Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes Unit talk • Jumping from a bridge, Bomb, Blood, Bruises, Paramedics, Being kidnapped, Being beaten, Being Drugged, Mention of hospital/ER, Mention of needle, Mention of blood work, tox screens, infection, Mention of HIV, Death
*
TUESDAY, AUGUST 15
Manhattan Bridge
11 :44 PM
The edges of the bridge was a wall of movement and noise, but to Olivia it all blurred into something distant, unreal, as though she were standing inside a glass box with the world pressing against the outside. Uniformed officers formed a line along the railing, their vests catching the hard white glare of the floodlights. ESU units stood ready a few paces back, their gear heavy on their shoulders, while paramedics kept to the perimeter, stretchers locked and waiting for whoever came out of the water—if anyone did. The air was thick with the sharp, metallic tang of scorched steel, the ghost of the explosion still clinging like a warning in her throat. Every inhale brought with it that acrid mix of gunpowder and burning rubber, a taste that settled low in her lungs and refused to leave.
Somewhere behind her, the clipped voices of command barked through radios, each transmission layered over the next until they became a constant hum of urgency. Divers en route... secure the north side... get a rescue boat in the water... check the current speed. Words passed between officers in quick bursts, the scrape of boots against the asphalt mixing with the occasional rattle of a rifle strap or the clank of gear being shifted into place. She caught pieces of it—enough to know the right steps were being taken—but none of it mattered if the river didn't give them something to pull from it soon.
Her focus was locked on the water. The East River churned black and restless beneath them, its surface catching the floodlights in sharp flashes of silver before swallowing the light whole again. It moved too easily, too quietly, as if it hadn't just claimed two people. No ripple lingered long enough to follow. No shape broke through the surface. There was no telltale splash, no desperate arm reaching for the air, no fight toward the shore. Just the endless rise and fall of the current, carrying its secrets away with each slow pull.
Beside her, Miles stood rooted, his stance wide, both hands gripping the rail in a way that made the muscles in his forearms stand out in sharp relief. His eyes never left the water, scanning with a precision that wasn't born of hope so much as stubborn refusal. He searched like a man who could not, would not, acknowledge the possibility of finding nothing—like if he stared long enough, hard enough, he could will them to the surface. In that stillness between them, Olivia recognized something in his silence that mirrored her own: the knowledge that losing Alexis was not an option either of them was prepared to face.
The minutes stretched in a way that didn't feel like time at all—just a slow tightening in the lieutenant's chest, each second another turn of a screw. She gripped the cold metal of the railing until her knuckles ached, the ridged texture biting into her palms, anchoring her to the here and now when every part of her wanted to lean forward, climb over, and dive in herself. The agent had jumped without hesitation. No calculation, no pause—just wrapped her arms around the teenager and went over the edge because she'd known. She'd known the blast was coming, known there wasn't time for anything else. And Benson had stood there and watched her disappear into the dark.
She tried to picture the brunette in the water—head breaking the surface, pulling Alba close, kicking hard against the current—but the image dissolved every time, replaced by the stillness in front of her. It was wrong. The commander was motion and force, even hurt, even bleeding. She wasn't absence. She wasn't silence.
Behind her, voices rose and fell in the blur of coordinated chaos—Fin's low rumble into his comm, Amanda's sharper tone carrying orders, Carisi asking for ETA updates—but their boss couldn't bring herself to turn. Divers, boats, floodlights... it all felt like a fraction too little, a fraction too late. She kept her eyes on the river, willing some sign to break the surface, even as a sick, quiet part of her admitted that it had already been too long.
And then the memories came—not in fragments, but in long, unbroken waves that pulled her under as surely as the river below. She could feel the heat of that night as if it still clung to her skin, the press of Alexis's body in the quiet dark of her bedroom. The way the moonlight had caught the faint sheen of sweat along her collarbone, tracing a path Olivia had followed with her lips. She remembered the unhurried press of a kiss that had carried no agenda except being there, in that moment, until the rest of the world ceased to matter.
She thought about the way the young woman had smiled then—not the quick, knowing smirk she wore in the field, but something slower, deeper, as if the curve of her mouth had been pulled from somewhere private. That smile had felt like an answer to a question the detective hadn't known she'd been asking for years. Later, when she had teased Gray—softly, almost shyly—it had coaxed out a laugh so unguarded it had startled her, a sound stripped clean of the weight and edges Alexis usually carried. It had been impossible not to smile back, to feel something loosen in her chest in response.
And then there were her eyes. Sharp, calculating, relentless in the field, but that night... that night they'd softened. There had been no armor in them, no distance. Just focus—entirely on her—as if the oldest was the only thing worth seeing in the room. In those still moments between touches, the agent had looked at her with a kind of quiet reverence, as though she'd found something she'd been searching for far longer than she'd ever admit.
Olivia's throat tightened, her chest constricting under the weight of it all. She couldn't lose her—not now, not when the memory of her was this vivid, this alive. Not after that night, when every unspoken thing between them had become too clear to ignore. Not after Alexis had said so much without a single word, with just her hands, her eyes, the warmth of her body pressed close until the lieutenant could almost believe in something beyond the demands of their jobs.
Her grip on the railing stayed tight, the metal biting into her palms, but her breathing steadied—not because the fear eased, but because alongside it came something else. Certainty. If there was anyone who could survive the East River in the dead of night, anyone who could claw her way out of the kind of hell she'd just walked into, it was Alexis Gray. And if she'd jumped with Alba in her arms, Olivia knew she'd fight her way back to the surface for them both.
Miles saw it first.
At first it was nothing more than a tremor in the black water—a small, uneven ripple at the very edge of the floodlight's glare, so faint it could have been dismissed as the current shifting against a piling. But something in it caught his eye, a break in the rhythm, the kind of movement that didn't belong to the river alone. His chest tightened. He leaned forward instinctively, eyes narrowing against the glare, and then he saw it again: a faint swell, then the briefest flash of pale skin between the peaks of water. It wasn't random. It wasn't the tide. Someone was moving—pushing against the pull, fighting their way through.
—Lexi, he breathed, the name leaving him in a rush, punched from somewhere deep in his chest.
There was no pause after that. His body was already moving before his mind could catch up, propelled by the raw jolt of recognition and relief that hit harder than the fear had moments before. He broke from the cluster at the railing with sudden force, shoving through the wall of uniforms in front of him. Voices rose behind him—shouts, commands to stop—but he didn't slow. His boots struck the asphalt in heavy, fast strides, the bridge's steel humming faintly under the force of his pace.
The walkway ahead was a blur of concrete and shadow, the floodlights cutting sharp angles across his path. The air carried the sharp tang of smoke from the blast, mingling with the salt-and-oil bite of the East River below. He didn't care about the smell, or the sting in his lungs, or the stretch of barricade tape snapping uselessly against his arm as he tore through it. All that mattered was the point on the water where he'd seen her. The rest—protocol, rank, procedure—meant nothing. Not when his partner was out there. Not when she was alive, moving, and fighting her way back.
Olivia didn't register what was happening until she caught the shift in the agent's face—that split second when disbelief burned into certainty. She followed his gaze toward the water, squinting past the glare of the floodlights, and then she saw it too.
A shape broke the surface halfway to the shore—first the crown of a head, dark and slick, then the full form of a woman straining upward, her chin tilted just high enough to keep another smaller head above the waterline. Even at this distance, the brunette knew. The powerful, dragging strokes. The stubborn refusal to sink even when every muscle screamed to stop. Alexis. And in her arms, held tight against her chest, Alba Navarro.
The lieutenant's breath caught hard enough to hurt, the sound sticking in her throat. There was no hesitation after that—none. She turned from the railing and bolted, following the path Langford had carved through the officers still scrambling to react. Her boots pounded against the asphalt in quick, sure strides, weaving through the bodies, the floodlights casting long, fast shadows as she moved.
Ahead of her, the man had already reached the far end of the bridge, skidding down the sloped service ramp toward the narrow strip of rocky shore below. The river's scent grew stronger with every step—brine and cold steel, the undercurrent of fuel from the police boats circling just beyond the glow of the spotlights. She caught sight of him tossing aside his jacket, stripping off his boots without breaking stride, his weapon already set on the rocks.
—Go on, Lexi! he bellowed into the dark, voice carrying over the churn of the river. It wasn't desperation—it was demand, the way you ordered someone you trusted to finish what they'd started.
Benson hit the bottom of the ramp seconds later, her breath sharp in her chest. She didn't stop moving, closing the last stretch of ground until she was beside him, scanning the water again until she found that same shape—Alexis, still cutting through the current, shoulders squared against the drag of the tide, her grip on the teenager unbreakable.
The river clawed at her, pulling and tugging with every swell, but the SEAL refused to give an inch. Her strokes were slower now, each one carved out of sheer will rather than strength, but they stayed steady, her jaw locked with the kind of stubborn determination that had carried her through battlefields and back alleys alike. The muscles in her arms screamed from the weight of keeping Alba's head clear above the churning black surface, and her ribs burned with each breath, the earlier beating grinding its reminder into her bones.
She was close enough now that the floodlights from the bridge reached her, spilling over the sharp lines of her face and catching on the bruises blooming along her cheekbone and jaw. The light glinted against the wet strands of hair plastered to her temples, turning them almost silver, and it lit the tremor running through her shoulders, the shiver of exhaustion that her grip on the teenager didn't betray. Navarro clung to her, limp but breathing, the water swallowing their shapes in its restless motion.
From the shore, Miles broke. He didn't wait for permission or orders—just shoved past the hands that reached for him and stepped into the icy grip of the East River. The first rush of water hit like a body blow, slicing through his clothes and stealing his breath, but he kept going, each stride deeper until it reached his thighs, his waist. The current pressed against him with a steady force, cold enough to lock his muscles tight, but his eyes never left her.
He hated the water. Always had. The weight of it, the way it moved against you, never quite letting you forget that it could take more than it gave. But he hated even more the sight of his best friend out there, her strength burning low, her body taxed beyond what it should have endured, and still pushing forward because she refused to let go of the girl in her arms.
She spotted him the moment the river pulled them into range of each other, the current nudging them closer. Even in the half-second it took her to register him, even while her arms strained under Alba's weight, she managed it—that faint, cutting smirk that had shown up in barracks, briefing rooms, and, on rare occasions, over a shared drink at the end of an impossible day.
—Since when do you come in after me? she rasped, voice raw from the cold and the fight but still edged with that familiar bite. Thought you hated the water.
The agent pushed forward until the current brought them within arm's reach, the cold biting into his bones, each step sinking him deeper into the drag of the river.
—Still do, he muttered, his breath coming short from the shock of it, but you're not the only one who can be stubborn.
He reached out, hands steady despite the tremor in his muscles, and Alexis let him take the girl without hesitation. Alba's bound wrists brushed against his chest as he pulled her in, the teenager's weight slight but awkward in the pull of the current. Her head lolled against him, hair plastered to her face, breath warm but shallow against his shoulder.
—You've got her? His partner asked, though her voice made it less a question and more a demand.
—Go, he said, already turning toward the jagged line of rocks at the water's edge.
His boots slipped against the unseen floor of the river, but he held her high, refusing to let her dip even an inch lower. The cold pressed harder the closer he got to shore, the tide trying to pull them sideways, but he pushed through until his boots found the first sharp rise of stone beneath the surface. Officers reached for him, helping haul Alba into waiting arms, and he stayed close until they laid her flat on the rocks, checking her breathing, fingers pressing gently at the base of her throat to feel the pulse fluttering there. She was still with them. Weak, but alive.
Out in the river, the commander kept moving. Without her protégée's weight, she cut through the water faster, but every stroke cost her. Her body ached in every line—ribs screaming from the earlier assault, shoulders heavy from the fight, lungs pulling tight from cold and exhaustion. The current pushed her toward the shore in uneven surges, and by the time she reached the rocks, her hands were raw from clawing against their slick, jagged edges. She dragged herself up, the water sheeting off her in rivulets, catching on the torn fabric clinging to her body.
She rolled onto her back the second she cleared the rise, chest heaving, eyes shut tight as she let the solid weight of the ground hold her. Water pooled beneath her, soaking into the grit of the stones, and every breath shuddered with the strain of holding herself together long enough to get out.
Olivia was there before she could open her eyes. Kneeling beside her, one hand braced against the cold rock for balance, the other hovering just above Alexis's chest like she wanted to touch but didn't trust herself to. The relief in her face was raw, almost violent in its intensity, but she didn't speak—not yet. She just stayed there, close enough for the brunette to hear her breathing, close enough for her to know she'd made it.
The brunette's eyelids felt heavy, the sting of salt and river grit clinging to them, but she forced them open. At first, everything was fractured—the silver shimmer of water on rock, the jagged steel of the bridge rising above them, the harsh white glare of floodlights cutting through the mist. Shapes moved at the edges of her vision—boots on wet stone, uniforms darting past—but the world settled into sharp focus only when it found the detective.
She was leaning over her, so close Alexis could see the tiny droplets clinging to the dark strands of her hair, the way the damp air had left her cheeks flushed. Benson's face was carved in tension, the sharp line of her jaw tight, her mouth pressed thin, but her eyes—God, her eyes—were locked on her with a depth that made the rest of the chaos fade. Relief and anger flickered there in equal measure, the push and pull of someone who wanted to shake her for taking the risk but couldn't quite stop drinking in the sight of her alive.
The youngest let herself linger there for a moment, committing every detail to memory, before the corners of her mouth curled upward. It wasn't a broad grin—she didn't have the strength for that—but it was enough. That slow, worn-in smile that Olivia knew too well, the one that meant the woman was about to say something reckless or irritating, usually both. The kind of smile that made the lieutenant want to roll her eyes and hold her closer at the same time.
—You're bleeding, the oldest said quietly, her voice low but taut, as if naming the injury might keep it from getting worse. Her hand hovered near the brunette's temple, close enough to touch but not quite making contact.
Alexis's smile deepened just enough to be infuriating, her voice rasping, raw from exhaustion but still carrying that same infuriating warmth.
—Told you... she murmured, pausing just long enough to catch Olivia's gaze like it was the only anchor she had, ...I'd keep an eye on the bad guys for you.
The words landed low in the woman's chest, settling there with a weight she didn't want to acknowledge. She shook her head, exhaling sharply, because of course the SEAL would flirt now—soaked to the skin, bruised and battered from head to toe, fresh from leaping off a bridge with a terrified teenager in her arms. And of course, despite the absurdity of it, despite the sting of fear still burning through her veins, that smile still managed to melt the edges of her frustration until all that was left was the raw, undeniable relief of having her back.
*
Alba Navarro sat perched on the open tailgate of the second ambulance, her thin shoulders nearly disappearing beneath the heavy gray blanket the medics had wrapped around her. The fabric swallowed her small frame, pooling in her lap, its edges darkened where the water from the East River still clung to her. The floodlights mounted on the nearby ESU trucks cast her in a stark, almost ethereal glow, turning the wet strands of her hair into threads of silver and highlighting the faint tremor in her hands where they gripped the blanket tight. Her bare feet, pale against the black rubber of the ambulance floor, dangled just above the pavement, toes curled slightly inward as though trying to hide from the night air.
Her eyes, wide and ringed with the shadows of exhaustion, kept darting between the two men in front of her—Miles crouched low to meet her gaze, and Carisi standing just off to the side, pen scratching steadily across his notepad. The girl's voice was quiet, halting, every syllable carrying the raw edge of someone still too close to the danger to fully believe it's over. She stumbled over details now and then, the memory catching on certain images, certain sounds, and her voice would falter. Each time, the agent's tone shifted, softer, steadier, his words deliberate as he drew her back into the moment, coaxing her through the story without rushing her. His hands rested loosely on his knees, his posture open, steady—an anchor in the middle of the chaos still buzzing around them.
Behind them, paramedics moved between gurneys, voices low but brisk as they checked vitals, swapped out IV bags, and called for more blankets. The smell of the river still clung to the scene—a brackish mix of salt, diesel, and damp metal—woven into the lingering tang of smoke from the bomb's detonation. Radios cracked with static, dispatch voices cutting through the night, and the occasional echo of boots on steel from the bridge above reminded them all that this was still an active scene.
The detective stayed just outside the immediate space between his colleague and the victim, his sharp, watchful eyes on the girl even as his pen kept moving. Every few moments, he would glance up from his notes to confirm a detail or repeat one of her answers back to her, making sure they had it right. Alba's gaze would flicker toward him briefly before settling back on the man who had pulled her out of the water a little earlier , drawn to the quiet reassurance in his steady presence. Bit by bit, her voice grew a fraction stronger, the pauses shorter—though every word still carried the tremor of someone speaking about a nightmare she hadn't yet woken from.
Not far from where the two men worked with the teenager, another ambulance stood open, its interior light spilling a muted yellow onto the damp pavement. Alexis sat on the edge of its bumper, the emergency foil blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, the metallic surface catching the glow of the floodlights in fractured flashes. The fabric crinkled softly each time she shifted, but otherwise she was still, her posture betraying the deep ache threaded through her body. Her clothes were still damp, her hair plastered in dark, uneven strands that clung to her jaw and the curve of her neck. The bruises along her cheekbone had darkened in the last hour, their edges blooming into deep purples and muted blues, and there was a faint split at the corner of her lip, the dried blood stark against her pale skin.
Olivia stood beside her, one hand absently rubbing the commander's arm through the foil to work some warmth back into her muscles. Her other hand hovered near the woman's knee, never quite resting but always close, a silent reminder that she was there, solid and present. Every so often, she leaned down slightly, murmuring something low enough that only Alexis could hear, and the corner of the younger woman's mouth would twitch in that familiar, stubborn half-smile—exhausted but still laced with the spark the lieutenant knew all too well.
A few paces away, Amanda stood with her arms loosely folded, the wind tugging faintly at her hair where it had slipped free from her ponytail. Beside her, Fin's stance was as steady as ever, one hand hooked in his vest strap as his eyes tracked the scene in front of them. Neither detective spoke for a long moment, their gazes fixed on their boss and the battered woman on the bumper. There was something unspoken in the way Benson stayed close, the way her body angled toward the agent as if shielding her from the rest of the world even now.
—You see what I see? Amanda's voice was quiet, but it carried in the cool night air, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Olivia's hand linger a beat too long on Gray's arm.
Her colleague's response was a low rumble, not quite agreement, not quite surprise.
—Yeah. Something's different.
His gaze didn't waver.
The blonde tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
—Think it happened down there? In that basement?
He shrugged lightly, though his eyes stayed sharp.
—If it didn't, it's been building for a while.
They both fell quiet again, but neither stopped watching. They didn't know—and couldn't guess—that the shift between the two women had been sealed long before the van, the bridge, or the river. That there had already been a night, not so many days ago, where lines had blurred and then disappeared entirely—where whispered words and slow, lingering touches had traded places with silence and the soft rhythm of breathing in sync. A night that had left them both changed in ways neither was willing to hide anymore, even if no one else knew the details.
From their place at the ambulance, the oldest leaned in a fraction closer, her thumb brushing the edge of the blanket near Alexis's shoulder, her voice low and steady as she said something that drew another quiet, tired smile from the woman beside her. The detectives exchanged one more glance, and though no one said it outright, they both knew: whatever had happened between them, neither of them would walk away from it now.
*
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 16
Manhattan — Alexis' Apartment
06:02 AM
The elevator's hum was the only sound, low and constant, the kind of background noise that didn't belong after the chaos of the last twenty-four hours. It was too normal, too still, a sharp contrast to the noise, the heat, and the violence that had filled every moment since yesterday afternoon. Alexis leaned her weight against the brushed steel wall, the cool surface pressing into her shoulder through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt. Her head tilted slightly, enough for her dark hair to fall forward and shadow the fading, mottled bruises along her cheekbone. The harsh hospital light had made them look worse; in the softer glow of the elevator, they seemed less like wounds and more like reminders—stubborn marks that wouldn't fade overnight.
She smelled faintly of antiseptic and hospital soap, a clean, sharp scent that clung to her after the ER had finally cleared her. They'd scrubbed the grime from her skin, stitched where the split in her lip refused to close, wrapped her ribs in tight bands of white that made every breath a measured effort. They'd run the tests she hadn't wanted but that Olivia had insisted on—blood work, tox screens, everything to rule out infection or worse from the needle the men had used on her. When the results came back clear, she'd showered in the small tiled room attached to the ER's observation wing, the water running hot enough to ease the ache in her muscles. Now she was in clean, warmer clothes—an oversized gray sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed to her forearms, dark sweatpants instead of her usual black tactical pants. The loose fit made her look smaller, younger, and far more fragile than she would ever allow herself to admit.
Her hands were buried in the sweatshirt's front pocket, fingers curling idly around the seams as the floor numbers climbed in slow increments. She kept her gaze on the digital display above the doors, as if willing it to move faster, but the slight slump in her shoulders gave her away. For all her stubbornness, for all her steel, Alexis Gray looked like someone who should still be lying in a hospital bed instead of standing in a silent elevator in the early light of morning. But she was here anyway, holding herself upright through sheer force of will, because that was who she was. And the lieutenant, standing beside her, could see every detail of it.
She stood on the opposite side of the elevator, her back straight but her hands loosely folded in front of her, as if she were forcing herself not to fidget. She hadn't taken her eyes off the commander since they'd left the hospital—hadn't wanted to, couldn't. Even in the low, filtered light of the elevator, she could see the bruises blooming darker across the brunette's cheek and jaw, the split at the corner of her lip, the faint purple shadow just above the neckline of her sweatshirt where a fist had caught her. The older woman's gaze drifted down briefly to the agent's ribs, knowing exactly where the tight white bandages were hidden, remembering the doctor's voice as he'd explained the severity of the bruising. Every part of her wanted to tell Alexis she should be lying down, resting, letting someone else carry the weight for once—but she knew better.
Her eyes lingered on the agent's hands, tucked deep into the front pocket of the sweatshirt, knuckles pale where her fingers curled. Benson thought about what those hands had done less than twenty-four hours ago—pulling a terrified teenager against her chest, dragging her through the current, keeping her head above water despite exhaustion and pain. She thought about the way the SEAL had disappeared over the railing without a second's hesitation, the curve of her body around Alba as they fell. That image had been burned into her mind, impossible to dislodge no matter how many times she reminded herself they'd both made it out alive.
The elevator's numbers ticked upward, far too slow, and the silence between them stretched heavy, taut with things unsaid. Olivia's jaw shifted slightly, the faintest grind of her teeth betraying her thoughts. She had pushed Alexis to go to the hospital. She had hovered while the medics checked her over, while the stitches went in, while the nurses wrapped her ribs and drew her blood. And still, even with the clean bill of health, she couldn't stop the low thrum of worry that had been with her since that first moment on the bridge when she realized the woman was gone.
Finally, the youngest's head tipped toward her, the movement slow but deliberate. One corner of her mouth pulled upward into something that wasn't quite a smile—more of a lopsided, tired curve that still managed to be entirely hers. Her voice, when it came, was low and rasped at the edges, but it carried the familiar glint of humor that never failed to find its way through the cracks.
—Well, she said, her tone dry, on the bright side, since they found the needle and ran all those tests, I officially know I didn't pick up anything—no HIV, no mystery infections. Clean bill of health.
She leaned her head back against the wall, the steel catching the light along her profile.
—Guess that's one upside to getting kidnapped, drugged, and beaten.
The detective's mouth pressed into a line that was almost a frown, but not quite—something caught between irritation at the flippancy and the relief that the commander was still able to summon it. Her eyes stayed on the younger woman, tracing the tired shadows under her lashes, the stubborn way she held herself upright despite the fatigue rolling off her in quiet waves. The sweatshirt made her look softer, smaller somehow, but the sharpness was still there—beneath the bruises, beneath the exhaustion—a steel core that no one could mistake.
—I still can't believe you jumped off a bridge, Olivia said finally, the words quieter than she meant, her voice edged with the disbelief that had been there since the moment she'd seen her vanish over the railing.
She wasn't sure if she wanted the answer or if she just needed to say it out loud. The words hung there for a beat, and instead of asking the obvious question—why—the oldest's voice came out lower, quieter, but no less charged.
—You scare the hell out of me sometimes, she admitted, each syllable careful, almost reluctant, like speaking them might make them too real.
Alexis didn't answer right away. The faint hum of the elevator filled the space between them, accompanied by the slow, mechanical tick of the floor numbers climbing. She stood with her weight slouched against the wall, her hands buried in the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt, and when she finally tipped her head toward Olivia, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—part teasing, part tired affection.
—That's because you care, she murmured, the rasp in her voice softening the words rather than dulling them. It wasn't smug, but it carried the quiet certainty of someone who knew she was right.
The elevator slowed, the shift in momentum so slight it might have gone unnoticed if not for the faint sway beneath their feet. A muted chime followed, low and almost polite, before the doors parted with a soft sigh, revealing the pale light of the second-floor hallway. The glow spilled across the brushed steel walls, catching the faint glint in the youngest's still-damp hair from the hospital shower. She eased away from the wall with a slow push, her movements deliberate, and this time she didn't bother to mask the small wince that crossed her features when the motion tugged at her ribs. Her posture remained composed, but the signs of strain were there—subtle, if you didn't know her. The lieutenant knew her.
Benson stepped out first, her hand braced against the edge of the door just long enough to give Alexis the space to follow. It was a small thing, but the pause carried weight, the kind of instinctive consideration she hadn't been able to shake all night. Her eyes stayed on the agent, that quiet, contained kind of vigilance that went beyond checking for pain—it was about confirming she was still there, still herself after everything. The brunette caught it, of course she did—she always caught everything—but she let it pass without comment. Instead, she closed the gap with a steady, measured pace, her left hand absently tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt, as though grounding herself in the familiar fabric.
The hallway had that faint, curated scent of fresh paint mixed with something clean but impersonal—a citrus-and-linen blend that suggested a cleaning crew hired to keep the building looking like the renovation brochures. The bones of the place were old; you could feel it in the proportions, the brickwork hidden beneath layers of plaster, the way sound carried faintly even through thick walls. But age had been dressed in sleek, modern clothes: pale gray walls, sharp white trim, and a deep charcoal runner that muffled their steps. The brushed steel elevator doors behind them gleamed as though they belonged in a newer building, but their slowness had betrayed the truth—an old, temperamental core, prone to being out of service as often as running.
Their footsteps fell in sync along the hallway, the rhythm softened by the carpet. Gray walked just half a pace ahead, shoulders squared not from comfort but habit, her hands tucked deep into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. Olivia followed close, her gaze drifting down the hall more from ingrained caution than curiosity, but inevitably, her eyes came back to the woman. Even under the warm sconces, she could see the bruising starting to deepen along her jaw, a faint discoloration climbing toward her cheekbone. Her gait, casual to the untrained eye, carried a slight guardedness—a stiffness that betrayed the pull of bandages beneath the sweatshirt with each breath.
They stopped in front of the second door on the left. The black-painted surface of 2B caught the hallway light, the brushed brass numbers gleaming faintly against the dark. Across from it, 2A sat in quiet shadow, the stillness behind it speaking for itself. The detective didn't have to guess where Champ was—most likely curled at the foot of Mrs. Adler's armchair or stretched on the patch of sunlight that would just be starting to warm her east-facing rug. The image slid easily into the oldest's mind, a small pocket of calm amid the lingering churn in her chest. It should have eased something in her. Instead, it only sharpened the contrast to the memory of last night—the cold rush of river water, the echo of an explosion, and the flash of fear she'd felt at the thought of losing the woman now standing in front of her door.
Alexis pulled her keys from the pocket of her sweatpants, the faint jingle cutting through the stillness of the hallway. The movement was unhurried, her fingers working through the familiar ring until they found the right one—its edges worn smooth from years of use. She fit it into the lock with an easy precision, the kind of muscle memory that didn't need conscious thought, though her knuckles were still stiff from the fight the night before. The click of the mechanism disengaging was quiet, almost soft against the muffled sounds of the building—some faint rush of pipes in the walls, the low hum of the elevator settling behind them. She glanced sideways at Olivia before pushing the door open, and that look carried the faint curve of her mouth—the half-smile that was neither entirely amused nor entirely tired, but something in between, something that seemed to acknowledge the conversation waiting to happen.
The door swung inward, and the apartment welcomed them with a wave of scent and warmth—coffee, leather, and that faint tang of cedar from the handcrafted shelves and furniture scattered throughout the space. It was a smell that was wholly the commander, grounded and unpretentious, and it slipped into the oldest's senses like something she'd known for years instead of months. The morning light filtered in through the east-facing windows, falling across the dark hardwood floors and the deep earth tones of the space, catching on the edges of framed photographs and the muted metal of a bookshelf's supports. Without Champ's nails clicking across the floor or the low, eager whuff of his greeting, the apartment felt strangely still, as though it had been holding its breath for her return.
Olivia's eyes flicked briefly to the empty spot near the couch where his bed was neatly tucked, and she thought again of Mrs. Adler's door across the hall, of the dog likely sprawled in morning comfort while his owner carried the weight of the night in her bruises.
The brunette crossed the threshold with the same quiet ease she carried into most rooms, letting the door fall shut behind the detective with a muted thud. She didn't switch on any lights; there was enough from the windows to soften the edges of the apartment into something warm and lived-in.
—Coffee? she asked, already moving toward the open kitchen without waiting for an answer.
It wasn't exactly a question—more a default offering, a ritual of grounding that had nothing to do with politeness and everything to do with reclaiming normalcy. The other woman followed at a slower pace, her gaze wandering over the details of the room—the low-backed couch positioned toward the TV, the small stack of books on the coffee table, the faint scuff in the wood floor near the kitchen threshold. She didn't miss the way Alexis moved, either—deliberate, steady, but carrying the subtle economy of motion that came with injury.
—You were dealing with the situation, Olivia said finally, the words low but carrying the weight of the argument she'd been holding back since the moment they left the hospital. Her eyes followed the younger woman's back as she reached for a pair of mugs. That's what you're going to tell me?
The SEAL set the mugs down on the counter, glancing over her shoulder with that familiar, unbothered calm.
—I knew about the bomb, she said, as though it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. I dealt with it. Made sure it would blow when I wanted it to.
She poured the coffee, the dark liquid steaming in the morning air, and the ease in her voice didn't quite disguise the edge of exhaustion beneath it.
—You didn't know about the bridge, the lieutenant countered, stepping closer, her voice tightening. You didn't know you and Alba could jump from it.
Alexis turned then, leaning back against the counter, her fingers curled loosely around the mug. She studied Olivia for a moment before answering, her tone losing none of its calm.
—I didn't, she admitted, and for a moment the stillness between them deepened. Not until he opened the door to hand me the phone. Not until I saw you standing there. She took a slow sip, as if to punctuate the point, and the faintest hint of a smile touched her lips—one that didn't soften so much as acknowledge the truth of it. That's when I knew exactly where we were.
The detective didn't answer right away. She stood a few feet from the counter, her hands resting loosely at her sides, her gaze fixed on the brunette as if she were still trying to reconcile the image in front of her with the one burned into her mind from last night—the sight of her vanishing over the edge of the bridge, body curled around Alba, the water swallowing them both. The apartment felt quieter now, the hum of the refrigerator the only constant sound between their voices, and even that seemed muffled under the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. Morning light crept across the floor in slow, slanted beams, catching in the dark strands of Alexis's damp hair, in the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to the cuffs of her sweatshirt from the walk over.
—You could've died, Olivia said finally, her voice low but steady, though there was something under it—a restrained tremor, the kind that came from holding too tightly to control. She stepped closer, her eyes not leaving Alexis's face. You should have died. If the current had been stronger, if you'd hit the wrong way, if she'd panicked in your arms— She stopped herself, her jaw tightening as she drew in a breath, the words fraying at the edges.
Gray let her own gaze drop for a moment, fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug. She'd heard versions of this before, from others—commanders, partners, lovers—but the way the woman said it was different. It wasn't a reprimand, it wasn't anger layered over concern. It was raw. Bare. And for the first time since last night, the agent felt the quiet truth settle in her chest: Olivia had been afraid—not just for the mission, not just for the girl. For her. The realization stirred something sharp and unsteady under her ribs.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
—You think I didn't know the risks? she asked, her tone softer than before, though there was no bite in it now. I've jumped into worse.
It wasn't bravado—it was fact, plain and unembellished—but as soon as she said it, she saw the flicker in Benson's expression. The faint shift that told her the words had landed wrong.
And that was when it hit her, low and unwelcome: that creeping fear she'd felt before with other women. The one that whispered maybe she'd pushed too far this time, crossed some invisible line that couldn't be uncrossed. That maybe Olivia—grounded, deliberate, careful Olivia—would decide she didn't want this in her life. Didn't want her, not if it came with this constant undercurrent of danger, of choices made in split seconds without guarantees. Alexis kept her face still, but her grip on the mug tightened, the faint tremor in her fingers hidden only by the shadow of the counter.
—I didn't... I wasn't thinking about anything except getting her out, she said after a long pause, her eyes flicking briefly to the window before returning to the brunette. And maybe that's the problem, right? That I don't think about anything else. She forced a small, crooked smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. I get it. If that's too much—if I'm too much—you don't have to... Her words trailed off, the rest unspoken but heavy in the space between them.
For a long moment, the commander didn't move. She just stood there in her own kitchen, hands wrapped loosely around her mug, shoulders not squared for once, her posture not telegraphing control or readiness. The morning light cut across her profile, catching in the faint hollows beneath her eyes, the bruising that makeup or dim light wouldn't hide. And for the first time since the oldest had met her, she looked her age—not in the lines of her face, but in the way she held herself. In the quiet uncertainty, in the way her gaze flicked down and away, as if bracing for the kind of answer that might pull the floor out from under her.
Olivia could read it because she'd seen shades of it before, in victims, in colleagues, even in herself. It was the look of someone who had fought their way through too much and still couldn't quite believe they might be wanted for more than what they could survive.
There was a kind of fragility in that moment that the lieutenant hadn't expected from her—the woman who dove off bridges, who changed bomb timer mid-abduction, who could dismantle a man twice her size without blinking. But here, in the quiet of her apartment, Gray was something else entirely. She was still that force of nature, but stripped of the armor, she was also the girl who had learned to keep her guard up even in love, the woman who could stare down the worst humanity had to offer and still hesitate when it came to letting someone close enough to stay.
Olivia saw it, and she felt the ache of it.
Her hand tightened faintly around her own mug, the warmth bleeding into her palm a poor substitute for the heat she wanted to offer. The silence between them stretched, not awkward, but weighted—like a balance waiting to tip. The youngest's apartment was still, the low hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the faint scent of coffee and cedarwood lingering in the air. Outside the windows, Manhattan was just beginning to stir, the muted traffic noise filtering up through the glass. Yet here, time seemed to slow, narrowing to the narrow space of tile between them.
Alexis stood there, framed by the pale wash of morning light filtering in through the kitchen window, and for all the strength the detective had seen in her—the sharp reflexes, the unshakable focus, the reckless bravery—she suddenly looked small. Not in stature, but in the way her shoulders curved inward, in the guarded tilt of her chin, in the quiet stillness of someone bracing for a blow they've felt before. It was in her eyes too—that shadowed, almost imperceptible flicker of expectation, as if she was standing on the edge of something good and waiting for it to fall away, to confirm the part of her that still believed she was too much for someone to hold on to... or not enough for them to want to.
The oldest set her mug down on the counter, the soft tap of ceramic on wood almost loud in the stillness. She stepped closer, slow enough not to startle, close enough that she could see the perfectly executed and tightened stitches on the top of the agent's eyebrow. The younger woman's sweatshirt hung loose on her frame, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the faded bruising along her forearms, the kind that told stories she'd never volunteer without being asked. The light caught in her hair, damp at the ends from her shower, and Olivia's gaze lingered—not on the bruises, not on the tension in her posture, but on the way she was holding herself as if she was one wrong word away from shutting down completely.
—I don't scare easy, the lieutenant said, her voice low, deliberate.
She didn't reach for her yet, but she let her presence do the work, the solid line of her body closing the distance between them without pushing. Alexis's eyes flicked up, sharp at first, then softer when she found nothing but steadiness looking back.
—And I don't run just because something gets complicated. You think you're too much? You're not. Not for me. She let that sit there, let it settle in the quiet like a stone dropping through water.
Alexis's jaw tightened—a small, controlled movement that carried more weight than any outburst could. It was the kind of tension that came from years of holding herself together, from swallowing down the words that wanted to surface because saying them might cost too much. The other woman could see it all in the subtle shifts of her expression, in the way her throat worked as she swallowed, in the restless flex and release of her fingers against the ceramic mug she still held. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, roughened at the edges, like she had to force each syllable past something lodged in her chest.
—I've had people decide otherwise before, she admitted, the confession stripped of self-pity, offered instead with the matter-of-factness of someone who'd learned not to expect otherwise. Her gaze didn't quite meet Olivia's when she added: Easier to walk away than figure out how to stay.
—I'm not them, the detective answered, her own voice quieter now, deliberate in its steadiness.
She let the words settle for a breath before she moved, lifting her hand in a slow, unhurried gesture until her fingertips found the bare skin of the commander's forearm where her sleeve had slipped back. The touch was light, almost tentative, but it carried the weight of intent—warm and grounding in a way that made the younger woman glance down at the contact before her eyes rose again to meet Olivia's.
—But I need us to be careful, the brunette continued, her gaze never wavering. For you, for me, for Noah. He's old enough now to notice things, to get attached. If this is going to be something, I need to know I can bring you into his life and keep you there. I can't give him someone who's going to disappear.
The agent's fingers shifted against her mug, the ceramic scraping faintly against the calluses at her palms before she finally set it down on the counter with a muted thud. The movement was slow, deliberate, like she wanted Olivia to see that she wasn't walking away from the conversation—or from her. When she straightened, her shoulders no longer carried that faint inward curl; she stood the way she did when she was sure of herself, but this time it wasn't a mask, it was something quieter, steadier.
—Then we take all the time we need, she said, her voice still low but threaded with something firmer now, a promise more than a concession. If we're doing this, we make it work. On your terms, on mine. We don't rush it. We do it right.
Her gaze didn't waver as she spoke, and there was no hesitation in the words—as if somewhere between the bridge and this kitchen, she'd already decided she wasn't going anywhere.
Something in the oldest's chest loosened at that, the tension that had been coiled there since last night easing in slow degrees. Without quite thinking about it, she reached up, her hand lifting to cup the younger woman's cheek. The pads of her fingers found the faint swell of a bruise just under Alexis's cheekbone, the heat of her skin radiating against her palm. The brunette leaned into it almost imperceptibly, enough to let her feel the shift, to know it wasn't an accident. Olivia's other arm moved almost of its own accord, sliding around Gray's waist until her hand rested at the small of her back. She could feel the damp warmth of the sweatshirt where it met her ribs, the faint give of muscle beneath, the steady rise and fall of her breath.
They stood close enough now that the lieutenant could see the details the morning light caught and softened—the pale bruise along her lover's jaw, the faint cut at the corner of her mouth, the small split in her lower lip that hadn't quite healed yet. Their noses brushed in a feather-light touch that wasn't quite a kiss but pulled them into the gravity of one. Olivia's eyes dropped, drawn to the curve of Alexis's mouth, and when she looked back up, she found the younger woman watching her with the same intent focus, her gaze flicking down to the detective's lips and back again.
The commander didn't seem to care about the sting she'd feel if they closed that last inch, didn't care that the cut might tear again. She tilted her head just slightly, enough for the brunette to catch the faint, wry glint in her eyes—the same glint she'd had in the middle of a fight or moments before a reckless jump. Only now, it wasn't about danger, it was about wanting. And in the quiet of her kitchen, with Olivia's hand warm against her cheek and her other arm holding her close, Alexis made it clear without a word that she'd take the pain if it meant tasting her.
when olivia finds her favorite ADA sick at work, she insists on taking you home
tags: sickfic, fem reader, protective olivia (900 words)
a/n: woo my first svu fic! I've been wanting to write for Olivia for ages. this one is kinda short but I hope to write others in the future.
You squint at the computer in front of you, trying to get the words on the screen to not blur as much. Why do legal briefs have to be in such small print? You swear these things are barely legible.
The truth is that the swimming words probably have more to do with your headache that seems determined to escalate to a migraine sometime soon than the font size. And the fact that you keep having to turn away from the computer to cough what seems like every five seconds. But that’s neither here nor there – you still think they should make the print bigger.
You sigh, minimizing the PDF on your screen and propping your head up on one hand. You rub your temples tiredly. Maybe if you just close your eyes for one minute, you just might…
“Looks like you need this coffee more than I do.”
You snap your eyes open, feeling your cheeks heat up. Olivia Benson is leaning against the doorframe to your office, watching you with a slightly amused, slightly concerned look on her face.
“Please tell me one of those is for me,” you sigh, eyes falling to the two coffee cups in her hands.
“Of course,” Olivia smiles, coming into your office and sitting down in the chair across from you. She hands over the coffee. “Can’t have our best assistant DA falling asleep midday, can we?”
“You’re an angel,” you say, taking a long sip of the hot liquid. It feels amazing on your irritated throat, and you can only hope the caffeine might improve the pounding in your head.
“I’ll take it,” Olivia chuckles, leaning back in the chair and taking a sip from her own cup. “That’s a lot better than the string of profanities that usually get hurled my way.”
You grimace in sympathy. “Long day?”
“Ah, the usual. Some good, some bad,” Olivia says diplomatically, shrugging a shoulder. “But trying to focus on the good.”
“And that’s what makes you a great captain.” You give her a reassuring smile, downing some more coffee. But then your throat tickles, and you’re forced to swivel around in your chair to smother a coughing fit in your elbow.
It takes longer than you’d like for the coughing to calm down, and you wipe a few irritated tears off your cheeks when you turn back around. “Sorry, um –” you clear your throat. “Excuse me.”
Olivia’s dark eyes are full of concern when you finally look at her again. “Are you alright?” she asks softly, studying you. “That doesn’t sound too good.”
“It’s nothing,” you wave a hand, trying to sound healthier than you feel. “Wrong pipe.”
Olivia tilts her head, giving you a knowing look. She reaches out, giving you a second to pull away if you want. When you don’t, she puts the back of her hand to your forehead, then sighs.
“That’s what I thought. I have a twelve-year-old, I know a fever when I see one.” She raises her eyebrows at you.
Your face feels hot, and you pull away, hiding it behind another sip of coffee. “It’s no biggie,” you repeat, although it sounds unconvincing, even to yourself.
“Sweetheart,” Olivia says, her voice low and soft now. It makes your heart flutter. “You should go home and rest. You’re sick and running a temp.”
You honestly didn’t expect Olivia to care this much. Sure, you’re friends, but she’s never looked at you like this before.
“I will,” you say, swallowing down another cough. “I just have a few more things to get through, then I’ll head out.”
“You’re no good to anyone here if you run yourself into the ground,” Olivia presses, her eyes still fixed on yours. “Trust me, I’ve done it myself.”
You laugh softly. “Yeah, I’ve seen you do it.”
“Exactly,” Olivia says, lips curled in a lopsided smirk. “And you’ve pulled me back when I needed it. Reminded me to sleep, and eat, and to go see my kid. So this is me pulling, honey. You need to go home.”
You’ve seen this softer side of Olivia before. It’s reminiscent of the way she is with victims, all quiet words of reassurance, comforting touches. But somehow it’s hitting you even harder right now, all that care directed at you.
But you remind yourself not to read too much into it. You’re friends, that’s all. Even if you secretly wish it could be more.
Your nose itches and you hastily grab a tissue to sneeze into, sighing afterward. Olivia is right. You’re not getting anything done anyway.
“Maybe I can work the rest of the day from home,” you admit begrudgingly, glancing up at her. “I don’t want to get anyone else sick, anyway.”
“Good,” Olivia smiles at you, and the brightness of it makes your chest do funny things again.
You and Olivia stand up. But the moment you’re on your feet, it feels like all the blood rushes from your head and you wobble, seeing stars.
Olivia lunges for you immediately, wrapping a firm arm around you and steadying you.
“Woah, careful,” she says, frowning at you. She doesn’t let go of you. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just dizzy for a second,” you mumble, although you don’t make an effort to move out of her grasp.
“Let me take you home, sweetheart,” Olivia murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. There’s a deep furrow in her eyebrows. “You shouldn’t be driving with this fever.”
“I think I’ll be okay –” you start to protest, but she shakes her head firmly. While keeping her arm around you, she picks up your purse and jacket for you and tucks them under her other arm.
“Nuh-uh. I’m pulling rank,” Olivia says, already guiding you toward the door. “I’m driving you home.”
You feel too safe in her arms to protest any further.
i‘m this close to pull up and write a monsta x!curling team AU ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
minhyuk roping in hyungwon, joohoney & kihyun to try a new sport during their first winter semster
simply bc minhyuk saw a flyer about the uni‘s curling team & was like let‘s go
them ending up at the olympics 10-ish years later & shownu, i.m. As well as wonho coming in support
they don‘t understand anything, but it‘s their friends and it‘s hilarious to see kihyun and hyungwon going at each other
also kihyun during competitions? fierce.
them bickering and still scoring insane points? LMAO
this sounds hilarious to me
(Also i‘m not good at the rules of curling, and it‘s highly unlikely they‘d end up at the olympics starting in college for funsies - this is fanfic, let me be unrealistic ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
will take you on a little weekend getaway to a wellness hotel
probably somewhere with mountains, maybe even with snow
intents to do nothing except soak in the pool, get a massage or a little spa treatment
will make sure you secure a double loungechair so you can cuddle & cuddle he will!!
& nap (the gentle sounds of the water hitting the edge of the pool lull you in)
on the 14th itself, you will sleep in - he might wake before you, but might as well just cuddle into you and enjoy being close
will hold you tight and occasionally place butterfly kisses wherever he can reach
once you‘re up, quiet conversations - enjoying the calmness of it all, watching the sun hit the mountain (generally i think you‘ll have a full panorama view)
the do not disturb sign is hanging from your door & thank god
because quiet conversations will turn into gentle touches, deep kisses, quiet confessions of love and some throughout love making, a lot of eye contact!!
turn up to breakfast half an hour before it‘s over, because the decision to leave the bed was a hard one (in more than one way)
you think about trying to go sledding because it looks fun & shownu giving in and going with you, bc he wants to see you happy more than anything
and it‘s fun, for a little while - until your boots are a little wet and your feet and hands are freezing, a lot of silliness but soooooo much laughter
shownu insisting on steering the sled while you hold onto him tightly
red cheeks, runny nose and shownu taking your hands between his in an attempt to warm you up
a warm drink of your choice (probably mulled wine!!) & sharing some good memories
late afternoon pool session - mostly enjoying the whirlpool and everything that bubbles - a well deserved nap before you head up for shower & getting ready for dinner
(maybe a joined shower where it‘s lots of kissing and messing with each others hair)
romantic dinner incoming!!
dessert will be consumed in your room
he orders strawberries and chocolate, before he goes for you
all in all very romantic, very relaxing and gentle
very steamy at times :))))))
minhyuk
activity date, 100% - you are not spending this day inside
will take you out for a little pottery workshop or painting ceramics
argue that your design is way prettier (even if you have no talent for it, will encourage you to keep trying and take you on more dates like this)
lighthearted conversations, a lot of laughing and playful arguments
until you smudge some paint or clay on his face after a paticular argument
then he will fight back - mostly trying to tickle you
but also if you‘re doing a pottery workshop, he will sit behind you hand guide you along and maybe you get a good look at his fingers and have thoughts
it‘s still fun, but thoughts are being thought
and sometimes you can‘t concentrate enough
after your little creative outing will take you out for a lovely little dinner, preferably in your favourite restaurant
sharing dessert!!!
on the way home he will stop at a late night flower shop and let you pick out as many flowers as you want, so you can look at the bouquet you picked and think of this day when you pass by it
romantic walk home
ONCE THE DOOR TO YOUR HOME CLOSES THO
will make sure that you put the flowers in a vase
but also, the kitchen counter is right there
and he gets a good look while your leaning forward
and well, can you blame him for brushing a hand over your back toward your bum?
and you know whats up & suddenly the thoughts from before return and well one thing leads to another
yes the kitchen counter is involved before he‘ll move toward the couch and oh well
the make out session on the couch is heated
wandering hands
first it‘s a little rough and quick, second is incredibly intimate
and and and, i‘ll leave it up to you ;)
kihyun
picks you up & comes to your door with the most beautiful flower bouquet you‘ve seen (it looks expensioso as fuuuuuuck)
has been very secretive about his plans, just told you to wear something nice & bring something elegant as well as another change of clothes
when you asked why he just went ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
and you thought to yourself what a little shit he is and how much you love him
drives you out near the sea & it‘s a little cold but a sunny day nevertheless
a walk on the beach, sitting in the sun after, he will gift you a long letter & a lovely little photobook of anecdotes to where you went over the year and it‘s sweet and adorable and you tell him you love him and he replies with „i know“ and you will hit him for that
shows you the airbnb he booked and it‘s extremely cozy, tells you to go get ready because you have a reservation
when you step out in your outfit all kihyun can think about is how much he wants to take it right off you again
bc to him you look stunning and he kisses you long, deep and passionate and you share the enthusiams bc holy hell this man looks good
after a while he will laugh a little and tell you he needs to get ready too, so you don‘t miss your reservation
if you pout a little he will give you another kiss and whisper in your ear „we can come back to this later“ and well
how frustrating
turns out the reservation is for the whole restaurant (bc he is friends with the owner)
it‘s very kdrama-esque & your like ????? are you insane???
the food is good, the conversation even better
like i do picture warm lighting some candles and it‘s all very cozy while still being fancy
holding hands over the table top, trying each others food, talking about upcoming events
kihyun will absolutely insist on feeding you a spoonful of dessert and well you can‘t really say no to that?
at some point you‘ll excuse yourself to the bathroom but not before whispering something dirty in this mans ear
and it‘s payback, because it will absolutely rile him up
mmmh the moment you come back, things go fast, like he will settle the bill and half full wine glasses will get left behind in favour of getting you home
and home you get like, the moment you stumble through the door kihyun is on you - his mouth, his hands, his body pressed thightly against yours
and your making out against the door and he will find all the little spots you like and kiss them with precision
yes, there will be a trail of clothes back to the bed and yes your in for the night of your life
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
hyungwon
this man is proposing spending the day on the couch & you agree bc tbh since the beginning of the new year things have been hectic
so valentines will consist of pulling out the couch, adding blankets and pillows to make it as comfortable as possible
it will also entail matching sweatshirts and joggers bc yes
but hyungwon feels a little guilty about it maybe not being as romantic, so in a moment of your distraction he will pretend that rose petals are confetti and spread them all over the room, it‘s a mess sure and you can‘t help but laugh which ends up with hyungwon kissing you laughing as well and being all like „appreciate my hard work“
and you‘ll be like „i am“ but also can‘t stop giggling and like you continue to prep the snacks, put on every source of indirect lighting until you‘re falling into the couch being like „i cannot wait to not move for the rest of the day“
and it‘s perfect, hyungwon puts on the notebook and you‘re like -of course-
and after you get to put on a movie and all the while hyungwon holds you in his arms and peppers you with sweet kisses when the movie is uninteresting
but you also talk, about everything and nothing
it‘s the most relaxed you both have been for a while and while the movies keep playing hyungwons hold on you grows tighter and at some point his hands wander
and if you at some point turn around and like kiss him with your hands on his chest wandering towards his neck…no one is stopping you
least of all hyungwon
he lives for the little noises that pass between the both of you
you know maybe hands get friskier and riskier and it‘s getting a little hot under the blankets
and then the doorbell rings, which makes both of you groan
„shit i forgot about that“
„about what?“
„pizza“
you laugh and send hyungwon to the door to receive it
he comes back and the tension is going dormant at the thought of food
hyungwon wiping the corner of your mouth with his thump
smirking
and soon enough the pizza is gone and your just cuddling while a movie is playing in the background
it’s a whispered conversation that soon turns into little sounds
until it ends in the most gentle spectacular love making
and it‘s slow and attentive and like it feels special
and well, you‘re definitely in for more than one round… (＾ｕ＾)
jooheon
honestly he is sooooo excited to spend valentines day with you and i feel like he wants to do all the cringy couple things
but he settles on taking you to an amusement park and if you haven’t been as excited at him so far, it will catch onto you the moment your on your way to the park
will buy both of you cute headbands and make sure your taking a lot of selfies
holds your hand and tells you how adorable you look
if you’re up for going on rides he will definitely join you (and scream a little)
definitly one for the food trucks and sweets, until it‘s almost tooo much
and bc it‘s valentines day the park as a little firework planned and when evening hits
he is all about the booths where you can win a big stuffed animal and you set your eyes on a bee and jooheon is like „i will definitely win this for you“ and your like „my knight in shining armour, fighting!“
and he tries, a lot, like he is leaving behind a decent sum and your like cheering him on
but at some point he gets pouty and the shopkeeper is like
„no more, you‘ve tried so hard just take the bee“
and he does but he feels a little off about it, but you just kiss him and tell him how grateful you are that he tried so hard
and you say „i love you, my honey~“
it‘s like a boost of energy for him and he‘s like „i love you too, let’s go see the fireworks“
and he pulls you to a place a little away from the crowds
definitly hugs you from behind
so it‘s just you, him and the big ass bee
and he will kiss your cheek and ikyk he is like moon eyed for you and he will let you know how happy he is to be with you to have you
his rambling is so cute but you feel the need to turn around and kiss him fully and in that moment the firework starts, but you only have eyes for your man and he has only eyes for you
has your face between his hands and kisses you several times and you laugh and it feels perfect
at some point you actually watch the fireworks and lean back into him
and you‘re a little cold
but he most definitely has hand warmers that he will give to you
after some time, when you leave he will put your hand in his and put it in your coat pocket
the car ride back is carpool karaoke time
but the moment you get through the door it‘s all playful kisses and he proposes a hot bath and well
if there is a little lake on your bathroom floor it‘s not so bad
because the water is hot and you‘re very VERY relaxed…hehe ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
but also jooheon knows what he is doing and it‘s like the perfect end to the night
changkyun
well we all are aware that the maknae is know for being one of the most romantic and sensual ones in monsta x
so expect a fancy dinner and some very sexy clothes
he definitely takes you out to a fine dining restaurant thats all dark inside and has nice booths where you are mostly undisturbed
it‘s nice, because you sit leaning into changkyun and because it‘s valentines he is having one hand on your waist at almost all times
and you know if the moment is right he might kiss your hand and interlace your fingers and the touch is so freaking gentle it makes your heart flutter
one of the many things changkyun is good at is making your heart flutter
also you know a kiss on the hand is never enough so when no one is looking he might as well lightly kiss up your arm ending on the line between your shoulder and neck
it does make you shiver and you might as well be placing a hand on his thight and lightly caress it and he will be like „careful now or we won‘t make it to our next destinantion“
„what if i wanted to go straight back home?“ you ask while grinning at him and he kisses you
„that would be a shame, because i have so much more planned“ and you relent and it‘s okay because some time later he settles the bill and takes you through whatever city your in to some exklusive rooftop bar and well
kyun & the sparkling city lights is all very very enticing and romantic
also i feel like there is jazz music playing and it invites you into moving a little to it and changkyun can‘t help but secretly taking pictures of you
Bc changkyun definitely has a folder of candit pictures of you and if he sets one from tonight as his lockscreen no one is there to stop him
well somehow it also ends up with him talking about all the recent music he likes and you‘ll add to the conversation and i just know something will settle with you like damn
he is your person and you interrupt him mid sentence and blurt out an „i love you“
he knows bc it‘s not the first time you said it but the smile he gives you is like 10000 watts
you want to say sooo much more but the only thing you‘re truly able to atriculate is „i love you so so much and i don‘t think that will ever change“
something softens in him, but he also can‘t help but tease
„are you proposing rn?“ and the smirk is letal
yes, you hit him in the arm for that and he is like catching your hand mid hit and pulling you closer
„i‘m gonna show you in so many ways how much i love you tonight“ and he kisses you
„i love the way you talk, the way your mouth meets mine, the way you know me so well, the way you feel in my arms and i swear“ he kisses you between every line „i swear one day i will make you mine forever“
and he steals your breath and the taxi ride home????? well it‘s a damn near thing of defiling the backseat ◕‿◕
but you make it home and he will make sure you know how appeeciated you are and maybe you‘ll spend the whole next day in bed because someone got you weak in the knees :)))))))
wonho
you can 100% expect red roses from him, probably like a 100 and you‘re like?????
how am i supposed to fit that in a vase
and he might tease a little with „the way you make everything else fit“ and you laugh and he laughs and well
wonho is a classic guy and i feel like he will take you out to the movies bc there is a rerun of 2005 pride and prejudice or some other romantic movie you like (in my mind it‘s this)
and during the whole movie he holds your hand and maybe he cries during the confession scene
you‘re right there with him and you look at each other like both with tears on your face and kind of laugh at each other bc it‘s silly and romantic
he holds your hand the whole time btw
like whenever something happens on screen or it‘s intense he will hold your hand a little tighter
and later there will be milkshakes and fries, yes he will feed it to you and it‘s cute
also will take you to a photobooth were you‘ll take silly pictures and he‘ll kiss you on at least one of them
and his smile is so wide and i feel like bc it‘s later in the evening after the movie there is not so much open anymore
but he somehow finds an old tiny bookstore and you start browsing and you make the deal to find a book for each other
when you do you don‘t show it to each other, but wonho finds one first and he has a pen with him and starts writing a little love letter on the first page
and the book he found for you is like an older edition of your favourite book and you know
you had the same thought about finding each others fav book and he loves it so much
and makes you write something in it too
promises are made to read it together some time later this week
will take you home and it‘s all very cuddly later one, i feel like despite it being very late it‘s romantic and you know it‘s quick bc it‘s late and you‘re tired
but yk morning comes and i feel like it‘s all the more romantic now
he will take his time and breakfast might be around noon (๑´ڡ`๑)
it'll be okay. like hands on a clock, everything will go in circles back to its place. remember, we're together always. it doesn't change, i won't let go of your hand.
dededos
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
2087
germansingergirl
stormborns
blakekathryn
