. That’s why his words caused another jagged piece of my heart to puncture my chest.

“Why would I care?” I whispered, shaking my head at him. “Are you listening to yourself?”

Had I deluded myself so much into thinking we experienced the same love in our relationship? How could he even question that. Everything I did was always for him.

“I care about you, that never changed.”

Something pained flickered through his gaze. “Care about me? Yet your fucking Rafe Cameron.”

“You’re mad about that?” I choked on a humorless laugh,”Let me jog your memory real quick since apparently you’ve got amnesia, you were the one that told me to be with him.”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually do that to me.”

I threw my arms up in the air, exasperated,”Then why say it at all? Wait, I forgot who I’m talking to. You’re the king of saying shit you don’t mean.”

“Saying shit and actually doing it are two different things.”

“Well, you did do it Jayj.” My lungs hitched.

His jaw tightened, tension seeping out of him in waves.

“You left. You did the one thing you promised you’d never do. You didn’t even look back as you did it.” I shouted, tears blurring my vision as my body continued to shake from adrenaline. “All because what? Rafe hurt your feelings? Because I have more money than you?”

I wanted to understand him. I thought I did once, but the more I thought about our breakup the more I saw it had nothing to do with me. And everything to do with him.

“Do me a favor and grow up. This is the real world. You’d swap places with any one of us in a second if you could.”

JJ narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want any part of your world. I thought I made that clear.”

“I’m aware. But I was there, remember? For every bonfire, for every boat ride with you and your friends. What was it you guys said again?” It rushed out of me, “to going full kook?”

He watched me stoically, his fingers tugging at his bracelets.

“I guess you’re the only one that can have the money in the relationship?” I raised my eyebrow at him, waiting for him to respond.

The beautiful blonde boy that seeped into my bloodstream and made me love him. But, ruined us in the process. He destroyed everything he touched.

He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes,

“What happened?”

“You want to know what happened? You fucking happened.”

That familiar anger flared in his eyes and I knew exactly what he was going to do. What he always did to me, but this time, I wasn’t going to let him erase me. Not again.

“Let’s talk about who you turned into?” JJ spat vehemently. “What? Rafe buys you a nice purse and you’re suddenly snorting lines of coke?”

“It was actually a couple purses.”

JJ shot daggers at me. “So what? You’re proud of that?” No, I only wanted someone to care about me if I died.

“I’m only doing what you told me, I’m sorry you don’t like the person you turned me into.”

I didn’t like her much either. But, JJ never gave me more and I realized he would never give me more, no matter how much I pushed. No matter how hard I tried to get him to see that I was the one he should be with.

It pained me that it took all of this for me to realize that there were parts of JJ he would never let anyone have.

“Why are you still here?” I said quietly. “I’m not going to let you sit here and make me feel like shit for how I chose to cope with what you broke.”

I was done giving the men in my life power over me. I needed to stand on my own two feet even if that meant I had to do it alone.

“Feel like shit?” JJ nodded his head with mock outrage,” Princess, you just let me fuck you in your boyfriend’s bed. I think you feel like shit already.”

He was right, but I still recoiled back at the venom he spat at me. I sagged with exhaustion. He was just lashing out the way he always did.

“I didn’t know, JJ.” My voice cracked. “I-I didn’t know. I just did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

JJ’s head snapped up at the waver in my voice. His ocean eyes showed a clear battle, one I knew he’d lose. “S-Sometimes it just felt like I wasn’t good enough.”

His confession broke me. I knew the thoughts that ravaged his brain only because those same thoughts now drown in mine.

My fingers twisted the hem of the shirt that my body was swimming in, a nervous tic I never got rid of. “But I never said that to you, you listened to everyone but me. You were more than enough.”

A tortured look passed his face, like the obvious miscommunication had disrupted everything. “I thought I was being paraded around to prove a point.”

I roughly wiped the tears that kept falling, “It’s okay to not want to struggle for everything in your life, JJ. You were exhausted and I just wanted to help you.”

“I didn’t know. I-just didn’t know.” I continued to repeat. And I didn't. I had no experience with love. I wanted him to have the world since he was born with less than most people I knew, yet he deserved so much more.

“You let your friends help you, I don’t understand how I was any different.”

His blonde hair was sticking up in multiple directions, a clear sign of his obvious distress. "Because they’re my family."

Irremediable sorrow burrowed in my chest. "But, I was your family too."

I felt layers of grief his me in waves, quick and hard, one after the other as I came to terms with the fact that JJ never considered me any part of his family.

"You were the only family I ever had. I thought I was your family.” I sniffled, my ribs began to ache from the constant crying.

A loud crack had me jump back as Rafe bursted into the room, chest heaving from exertion. He paused, his eyes locking in on the messed up sheets before dragging over to me and scanning my disheveled appearance.

I thought we hit a milestone. JJ finally started talking and letting me know exactly what was going on in that brain of his. And maybe, that would be enough for me, for now. This all happened because JJ didn’t know how to communicate and I knew that wasn’t his fault, but at one point he needed to grow up.

I was willing to hold his hand while he did it. But I watched as JJ’s eyes clocked the necklace Rafe wore with my initials. His gaze narrowed at the purse in his hand and my car keys in the other.

The jealousy was evident in the way he rolled his shoulders back, his face granite. “Cute necklace.”

Rafe smirked, tilting his head to the side. “Thanks. It looks even better swinging in her face.”

JJ’s cool demeanor dropped, his blue eyes darkened into a brewing storm. “Enjoy my seconds, bro.” He clapped Rafe on the chest.

My heart popped in my chest at his words, another bandage would do little to fix the shards that once resembled a heart. And, I knew then, that JJ confirmed the conclusion I just came to myself.

“JJ?”

“What?”

“You were right. I do deserve better than you.”

Loving him cost me something much greater: myself.

I couldn’t continue to hide myself in any man that told me pretty words. I was no longer my own person, just a mere extension of them. One that they treated poorly and only took out when they were bored. I was always willing to do what they would never do for me.

I was just a girl, in love with an extraordinary boy who couldn’t see past all the things he was not.

I walked over to where Rafe was, forcing myself to remember his cruel words also. It was the only way I could get myself to walk out of here. My eyes lingered on the necklace for a second before I pulled my keys from his grasp and grabbed my purse.

I wore nothing but JJ’s shirt, but at the moment I couldn’t care less. I left my clothes in Rafe’s bathroom, deciding it was better to leave them then spend another second in either of their soul sucking presence. I could always buy another dress.

I couldn’t buy another me. Not if I kept letting these boys break me.

This time, I was the one that never looked back.

Side note: I WROTE THIS THREE TIMES so pls pls pls be nice to me. I tried to incorporate a lot of people's ideas. I know the OC is very wishy washy but she's so real for that.

TAG LIST: @maybankslover @theficshop @cantbecreative @plk-18

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masorciereviolette · 23 days ago

Text

Oh Captain, My Captain

Pairing: Olivia Benson x Reader

Warnings: Arguments, Sad Themes, Typical SVU Case Drama & Angst, Vaguely Described Crimes, Puke Warning, Unexpected Emotional Connections, Mentions of injuries, Soft Enemies To Lovers, Kissing.

Word count: 13.6k

A/N: I truly hope y’all like this, lmk ur thoughts :)))

Summary: An old friend of Carisi’s is temporarily assigned to the Special Victims Unit when he and the District Attorney are required Upstate. What begins as professional tension quickly spirals into something deeper, more dangerous—and far more personal. As high-stakes cases push them to confront old ghosts and buried truths, walls begin to crumble. Between quiet lunches, stolen glances, and one confession that changes everything, neither of you can deny what’s been building. But in a world where justice comes first, can you afford to fall?

Taglist: @wuhluhwuh03

Link To Masterlist Next Part

The knock on Olivia’s office door is brisk—precise, like everything else about her week so far. She doesn’t even glance up at first, eyes still fixed on the open file in her lap, already anticipating who it is.

Sure enough, the door swings open a beat later, and there’s Carisi, strolling in like a man with one foot out the door. His suit jacket is slung over one shoulder, and he’s got a travel folder tucked under his arm, half-unzipped and bristling with printouts. There’s a subtle bounce in his step, the kind of lightness that only comes with temporary escape.

She finally looks up, brow arching. “You’re really leaving me with the circus, huh?”

Carisi’s mouth twists into a grin as he shuts the door behind him. “Only for a week. Two at most. But hey—silver lining, I’m not leaving you empty-handed.”

Olivia leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with the kind of suspicion she usually reserves for suspects caught in a lie. “Oh yeah? Who’d you rope into babysitting the courtroom while you’re off in Albany dodging press and pretending not to hate it?”

That smug grin widens. It’s the kind of grin she’s known long enough to recognize as trouble wrapped in charm. “You remember my friend from Brooklyn—”

“No.”

Carisi raises both brows, undeterred. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I don’t need to,” she fires back.

He laughs, clearly amused, and holds up a hand like a peace offering. “She agreed to cover SVU while I’m gone. Full authority. Total discretion. Already been briefed on everything too and before you ask—yes, she already started reviewing the backlog.”

Olivia’s eyes narrow. “Carisi. Your friend from Brooklyn? The same one apparently who told Fin she had—and I quote—‘better things to do than wait for decent police work’?”

“In her defense,” he says, dragging out the words like he’s bracing for impact, “that was during that mess with the triple homicide, the falsified warrants, and that precinct that practically wrote its own internal affairs reports.”

“I remember,” she says, dryly. “And I also remember wanting to throw a chair after that court hearing.”

“Which you didn’t,” he points out, holding up a finger. “Because deep down, even you knew she wasn’t wrong.”

Olivia lets out a sharp breath, pushing the file off her lap and setting it on the desk. “That doesn’t mean I want her anywhere near my department. I need someone who cares about the people we’re fighting for. Not just their conviction stats.”

Carisi sobers slightly, but there’s still something amused in his eyes—like he’s watching a movie he’s already seen once and is excited to see her reaction the second time. “She cares, Liv. Just… not in the way you’re used to. Not warm, and she’s definitely not fuzzy. But she fights hard. And if a case is worth it—bleed for it.”

She studies him, her expression unreadable. Years of dealing with unpredictable cops, distraught victims, and courtroom disasters have made her hard to rattle—but Carisi’s evasiveness is starting to itch at her.

“So,” she says slowly, “what am I in for?”

He hesitates. It’s not long, but it’s long enough. Then, with a crooked smile that lands somewhere between fond and vaguely apologetic, he says, “Let’s just say… you two are either gonna cling or clash, that I’m not really sure yet.”

Olivia doesn’t return the smile. “That’s not comforting.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” Carisi replies, striding forward to drop the travel folder on her desk. “It’s honest. Shes brilliant, Liv. Scary brilliant. Razor-sharp instincts, zero tolerance for bullshit, and doesn’t back down—ever.”

She flips the folder open, eyes scanning the first few pages. Case assignments, brief notes, a printed itinerary from the DA’s office. Nothing about the ADA themselves. No photo. No profile. That alone makes her more wary. “I’ve worked with ADAs like that before,” she says, still reading. “It never ends well.”

Carisi’s smirk deepens, like he’s holding a secret she’s not ready to hear. “She’s not like the others.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes lift sharply. “And that’s supposed to reassure me?”

He shrugs, letting the silence hang just long enough for it to border on smug. “Just give her a few days. You might surprise yourself.”

He starts to turn away, then pauses, glancing back over his shoulder with a knowing glint in his eye. “Oh—and try not to take it personally liv, she just takes a moment.”

Olivia frowns. “What?”

His grin is all teeth now, bright and obnoxious. “You’ll see.” And with that, he’s gone, whistling under his breath as he strolls back down the hall. Olivia stares at the now-closed door for a long beat, then down at the folder in her hands.

You’ll see.

Great.

The first spark happens on a Wednesday. Clouds hang low over Manhattan, the kind of gray that seeps into everything—moods, clothes, patience. It’s already been a rough morning. Two callouts, one victim interview that ended in tears and a vomit-smeared hallway, and now this—another delicate case strung together with barely enough evidence to keep it from unraveling in her hands.

The victim, a nineteen-year-old college freshman, came in the night before, shaking so hard Olivia had to physically steady her hand just to hold the pen. The timeline was thin. The physical evidence, thinner. But Olivia believed her. She saw the signs, heard the tremble in her voice that couldn’t be faked. Still, belief wasn’t admissible in court.

Then a break—small, but promising. One of Olivia’s detectives caught it on security footage from a deli across the street. The suspect entering at a time that didn’t match his alibi. If they could just cross-reference that with the MTA logs or ping tower data, maybe they could wedge the window of doubt wide enough to break it open.

She flagged it herself. Typed it out. Highlighted it. Attached the timestamped footage and handed it off. “Go straight to the temp ADA,” she told him, tapping the top of the file with two fingers. “If they’ve got half a brain, they’ll know this is the slip up we needed.”

That was late morning. By early afternoon, her detective is back. Standing in the doorway of her office, no file in hand. Just a dull look of exasperation and something clenched in his right hand. He doesn’t speak right away, and Olivia knows—knows—this isn’t good.

“Don’t tell me she passed on it,” she says, already on edge.

He hesitates, then steps forward, extending a small square of neon yellow. A sticky note. That’s it. Olivia takes it, frowning, and reads. “Find more solid information. Don’t waste my docket.”

The handwriting is neat. Clean. Effortless. No signature. No stamp. Just sharp-edged confidence bleeding off the page in ink. She looks up, voice low but tight. “This is it?”

He shrugs helplessly. “Said if we had something real, to try again tomorrow. Maybe.” The maybe lands like a slap. Olivia doesn’t say anything at first. Just pushes her chair back so hard it screeches against the floor. No pause. Just fire.

She storms past the bullpen, boots striking tile like warning shots. Someone calls her name—maybe Fin, maybe Amanda—but she doesn’t slow. Her eyes are already locked on the front doors like crosshairs. Her jaw is tight enough to ache. Her hands are balled into fists. By the time she’s outside, the winter air barely registers. The wind tears at her sleeves, but she’s too furious to feel cold.

Don’t waste my docket.

She runs the words over in her head, over and over again, like a mantra she wants to throttle someone with. It wasn’t the dismissal that got her, It was the arrogance.

The assumption that her team hadn’t already combed every inch of that case, hadn’t fought tooth and nail just to bring something forward. The idea that someone sitting comfortably behind a desk could brush it off with a one-liner and an anonymous note like they were swatting away an annoying email.

She didn’t give a damn how brilliant this ADA was supposed to be. If they thought they could steamroll SVU and treat the unit like a line on a checklist, they had another thing coming. Thirty minutes later, she’s pushing through the glass doors of the District Attorney’s office, straight past the front desk without a word. She knows where the office is.

Carisi had pointed it out just days ago when he tried to introduced her to “her new partner in justice,” said with that smug little smirk like he knew exactly how combustible this pairing was going to be. You weren’t there of course, “ran out for supplies”.

The receptionist behind the desk starts to stand. “Ma’am—Captain—do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Olivia says flatly, already walking. Her boots echo down the marble hallway, a measured storm heading for one very particular office door. She doesn’t knock, she doesn’t need to because this wasn’t a meeting. This was a reckoning.

You hear the footsteps before you see her. Not the polite, half-hearted shuffle of a courier or the tentative knock of a detective worried about pissing off the new ADA. No—these are deliberate. Sharp. The kind of footsteps that have backed down perps in interrogation rooms and chased down predators in alleys slick with rain and blood.

You don’t bother looking up from the file you’re annotating. The pen in your hand doesn’t even pause as the door swings open—no knock, no courtesy, just authority wrapped in fury.

Olivia Benson. Well. That didn’t take long. You glance up slowly, deliberately, like someone turning the page on a mildly interesting novel. Her expression could cut glass. “Captain Benson,” you greet, voice low and dry. “What an unexpected surprise.”

She doesn’t return the pleasantry. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t blink. “You sent my detective back with a sticky note.”

You lean back in your chair, resting your chin in your hand, elbow balanced on the armrest like a queen on her throne. “If I’d had more time, I might’ve included a gold star and a participation ribbon.”

Her jaw tightens. “That evidence could’ve strengthened the timeline. Could’ve been what we needed to move this case forward.”

You cut her off with a raised brow and a flick of your pen. “It Could’ve also collapsed like a paper bridge in a thunderstorms wrath. Secondhand timestamps. Incomplete footage. Zero cell data. I don’t take maybes and turn them into miracles, Captain. That’s your job. Mine is to win.”

She takes a step forward. Not threatening, but definitely not friendly. “Your job is to seek justice. For victims. For the Nineteen-year-old girl who came to us in pieces and trusted that we’d fight for her.”

Your spine straightens, shoulders rolling back. Your eyes sharpen as they lock with hers. “And you think I’m doing her a favor by pushing through evidence that wouldn’t survive ten seconds against a defense attorney with a pulse?” you ask coolly. “You think that’s justice? Because what I think is that weak cases don’t end in guilty verdicts—they end in hung juries, retrials, or worse. They end with monsters walking out of court with a smirk and a lawsuit.”

“You could’ve talked to me,” she snaps. “Explained it. Instead, you embarrassed one of my best detectives.”

You shrug, unapologetic. “If your detective can’t handle the reality of rejection, they’re in the wrong line of work. I’m not here to massage egos. I’m here to prosecute.”

Olivia’s eyes flash. “You think this is about ego?”

“I think this is about you not being used to hearing the word no,” you say, voice steel-edged. “I’m not one of your detectives. I do not report to you. And I don’t rubber-stamp evidence that won’t hold. So if you want a prosecutor who’s going to bend every time you stomp in here breathing fire, call the DA and ask for someone softer.”

Her nostrils flare. You expect her to yell. You kind of want her to—it’d be easier than the way she’s looking at you now, like she’s trying to peel back every layer and figure out what broke you to make you this way.

“You really don’t get it,” she says, quieter now, but somehow twice as cutting. “This isn’t some desk job where you get to sit in judgment and pretend that your detachment makes you better. These victims… they’re not case numbers. They’re not hypothetical arguments in a courtroom. They’re real. And they deserve someone who gives a damn.”

Something flinches in your chest—fast and buried. You don’t let it show. Instead, you sigh, smooth out your expression, and rise slowly from your chair.

“I do give a damn,” you say, voice lower now. “I give enough of a damn to make sure their stories are airtight before I put them in front of twelve strangers to have the worst experience of their lives dissected and judged like front page news. Because if I screw that up, they don’t just lose the case. They lose their faith. In all of us. ”

She blinks once, but doesn’t back down. “You don’t even know her name, do you?”

There’s no accusation in it—just disappointment. That stings more than it should. “She matters,” Olivia continues. “Even if you don’t think so yet.” You let the silence stretch, neither of you blinking. The tension between you hums with something hotter than just frustration. She’s not wrong—and you hate that.

Finally, you exhale and glance toward the case files stacked on your desk. “I’ll review the timeline again. If there’s something there, I’ll reconsider. But don’t send someone to me without prepping them properly next time. I don’t coddle. Ever.”

Olivia tilts her head slightly, a bitter smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah. I got that.”

She turns toward the door without another word, and for a second, you think she might leave it at that. But her hand pauses on the knob. “You know,” she says without turning, “Carisi said you were sharp. Implied you’d challenge me.” She looks back over her shoulder, just enough to meet your gaze.

“He forgot to mention the part where you’d make me want to throw a chair through your window.”

You smirk. “He probably didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” She shakes her head once, scoffs under her breath, and walks out—no slamming, no theatrics. Just the calm, deadly quiet of a woman who’s not done with you yet.

You wait until her footsteps fade down the hallway before finally sitting down again. The silence that follows is heavy, coiled.

You stare down at the returned note still on your desk. For the first time since you wrote it, it looks… flippant.

You hate that, And you hate that she’s still in your head. “For their sake…” You rub a hand over your face, muttering under your breath.

“Goddamn Carisi, I’m gonna kill your ass—”

—————————————————

You’ve been assigned to SVU for less than a Ninety Six hours and already it feels like every day is a full-blown psychological endurance test. You’re dodging homicide cases like landmines, talking judges off metaphorical ledges, and battling Captain Olivia Benson like it’s a full-contact sport with no rulebook and no timeouts.

You’re barely two sips into your coffee when the phone buzzes on your desk. You stare at it for a beat like it insulted your mother, then clicked the screen

Detective Tutuola: We’ve got a problem.

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s not even eight, then another buzz.

Detective Tutuola: Liv wants you down here. Now.”

When you step off the elevator at the precinct, you spot Olivia immediately—postured like a general at war. She’s planted firmly in front of the board, arms crossed, eyes locked on the photo of a bruised girl, she was young…...She doesn’t glance your way when you walk in, which somehow makes the tension worse.

“Captain,” you say, dry and clipped, as you approach.

“You’re late,” she says flatly, still not looking at you.

“I’m exactly on time,” you reply, brushing past a desk. “You just have an early martyr complex.” It slips out too fast, too instinctively—but she hears it. Her head tilts slowly in your direction, and when she finally looks at you, her glare could stop traffic.

“This is Sarah,” she says instead of arguing. Her voice is lower now. Sharper. “Eleven. Picked up outside her school by an older male. Assaulted for over twelve hours. Escaped just before dawn.”

That shuts you up. You glance at the photo, the sharp bloom of bruises beneath the girl’s eye. Your throat tightens despite yourself. “She’s safe now?” you ask, voice quieter.

“In the hospital. Broken wrists. Two cracked ribs. She’s got a trauma counselor in the room, but—” Olivia finally meets your gaze, and you see it. The weight. “She won’t understand what happened to her for years.”

You nod slowly, swallowing whatever sarcastic retort was forming. She hands you the case file—no ceremony, no preamble. You flip it open and scan quickly. Surveillance footage. Statement. Sketchy ID. One potential name, misspelled twice.

“This won’t get us a warrant…” you say without looking up. “It’s not enough just yet.”

Olivia takes a step toward you, posture rigid. “We don’t have time. If he disappears—”

“Then bring me something with teeth. A witness. A neighbor. Anything that doesn’t fall apart under scrutiny.” You close the folder. “I’m not getting a warrant thrown out on a bad Fourth Amendment argument. We lose it now, we lose it forever.”

She glares at you like she might actually throw the folder back in your face. “God, you’re infuriating.”

You raise your brow. “Don’t flatter me.”

Right then, Fin appears behind you, clearly sensing the storm about to make landfall. “We found a cabbie. Said he might’ve picked them up yesterday afternoon. He’s coming in now.”

You glance at Olivia again. She’s still staring at you—half murder, half something else. Like she’s trying to solve you and not liking what she’s finding. You exhale through your nose. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

Her brows lift slightly. “What, no note this time?”

You sigh, flicking the edge of the file with your finger. “Not yet.”

The interrogation room is colder than usual, humming with that sterile quiet that makes everything feel louder. The cabbie sits across from you, thin and wiry, fingers twitching against the table as he speaks.

“I didn’t know anything was wrong,” he insists. “She didn’t say anything. Just sat there.”

“You picked them up where?” you ask, pen poised.

“Near a school on Henry Street. He waved me down. Said they were late for an appointment.”

“She say anything at all?” Olivia asks from beside you, her tone gentler but unrelenting.

The man shakes his head. “No. Just quiet. Real quiet.” He rubs the back of his neck, like the memory is suddenly sitting wrong. “I thought… I thought they were father and daughter. Didn’t think twice.”

You nod. “Where’d you drop them?”

“Bushwick. Near Troutman. Apartment complex.” Beside you, Olivia stiffens. You don’t realize how close she’s sitting until your elbow bumps hers when you adjust your chair.

It’s not intentional, You glance over. She’s scribbling notes, eyes locked on the cabbie’s every movement. Her fingers are tight around the pen, her jaw clenched like she’s holding her breath.

The cabbie’s dismissed a few minutes later, leaving the two of you in the silence of the room. You glance at her again, studying her from the side—the way her shoulders curve in just slightly when no one’s looking. Like she’s been holding the weight of this case since the second it hit her desk. Maybe longer.

“Hey,” you say quietly. She doesn’t look up.

“That was something. The cabbie.”

She exhales slowly, voice low. “It’s still not enough.”

You nod, not disagreeing. “But it’s a start. And we both know that’s more than we had this morning.”She finally glances at you. Not with anger. Not with challenge. Something softer. Tired, maybe. Or just real.

“You always like being this difficult?” she asks after a beat, lips twitching at the corners.

“I’m consistent,” you say. “And it keeps the day interesting.”

She lets out a quiet chuckle—short, dry, but undeniably real. “Charming.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you reply, meeting her gaze. The silence that follows isn’t heavy this time. It lingers between you—not awkward, not angry. Just… charged. Like whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming, is starting to shift. Something under the surface giving way.

Later, when the sun’s dipped low and the precinct is humming with the usual late-night chaos, you’re not in your office. You’re still downtown tucked away in an interview room, arguing your case to a bleary-eyed judge over video call. The statement from the cabbie isn’t enough on its own—not by protocol. But context, urgency, the right pressure in the right places? You’ve always known how to press just hard enough.

You lay it out clean. You take the pieces Olivia Benson brought to your desk and you frame them like a prosecutor should. Then you go a step further. You make it matter. And maybe—just maybe—that’s what tips it.

The judge signs off. Unexpected. But not undeserved. By the time the suspect’s in custody, cuffed and sullen in the back of a squad car, the bullpen is in motion. The air crackles with that brief, fleeting electricity that comes with a win—especially the kind that nearly slipped through your fingers. You’re walking through, ready to call it a night, when you catch her watching you. Not openly, not obviously. But she’s there. One elbow on her desk, eyes steady. She knows.

She knows you pulled strings to get the warrant approved. Knows you made her case a priority when you didn’t have to. And it’s no longer a gaze of disdain. But not admiration, either.

It’s… something in between. Something curious. Measuring. Like she’s trying to reconcile the version of you she assumed with the one she’s now staring at. Like she’s not sure what to make of you—but she’s starting to want to try. And maybe—just maybe—you’re not so sure yourself.

—————————————————————

The precinct hums weirdly different at night. The phones are quieter, the desks half-empty, the buzz of fluorescent lights louder than usual.

You’re in the conference room reviewing trial prep for Sarah’s case when Olivia walks in without warning. No knock. Just her usual presence—heavy with exhaustion and expectation.

She tosses a file onto the table. “You missed this,” she says sharply.

You glance at it. “No, I in fact didn’t.”

Her arms fold. “Then why wasn’t it in the supplemental report you sent to my squad?”

“Because it’s redundant,” you reply, not even looking up. “The interview is inconsistent, and you already have stronger corroboration from the cabbie, this wouldn’t help.”

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t get to decide what’s relevant to my detectives.”

You set your pen down carefully. “No, Captain. I get to decide what makes it into my trial strategy. That’s why I’m here.”

Olivia’s eyes flash. “You still think this is just strategy? That what we do here is some chess game to feed your ego in court?”

You stand, hands braced against the table now. “And you think this whole unit runs on moral righteousness and intuition. I don’t care what fairy tale you’re selling, Benson. I work with facts. Evidence. What holds up in front of a jury.”

She’s already across the room before you realize it, eyes locked on yours. “You think I haven’t stood in front of a jury?” she hisses. “You think I don’t know how fragile it all is? I’ve seen predators walk out because some ADA decided not to trust the victim’s word over the paperwork.”

You grit your teeth. “And I’ve seen guilty men go free because a cop couldn’t keep their emotions out of the investigation.” That one lands hard. Her jaw clenches, and for the first time, you see it—a flicker of something deeper. Not just frustration. Not even rage.

You try to pull back, but she beats you to it. “My emotions?” she repeats, low and cold. “You think I’m too emotional for this job? Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You didn’t have to,” she snaps. “You’ve made it crystal clear. From the moment you walked in here with your deadpan sarcasm and your detached attitude.”

You open your mouth, but she’s not finished.“You think I’m weak because I give a damn. Because I care what happens after the trial’s over. Because I sit with these girls and hear them sob about how they can’t sleep without nightmares and pray that the system doesn’t fail them again.”

Her voice cracks—just barely—and that stops everything. The whole room stills. Her fists are trembling now, not from anger, but from restraint. You take a breath. “I don’t think you’re weak, Olivia.” She blinks. “I think you’re not what I expected—.” That lands even harder.

Your voice lowers. “Because I’ve spent my entire career not letting things get personal. I go home at night and I don’t carry it with me. That’s how I survive. And you—you walk in here like every case is life or death. Like it’ll kill you if you don’t make it right.”

You swallow. “I don’t know how to be like that. I don’t know how you do.” She looks at you for a long time.

The room hums with the tension between you—rage, yes. But something else now. Something raw. Human. Finally, she speaks, quieter than before. “I don’t get to turn it off. I’ve tried.” A long silence.

You nod slowly. “That must be exhausting.” There’s something in her eyes then—recognition. Not agreement, not yet. But the barest crack in the wall she’s kept up around you.

“It is,” she admits. “But I don’t know who I’d be if I stopped.”

You hold her gaze. “Probably still terrifying.”

A short, humorless laugh escapes her. “You’re such an ass.”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “But I’m not your enemy, Benson.” She nods. Once. Barely. Then turns to leave.

The days that follow are�� different. The cases are still the same—grisly, complicated, too often thankless. The long hours don’t relent, and the emotional weight doesn’t let up. Trauma hangs in the air like humidity, thick and oppressive, seeping into everything. But Olivia stops looking at you like you’re a brick wall she’s determined to knock down.

Now, it’s something else. Now, it’s like she’s circling—measuring—trying to figure out what’s beneath the surface and, more importantly, why it bothers her that she doesn’t already know. Like not being able to read you is a flaw in her otherwise flawless instincts.

You don’t make it easy. You’re still guarded, still clipped in your language and unapologetic in your choices. But there’s a shift. A ripple.

It happens during an afternoon that blends into every other—gray sky, lukewarm coffee, the scent of printer toner and stress. There’s too much paperwork and not enough manpower. Olivia’s been in and out of her office all day, splitting her time between chasing down a witness and fielding press inquiries.

There’s the a kid. She’s sitting at the far end of the bullpen, legs dangling, wrapped in a coat two sizes too small. Her shoes are scuffed and her socks don’t match—one purple with stars, the other plain white and bunched at the ankle. She looks barely ten. All knees and elbows, sleeves frayed from nervous fingers. She clutches a half-empty juice box like it’s the only thing anchoring her.

She’s waiting for her mother, who’s still with Amanda, finishing up the stack of forms required to even begin a case. You pass by once—glance. Pass again. Then something tugs at you. You double back. No drama. No big declarations. You crouch beside her, your coat creasing at the knees, and hold out a bag of m & m’s you’d stashed in your jacket earlier. “You look like you could use something sweeter.”

She eyes you with wide, uncertain eyes—silent. You don’t push. Just hold the bag out patiently. After a beat, she reaches out and takes it. Not with trust, but with the quiet, learned caution of someone who’s had to grow up faster than she should.

You don’t say anything else. Just sit beside her, careful not to crowd. From your pocket, you pull a pen and start drawing something on your palm—deliberate strokes. After a few seconds, you tilt your hand toward her, revealing a lopsided cartoon ghost with big eyes and a surprised mouth.

She leans over slightly, curiosity edging past fear. You wiggle your fingers. The ghost “waves.” It’s barely there, but it’s real—a tug at the corners of her mouth. A tiny, tired smile. The kind you don’t chase. The kind that just… happens, if you’re lucky.

You pat her knee gently and stand, already halfway back to your sanctioned desk before she even considers opening the bag. You don’t notice Olivia watching. But she saw everything.

She’d stepped out of the break room mid-conversation with Fin, coffee in hand, expression unreadable. She spotted you crouching beside the girl, and her voice had trailed off. Fin kept talking, but Olivia didn’t respond. Just stood there in the doorway, eyes fixed on the quiet, unspoken moment between you and the child.

She doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t approach. Just watches. Thoughtfully. Like maybe—for the first time—she sees something she truly wasn’t expecting. Later, hours after the girl and her mother have gone and the bullpen has emptied into tired footsteps and quiet key taps, she brings it up. No lead-in. No preamble. “You’re good with kids.”

You don’t look up from your laptop screen. “I’m good with people who’ve survived the worst day of their lives. Whether they’re ten or forty-five doesn’t matter.”

There’s a pause. You feel her watching again—measuring like she always does, but softer this time. “That’s not in the manual,” she says quietly.

You glance at her now, finally. “Neither is how to deal with you, Benson. And yet here we are.”

She almost smiles. Almost. But doesn’t. Still, something in her expression changes—just slightly. The way she looks at you holds… interest. Curiosity. Respect, maybe. But mostly, it lingers. Like the moment stuck to her ribs a little more than she expected it to. And when she finally walks away, the space she leaves behind doesn’t feel the same. Not colder. Not distant. Just… different. And you’re not entirely sure that’s a bad thing.

It happens again two days later. The precinct at night is a strange limbo. Half the squad’s gone, the rest typing quietly or nursing lukewarm coffee. You’re behind the desk again half-buried in files for the upcoming trial, why you honestly couldn’t answer. You technically had an office available to use….Olivia’s been circling you all day—not physically, but in the way she glances over when she thinks you’re not looking.

The tension between you has cooled to something simmering. No longer combative. Just uncertain. Then the call comes through. A clerk buzzes the desks direct line. “ Counselor, there’s someone downstairs asking for you. Said it was urgent. They wouldn’t give a name.”

You frown. “Send them up.” You don’t think much of it—probably a detective dropping off paperwork, maybe a defense attorney trying to get cute by tracking you down here. But when the elevator dings and the doors slide open, the blood drains from your face.

Because standing there, in his dress blues, is your father. Retired NYPD. Former commanding officer in Queens. And the reason you left your last post in Brooklyn in the first place. The same man who made it clear that you were never the kind of daughter he wanted.

He looks the same—rigid posture, gritted jaw, shoes so polished you could see your own reflection in them if you weren’t already focused on keeping yourself from reacting. He doesn’t wait for an invitation. “Still chasing headlines, huh?” he says as he walks in. “Thought you’d have burned out by now.”

You don’t answer. You just shut the file slowly and stand. “What do you want?”

“I came to say congratulations,” he says mockingly. “Your brother mentioned you got assigned to SVU. Thought I’d see if the stories were true.”

“They are,” comes Olivia’s voice from across the room. You hadn’t realized she was watching from the hallway.

Your father turns to her with a tight-lipped smirk. “Captain Benson. I’ve heard about you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she says coolly. The air between them sours quickly.

“She’s one of the best we’ve got,” Olivia adds, nodding toward you. “Hard to rattle. Harder to beat in court. That’s why she’s here.”

He chuckles, low and bitter. “Yeah, well. Toughness isn’t the same thing as loyalty.”

Your jaw clenches. “Is this necessary right now.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough.” He looks at Olivia again. “Good luck keeping this one in line. She always had a habit of mistaking disobedience for independence.” He walks out before you can respond. The elevator swallows him whole, just like it did the last time he walked out of your life.

You turn back to your desk, trying to focus on the file in front of you. But your hands are trembling. You hadn’t expected him. Not here. Not now. And definitely not her witnessing it. You don’t realize Olivia’s still standing in the doorway until she speaks again—quietly. “I didn’t know.”

You shake your head. “No one does. Carisi’s the only one who ever met him. Once. It didn’t go over very well.”

“What happened?” she asks, softer now.

You shrug, staring down at the file like it can save you. “He didn’t like the way I used my voice. Or my brain. He wanted a daughter who smiled and nodded. Not one who cross-examined him at thirteen. Carisi didn’t help”

Olivia steps closer. Carefully. Like she’s not sure how close is too close yet. “You don’t seem like a person to just bury things,” she says.

You laugh once, bitter. “It’s the only way I made it through. Law school. My childhood. Him.” She doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then—like she was connecting pieces of a puzzle splayed in front of her “That case with the girl in the cab. You didn’t push back because you didn’t care.” You glance at her.

“You pushed back because if the case cracked under pressure, you’d carry that failure,” she says. “Just like you’ve carried everything else.” You hate that she sees it. Hate it even more that it’s accurate.

You chuckled bitterly “I’ve never had the luxury of failure.”

Her eyes soften just a fraction. “Me neither.”

For a long moment, you both just stand there. No war between you. No battleground. Just two people who’ve built their lives around control, finally seeing the fractures in each other. And Olivia? She doesn’t look at you with interest anymore. She looks like she understands. Like maybe—just maybe—she wishes she’d understood sooner.

——————————————————

It’s been five days since your father showed up, you stopped working out of the precinct due to absolute embarrassment over what transpired, and Olivia hasn’t brought it up once. But she’s also stopped sending her detectives to drop off paperwork. At first, you figured it was coincidence—just an efficient captain handling her own files. But then it kept happening. A delivery here, an update there. Sometimes just a copy of a transcript she could’ve easily emailed.

Now, it’s become something of a pattern. She shows up in your office unannounced just after five, holding a small folder and a paper coffee cup. You raise an eyebrow. “Delivering messages personally again?”

She smirks faintly. “My squad’s busy.”

“They’re always busy.”

“And I like the walk,” she says simply, stepping inside.

You watch her a beat too long. “You know there’s a whole department of runners for this.”

“I know.” She sets the folder on your desk, takes the seat across from you. “Besides, it gives me a chance to check in. See if you’ve set any more precinct records for most interdepartmental complaints in a single week.”

You snort. “That was one time, and he called the victim ‘sweetheart.’ I regret absolutely nothing.” Olivia actually smiles. Not just the polite press of lips she usually offers in court—but something real. Quiet. Like maybe she’s stopped expecting you to explode every time she enters a room.

You reach for the folder. “This the latest from the Victim Support counselor?”

She nods. “She flagged something about the younger sister being afraid to sleep. Possible secondary trauma.”

You flip through the report. “I’ll reach out. Maybe get her a direct line to our social worker in the ADA’s office. Someone not wearing a badge.”

Olivia nods, then hesitates. You glance up. “What?”

“Carisi called this morning,” she says slowly. “Said the DA’s office is extending your placement with us.”

You blink. “He didn’t tell you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Apparently it’s due to ‘unforeseen administrative complications.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You sigh and sit back in your chair. “He mentioned something about Albany stonewalling a few policy changes. Didn’t give me much else, and I didn’t push.”

“Huh.” You both go quiet. It’s not awkward—just still. A shared pause neither of you feels the need to rush through. You sip from your now-cold coffee and glance at her over the rim. “If you’re looking to get rid of me, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replies, but there’s no heat behind it. Only the faintest trace of something else. Interest. She leans forward after a beat. “I looked into your father.” That catches you off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t snooping,” she adds quickly. “I just… I recognized the name. Went through a few archived cases. His record’s spotless. Commendations. Arrests. Seems like he was—”

“An excellent cop,” you finish for her, a humorless smile tugging at your mouth. “Yeah. That wasn’t the problem.” Olivia stays quiet. Waiting.

You exhale slowly. Fold your hands. “My mother was killed in a carjacking when I was seven. Random. Wrong place, wrong time.” Olivia doesn’t speak. Her eyes are locked on yours—calm, open.

You continue, your voice tight but steady. “My father was already losing himself to the job, even before that. After she died… he just disappeared. Not physically. Just—emotionally. Completely. He went from being cold to nonexistent.” You look away for a second, then back at her.

“He kept the house, but we were on our own. Cooked my own meals, applied to college by myself, signed my own permission slips until I graduated. He made sure the lights stayed on, but that’s it.”

Another beat. “I think part of him died with her. The rest turned into a badge and a bottle.” Olivia’s expression doesn’t shift much, but her hands tighten where they rest on her knees.

“He ever hurt you?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head. “Not in a way that leaves marks.” That hangs there between you. Heavy. “You remind me of him, you know,” you say, more gently than expected. “Or at least the cop he used to be. Always watching. Always carrying it. Always trying to outwork the damage.”

Olivia looks at you for a long moment. Something in her chest rises and falls more deeply than before. “I’m sorry,” she says.

You shrug. “Don’t be. It made me who I am.”

She tilts her head. “Which part?”

You meet her eyes. “The part that doesn’t flinch anymore.” Another pause.

“I don’t believe that,” she says softly. “I think you flinch all the time. You just don’t let anyone see it.” You don’t answer, because she’s right. She stands slowly, smoothing out her jacket. But she doesn’t move to leave just yet.

“You know,” she says, voice quieter now, “you don’t have to keep proving how untouchable you are. Not to me.” You look up at her, and for once, let her see something unguarded in your expression.

“I don’t know how to be anything else.” Olivia’s gaze lingers for a beat—warm, but weighted.

“I think you do,” she replies. “You just forgot.” She walks out a moment later, and this time… you wish she hadn’t.

The call comes in just after 6 a.m. By the time you get to the precinct, Olivia is already there—shoulders tense, jaw locked, eyes trained on the briefing room like the whole building might collapse if she looks away.

She doesn’t greet you. Just gestures you in with a tilt of her head. Inside, Fin and Amanda are seated at the table. A uniformed officer stands by the whiteboard, flipping through a few handwritten notes. The case file is thick. “Walk me through it,” you say, sliding into the chair across from Olivia.

Fin starts. “Fourteen-year-old girl, Jessa Monroe, found at the bottom of a tenement stairwell in the Lower East Side. Multiple fractures, two black eyes, defensive wounds. She’s alive, but barely. She was conscious for a minute when the first unit arrived—said, ‘He pushed me.’ Then passed out.”

“She’s in a coma now,” Olivia adds. “No sign of forced entry, no surveillance footage from inside the building.”

“She live there?” you ask.

Amanda nods. “Third floor. With her stepfather and younger half-brother.”

Your fingers drum against the table. “Biological mother?”

“Deceased,” Fin says. “Died of an overdose when Jessa was ten. Stepdad’s had legal custody since.”

“And where was he when this happened?”

Olivia’s voice is flat. “He says he was out picking up groceries. Left the kids alone for half an hour.”

Your eyes lift. “And do we believe that?”

“I believe she said ‘He pushed me’ for a reason.” You exhale through your nose. Something sharp coils in your chest. You glance at the folder in front of you, then back at Olivia.

“How much history do we have on him?”

Amanda flips a page. “Minor priors. DUI, resisting once about ten years ago. Nothing recent. CPS has visited the home twice in the last year, but no official action taken.”

“And the little brother?”

“Eight,” Olivia says. “He was there. Says he didn’t see anything. Just heard yelling, then a thud.” You feel your gut tighten. You’ve seen this case before. Not this exact one, but versions of it.

Girls shoved down stairs, pushed over balconies, into silence. Evidence that only suggests guilt but never lands hard enough to make a jury care. These are the cases that haunt you, the ones that test the line between justice and law.

Olivia catches your expression. “You okay?”

You nod once. “I just hate this case already.”

By mid-afternoon, you’re back in the interrogation room, watching through the two-way mirror as Olivia questions the stepfather. He’s calm. Too calm. Hands folded. Voice smooth. Keeps using Jessa’s name like it’s currency. “I would never hurt her,” he says, over and over. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s your stepdaughter,” Olivia corrects. “And she was terrified of you.”

He flinches—but just barely. “Kids exaggerate,” he says. “She’s emotional. Always has been.”

You feel your hands curl into fists at your sides. Outside the glass you stood observing, Olivia glances over her shoulder at you—like she feels it too. The wrongness. Afterward, she finds you back in your office. “We don’t have enough,” she says.

“I know.”

“I hate this part.”

You nod. “Me too.” There’s silence for a beat. Then she asks it, voice quieter now

“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?”

You glance at her. Then away. “Yeah. I prosecuted a similar case three years ago. Same setup. Step-parent. Girl was eleven. Nobody believed her. Not until it was too late.”

“What happened?”

You exhale. “She was found in a crawl space under the floorboards.” Olivia flinches.

“She lasted four days,” you add. “They’d called it a runaway. By the time they looked deeper, she was gone.” Olivia doesn’t say anything.

Eventually, you speak again—this time softer, not to fill the silence, but because it hurts to leave it there. “You think being in this job makes you numb. But it doesn’t. It just makes you quiet about what it breaks.”

She steps forward slowly, arms still folded. “I don’t think you’re numb.”

You look at her. “I think you’ve just had to pretend longer than most of us.” You want to scoff, say something sharp—something to build the wall back up. But instead, you say nothing.

Because she’s right again, and you’re tired of pretending she’s not. That night, as you walk out of the building together, neither of you says a word. But Olivia keeps glancing at you. Not like she’s watching your steps. Like she’s watching your cracks. And you? You don’t hate it as much as you should.

You wake up before your alarm—again. It’s becoming a pattern. The apartment is still dim, touched only by the early gray light leaking through your curtains. The air is cold against your skin as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and sit there for a moment, elbows on your knees, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that never quite rest.

You shower. Dress in practiced movements. Coffee brews while you review emails on your phone, already anticipating the day ahead. There’s always a backlog, always another victim waiting, always a clock ticking somewhere in the background.

You make it into the office earlier than usual—earlier than most. The halls are still quiet, only a few staff members and a bleary-eyed intern at their desks. You nod at the desk attendant without stopping, coffee in hand and a folder tucked under your arm. Your office is just how you left it, papers stacked neatly, whiteboard half-filled with notes, and the scent of aging case files lingering like dust in the corners.

You take a seat, the leather chair groaning beneath you as you power on your screen. The hours before lunch pass in a blur of red pen, witness statements, and strategic annotations. You’re halfway through a supplemental witness list for a different case—something low-priority but still heavy when there’s a knock on your door.

Except Olivia doesn’t wait for you to answer. She walks in like she belongs there, which—by now—she does. There’s a rhythm between the two of you now, a quiet understanding built on friction and fragments of trust. She doesn’t waste time.

“He’s talking,” she says.

Your posture straightens. “The kid?”

She nods. “Fin’s with him now. Amanda says he’s scared, but he asked if we could get the bad man out of the house.”

Your chest tightens—not professionally, not clinically, but in that place you try to keep separate. The one that knots itself every time a child’s voice has to carry more weight than it should. “We’re recording?” you ask.

“Every word.”

You’re already moving. By the time you reach the observation room, there’s a hum in the air—activity without chaos. Olivia walks beside you, silent but present. She doesn’t need to say anything. The fact that she came to you first says enough.

Through the glass, you see him—Nico. He’s sitting in the interview chair, legs too short to reach the floor, so they swing in slow, nervous arcs. One hand is curled tightly around a stuffed rabbit that looks like it’s seen better days—ears worn, stitching loose at the neck. His other hand rests uncertainly on the table in front of him.

Fin sits across from him, calm and steady, hands folded on the table. No pressure. No raised voice. Just patience. Nico’s voice is barely audible through the speaker, soft and brittle as he talks about the man in the house. The way he yells. The way he touches things he shouldn’t. The way Nico learned to make himself small. Unnoticeable.

He keeps glancing at the mirror. He doesn’t know it’s glass. Doesn’t know you’re there, or maybe he does in the way kids sometimes just know. You don’t speak. You don’t move. Just watch.

Olivia watches, too, arms crossed over her chest, jaw tight but unreadable. She doesn’t blink much. You wonder if she’s holding her breath, the same way you are.

“He asked Amanda if he’d get in trouble for telling,” Olivia says quietly beside you. “She told him the bravest thing a person can do is say the truth out loud.”

You nod once, eyes still on the boy. “She’s right.” You don’t say the rest, that sometimes telling the truth doesn’t feel brave. Sometimes it feels like reopening a wound with your bare hands and waiting to see if anyone will stop the bleeding.

Nico keeps talking. “He was yelling,” Nico says. “I heard him tell her she was bad. That she was making him mad again. She cried. I told her not to yell back, but she did.”

Fin’s voice is low, patient. “Then what happened, buddy?”

There’s a long pause. Nico hugs the rabbit tighter. “Daddy pushed her.” The words hang in the air like a slow-motion punch.

“I heard her scream,” he says, quieter now. “Then nothing.” You close your eyes. Olivia’s standing right next to you, arms folded, jaw tight—but her eyes shine with something deeper. Grief. Rage. Resignation.

You don’t say a word. The warrant for the stepfather’s arrest is signed within the hour. The squad moves quickly—Fin and Amanda lead the charge, and Olivia oversees every inch of it. You’re back at your desk, prepping charges and anticipating the usual tricks defense will try.

But your mind is somewhere else. It’s on Nico. On Jessa. On a justice system that only listens when the scars are loud enough. By 6 p.m., the squad is back. The stepfather’s in holding, expression blank and unbothered. He doesn’t ask for a lawyer right away. He just stares at the table, like none of this is real.

You don’t want to be in the room with him. So you go to Olivia’s office instead. She’s seated at her desk, but not working. Just staring at a file that hasn’t been opened. When you knock, she doesn’t flinch—she just waves you in without a word.

You close the door behind you. “You okay?”

“No.”

You nod. “Same.” Silence.

Then—“He confessed. After we showed him the boy’s statement.”

You sink into the chair across from her. “What’d he say?”

“That she was ‘too much.’ That she kept challenging him. That she didn’t know how to be grateful.”

You swallow hard. “Like it was her fault.”

She nods. “Like it always is.”

Your fingers tap the edge of her desk, restlessly. “There’s no making this one okay.”

“No,” she says. “But at least she gets to wake up one day knowing he’s gone.”

You exhale. “If she wakes up.” That silence hurts worse than anything else. You glance at her. “You ever think you picked the wrong path?”

Olivia’s eyebrows lift, faintly. “This job. These cases. The uphill climb every damn day. Some days it feels like we’re just patching holes in a sinking ship.”

She studies you for a moment. Then she says, almost too softly: “Yeah. I think about it a lot.” Your throat tightens. You don’t expect the next thing you say, but it slips out anyway.

“My mom was kind. Strong. And the only reason I survived childhood with him.”

Olivia watches you closely. “She died because someone wanted her car and didn’t want witnesses,” you say. “And my father used that as an excuse to shut down. To be a shell of a man who couldn’t even look at me without seeing her.” You take a breath.

“I got into this work because I wanted to make sure somebody was still fighting for people like her. But lately… I don’t know.”

“You feel like you’re losing ground,” she finishes. You nod. There’s a pause before Olivia speaks again, and when she does, her voice is different—softer, but unwavering.

“You’re not.” You meet her gaze.

“You didn’t save Jessa before he pushed her,” she says, “but you’re going to make sure he never does it to another girl again. That’s something.”

“Is it enough?”

“No,” she admits. “But it’s what we’ve got.” Another long pause. “You don’t have to carry it all yourself, you know,” she adds.

You look at her. Really look. “Neither do you.” For a second, the air between you shifts. All the sarcasm, the tension, the snide remarks and pride and cynicism—it’s still there. But quieter now. Muted by something heavier.

Respect.

Grief.

Need.

Olivia clears her throat and sits up straighter. “I’ve got one more statement to review tonight. Want to stick around?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You asking for company?”

“I’m asking if you’re done pretending this doesn’t affect you.” You pause. Then rise to your feet.

“I’ll stay,” you say. And you do.

——————————————————

It starts the same way it did with you. The first time, you bring the case file over yourself because your assistant’s out sick and you don’t trust the new temp not to drop it off with the wrong squad. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. You walk the file down the hall, knock on Olivia’s office door, and hand it over.

She lifts a brow. “You lost your sarcasm too or just your assistant?”

You smirk. “I figured if you can do it, so can I.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Careful counselor. You’re starting to blend in.” You leave before the warmth in your chest can do anything foolish. The next week, you do it again. No reason. Just… do.

By the third week, it’s a rhythm. You swing by with updates. Sometimes you don’t even knock anymore. Just walk in, drop the folder, exchange a look. Maybe a joke. Maybe not. Sometimes she’s already waiting with a folder of her own, like she anticipated you.

Neither of you comments on it. You just keep showing up. Until one afternoon, when you walk in and she’s sitting at her desk with two paper bags and a water bottle balanced precariously on top of her paperwork.

She doesn’t look up when she says, “If you’re going to keep bringing me files, the least you can do is stay for lunch.”

You blink. “I—what?”

She finally looks at you, calm as ever. “Salad or sandwich?”

You hesitate, then close the door behind you. “Sandwich.”

She pushes a bag across the desk without missing a beat. “Didn’t take you for a hand held food kind of person.”

“You took a guess on my eating habits?”

She shrugs. You pull out the sandwich. It’s exactly what you would’ve ordered. Neither of you says a word for a while. You just eat in comfortable silence, papers spread between you, the city moving on without either of you noticing. It becomes another thing. Not every day. But most.

Lunch together. Sometimes at her desk, sometimes at yours. Sometimes in the back booth of a quiet café a few blocks away where no one asks for autographs or testimony. It’s not flirtation. Not really. It’s something quieter. Slower. Heavier. A trust that’s grown legs and started walking on its own.

Fin notices first. You’re standing at Olivia’s desk with a coffee in one hand and a case folder in the other when he strolls by, sipping from his own cup like he’s minding his business. He gives Olivia a look—pointed, amused.

“What?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Just nice seeing you smile again. Usually it takes a perp in cuffs or a finished trial to do that.”

Olivia glares at him. “It’s lunch.”

“Mm-hm.” He walks away without saying more, but you don’t miss the grin he hides behind his cup.

Olivia huffs. “Ignore him.” You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Your smirk says enough. Later that week, you’re sitting across from her again, both of you working through a joint case file, when she looks up—softly, almost like she’s thinking out loud.

“You’re different now.”

You glance at her. “Than when I got here?”

She nods. You take a beat before answering. “You are too.”

She watches you. “Not sure I’ve changed much.”

“You’ve let me in ” you say simply. That silence again—thick but not heavy.

Then Olivia exhales a laugh under her breath. “People like us don’t just let someone in. We wear each other down.”

You tilt your head. “You think that’s what this is? Wearing down?” Her eyes flick to yours.

“No,” she says. “Id hope it’s something else.” You don’t press her. But when your fingers brush as you both reach for the same folder, neither of you pulls away.

The day starts quiet, too quiet. You’ve been working the serial assault case with Olivia for the past week—long enough for it to start clawing under your skin. A man targeting women walking alone at night, sticking to a tight ten-block radius.

Always the same profile, women late twenties to early forties, just a few blocks from home. He’s methodical. Smart. He leaves no prints, no DNA. Just trauma and the echo of fear. So far, he’s a ghost.

But this morning, there’s movement. A woman calls in—a potential witness. Claims she saw someone tailing a woman on her street two nights ago, hiding in the shadows.

She hadn’t come forward before. Said she was too scared. Thought maybe she’d imagined it. But after seeing a story in the local paper—an article naming the string of attacks—she couldn’t stay quiet anymore. She lives within the ten-block radius.

When Olivia asks you to come with her, she doesn’t explain why. You’re not technically needed—this isn’t an interview or an interrogation. It’s groundwork. The kind of thing a detective handles without involving the ADA.

But you don’t question it. You just grab your coat and follow her to the car. The drive is quiet. She’s focused, but not cold. You can tell she’s been here before—in the lull before the break, the quiet before the chaos. She keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, scanning her surroundings like she’s not just driving, but watching.

You don’t ask why. Not yet. The woman lives on the fourth floor of an old walk-up. The apartment smells like smoke and old carpet, and the radiator ticks with every breath of heat it tries to push through. She’s nervous, pale, and clearly still shaken.

Olivia talks to her gently—doesn’t crowd her, doesn’t push. She coaxes the details out slowly. The woman recalls seeing a man loitering in the alley across from her building, watching a neighbor walk by.

She says he didn’t move. Didn’t light a cigarette. Didn’t scroll on his phone like someone passing time. Just stood there. Still. Intent. He was wearing a hat. A dark jacket. Gloves. She didn’t see his face, but something about the way he stood gave her chills.

You take notes quietly, watching from the side of the room. Olivia kneels down beside the witness as she speaks, level with her on the old couch. Her voice softens, her presence steady. And once again, you feel that tug in your chest—that strange, quiet awe at how she becomes something else in these moments. Something unshakable.

You’re halfway down the steps after the interview when Olivia suddenly freezes mid-stride. Her hand shoots out, stopping you before your next step. “What?” you ask.

She doesn’t answer—just shifts her gaze across the street. You follow her line of sight. There’s a man standing on the corner, one hand braced on the brick wall of a laundromat. He’s not doing anything. Not smoking. Not texting. Just… standing there.

Watching the building and now watching you. His eyes meet yours—and he turns sharply, walking away with purpose. Olivia’s voice drops to a whisper, all steel. “I think that’s him.”

“Wait, what?” You blink, heart rate kicking up.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Come on.” You’re barely back in the car before Olivia throws it into gear, pulling out just as the man rounds the corner.

She’s driving fast, but not reckless—just with the precision of someone who’s done this too many times. “Why the hell would he be here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level.

“Because she wasn’t the only one who read the article,” Olivia says, jaw clenched. “If he saw his pattern exposed, he might’ve come to see who talked.” The thought makes your stomach turn.

“He was watching the building,” she adds. ��Waiting to see who came out.”

You glance behind you, adrenaline spiking. “So he was tracking us?”

“He was tracking her,” she corrects. “You and me being there just pushed the clock.”

He turns down an alley off 12th, disappearing between two buildings. Olivia slams the SUV into park without a word. “I’m going after him.”

“I’m coming with you—”

“No.” She’s already half out the door. “If he sees you, he’ll bolt.”

“Liv—”

“Just give me two minutes.” And then she’s gone. You sit in the car, heart pounding, hands clenched. You hate this. Hate the waiting. Hate the knowledge that she’s chasing someone dangerous while you’re stuck here, sidelined.

Every instinct in you wants to follow, call fin, do something. But she asked for two minutes. So you give her that. Three minutes pass. Then four. The longest seven minutes of your life tick by before she bursts back into view, breathless, fury burning in her eyes.

Blood on her knuckles.

Scrape on her temple.

“He ran,” she pants, slamming the door shut. “I clipped him—cornered him against the wall. He fought dirty. Scaled a fire escape before I could cuff him. Patrol’s sweeping the block.”

You stare at her, chest tight. “You went after him alone.”

“I told you to stay in the car.”

“I’m not one of your rookies.”

“No,” she snaps, whirling on you. “You’re the ADA who didn’t see the guy watching you from thirty feet away.” Silence. You feel the weight of it settle like lead in your chest.

Her hands are shaking now. Not from the fight. Not from the adrenaline. “You think he was really there for the witness?” you ask softly.

“I think he wanted to see who was working the case,” she says, quieter now. “And I think if he got a clean look at you, walking alone out of that building… we’d be handling this from a whole different angle.”

You sit back in your seat. The cold from the leather seeps through your coat. “Why didn’t you tell me that was a risk?” you ask, voice low.

“Because I didn’t want to scare you.”

You glance over at her. “You think I scare easy?”

“No.” She breathes out, softer this time. “I think I care too damn much.” That undoes something in you. For a second, neither of you speak.

She leans back, rubbing her scraped knuckles with the edge of her coat sleeve, then mutters, “You don’t make it easy.”

You huff out a quiet breath. “Neither do you.”

“I meant what I said.” Her voice steadies. “I don’t know how to not care about you.” You look at her fully now, heart hammering in your chest. No games. No posturing. Just her—raw and real in the driver’s seat beside you.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say finally, voice barely audible. She turns, eyes locking with yours. And this time, there’s nothing in the way. Not sarcasm. Not fear. Not pride, just you and her. In this car. In this truth.

Her voice drops, barely a whisper. “Good.” And for the first time all day, the silence between you feels like something you can breathe in, like it’s finally safe to hope.

The next morning, the precinct feels different. It’s subtle—like someone shifted everything half an inch to the left. No one else notices, of course. Not Fin. Not Amanda. Not the kid behind the desk trying to staple six pages in reverse order. But you do.

And so does Olivia. She doesn’t look at you when you walk in. Not immediately. Just keeps her eyes on the case board, one hand perched on her hip, a mug of coffee in the other like it’s the only thing grounding her.

“Morning,” you offer, voice calm. Controlled.

She looks up slowly. Nods. “Morning.”

No smirk. No glare. Just that look. The one you’ve been trading back and forth for weeks now—only now it’s heavier. Realer. You both let something out of the cage last night, and neither of you knows how to shove it back in.

You drop a file on her desk, fingertips brushing the edge like it might burn. “Here’s the DA’s final charge recommendations for the stalker. He signed off on attempted murder and felony assault. Jury’s going to want blood.”

“They’ll get it,” Olivia replies. And for a moment, that’s all you say.

Until Fin walks by, throws a quick glance between the two of you, and mutters under his breath, “You two finally figure it out yet, or should we all start a betting pool?”

You shoot him a warning look. Olivia glares harder. He just smirks and keeps walking. By lunchtime, you’re back in your office, pretending the same sandwich you’ve eaten for three days in a row still has taste. There’s a knock on the door—gentle, careful.

You know it’s her. She steps inside, coffee in hand, hesitating for once. “Do you have five minutes?”

You gesture to the chair across from you. “For you? Always.” That lands with a soft thud between you. Olivia closes the door.

“You okay?” you ask, and this time it’s different. You mean it differently.

She nods. “Are you?”

You hesitate. Then: “No. Not really.”

Her brows knit slightly. “Because of yesterday?” You nod.

“Because you were in danger?”

You shake your head. “Because you told me you care.” She goes still.

“And because I wasn’t surprised,” you add. “Because I already knew. I just didn’t want to admit what it meant.”

Olivia sinks into the chair, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “This job doesn’t make room for… whatever this is.”

You study her. “And yet you keep bringing me lunch.” She almost smiles.

You lean back, letting out a breath. “I don’t know what to do with it either. But I know it’s not nothing.”

“I don’t want to pretend it is,” she admits. “But I don’t want it to ruin everything, either.”

“It won’t,” you say, quieter now. “Unless we lie about it.” The silence stretches again—but it feels different this time. Less like avoidance. More like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down, knowing the other person is right beside you.

“You said it,” you murmur. “I felt it. And now nothing feels the same.”

Olivia meets your gaze. “What if that’s okay?” You stare at her. She stares back. And for once, neither of you looks away.

You both decide to not eat lunch separately, you don’t talk about the case. You don’t talk about Carisi, or the DA, or the man still sitting in a holding cell waiting for trial. You just sit across from Olivia, in the same booth you’ve randomly found comfort in for weeks now. Two meals. Two drinks. One table with something unspoken finally breathing between you. You’re not exactly sure what to call it just yet.

It’s another late evening, The kind of late where the city hums quieter and the precinct feels like a skeleton of itself—bare-bones and echoing. Olivia’s still in her office when you drop off the finalized court schedule. She doesn’t hear you approach, too focused on the open file in front of her.

You knock gently on the frame. Her head lifts. “Hey.”

You step inside. “Do you ever go home?”

She shrugs. “Do you?”

You offer a small smile. “Touché.”

You place the folder on her desk, but you don’t back away. She doesn’t tell you to. There’s nothing formal about the way you’re standing there, just… present. She leans back in her chair and exhales, scrubbing a hand through her hair.

“I should get some sleep,” she mutters, not moving an inch.

“Yeah. Me too.” But neither of you makes a move. The quiet between you isn’t awkward anymore. It’s waiting.

Eventually, she nods toward the empty chair across from her. “Sit.”

You do. For a moment, you don’t say anything. Just study her in the dim office light—tired eyes, sleeves rolled up, a pen tucked behind one ear like she forgot it was there. “You’re still carrying yesterday,” you say softly.

“So are you.”

You nod. “I don’t think I know how not to.”

Olivia leans forward, her elbows on her knees, hands clasped. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if he had turned around. If he’d seen you.”

You pause. “But he didn’t.”

“I know.” Her voice is low, threaded with something heavier. “But it’s like… that moment doesn’t leave me. I keep picturing it.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you stand. Walk around the desk. Stop just beside her. She looks up.

You say nothing.

Neither does she.

But her eyes soften—unspoken and knowing—and it pulls something out of you that you didn’t realize was already halfway there. You lean down slowly. Not cautiously, not calculated. Just drawn. And when your lips meet hers, it’s quiet. No crash. No dramatic pause.

Just contact. Warm and natural and so obviously overdue that it feels like exhaling after holding your breath for months. She doesn’t pull away. You do—just barely, after a few seconds—eyes wide, stunned at yourself.

“I—” you start, already regretting the impulse. “I’m sorry, I—”

She doesn’t let go, doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give you the space to backpedal. She just rises out of her chair, closing the small gap, and kisses you again—deeper this time, like it’s not a surprise at all. Like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

There’s no apology in it, only intention. When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests gently against yours. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Then, Olivia whispers “I’m not sorry.” You breathe out, barely a sound.

“Me neither.” And just like that… it’s real.

Not a maybe. Not a hypothetical. But you and her. Here. Now.

Finally.

——————————————————————

It’s been two weeks and not much has changed. Another file. Another sandwich. Another unspoken excuse to see her. Now that you’ve stopped pretending it’s just about work. The paperwork still gets delivered. The case briefs still get signed. But the pauses are longer now. The glances heavier. And the way Olivia watches you when you walk into her office?

Yeah. It’s not professional anymore. Today, it’s you bringing her lunch. A real one. Not something from the vending machine. You even remembered how she takes her iced tea—light lemon, barely any sugar. She raises an eyebrow when you set it on her desk.

“You’re making the rest of the department look bad.”

You shrug. “Good. Let them rise to the occasion.”

She smirks. “Smug looks good on you.”

You sit in the chair across from her while she unwraps the sandwich. For a few minutes, it’s just quiet eating and casual conversation—banter, clipped sarcasm, and the kind of comfort that sneaks up on people who’ve stopped trying to fight it.

You’re halfway to standing when you say, “Alright. I’ve got a motion hearing to prep. I’ll stop by after court—” But before you can take a step toward the door, Olivia reaches out and gently grabs your wrist. You pause, she doesn’t say anything. Just stands, closes the space between you, and kisses you.

It’s soft. Intentional. No hesitation. You kiss her back—instinctively, completely and forget for one stupid, perfect moment that the world exists outside this office. The door, apparently, does not. Because it opens without warning. “Liv, you got a sec—?”

Carisi’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. You and Olivia freeze. Still close. Still caught. Still visibly not doing anything that two coworkers should be doing in the middle of a precinct. He stops just inside the door, staring with raised brows and a look that says so many things, none of which you are emotionally prepared to address right now. He blinks. Then grins. “Well, well.”

You rub the back of your neck, suddenly aware of how warm your face feels. “You’re back—”

“Flight landed an hour ago,” he says casually. “Thought I’d stop by and see how my favorite ADA’s been holding up, you weren’t at the office…..”

“I’ve been—fine.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans, eyes flicking between you and Olivia with far too much delight.

Olivia, however, does not flinch. She simply picks up her sandwich again like she wasn’t just kissing you five seconds ago. “You’re late,” she tells Carisi flatly.

“I wasn’t expected,” he fires back, smug as ever.

“Exactly,” she mutters, taking a bite.

You stare at the ceiling. “I hate both of you.”

“You say that,” Carisi says, gesturing to the sandwich bag in your hand, “but I see you brought her lunch. That’s not hate, my friend. That’s peak domestic behavior.”

Olivia smirks. “I’m a catch.”

Carisi nods. “No arguments there.” You’re halfway to walking out in embarrassment when Olivia’s voice stops you again. “Hey.”

You turn back. She doesn’t say anything—just gives you a look. One that says don’t overthink it. One that says I’ll see you later.

And you nod.

The rest of the day is a blur of court filings, backlogged paperwork, and mild emotional whiplash from Carisi’s smirk permanently burned into your memory. You think you’ve avoided the worst of it—until he corners you outside the courthouse, leaning casually against the railing like he’s been waiting just long enough to be annoying.

“Nice form,” he says.

You don’t break stride. “Go away.”

He falls into step beside you. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen worse kiss interruptions. You could’ve been caught by a uniform. Or Fin. Hell, even Rollins. Olivia probably would’ve had to file a report.”

“You want a report?” you mutter. “Fine. It was a kiss. It happened. Now it’s un-happening because you walked in like a sitcom uncle.”

Carisi just laughs. “Look, I’m not mad. I’m impressed. You and Liv? That’s like two tectonic plates finally giving in.”

You pause on the courthouse steps, turning toward him. “Don’t get used to it. It’s not a thing.”

He gives you a look. “Sure it’s not.”

“It’s not,” you insist, then immediately cringe. “Okay, maybe it’s a thing. But it’s new. And delicate. And none of your damn business bone head.”

He raises both hands. “Fine, fine. No questions. No commentary.” You start to walk away.

“Just one thing,” Carisi calls after you, his voice carrying that familiar, maddening note of knowing something you don’t. You stop but don’t turn around. Not yet.

“She’s not as guarded as she used to be, you know,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a grenade he’s just casually lobbed into your chest. “When she looks at you.”

You blink, eyes narrowing slightly even though he can’t see your face. You stand there a second longer, heart stuttering in a way that makes you feel both exposed and infuriatingly human. Then you walk away before you can give that comment the weight you know it deserves.

That evening, you linger longer at your desk than usual. The office is quiet now—too quiet for Manhattan, too quiet for your own good. There’s a half-eaten sandwich on the edge of a file you’re not really reading. A coffee gone cold. Your laptop glows idly in front of you, cursor blinking like it’s waiting for you to type something profound.

You don’t expect her to show up. Olivia’s had a long week. You both have. And part of you figures she’d want distance after earlier—after the tense back-and-forths, after the unspoken moments that hovered just a little too long. You’ve seen it before. She shuts down, folds inward. And you don’t chase.

But then… there’s a soft knock on your already open door. Not commanding. Not sharp. Tentative. You look up. She’s standing there. Same jacket. Same tired eyes. But her posture—there’s something about it that’s less braced. Less armored. Like she came here before she could overthink it. “You got a minute?” she asks.

You nod, barely trusting your voice. She steps inside, closes the door behind her with a soft click. Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t pace. Just stands there, hands in the pockets of her coat, watching you with the caution of someone who’s walked into too many rooms and left them with more regret than answers. “I’m not entirely good at this,” she says finally, voice low and raw.

You lean back in your chair, brow ticking up. “Which part?”

She shrugs, but it’s tight—like it takes effort just to move her shoulders. “Any of it. The… feelings. The talking. The letting someone close without thinking three steps ahead.”

You close your laptop slowly. “You think I am?”

A half-sigh leaves her, half-laugh. “You’re better at hiding it.”

You tilt your head. “I’m a prosecutor, Olivia. It’s literally my job to lie with confidence.” That earns you a small smile, brief but real. She doesn’t look away.

“You regretting this decision?” you ask gently.

“No,” she says, too fast. Too certain. “Not even for a second.” You stand, slowly. Not to intimidate, not to posture—just to meet her at eye level. To close the distance without words.

Your steps are careful, deliberate. Her eyes follow you the entire way. “Then what exactly are we doing?” you ask. She takes a breath like she’s about to answer—but then stops, and her gaze drops for a second, like she’s sifting through a dozen possible truths.

When her eyes return to yours, they’re clearer. Warmer. “I think…” she starts, then swallows. “I think we’re finally not running from it.”

You smile faintly, lips quirking. “That sounds dangerously healthy for us.” She steps a little closer this time. Not much. Just enough that the air feels different.

“You think it’s too soon?” she asks. You consider it—not in the performative way, not to build tension. You really think about it. About every moment that’s led to now. Every clash, every stolen glance, every time you caught yourself memorizing the way she laughs when she doesn’t mean to.

“No,” you say. “I think it’s exactly when it was always going to happen.” There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels full. Heavy in the best way.

Then, softer—almost shyly, but not weak—she says it “I kinda missed you today.” And just like that, something breaks open in your chest. You reach out without thinking, hand brushing against her wrist. It’s a light touch, tentative at first—testing. But when she doesn’t pull away, you let your fingers curl gently around her skin.

The warmth of her under your touch is more grounding than you expect. She leans in, not rushed, not hesitant—just steady. Certain. This time, you’re not caught off guard. You meet her halfway, and when your lips touch, it’s quiet. It’s not fireworks. It’s not cinematic.

It’s better.

It’s real.

She exhales into the kiss like she’s been holding her breath all week. And maybe you have too.

#law and order: svu #olivia benson #oliviabenson x reader #olivia benson x reader #fin tutuola #dominic carisi #amanda rollins #x reader #mariska hargitay

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thinkingaboutbetterdays · 10 months ago

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glasses. ( elliot stabler x reader )

gif belongs to me

You rarely wore your glasses in the presence of company. Only when the blinds were closed in your office or when you were in the comfort of your own home. However, you were due to appear in the Judge's chambers tomorrow morning to discuss the case you were prosecuting, arguing against the defense ruling out the tape recording of the defendant's voice, and expected everyone on the floor to have headed home, and weren't expecting any visitors.

The last person you expected to knock on your door as he walked into your office was your boyfriend of four months. In your exhausted state, you weren't fast enough to remove your glasses and hide them in the top drawer of your desk. Elliot raised an eyebrow but gave no indication he saw your glasses.

"Hey," He greeted.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" You smiled as you stood up to greet him with a kiss, your smile growing as you pulled away.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. Liv and I are waiting to get some results back from the lab." He showed you his watch, "Do you know what time it is?"

"I don't know. Late?" You replied as you returned to your desk, sighing as you sat down. "I'm due in chambers first thing tomorrow. And I'm trying to make sure that weasel can't poke holes in my argument. I need that tape to be admitted into evidence."

Elliot chuckled, knowing exactly who you were referring to. Everyone at the precinct referred to the conniving defense lawyer as your archnemeses which wasn't far off. While prosecuting a case for the unit, you met Elliot when you showed up at the precinct to observe the line-up. Cragen had pulled some strings, calling in a few favors to make sure you agreed to take the case as it wasn't your typical case of choice. You had put some of the most hardened criminals in prison and while Olivia was wary at first, claiming you had no idea what it took to win a rape case, the brunette warmed up to you quickly as you proved your dedication to the cause, irritating a few judges along the way as you knew which one's to call for warrants knowing which buttons to push and when.

"And you also need to sleep." He pointed at you sternly, "Naps on that abomination you call a couch don't count."

You playfully rolled your eyes, covering your mouth as you yawned. "Alright, but I'm bringing it home to work on in the morning."

Elliot nodded, "Deal. Come on."

You gathered your paperwork and Elliot held your jacket as you slipped your arms in the sleeves, noticing you weren't bringing your glasses and wondered why you had hidden them so quickly.

Did you think he would see you differently? Embarrassed? Insecure?

He would figure out which but in the meantime, he took you home to the apartment he had moved into after his divorce and you both took a shower to wash the day away. Elliot was watching a game on the television while you worked quietly, with some difficulty. He could see the way you squinted at the writing and was tempted to mention you slamming the drawer closed to hide your glasses, but when you rubbed your temples and closed the paperwork defeatedly he realized why.

And Elliot was determined to change your mind.

The next night, after a great start to the trial, you were tidying up your desk when Elliot entered and you greeted him with a smile before turning to put a few books away on the bookshelves behind you, turning on your heel when you registered the change in his appearance.

"What are you doing?" You giggled as he closed the door.

"What?" He shrugged, moving to sit in the chair in front of your desk.

You shook your head, placed the books away, and took a seat behind your desk. "What's with the glasses?"

"Well, you know, I am a detective," He began, leaning back and clasping his hands. Your lips twitched with amusement, raising your eyebrows in mock surprise. "I'm pretty observant. Comes with the territory." He continued, "And yesterday I noticed that you almost chopped off your hand trying to hide your glasses in your top drawer." Your smile faltered and Elliot leaned his forearms on your desk. "I watched you last night, and this morning, when you tried to finish your work in time for chambers. You squinted."

"I squinted?" You echoed.

He nodded, "And I wondered why on Earth you felt the need to hide something like that from me."

"Ell-"

"I like 'em." He interrupted, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you glanced away from his gaze. "And, uh, I think they fit you perfectly, so perfect that I want you to wear them more often." You stared at the detective while he sighed. "A little too much actually."

Laughter left your lips and Elliot smiled at the sound, relieved the tension had been broken. You rested your arms on your desk, leaning closer to him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Uh-huh." He sent you a toothy grin and the sight of him wearing the glasses, combined with his usual charm made your heart feel as if it was going to explode. "And I read somewhere that not wearing glasses can cause all kinds of effects. Blurred vision and headaches to name a few."

"You looked it up?"

He nodded, "Of course I did. I take your health seriously. And so should you. So please, wear the damn glasses."

You shook your head as you sat back in your chair, and Elliot was prepared to continue his argument when you opened the top drawer of your desk and took out your glasses, putting them on. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the desk again and your shoulders shook in silent laughter at how elated he was.

"God, you're sexy." His voice dropped several octaves and you blushed from his appreciative gaze.

"You are not so bad yourself, detective."

"I have to be frank, counselor, I had a whole evening planned, but I don't think I could make the drive home."

You bit your lower lip, drawing his attention to the movement, and nodded to the blinds. "You close the blinds and I'll lock the door."

You both hastily made your way around the room and once the door was locked, and the blinds were closed, only the faint glow from the desk lamp providing a source of light, you stopped Elliot from taking off the glasses.

"Keep them on?" You pleaded.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he placed his hands on your waist, your hands running up his chest as he leaned in, your noses brushing as he murmured, "Only if you will."

You closed your eyes when his breath tickled your lips, nodding as you moved your hands to the nape of his neck, leaning on your toes as your lips met fervently. You turned, walking backward as you undid his tie and the buttons of his shirt. Your giggles were muffled by his kiss when he picked you up, hovering over you on the couch.

If wearing your glasses elicited this reaction from him, you were never taking them off again.

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

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ncis-nerd · 27 days ago

Text

I've got you babe

Ship: Olivia Benson x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, SA mention in detail, Fluff, Pet Names, Tickling, Older GF x Younger GF, Age Difference, Slight Mommy Kink.

About: A case gone wrong leaves you upset especially since you can relate to the case so you blame yourself but your older girlfriend Olivia provides a shoulder to cry on and comforts you.

Word Count: 792

Miscellaneous Masterlist

"Cmon baby, no need to be so shy. It's just me. Just mommy, my sweet girl. Let mommy see your pretty face, hm?" Olivia cooed.

The older woman coaxed you out of your little cocoon. Your head was buried in her shoulder.

As you slowly begins to pull away, your teary-eyes met Liv's.

"Oh honey.." Olivia sighed sadly.

She knew that this last case had taken a toll on you. The outcome of the case was so upsetting you took it personally, blaming yourself. Olivia's eyes, full of care and concern for you, scanned your face awaiting your reaction.

"Livie" you called out, finally your voice broke.

Olivia watched as the fragile girl began to sob. You attempted to cover your face with your fingers to spare your older girlfriend the energy of consoling you.

There was nothing Olivia could say to change the outcome of the case but what she knew talking would help her little love.

As captain, Olivia is aware of your background, how you were sexually assaulted in the past. She knew you could relate to the case on a deeper level, which is why you took the verdict so hard.

She sighed softly, her hand stroking your hair as the other caressed your back in attempt to ground you.

A few minutes passed, Liv was giving you the space to cry and let it all out before talking to you. There was no rush for you to open up, she understood. Liv has experienced this in victims and even in her own complicated history.

You sat limp in her arms as your tears met a halt. Your fingers started to trace light circles on Liv's back.

Olivia took this as a sign that you were ready to talk.

"Honey?" Liv spoke softly, her hand resting softly on your back.

You hummed in response.

"Are you ready to talk about it, my love?" The older woman asked, her face scanning you for signs of distress.

You and Liv had this agreement that you would always talk about it. If something was bugging the other, then you wouldn't let it escalate to an argument or fight. To talk about it and dispute the problem before it gets worse.

You scooted over, leaving some space between the two, but not much. Your hand clutched Liv's, not that she minded.

Olivia knew some form of physical touch helped you to ground you. It served as reassurance that Olivia was real and you would be okay eventually.

You let out a shaky breath before glancing back at Liv. She nodded, motioning for you to go on.

"I think the reason this case is getting to me so much is because this has happened to me. Not this exact situation but I was touched... without my consent..a-and I've told you about it briefly but..." Your voice broke, gripping Liv's hand tightly.

With her other hand, Olivia reached out to rub your back. Subtly reminding you to breathe.

"P-part of me wished someone had came to save me, but no one ever did. It got worse but you know what? I grew up, and got the hell out of there." You exhaled, feeling a huge weigh lifted off your chest.

"That's right my love. What you experienced, is horrible, I have no words. But you're right, you got the hell out of there and I'm so proud of you for that. Shows how strong you are, look how far you came. You help people everyday, you are amazing, my gorgeous, generous, girlfriend." her voice softened with affection.

You let out a soft giggle in response. Liv, obviously confused, shoots you a puzzled look.

The older woman furrowed her eyebrows.

"That all started with g's, I just thought it was funny." You squeaked in a lighter tone.

"Oh? Hm? Funny am I?" Liv pushed, climbing onto you, trapping you beneath her.

You raised an eyebrow towards your girlfriend who looked like she was plotting something. Olivia smirked as she attacked you with tickles.

"l-livie!" You squealed.

"How funny am I now? Hm, sweetheart?" Liv teased.

You squirmed beneath her, out of breath "l-liv i can't breath!!" You giggled. "Oh, can't you now baby? " Liv inched closer towards you, pressing her lips against yours.

Liv fell in the empty space beside you, her hand caressed your face.

Your eyes met Olivia's warm brown eyes as you leaned into Livia's touch.

"I love you so much, babe." You whispered quietly.

"You are so perfect, angel." Liv whispered in response.

The two of you gazed at each other with nothing other than love. Laying in silence, clutching onto one another, as you both fell asleep tangled up in silence.

a/n: like, reblog and comment for more!!

#my writing #my fic #olivia benson x reader #olivia benson x you #olivia benson #law and order svu #svu #svu fic #svu x reader #svu fanfiction #law and order special victims unit #Olivia Benson angst #l&o svu #law and order fanfiction #Olivia x reader #hurt/comfort #angst #mentions of sa #svu26

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mauvecherie-writes · 4 months ago

Text

be mine this christmas: l.hamilton.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc!xenia richards

trope: grumpy billionaire x personal assistant au

ru’s 💌: this will be my last update for a few days because I have some school work to do that I’ve been avoiding lol. The Lewis in this story is not to be conflated with IRL Lewis. He’s an asshole who knows he’s an asshole but you’ll love him the same. This story is fast paced because it takes place in about one day.

series masterlist

chapter: TWO

chapter warning: DUAL POV, mentions of toxic family dynamics: child neglect, asshole!lewis

chapter w.c: 3.86K

𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒

Lewis had an affinity for pissing people off. Since childhood, it had been something that he loved and it was probably something that he always had a fascination for. Seeing the way that he could affect someone else in such a way that dictates their mood was amusing to him. For most people, it was a funny occurrence that he would quickly forget about as soon as he left their presence . But there was one person that he made a point to aggravate with her furious expression being left in her wakes as she stormed away - his little assistant, Miss Xenia Richards.

Being able to garner a reaction out of her was worth his time in gold. It was like a hobby of his where he kept a running record going of how many times that he could successfully piss her off. Any moment that he was feeling bored, all it took was a swivel of his chair and an intercom call to her desk and it took nothing to invoke a reaction out of her - simply because it was too easy.

Why did Lewis love it so much? A very simple answer. He was an asshole.

It was how he was raised - or lack thereof.

A toxic cycle that he found all too time consuming to break with everything else that he had going on. It was just the way he was and he was not going to dig deep into his childhood trauma to figure out why pissing his PA off gave him a greater satisfaction than winning a new client. He liked the way he was just fine.

He wasn’t going to psychoanalyse why when she bashfully hid her face away from him, it made his dick hard. Or when she storms out of his office, he loved the way her ass jiggled and he pictured it bent over his lap wiggling as he slapped the smooth surface. He didn’t care as to why he enjoyed aggravating Xenia so much. But he was not going to stop any time soon.

When the company was established, Lewis had put it in the company policy that the executive staff would not fraternise with anyone directly in their line of authority and for the last three years he had been deeply regretting that rule. He was sure even the way that he fantasised about Xenia would be grounds for his termination from his position. So the next best thing that he had in his arsenal was riling her up.

His fascination also probably had to do with the fact that getting smart-mouthed and strong-willed women to submit to him was a kink of his. It was a dangerous affliction that he knew would cost him but it was worth it, million times over. Especially if it was Xenia at the end of his tunnel.

Lewis knew that she put up a good front but he could see right through Xenia’s faux exterior. She was nothing more than a brat who needed guidance. Specifically his guidance.

“Sir.” The sweet voice of his secretary, Tabitha, came over the phone’s intercom.

“Yes Tabitha?” He answered as it put a stop to his wayward thoughts.

“I have a list from Olivia on what else is needed for the Christmas party.” He could already feel an idea formulating before he could even utter thank you. The eagerness that swept through him at the thought of his assistant’s displeasure was concerning but he chose not to focus on that. Instead, his mind dwelled on how her face would contort between wanting to be defiant and wanting to submit to his bending. It was too good of a moment to not witness. As for now, he’ll just have to settle for the memories.

Lewis grabbed his cellphone from the desk and typed a quick message to Xenia with an updated list. He predicted that by now she probably would have been grabbing Mile’s lunch as the sushi restaurant was a few more miles further out from their offices. It was a last minute addition and when he thought about it, he preferred the roast blend from MonMouth instead.

After sending his message, he placed his phone back on his hand-carved red oak desk and turned back to face his computer screen. When the screen lit back up, he scrolled through some of the marketing reports and was particularly impressed with the continuous success of PLUS44WORLD. Nearly half a decade later into his retirement, his merch was still a major selling point of his brand. He then schemed through a few proposals from marketing agencies for sponsorships. He forwarded the ones that he thought would work best with the company to Miles and the legal team.

Even despite his obsession with enraging his personal assistant, Lewis could not deny that she did a fantastic job. A damn near perfect job actually. Everything that he threw her way, she was able to handle it with ease. Departments handed in their reports on time due to her delegation. Meetings and proposals, he went through half the time because Xenia often assessed them before forwarding them to him. This ultimately left him with very little to do towards the end of the day.

That was not great for his boredom. As he looked out of the window and watched the falling snow, he was forced to spend time with his thoughts. By the stream of thick fluff, he predicted that by the time Christmas rolled by, the streets of London. Would be covered in blankets of it. He hated the way that his mind shifted to his parents. They hated the cold, snow in particular and spent most of their time somewhere in the tropics.

At the very first sight of snowfall, they ran. As soon as they were able to leave Lewis alone with his nannies, they did. He was raised by his nannies, whichever one they had at the time. Up until he began to take an interest in motorsports, then his parents decided that they wanted to do their job. They had done just enough for it not to cause a media firestorm as his success grew expeditiously. The perfect family, they were dubbed.

It was only ever for the public. Behind closed doors, Lewis was often left alone - back into the arms of his nannies. Alone again, especially at Christmas. He never let it bother him, in essence, he was surrounded by too many people to actually ever be alone. But in his solitude, he had observed a thing or two about humans. Their mannerisms, their habits, their tells - all to come to the conclusion that people were ruled by their emotions. Whether they wanted to or not.

Through his adolescence, he pushed his nannies past their limits - most of them quitting before their contract was over. It was then that he decided that he was not a fan of compliant women. They were not stimulating enough for him. Lewis learnt a lot of things in his isolation as an only child. How to be in charge of his own happiness. He was indifferent to his parents due to their mistreatment and he probably needed professional help to unpack that. Right now, that was not a priority.

Instead, he chose to find solace in causing Xenia discomfort. He enjoyed seeing the life in her eyes when she got mad. He always wondered if there would be that same fire when she reached her climax. Or would she crumble beneath him, spent and exhausted. One assumption he was almost certain of was that she was undoubtedly a screamer. That he was sure.

As if his thoughts had summoned her presence, he turned around at the tumbling of limbs, bags and lunch barraging through his office door.

The better part of him wanted to stand up and offer some help. The arsehole part of him leaned back into his chair, silently watching as Xenia cursed as she struggled to make it through. After a painful moment, she was able to gather herself as she dumped the bags onto the floor and then placed his lunch and coffee onto his desk without a single spill.

“Such a gentleman for helping me with the door, sir.” She spat out the last word with so much venom. Xenia had probably done it to annoy him as if he wasn’t already in the mindset that he was, it would have. All it did now was that it shot shocks through to his dick. Too many times had he fantasised about her using his official title as she thanked him for her pleasure. He chewed on the inside of his cheek to control his smirk from breaking out as he watched her shuffle in one place as she tried to regulate her emotions. Her hand twitched by her sides as she seemed to be counting down.

She was so responsive, Lewis thought to himself. And it only drove his desire to toy with her more. Xenia may not respond with words but in letting her body respond for her, it fuelled the flames in the pit of her stomach.

Since Lewis had hired her, he knew that she would be more than he bargained for and he had begun to wonder if - even by just the smallest fraction, that she also wanted to please him. It would make sense if she did. Xenia was responsive to him in other ways that she may not have been aware of, eager for his touch and eager for his praise.

Yet she would not submit, she would not give up her control to him. But he would take it, own it, bend it to his will and there would be no going back.

However, as tempting as it would be, it was a pleasure that he would not indulge in just yet. The company rules were there for a reason and his desire would remain in his thoughts and burn his soul as they were starved of fruition.

Lewis would just have to settle for the tremble of her full, glossed lips, the rising of her chest instead of the jiggle of her ass. He would observe the fierceness that swirled in her eyes every time that she looked at him rather than the feeling of her cunt clamping down on his dick. He would expand her energy to run around the city with a list in hand for as long as it fuelled the fantasy of her running out of breath as he drove into her, marred the walls of his warped mind.

That would do. For now.

𝐗𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀

There were many kinds of demons in accordance with the religions and mythologies of the world and as this particular demonic spawn sighed as he leaned forward, Xenia wondered what she had done in her past life to deserve this.

“Let’s hope that I don’t need to get my shirts re-starched due to your negligence.”

Oh, this dickhead.

For the second time in less than two minutes, Xenia had to use the countdown method to control her rising temper. And for the fourth time that week, she thought about handing in her resignation, cashing out her savings and moving to New York. It was wishful thinking. A sigh left her as she patted her hair back into place.

“Maybe if you had helped me then that wouldn’t be a worry would it?”

“And why would I do that? It’s what I hired you for.”

Now, she knew that being of a certain class made people lose touch with reality but to hear such words come out of the cretin had her mind racing with insults that could curse an entire bloodline. All of them colourful and all of them violent enough to get her a secured spot in HM Bronzefield.

So she stood there in silence as she swallowed down her disgust at the complete lack of chivalry. They stayed there, Xenia attempting not to burst with anger and Lewis daring her to defy him.

You just need this job a little bit longer, Xenia.

Pushing her pride aside, she bent down, picked up his dry cleaning and walked across the main office space to the private en suite. She hung them behind the door and took a moment to inhale and exhale, again and again until she felt her hert beating steadily again.

Entering back into the office, she did not offer Lewis a second glance as she picked up the other bags up from the floor. “Now that you have your lunch, I will take these bags to the conference hall.” She turned to walk away, her body burning with anticipation to leave his scrutinising gaze. Then he cleared his throat and she had to stop herself from screaming in frustration.

“Is there anything else that you need from me, sir?”

“I do.” For all of the times for Xenia to be affected by his voice, it had to be when she wanted to bash the side of his head with the bags in her hands. Not only that, she hated the visceral reaction his voice seemed to have on her body. Her core tightened as a shiver rushed down her spine.

Xenia forced herself to stay still, facing the door as he stood directly behind her. She did not want to look into his eyes as she was avoiding whatever she was feeling.

“As soon as you drop those bags in the conference rooms, please come back here. I know your propensity to become distracted.”

He was right and it gutted her that he had picked up on the restlessness of her mind.

“Yes, sir.” Xenia did not stop once she had thrown the door open and rushed across the floor, avoiding the eyes of the other assistance.

“Are you alright?” Her mind couldn’t register that it was the voice of Tabitha. She incessantly pressed on the elevator button, in an effort to increase the distance between her and Lewis. Her eyes cut to his office and she saw him leaning against his desk so he took sips of his coffee as he scrolled through his phone. As if he could feel the intensity of her glare, his eyes flickered up and met hers. Holding her stare, Lewis put his phone down and pressed a button on his desk and the glass walls began to tint darker and darker until they were pitch black. Before he was enclosed in complete privacy, Lewis shot her a wink.

And it almost dissolved her resolve.

“Xenia?” The sound of her name jolted her back to reality. She looked to her right and saw the older woman, Tabitha standing there. In her mid fifties with a full head of grey dreadlocks secured on top of head in a bun with spunky red glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. “I asked if you were alright dear.” The Jamaican twang to her voice gave her a sense of comfort that made Xenia relax her tense shoulders.

“I’m okay Tabitha, thank you for asking. I’m just trying to get through the day in one piece.”

“Knock on wood as soon as you find some. That boy is very unpredictable.” Tabitha winked at her as the elevator doors closed. The ride down to the ground floor was swift. When she entered the main conference hall where the party would be hosted, it wasn’t a shock to her at the utter chaos that was taking place. Ladders tall and short propped against the walls as frivolous leftovers of decor loitered on the floor. Workers ran around as they tried to finish the last of the set up.

As she stood at the door, Xenia could see the beginnings of her vision coming together after weeks spent designing. This was not just a party for the company staff, no. All of the members currently sitting on the board attended. Major clients that the company wanted to keep in favour amongst social media content creators on the PR list. Ala in all to say that a lot of fucking people were going to be in attendance and Xenia had felt the pressure, to make it perfect as she did every year since her employment.

She managed not to get her feet tangled in discarded tinsel as she entered the room further.

“Drop them near the main stage, Nia.” Olivia, the event coordinator and good friend pointed in the direction that she wanted the bags to be. Her dark, raven locks were pulled into a high ponytail, her beautiful umber skin glowing under the low lights. Similar to little miss bitch, Lola, Olivia had the same gymnast body type. However, Olivia was nowhere close to the bitch that Lola was, she was an angel.

Once the bags were dropped, Xenia stepped back to admire the work that was being put in. The theme this year was Winter Wonderland with a specific colour scheme to stick to considering what the traditions of what a winter wonderland entails. But the design was coming along very well and Xenia was very proud of herself.

Crystal and faux glass decorations adorned the ceilings alongside uniform rows of white christmas lights. The centerpiece was a ten foot Christmas tree sat on the stage that was still in the process of being decorated but she knew that when it was done, it would be the showstopper.

“You think you can help us tackle that monster?” Olivia asked as she opened the bags that Xenia had delivered.

“Not a problem darling. I just need to go and see what Hamilton wants first and then I’ll be back down.” Olivia smirked at the mention of their boss but when she met Xenia’s death glare did she swallow it back. Olivia had a sick fascination with Xenia’s relationship with Lewis. From the beginning, she claimed that the sexual tension was intertwined in the bonds of their hatred for each other. Olivia had the ridiculous notion that Lewis seemed to enjoy infuriating Xenia because she was terrible at hiding her emotions. Whilst that may be true, that he loved goading a reaction out of her, Xenia loved doing the same. Even if it was the smallest loss of composure, it gave her a sliver of triumph.

“When i come back, the very mention of his name, I will fuck off out of here.” Xenia threatened, which caused Olivia to roll her eyes. Her track back up to the executives floor was one she dragged her feet for. She was not in a rush to get back to Lewis’s office. When she approached her desk to grab her iPad, she could feel his eyes peering at her through the privacy window. She had always found it creepy that he could watch the floor but no-one could look into his office when the tint was at full transmission. Xenia didn’t bother with knocking, he knew that it was her anyway.

The air grew thicker as he was unfazed by her show of an entrance. He was ignoring her as he typed away on his computer. She lowered herself onto a chair in front of his desk in a huff.

Can this man hurry up? I have shit to do. Xenia said to herself internally.

“Can you stop being dramatic, Richards? There’s no need for all of that.” His words were slow and mastered as he finally typed in the last of whatever that he was doing and turned his gaze onto her. His deep brown eyes were dark, alluring and made all of the muscles in her body tighten.

She could be honest, Xenia talked a big game and she absolutely had a massive attitude but there was not a lot of bark in her bite. Especially now as they were alone, Xenia’s body knew what her mind refused.

“Can I be honest with you Miss Richards?” The smoothness of his voice was enticing. Like a matured whiskey being poured over ice, she knew not to reach for a taste.

And yet, she still took the bait. “When have you never been honest with me?”

Lewis smirked. “I like this little game that we have going on between us.”

”Game?” Xenia frowned in confusion. Lewis nodded his head as he stood up from his chair and circled the desk until he was closer to her. She froze in her sit but managed to lean back into it so as to create some physical distance. His dark eyes remained on her as he rolled his sleeves, exposing his intrinsically tattooed skin for her viewing pleasure. Xenia forced her eyes back to his face and to maintain that eye contact as her traitorous core tightened at the simple act.

“Don’t play coy. I won’t say what it is that we play as it doesn’t need to be stated.” He paused as he fixed the folds of his shirt. “But I like it.”

Her worst enemy at that very moment was her body. Her nipples tightened as her core pulsated. Once in a while, the thought of hate fucking her boss crossed her mind, more often than it should. However, today was simply not the time nor place to let her mind wander into places that had been locked behind red doors.

Xenia crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “Of course you’d think torturing me is a game that we both like to play. I mean, I knew that you were a narcissist but this sounds concerning. Do you need me to contact someone?” The faux concern in her voice caused Lewis to lean backwards. He folded his arms across his chest and peered down at her. That fucking stupid smirk back on his face. The strands hanging on either side of his face with the overhead lights casting shadows that danced across his skin.

She should have been intimidated but she wasn’t. She was deeply aroused and then it dawned onto her how they were positioned.

Lewis above her and her below, almost eyes level with his crotch.

A show of submission. One that she would not give into. Xenia quickly shuffled back up to her feet and that caused Lewis to widen his smile before he moved back to his seat.

“What did you actually need me here for, Mr Hamilton?”

“I just wanted you to make sure that you don’t forget about the list I have emailed you.” Lewis said so casually as if he had not just accosted her. The scoff that left her could not be held back as she grabbed her iPad from his desk and charged towards the door.

What a waste of my fucking time.

“Oh and one last thing, Miss Richards.”

Don’t roll your eyes girl.

“Yes, sir?”

“Make sure to remember the number six for me.”

Is this man alright?

Xenia exhaled through her gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.” She had almost made it out of her door when she heard the faintest whisper. Whether he had actually said it or not, a shiver rolled down her spine and lit her nerves aflame.

Two simple words,

Good girl.

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @saturnville @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @cocobutterqwueen @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @laneywrld @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew @henneseyhoe @perfecttrashface @alianovnaromanovanatalia @leilaxaliel @hotfudgeslug @iamryanl @pickingupmymercedes @eleetalks @ambs-06 @annisassintchaska @boujiestpoet @nayaesworld @nat-lh-44 @mochachocolatteyaya @melaninpov @kindan3rdy951 @elyseesarchive @sl33p-deprived-princess @soiguessimtheshit @acidlv @trinitoldyouso @gwenda-fav @f1-football-fiend

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losers-clvb · 3 months ago

Text

got the one thing that i want // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

summary: you were in love with dean winchester. unfortunately for you, he was in love with someone else.

content: unrequited love, reader is kind of lovesick over dean (but she isn't stupid!!!), suggestive content towards end, dean is kind of a heartbroken asshole, soulless sam makes appearances, nickname "kid" used (but there is no significant age gap), angst, sam x reader if you squint

word count: 3.3k

note: as always, this is unedited. now, personally I am a sam girl first, however dean fit so much better into this idea. hopefully when i write for dean again it will be less angsty (even though i love angst). the storyline revolves around dean with lisa but the timeline and events may be off or not fit into the episodes including it. in that same vein, soulless sam may seem to have a little soul. the title is from lacy by olivia rodrigo as it was the song that was spinning around my head as i wrote this. also: lisa is not the evil woman who is insecure over the reader. i tried to make that obvious, but it may get lost in translation from not being outwardly mentioned. anyways, enjoy!

masterlist

----

Dean wasn't happy with his life. He hadn't been for a while. Driving around the country and hunting the things that go bump in the night was all fun and games until it cost him his brother. Even then, he could try to grapple with the grief he felt as long as he played house with Lisa and Ben. It was almost natural how he fit into their lives. Golfing, PTA meetings, the whole domesticity of it would have made him ill before, but now he was just happy to be safe. Of course, he never really felt safe. He was waiting for the ball to drop, for some god or witch to come out and tell him it was all a sick game to toy with his mind. There was no way Dean Winchester could ever be out of harm's way.

Then it came. The Djinn were there to tear down the dream life he had built for himself. He knew after that he could never be normal. There was just too much on the line for it. He had to be a hunter, it was in his blood. At least he had his brother back again. But, as time went on and he attempted a long distance type of relationship with Lisa, he knew something was wrong. His little brother who he had practically raised was different, cold and calculated instead of kind and intelligent. He figured he couldn't ask for too much, at least Sam was alive.

Then came you. You came from a family of hunters, dating back further than his mother's line. He hadn't seen you since you two were kids, you 10 and him 12, but you had grown up. He couldn't lie, you were hot as hell and under different circumstances he would have been all over you, but he was a taken man. He was loyal to Lisa and would do nothing to jeopardize the relationship. You, on the other hand, had been falling in love with the Winchester since you had reconnected. When you were young you had a small, school girl crush on him, but it had blossomed into more once you had gotten to know the man he had become. It wasn’t lust. You wanted to be around him all the time, wanted to make him smile, wanted to be the one who reassured him when he was feeling worthless.

You had halfway become that for him. You were one of the only people who made him lighter, someone he confided in about pretty much everything. Of course, that meant hearing about Lisa. You tried not to feel jealousy when he talked of her. It wasn’t her fault Dean thought she had molded the sun and stars while thinking of you as merely a friend. You knew it made you a terrible person when you mentally cursed the woman. Maybe you had never really been a good person. How could you when your life revolved around killing? But it certainly didn’t make you better to hope that Dean would leave her for you.

That was the situation you were in now. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala, sipping on a once cold beer while Dean talked of his recent trip to visit Lisa.

“-cooks the best turkey. Juicy on the inside, crispy on the outside.” Dean had been rambling about her cooking for over twenty minutes now. It wasn’t the first time he had talked about it and there was only so much you could say in response to her culinary skills. You nodded along as you mentally counted the stitches of the seat. There it was again. The pit in your stomach as you thought of all the nasty things you could say about Dean’s partner.

“Any romantic prospects for you?” Dean asked cheekily, which broke you out of the trance. He asked you this nearly every time when he was done gushing about Lisa. Your answer was always the same, a lie you told perfectly to his face.

“Not looking right now, maybe once we’re done with this case.” You looked up to him with a forced smile. He chuckled lowly and drank his beer, finishing it off.

“One day you’ll find him, kid.” There it was. The nickname he had chosen for you as kids that had somehow stuck in his brain once you were grown. You cringed at it, hating the way it made you feel.

“I’m two years younger than you, Winchester, don’t call me that.” Your tone was playful, trying not to hurt him. Even when you were sticking up for yourself you were still looking out for him. He shook his head as he looked out the front windshield of the Impala, laughter still in his eyes.

“Still a kid.”

----

Dean was gone now. Off to go help Lisa with some problem she had run into with Ben. It was pathetic, you thought, the way he dropped everything to run to her. Instant regret came with the words. No, it wasn’t pathetic. You were. If it was you he was running to you would have thought it was sweet. You were a pathetic, horrible person for thinking this way. You wallowed in this self pity as you worked on cleaning the gun in your hand.

“I see the way you look at him.” Sam mumbled as he worked on researching the case you two were currently on. He had been watching you, and he had noticed for a while now how your eyes lit up when Dean came around. He had also noticed how that light dulled when his brother spoke of Lisa.

“What?” You asked with irritation. There was no way you were talking with Sam about this. Bobby had tried once, but after getting a door slammed in his face he had thanked God for never giving him any girls to look after.

“You looking at Dean like he’s your lifeline.” Sam’s words made you clench your jaw. You weren’t angry with him, just angry with his words. They were true, of course, but you would have rather a demon take you as a meat suit before admitting it out loud.

“Just shut up.” You snarled at him before feeling just as guilty again. It wasn't his fault you were in love with a man who wouldn't love you back. You continued cleaning the gun as the guilt gnawed away at you. Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“All I'm saying is it's not worth it. Dean's happy now, but he's never going to love you back.” Sam's words were harsh, just another reminder that he was soulless. He had tried to be a little less direct with you after getting berated by Dean, but it seemed his patience had worn thin. Normally, you would have snapped back, telling him it wasn't true, none of what he said was true. But you knew it was. Dean would love Lisa until she stopped letting him, but he would never love you.

----

Dean had called you that night to check in. He knew you were hunting and even if he had no romantic interest in you, he still cared if you were living. You had been waiting patiently by your phone. He had promised to call every other night and you had promised to answer within the first three rings.

“How's it going kid?” That was how Dean chose to greet you. You squeezed your eyes shut in response. Why did he always have to make you feel so small?

“It's, uh, it's fine.” You stammered out as a Sam watched you. You ignored him and chose to fidget with a loose thread on the comforter of the bed. You heard Dean's chuckle through the phone.

“You don't sound too sure, but ill take your word for it.” His voice was gravelly from fighting off sleep. He had almost skipped the phone call in exchange for more sleep but had decided he didn't want to disappoint you. A silence fell over you two. You cleared your throat.

“How's Ben and Lisa?” You spoke, opting to ask something you knew would bring on a wave of talking. You just wanted to hear his voice.

“They're great. Ben, he, uh, has a crush on this girl in his school. I've been giving him tips on how to win her over.” This pulled a laugh from you.

“I don't know if I'd take your advice, Dean. You don't have the greatest track record of keeping relationships.” You teased him, drawing another chuckle from him. You heard rustling on the other end and a female voice laughing quietly enough you almost didnt hear it. Almost. There she was. Lisa.

“Hey, I've done a pretty bang up job keeping this one.” Dean replied, which triggered another laugh from the other line. You could assume Dean had motioned to Lisa. You smiled bitterly before Sam took the phone from your hand. You sat up quickly to argue the sudden thievery of the item, but his raised hand silenced you.

“Dean,” Sam greeted his brother. He watched you as he spoke. You shrunk under his stare, knowing he was frustrated about something you had done.

“Sammy! How are ya?” You could hear Dean through the phone, even with it being a couple of feet away.

“Fine, listen, we gotta let you go. Early morning.” Sam was short with the man on the other end of the line. You could hear Dean bidding a “good night” to Sam before they ended the call. Sam sat on the side of your bed before handing you back the phone. You watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything to explain why he had interrupted your time with Dean. Sam stretched his neck then laid his eyes on yours.

“I told you to back off of him.” He said. If you didn't know any better, you would have swore you heard caring come through in his words. You swallowed down the shame you felt.

“I was.” Your voice was more fragile than you intended it to be. You looked away from Sam, but could still feel his soulless gaze on you.

“No, you weren't,” were the last words said between the two of you for the night.

----

Two weeks later, you heard the slam of a door. You and the Winchesters were staying at Bobby's while waiting for another case to pop up. You had been lounging in the room you had been calling yours for the past few days, reading a book. Sam was God knows where while Bobby was running the phones for Rufus. It had been a quiet afternoon. Quiet up until Dean entered the house.

He had received a text from Lisa stating to call him immediately. Which he did. Immediately. That had been an hour ago. You hadn't known what the woman had to talk about with Dean, nor had he. By the sounds of not only the door but his angry footsteps as he entered your room, he was upset about something. He shut the door when he made it inside. Dean started a slow, furious pacing, but didn't say anything at first.

“Did something happen?” You had put your book down and had moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Your eyes trailed the path he made as he moved. He rubbed his face after stopping in front of you.

“Lisa said,” he paused and took a deep breath. “She said to leave her and Ben alone. That I crossed a line, pushing him.” Dean's voice was wavering between anger and heartbreak.

“Oh,” you breathed out. You felt sorry for him, you did, but a small part of you, one that was buried deep within, was overjoyed. Maybe either Lisa out of the way Dean would see what he was missing with you. Of course, the second this thought popped into your head that sinking pit in your stomach appeared, the one that only seemed to show up when you thought about Dean and Lisa. You were watching him still, waiting to see what he was going to say or do next.

“It was either eat him or push him! What was I supposed to do, let the kid die?” Dean was frustrated. That was obvious with the way he was rambling on, ignoring any reaction you could have had to this information. You remembered this. A week ago, Sam and Dean had gone on a hunt which ended in Dean becoming a vampire, temporarily. Long story short, he ended up at Lisa’s house before taking the cure, and instead of opening up, he had almost killed them both in a fit of vampiric hunger. You were unsure of why exactly Dean had never told them the whole truth, but he hadn’t. Maybe he thought it would make it worse? You were sure it couldn’t have gotten worse than this.

Dean collapsed down next to you. He held his head in his hands. You sat next to him, blinking at the floorboards. How could you comfort him when you had been praying for this day since they had started dating? You weren’t great with words, words of comfort especially. Hug him? No, that might make things weird. You reached a hand over to place on his back, hesitating before ultimately making contact with his shirt. He was tense. Obviously he was tense. You stayed there, sitting next to him, hand on his back, waiting for him to make the next move.

Dean’s world was crashing down around him. It sounded dramatic, but it was true. Just when he had finally gotten to a place where he could at least be halfway happy with his life, it blew up in his face. Was he cursed? He didn’t know, but it felt like it. He didn’t know much of anything, actually. He had spent so long pushing his emotions away from the surface that he was clueless as to how to deal with it. Drinking wasn’t enough. He needed to get it out some other way. He looked up at you, eyes brimming red on the edge of tears.

Dean knew you loved him. He had known for a while, but knew you wouldn’t act on it. He wasn’t worried about how it would affect the friendship because he would simply ignore it. That was what he did with most things that didn’t benefit him. Ignore it until it got too big, let it blow up his life, then find a way to clean up the pieces. That was what was happening now. This thing he had ignored was suddenly so big, and he knew he could use it for himself. It was a wrestling match in his mind as he looked into your eyes. In the end, there was a winner and it seemed to be the little devil on his shoulder.

You were surprised as hell when Dean lunged towards you. That surprise only increased when you felt his lips on yours. It was strange, the kiss and the fact that you had almost immediately melted into him. You were underneath him as he cupped the side of your face. His kiss was feverish. It wasn’t passionate in the way two lovers kissed, it was more sexual than that. You knew this was wrong, not just morally, but the whole situation. Dean was just grieving the end of his relationship a split second ago. Now he had suddenly found the urge to kiss you? No, it wasn’t right.

“Dean,” you mumbled against him. In response, he kissed you harder. It would have been a lie if you were to say you didn’t enjoy it. Dean Winchester knew how to kiss a girl. You felt his hand go to your side before wrapping around to your back. He pulled you up closer to him as he kissed down your neck. Your own hands found his chest and you tilted your head to allow him better access to you.

“Dean, I have to tell you-,” he cut you off with a sharp nip at your collarbone. He was working his way down you, preparing to do only the things you had dreamed of. You felt that guilt creep in again. Was he doing this because he thought he had to?

“Dean, please!” You pushed him off you, scared you had somehow manipulated him into doing this. Dean scrambled back. He looked upset, not from what you had done, but from what he had done. You were both breathing hard, from the rush of what had happened or from the tension in the room, you didn’t know. You swallowed and tried to keep your eyes on him.

“You don’t have to do this. We can wait.” You managed to get the words out without your voice breaking. You offered a smile, which fell when Dean shook his head. He wore a pained look on his face, which panicked you.

“I love you, Dean.” The words fell out before you could stop them. It wasn’t like they were a lie. You just hadn’t expected to tell him, not now, not like this. Your eyes were wide as you waited for a response, hoping for a good one. It wasn’t as if it was completely unexpected. It couldn’t have been. You spent all your free time either with him or helping him in some way. You laughed with him, cried with him, confided in him. He was charming, which he knew. All of this you knew to be true. Yet all of this hadn’t mattered anymore when Dean turned away from you, sniffing before he spoke.

“I know.” Dean’s reply was only two words, but they held meaning. Meaning you understood. You could read through Dean. He knew the whole time. He also didn’t feel the same. He hadn’t ever loved you. He hadn’t even wanted to try to love you.

“You kissed me.” At this point tears were daring to spill from your eyes. He had known you loved him, known he didn’t love you, and he had still kissed you. He had been more worried about soothing himself that he hadn’t spared a thought for what would happen afterwards. You hated it. You hated him. You hated that you were about to cry like the kid Dean always called you.

“I’m sorry.” Those were Dean’s last words before he left your room. The door was still swinging when the rumble of the Impala’s engine roared to life, triggering a sob to rip from your throat. You hugged yourself and dipped your head between your knees. Everything had changed and you knew it wasn’t for the better. You hated yourself for even putting yourself into this situation. You knew the risks of falling in love with Dean Winchester.

The bed dipped down next to you, signaling the arrival of someone else in the room. You didn’t have the heart to look up. It wasn’t Dean. You knew that. He wouldn’t have come back so soon unless it was to tell you he had lied, he actually reciprocated your feelings for him. But he wouldn’t have done that, because he didn’t. It was Sam. That much you knew from the way he wrapped an awkward arm around you. He was trying his hardest to comfort you without saying “I told you so”. You knew he wanted to, knew it was taking everything in him to not be cold to you. The two of you sat wordless as you cried over a love you imagined you would never feel again.

#x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #supernatural x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader angst #supernatural

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