#mariska hargitay x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marilynthornhilllover · 6 months ago

Note

Can you please write rough smut for grey hair Emily Prentiss that’s just… total shameless filth😭 like choking, breeding kinks, semi public sex (in her office)

I could eat that girl for lunch

Emily prentiss x Fem!reader

Warning: smut 18+, breeding kink, semi public sex, breast kink, spitting kink, choking kink, praise kink, mommy kink, one slap, slight cunniligus, fingering, slight strap fucking, etc.

A/N: oh I lost it with this one🤭enjoy sorry it took so long 😭

You knew it was wrong to think of your boss Emily in such a way.... but God damn it. You just couldn't control yourself anymore. I mean come on she's the Emily prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, who wouldn't be obsessed with her, sorry in love with her. She was insufferable, almost irresistible like a drug. The way she would bite her lips when ever she laughed or was focused on something very important.

Or The way she held her hands in her pockets and stood against door frames or leaned against desks. The way her hips would sway whenever she struts down the hallway towards her office and finally, the way she looks at you. The way this woman would look at you was everything. Her eyes, they were always glued to you when you were busy doing your work. She thought you didn’t notice her but gaze detection is a real thing that works.

Emily would stare at you as if she wanted to devour you. And it always made you weak. It made your skin get heated and your mind go dizzy. You couldn’t focus when her eyes were on you, it was as if every cell in you wanted to explde. The time you wore a strapless shirt to work because it was too hot out, and for the entire day she couldn't find the decency to stop her eyes from roaming over your collarbone and shoulders, and the other time you wore a mini skirt and a top that had a zip in the middle that was pulled down just enough to see your cleavage. She went nuts.

Emily knew of your angel face, but she didn’t let that fool her. She knew you had dirty thoughts of her, you even went as far as making a dirty jokes about her. One time she overheard Jennifer asking you if you were to fuck anyone in the office who would you fuck and you had chosen 'Emily'.

You always had a thing for older women, and everyone in the office knew, so maybe it’s obvious that you had quite a massive crush on your boss as well. You heard rumors of Emily being “ talented” with her tongue and “skilled” with her fingers. You did have the privilege to meet one of Emily’s ex-girlfriends at a seasonal greeting event, and by her words “ Emily almost took her out of the world”.

You did try to do your work as best as possible and tried your very hardest to keep out of her way. And for some time it had seemed to work. Emily caught onto the drift and sensed that you were giving her the cold shoulder and the both of you stuck to strictly business and work professional procedures and encounters. But none of this stopped Emily from winking at you from time to time and even going as far as moving you aside by your waist using her hands when you were both in the kitchen getting lunch at the office.

Her hands in your waist sent electric shocks throughout your body, and each time she gave you a sly smirk. You did try to ignore her most of the time. And for a while it lasted.

So tonight you don’t know what possessed you to sneak into Emily’s office. There was a big case that was on the table and it required all hands on deck. You had decided to stay back and help Emily crack some codes but after half an hour in she left. It was pretty late, around 10:38 PM and you were exhausted. Your eyes flicked up to inspect your surroundings because sometimes people break into police departments to steal evidence.

That’s when you saw her that her office light was on and had decided to go turn it off and then after you would finish pack up and then leave . It wasn’t the first time being in her office, but it was the first time alone, by yourself….. with just her stuff. Her jacket was thrown on the back of her chair and a couple of her personal belongings sprawled out on her desk. You had already checked for cameras and any audio devices, there were none. So you took off your pants and panties, shirt and bra leaving yourself completely naked in your boss office.

Absolutely downright crazy, bat shit crazy. You sit in her chair and gently began fingering yourself at a slow pace, but quickly increased it as you became more desperate and needy. Your eyes were tightly shut closed, as your hand worked it’s magic down between your legs. All that can be heard was the wet sounds your cunt was making when you thrusted your fingers in your pussy, your weak hoasty moans and your loud and elaborate breathing as you neared your peak.

Your orgasm washed over you almost knocking you out of the chair and onto the floor causing you to topple over yourself . Your eyes hastily as you swallowed thickly and bit your lips.

“ well” a voice says, half disappointed half surprised. Your eyes snap up towards the entrance of the office to see Emily standing there. Her expression was unreadable. You felt all the blood drain from your face as your entire body freezes with both fear and shame. Emily smirked at you before she took a step into the room, closing and locking the door behind her ( you forgot to close the door?!) . She took slow strides towards the table as she pushed her hands into her pocket.

“ you know I really thought you were just a shy little good girl who knew her worth and knew how to ask for things…. But I guess I was totally wrong wasn’t I?” She asked, carefully walking around the desk, she stopped and stood in a position where she was pressing all her weight on one foot as she titled her head, inspecting you. She chuckled silently and further approached you.

“ could have fooled me babe” she says plainly, she then grabs you by your jaw and forces your face upwards to look at her. Still you remain frozen. A part of you couldn’t believe you had gotten into this situation and another part wanted to curl up into a ball and completely disappear for all eternity, never to be seen again.

“ look at you, I stood there for over 20 minutes, all in which you did nothing but fuck yourself senseless to the thought of me, don’t you see it now y/n your my slut” she says, purring the last two words, that may have reheated something in you because you need her all over again.

“ uh oh, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or did you lose your voice after screaming my name so loud? Oh Emily , fuck yes Emily, fuck me Emily” she mocked you and that’s when a realization of being naked hits you. You were completely bare before this woman. In her own office. Such a shame.

Emily’s eyebrow quirked in amusement as she looked at you shy away from her and look everywhere but into her dark eyes. She took the opportunity to look at your body intensely. With a silent hum her eyes wondered down your chest, stoping to look at your breast and how perked your nipples were. She then moved further down your body and her eyes landed on your vagina, from the way you were sitting she couldn’t see much but just the thought of fucking it got her going.

In one swift moment Emily grabbed you by your waist and tossed you onto the desk. You whined at the sudden action and prompted yourself up onto your elbows to remove some objects from behind of your back before you proceeded to lay down. Your legs opened up involuntarily which caused Emily to smirk as she stood between them causing them to spread even wider. Regardless of your previous orgasm you were already so desperate for this woman’s touch.

Emily took off her jacket and soon everything else went with it. She was bare in just her pants alone. You wanted her to remove it but you were too mesmerized by her stern breast to give a shit. Her pants were high waisted but allowed you to see her toned abs a little. God you wanted her so badly. Your shaking hands made their way up to her skin and you gently placed your hand on her abs admiring them, god she must work out real good. For a moment you thought that you were lost in heaven until you felt her remove your hand.

“Getting touchy now are we? That’s slutty behavior” she laughed, she loved teasing you and seeing you squirm beneath her. This wasn’t the first time Emily had you under this choke hold. There were many other times where she was able to get under you skin….. but those are stories for another time. She leaned down and hovered her lips over your mouth, contemplating if she should give into you or let you go crazy over her some more. Even though Emily could see the pleading look in your eyes she knew better than to give the devil what she wanted.

Emily chuckled as she removed a strand of hair from your already sweaty forehead to behind your ear. Her hand stayed there, behind your neck, for a while her grasp tightening every few seconds which caused you to release a quiet moan from your throat. Emily looked down at you in deep thought before her eyes flicked down to your lips. Her thump caressed your jaw for a little while before she spoke.

“ open your mouth” her request definitely caught you off guard but the way she said it made your thighs clench but you remember that she was laying between them, making it hard to do so. You looked up at her confused as your breathing got shallow. You gulped and did as she asked. For a while she did nothing but then she opened her mouth and slowly poured her saliva into your mouth.

You were a little disgusted because back in high school you were always the one to say that you’d never allow anyone to do this to you but things have changed, it’s Emily fucking prentiss. Sorry. It’s mommy. And something about this just turned you on more because you could feel the slick that was pooling between your thighs from your pussy. Emily stopped and watched you close your mouth. She gave you a look and you knew what she was asking without words. You swallowed. She then started kissing you. It was rough but slow at the same time, she made you feel as though you had all the time in the world.

She broke the kiss before you even had a chance to deepen it as she moved down to your breast. She left pecks all across your chest, small sucks and bites that will most definitely leave marks later on, not that you care. She continued her assault until she moved down to your nipple. She swirled her tongue around the small bud first before she looked up at you with mischievous eyes before then enveloped the entire bud into her mouth. Your head fell back and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to just feel. She abused the small bud by gently biting it and sucking on it like a baby enjoying your moans.

Her hand fondled with the other neglected breast as the other made it’s s way down to your pussy, Emily knew you weren’t paying attention to her works so without notice she carefully pulled your lace pink panties to the side and inserted two fingers at the same time without warning. Your back arched as your eyes rolled back. Your hands immediately flew to the edge of the table for support. Emily smirked and released your nipple with a ‘ pop ’ sound as saliva made a bridge from her mouth to the bud to which she broke by licking her lips.

“ that’s it baby, just like that? You like when mommy gives you what you want without you having to ask her?” You couldn’t even respond to her, your mind was clouded with her insufferable praises, perfume and god did her fingers do a number on you. Everytime her digits slid out of you and back in her lips twitched. The sound of your cunt squelching against her fingers and your petty moans and grunts as your body began to spams made Emily want to do more despicable things to you until you couldn’t walk.

“ fuck so good, this is squeezing my fingers so fucking good baby, I wish I had a fucking real cock to split you open with, get you pregnant with my babies, you’d like that huh?” She whispered, increasing her pace as she curled her fingers deeper into you cunt, touching your g-spot every few seconds as she buried her fingers knuckle deep into you. You could feel your skin heat up as a familiar feeling of pleasure built up within your lower abdomen. Your hips bucked up towards every thrust of her fingers as your hand grabbed her wrist to slow her actions, you wanted to last longer to prove to her that you weren’t just some cum hungry slut. But that would be pointless because you are just a cum hungry slut.

But with her praises and her fingers moving at the speed of light it was truly impossible. You tried to pull it off a little longer but you couldn’t.

“ I feel you clenching me so tight baby, let it go for mommy, I wanna feel you drench my fingers so bad baby” she purred in your ear, her breath hot against your skin, and with that sentence you came for her. You eyes rolled back and you could feel your juices pouring out of you and onto her fingers. Emily kept fucking you drawling out every whimper, twitch and cry that you had to give. You were completely dumbstruck and spiraling.

You felt as she withdrew herself from between your legs as the sound of her jeans being removed. You stayed there trying to catch your breath. You looked down to Emily and that’s when you see her pulling off her pants completely, a strap around her waist. It was a clear light purple with small glitter pieces in it and it was huge. Without even realizing you tried to back away from her but Emily was two steps ahead, catching onto what your intentions were she pulled you back down by your ankles and forced your legs apart.

Emily placed her hands under your knees and pushed them up above your chest. You’ve never seen any strap that big or long and you anticipated how well she’d fuck you with it for your first time. It was as if you became a virgin again.

“ why are you running now darling? You wanted mommy to fuck you so badly when you were in here all by yourself. Your gonna take it like a good girl now” her tone was so dark and seductive it made your skin crawl and your insides burn with desire.

She pinned your hands above your head and slowly sank the tip of her cock into you forcing a moan out of you. Your eyes slammed shut as you tried to focus on the stretch, the way she made the pain and the pleasure mix so good. She let loose of your hands and gently started choking you. The deeper she buried herself within you the more your eyes would roll back and your legs would quiver. You desperate pleas of moans and cries filled the room as Emily started thrusting into you with full force. Deep and fast the tip bruising your sweet spot every time.

Emily angled her hips ever so slightly, just enough to push her cock up against your cervix. Gently at first, but when she heard the mewl that escaped your mouth at her action and the way your body convulsed it became rougher each time. You trembled as she kept thrusting into you.

“ oh— oh GOD— Emily please, fuck I can’t TAKE IT ANYMORE” you cried but it fell on death ears. You tried to close your thighs to eliminate how well her cock drives into you but Emily’s grip on your neck made you mind mush. Continuing your attempt you tried to move away from her but that resulted in you getting a hard smack across your face as she choked you much rougher. Her nails digged into the flesh out your waist as she started pounding your pussy brutally whispering insults that you couldn’t quite hear due to your moans and the sound of her thighs connecting with your slick.

“ fuck that’s it, right there? Mhm? Right fucking there” she cooed as she pushed your legs further apart and circled her hips as she made her thrust more curved. Your body began to tremble and Emily chuckled as she looked down at the white circle ring around her cock. She felt as your body tensed up and you let out a pornographic moan of her name. She kept thrusting after you came until you whined and pushed her away with a hand on her abs. She pulled out and kneeled down eye level with your cunt.

She cleaned up the mess with her tongue. Cautiously sucking and pulling at your clit until you pushed her head away. She smiled at her work and at herself and looked up at you. Your chest raised and fall with every breath you took and your thighs were still shivering. She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before whispering.

“ round two? We’ve got all night and I’m sure i recall you saying your flexible….”

#fypシ゚viral #fanfic #love #wlw smut #smut fanfiction #smut fanfics #smut fics #criminal minds #svu #mariska hargitay #olivia benson #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fanfics #emily prentiss fics #emily prentiss smut fanfics

786 notes · View notes

teddykisser · 3 months ago

Text

Protective & Possessive

Part 2 to Our Little Family

Beautiful Things

Captain Olivia Benson x Pregnant Female Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, Kissing, Fluff, Mean Remarks, Secret Pregnancy, Protective Rolline, Posessive Reader, Massage, Dead Bodies, Suggestive Themes, Horny Reader, Brief D/S Dynamic Mention, Slight Smut Towards End.

You were back at work the next day. Your lunch break spent in Olivia's office. You rested your hands on your stomach, in awe that there was really a baby in there.

Olivia sat at her desk, admiring you. A soft smile was present on her face as you touched your stomach. Olivia herself was still in shock that you were pregnant.

She gently turned your head back up to meet hers, giving you a sweet kiss before pulling away and looking at you. "Are you sure you're okay?" She asked softly, still holding your waist.

Her gaze fell onto you.

"Mhm, better get back out there.." You nodded, beginning to detach yourself from her arms.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything." Olivia added.

You closed the door behind you as you watched Rollins return from her break.

"Hi Y/N" She smiled, sitting at her desk.

"Hey Manda, what's new?" You spoke, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"There's been a break in the case" Munch interrupted.

As Munch briefed the team, Olivia focused on the work in front of her. She was only half paying attention to what was going on. She was still thinking about earlier, thinking about you being pregnant with her child. The thought alone filled her with warmth. She knew this would be something she'd be thinking about for the rest of the day.

The case required the team to go into the field. Olivia grabbed her coat and bag to follow everyone else into action. The case wasn't too bad, thankfully. She walked with the team, making sure to keep an eye on you throughout. She couldn't help but be a bit protective, especially knowing that you were now carrying a baby, her baby.

There was a dead body that had been dead for a few days so it had a rancid smell. You tried to resist gagging and keep your composure. This action didn't go unnoticed by Liv.

She saw your expression as you saw the body and inched closer to you. Olivia placed her hand on your back, rubbing it gently. "You okay, dear?" She asked. She didn't want you to be too stressed, especially now. She was a bit concerned for your health.

"Y-Yeah.. it's just the s-smell" You admitted, whispering in her ear. You didn't want the rest of the team to know the news just yet. Didn't wanna jinx it.

Olivia nodded and kept a hand on your back, gently rubbing circles with her thumb, trying to comfort you. "Oh. My love.. It's going to be alright. Just breathe for me, okay?" She knew the next few months wouldn't be easy for you but it will be so worth it.

"You alright, Y/N? It's not your first dead body, is it?" Munch remarked, his eyes judging you.

Olivia looked up, her eyes glared at the other detective. This wasn't the time or place for jokes. She moved her hand from your back, instead putting it on your stomach, rubbing it softly. "It's alright," she reassured you, ignoring the other detective's comment.

"You know she's one of the younger agents leave her alone" Rollins spoke, referring to your age. Rollins was very motherly to you, and protective of you so she came to your rescue.

"Thank you, Amanda" Olivia turned to Rollins, giving her a nod. She hated when her teammates made comments that were just insensitive. She knew they didn't mean to be rude, but now was certainly not the time. The captain kept her hand on your stomach, rubbing it gently.

"In public?" You mouthed, refering to Liv's hand caressing your stomach. You didn't want your team to find out and this was a dead giveaway.

Olivia knew what you meant. She couldn't help but feel a bit protective and wanted everyone to know, but she also wasn't quite ready for anyone to know yet. She knew it would only be a matter of time before someone put the pieces together. "You're doing so well, don't worry about the others." She whispered, trying to reassure you.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

The team had returned back to the office, wrapping up the case. You were in Olivia's office, relaxing. The team knew of your relationship with the captain but they didn't know that you two were trying to have a child.

Olivia's hovered behind you, her hands working the knots in your shoulder. "You're so tense, my love.." Olivia spoke softly.

You closed your eyes, lending your hand back slightly. A quiet groan escaped from your lips.

"That's it baby, let it all out" Olivia encouraged. Her lips ghosted your neck.

"You're such a good girl, my best girl" She praised.

You stood up, backing Liv against the wall. Your gaze darkened, you bit your lip as your hand found it's way around her neck.

"Shh.. Gotta keep quiet Captain.." You smirked, you sucked on the skin on her neck, taking it between your teeth.

"Mine" You whimpered against her.

Olivia couldn't lie, she was turned on by your possessiveness, and slightly curious of where it came from. She wasn't complaining though.

"B-baby.. we're a-at work" She reminded you, trying to keep her composure and not submit to you. She didn't want to give up her power but God you felt so good against her.

"Mmm.. don't you want this Liv.." Yiu mumbled against her, your other hand snaked down to her stomach, resting just below her pants.

"We're still at work, we'll have time for this later." Olivia added gently, pulling your face away from her neck.

"Benson! Y/L/N!" A voice exclaimed from the briefing room.

Olivia jumped, pulling away from you. She straightened her shirt and ran a hand through her hair to mess it around a bit so there wasn't as much evidence of what had just happened.

225 notes · View notes

stayevildarling · 3 months ago

Text

Olivia Benson x Reader- In Uniform

A/N: I saw this tiktok earlier and felt the urge to write Olivia smut so here we are🥲🤍

tw/tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, female reader, olivia recieving (oral, fingers), reader recieving (oral, fingers), mommy kink, authorative kink, mention of strap-on

word count: 2.2k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay, @blu3dimples

The precinct banquet hall was filled with people, conversations lingering in the air as well as the sound of glasses clinking. You stand at your table, surrounded by familiar faces, detectives from your division, your bosses and other departments. But your attention lingers on one person only, your girlfriend Olivia, standing with her colleagues from the Special Victims Unit before she takes the stage.

She is dressed in her ceremonial captains uniform and you can‘t keep your eyes off her tie, her dark hair neatly put up and the several medals shining on her chest. Her presence is commanding as well as authorative. You watch as she steps on the stage, her calm and powerful voice delivering a speech like she usually would, her eyes occasionally flickering across the room. Yet, you couldn‘t hear a single word, the way her glasses are perched up her nose and the way her uniform suits her so well, taking your breath away.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, heat travelling from your stomach in between your legs as you press your thighs together. When her eyes meet yours for a second, your breath hitches and heart stops in your chest as you have to supress the things going on in your mind.

The sound of applause after she finishes her speech pulls you back to reality for a moment as you force a smile and applaude, watching as she joins the others again and begins light conversation. You tried your hardest to keep up with what you are supposed to do tonight, keep up small talk and talk about your division, the one you had transfered to once things between you and Liv became serious .

As soon as the event begins winding down, you slip away from the others, finding Olivia‘s office as you noticed her slipping away a while ago, knowing she was bound to catch up on some work as she always does. As you step into your old unit you feel nostalgic before seeing her through the windows of her office, leaning back in her chair as she reads over notes, glasses perched on her nose the same way she had while giving her speech. Your stomach flips as you see the top button of her uniform unbuttoned and as she looks up, eyebrows raised in surprise, you feel like falling to your knees right there.

„Hi love, what are you doing here?“ she asks gently as she sets the notepad down, tilting her head a little to get a better glimpse at you. She watches in surpise as you close the door behind you, the lock clicking shut with a subtle sound before you walk over to the blinds and roll them down, giving you both the complete privacy of her office.

„Everything alright?“ she asks as her eyebrows furrow before you turn to face her. „Yeah“ you nod, thoughts trailing off as you take another glimpse at your girlfriend, feeling like you might burst any second from how insanely beautiful and attractive she looks. „Don‘t you wanna celebrate out there?“ she asks curiously as she studies your features carefully. It takes a second for you to reply as you stand almost frozen in your spot „I couldn‘t stay out there Liv“ you admit, causing her eyebrows to furrow in concern as she still hasn‘t gotten the hints yet.

„Why not sweetheart?“ she asks gently before you clear your throat „Not after watching you all night“ you murmur, barely audible as her eyebrows perk up in surprise. „Watching me?“ she asks curiously as you sigh in frustration, holding back the urge to stomp your foot too. „God Liv, I have watched you take the stage with that uniform, demanding everyones attention and I can‘t- I just wanna“ you stop yourself, usually not the one to be this direct as you are usually more subltle and shy about things. But when she looks at you with a slight smirk, understanding now, you can‘t help yourelf.

„What is it sweetie?“ she asks curiously as your eyes lock with her own. „I couldn‘t stop thinking about how badly I wanted to tear this uniform from you“ you admit, watching as her eyes widen in surprise. She was surprised at your sudden boldness but she can‘t hide the smirk that follows, liking this side of you more than she is letting on. „You usually have a little more restraint than that baby“ she teases which causes you to chuckle „Not tonight, not with you looking like.. that“ you admit, eyes trailing down your girlfriend. „Liv you are driving me crazy“ you admit before she chuckles, setting her glasses down, voice lower than before as she moves her chair back „Why don‘t you show me how?“ she asks, finally giving in with a deliberate smile.

You waste no time making your way over, glancing at your girlfriend before getting on your knees, the surprise evident in the older womans features as she locks eyes with you. The image of you kneeling for her turns her on more than she is letting on, let alone to mention how absolutely stunning you look tonight. You begin slow despite the urgency you are feeling, slipping off her shoes first before fiddling with the hem of her trousers. „Not so fast sweetie“ she chuckles before she pulls you up by your collar, making your body collapse into her lap. She pulls you in for a kiss, slow, deliberate but as her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you can feel her urgency.

With gentle movements you fiddle with her tie, pulling at it a little to move her forward as you trail kisses down her neck, sucking at her sensitive points causing the occasional moan to slip from her lips. Once you have the brunette worked up enough, you drop onto your knees again, subtly pulling her trousers and underwear down and she almost immediately spreads her legs for you, allowing your eyes to meet with her glistening core. „Liv“ you whisper as your hands caress her thighs, travelling down her legs as you place kisses between them, travelling closer and closer to where she needs you.

„Y/N“ your name falls from her lips so casually as she leans her head back, eyes closing as your mouth ghosts over her throbbing center and without warning you begin licking through her folds, collecting her sweet juices on your tongue, the taste driving you crazy as her hands find your hair, pulling and at the same time pushing you deeper into her. The taste is intoxicating, better than you could have anticipated the entire night, watching her and these scenes replaying in your mind. But nothing could have prepared you for this view, head thrown back in pleasure, hardened nipples peaking through her white shirt.

„Sweetie just like that“ she whispers, small whimpers falling from her lips as you begin sucking her clit faster, occasionally travelling lower and entering her, taking turns as you know it drives her crazy. It doesn‘t take long before the grip on your hair gets tighter, her hips pushing into you more as she needs to feel you. You are quick to take the hint, meeting her eyes now as you silently ask for permission, something the both of you cherished and would always do, despite the urgency. She nods with a smile before two fingers enter her, slowly and gently at first to adjust. Once her eyes close and head throws back in pleasure, you pick up the pace, mouth locked onto her clit as you suck her juices, making popping sounds as you occasionally let go of it, your fingers pumping in and out of your girlfriend as her legs begin shaking.

„God.. baby.. please don‘t stop“ she begs and there is something about the way you are having her right now, on your knees, Liv begging for you to make her cum as you are knuckles deep inside her, tongue licking rushed circles around her clit. When her thighs begin trembling, hips pushing further into you and back arching on the chair, you can tell. And by the time her desperate eyes meet you, you use the last of your strength to fasten your pace, fingers moving fast in and out of her before you feel her juices coating you seconds later. She refrains herself from screaming, knowing where you both are, biting down her moans as she slowly comes down from her high. Her chest heaves, breaths coming uneven as you slowly adjust the pace and let her ride it out, your tongue travelling lower and collecting her cum before you slowly stop, letting her adjust and find her breathing again.

Once her eyes opens and find yours, you blush under her intense gaze, seeing her chest heave still as she pulls you up onto her lap, and you gasp at the sudden change in position. Her lips find yours, tasting herself on you as her tongue enters your mouth, fighting for dominance as she was usually always the one in control and on top. „Was that what you wanted all night sweet girl?“ she whispers in your ear and you nod into her, suddenly feeling your confidence wavering, despite having succeeded. „Let me return the favor“ she moans into you as she pushes you both forward with her chair, your back gently hitting the back of her desk as she stands, holding you in her strong arms before sending the contents of her desk flying, laying you down gently before standing and hovering above you.

She takes her sweet time, undressing each part of you slowly as she admires every inch of your body, mouth trailing kisses down your body as your moans errupt her office. You can‘t help but look into her eyes, pupils blown as your eyes trail off, looking at her tie and how messy her hair is. You are so caught up in it that you don‘t realize her mouth is hovering above you, eyes asking you for permission as you quickly nod. „Liv please“ you whimper as she begins licking through your folds, her fingers teasing your entrance as you buck your hips. She enters you slowly, collecting some of your juices before standing, her free hand taking your hardened nipples into her hands.

Olivia is quick to bring you close, your panties having been soaked most of the night and bringing her to her own release only adding to how close you are. But she can tell you need more, the way your hips buck, face begging her and in a swift motion she turns you around, face firm against her desk as she stands behind you. Her fingers move back into your pussy with ease as she uses her other hand to grab your ass. You meet her halfway as you move into her fingers, needing more. „Please Liv, I‘m so- close“ the words are barely a whisper as you struggle through your moans, tears stinging in your eyes how good she is making you feel. Her free hand fists your hair as she pulls it, harder than you anticipated causing you to whince.

The slight pain causes you to falter as you bite your lip hard, trying not to scream. „Liv I‘m gonna“ you moan but she is already hovering above you, her mouth close to your ear as she nibbles on it. „Cum for mommy“ she coos and that‘s enough to send you over the edge, the bliss of it all causing you to force your eyes shut. Your orgasm washes over you in waves, cum dripping down Liv‘s fingers and onto her desk as you whimper softly. Your girlfriend gives you time to ride out your orgasm before she lets go of your hair and pulls her fingers out. Her fingers trail up and down your back, nails scratching the skin gently as she helps you find your breathing again. „Breathe sweetie, you did so well for me“ she coos as she gently turns you onto your back.

When your eyes open you see her smile, causing you to blush again under her gaze, not having anticipated the evening to take this kind of turn. „Turns out I need to wear this more often“ she teases as she hands you your clothes and begins to dress herself again. You nod before putting your clothes back on, helping to pick up the contents of her desk as your legs feel a little like jelly. As you turn to her you watch as she puts on her tie and you bite your lip before stepping forward. With ease you put it on for her, adjusting her uniform incase you would bump into anyone on the way home. After you finish, she places a kiss on your cheek and you move to her ears before going on your tip toes „You know the strap you‘ve been talking about?“ you ask which causes her eyes to widen and head to nod.

„Think I‘m ready to try it“ you whisper causing her to smirk before she kisses your lips, surprised at your sudden boldness as you hadn‘t tried that before. „Okay let me take you home then sweetheart“ she whispers before biting her lip and taking your hand. „I‘m definitely going to wear this more often“ she giggles as she walks you to her car, opening the door for you before she gets in herself, beginning to take you both home before her hand lingers on you, possessively and excited. And if you both knew one thing, this was going to be a long night after all.

#olivia benson #olivia benson x reader #olivia benson x female reader #olivia benson smut #olivia benson x y/n #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #mariska hargitay #mariska hargitay x readwr #writing #lgbtq

280 notes · View notes

ncis-nerd · 3 months ago

Text

Unwrap Me, Daddy.

a/n: What started as a crack fic...

18+ only!!

Ship: Olivia x Reader

About: Olivia wants to breed you on the most jollyest day of the year.

Warnings: Breeding Kink, Foul Language, Smut, Cum-Filled Strap, Pet Names.

18+ only!!

The stockings with your and Olivia’s names printed on it hung over the fireplace. You were cuddled up by the roasting fireplace, there you sat cozily on the couch. Jack Frost, 1998 version ran in the background. Your sparkly red lingerie set hugged your curves. You had nothing but a robe on and a bow. You sent a picture to Oliva.

Y/N: 1 attachment.

Y/N: “Unwrap me, Daddy”

Olivia: seen

Olivia: “Oh, you are so in for it now.”

You smirked to yourself, knowing the hole you were digging for yourself. You bit your lip thinking about how red Liv will smack your ass later.

The door swung open as Olivia set her bags down on the ground. She made her way over to the couch where she found you with your fingers interlocked, sitting there waiting for her, like her own present. She bit her lip, seeing the nice little bow you tied to your robe.

Your robe began to expose your very bare body to Olivia as she tugged on the ribbon. Revealing your sparkly red set to her. Goosebumps formed on your skin, you shuddered in anticipation.

“On your knees, now.” Olivia growled hungrily, as she forced you off the couch and to kneel. Olivia smiled softly, her warm hands lightly held your face. “Oh sweetheart, you do not know what I have in store for you” she smirked, revealing the long red strap hidden in her pants. You didn't notice the bulge it made until now.

“Wanna breed that pretty tummy of yours baby..” Olivia growled as she lined her strap up with your entrance. Her hands tugged on your nipples, pinching and abusing them as her strap penetrated you.

“Need to fill you up with my babies” Olivia grunted as the strap shifted, hitting that spongy spot of yours.

A sweet moan escaped your lips “f-fuck l-liv” You whimpered.

“What baby? Use your fucking words” Olivia spewed, pounding into you at a relentless speed.

“P-please cum in me livie, wanna be your fucktoy” you exclaimed, this seemed to please Olivia as her fingers traveled down to draw fast circles on your clit.

You could feel your knees starting to give in as they began to shake. “Wait for me baby, let’s cum at the same time” Olivia exhaled, getting more possessive of you.

She flipped you onto your back so she could admire the bulge the deep strap had on your stomach. This was the final straw for her..

“F-fuck, cum with me angel. Let go..” Olivia twitched as you felt warm liquid on your cunt.

Smug bitch, she used a cum filled strap. Olivia didn’t pull out, she fucked you through your orgasm, her eyes stayed focused your tummy.

“I can see you livy..” A soft grin filled your face, knowing that it was getting her off to see her strap in you.

164 notes · View notes

cissyenthusiast010155 · 1 year ago

Text

Reap What You Sow ~Post-S21!Daddy!Olivia Benson xFem Sub!Reader

Summary— Set in post season 21, where Liv is Captain. Reader decides to tease Olivia throughout the day and smutty punishment ensues later that night when Liv can finally do something about it…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, fingering, semi-public smut, spanking, daddy kink, degradation, praise, implied orgasm denial, degradation kink, praise kink, impact play, teasing, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

Your head hung low, over your shoulders and over the woman’s knees. It was after hours and you were bent over Olivia’s lap in her office. With another sharp crack to your barren ass, you jolted up slightly and let out a desperate mewl.

“Six—teen Daddy!!” You cried out.

You expect to feel another sharp smack to your ass, but instead you felt the woman’s hand gently rubbing your pink flesh.

“That’s it, such a good girl for Daddy.” Olivia cooed.

Pretty soon, her fingers trailed in between your legs and past your panties. She found your slick core, drenched in arousal, so wet it made you dizzy.

“Ooh Baby you’re soaked…” Liv purred, “Did Daddy make you this way…?”

You nodded vigorously, as one of her digits swiped through your folds.

“Yes yes all for Daddy, so wet for Daddy…!” You mewled.

After bringing her arousal coated digit up to her mouth and licking your juices clean off, the brunette gently caressed and squeezed your supple skin. Your body was left burning for more.

“Have you learned your lesson, sweetie…?” Liv condescendingly cooed.

You nodded vigorously.

“Yes Daddy yes yes please…!” You pled, “I’m sorry mm sorry—!”

“Sorry for what, baby…?”

“Mmm sorry for dressing up…! Sorry for distracting you!”

“You mean, you’re sorry for dressing like a slut, right…?? Daddy’s girl can’t just show up to work dressed to whore herself out… no matter whether Daddy will see her or not…” Liv spat.

You bit your lip and tensed up, as her digits dug into your left ass check possessively as she spoke. You let out a desperate mewl and nodded swiftly.

“Yes Daddy, I’m sorry please…!! I’m sorry I’m such a slut, can’t help it Daddy!” You babbled.

Your ass was smacked with a swift Crack!! again. This one went all to your core, as you felt your juices start to leak down your thighs.

“Oooooh Seventeen D-daddy!!” You cowled.

“Beg Daddy to give you mercy.” Liv demanded.

“P-please please Daddy— I… I need you Daddy!! I need your cock or your fingers or your mouth or anything Daddy please… I’ll be good I promise, Mmm so sorry Daddy pleaseee…!!” You begged.

In one fluid motion, two of Olivia’s fingers snaked back in between your legs and slid inside your gushing cunt. They pumped and curled inside you, making your toes curl and your mouth foam. You wanted to scream in pleasure, but you bit your tongue.

“Such a good girl for Daddy…” Liv cooed lustfully.

~~~

Olivia Benson Masterlist

572 notes · View notes

amica-aenigmata-naboo · 6 months ago

Text

Risk

Joe Velasco x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: undercover, attempted assault, injury to reader (not sexual), Joe being protective af, violence, hospital, medical stuff (stitches), flirty ending (barely)

----------------------------------------

Joe shoved you forward forcefully, fully embracing his role as your pimp. This wasn’t his first undercover job but it was yours. Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears but you remained focused on the mission. You stumbled a bit before a few sleazy looking men noticed you. They all sat on different chairs and couches in the midst of the loud party. You saw dozens of young girls, no way even half of them were 18.

“Hey sweetheart, who do you belong to?” one hispanic man, Tony Marco, your prime suspect asked as he grabbed your hand.

You wanted to recoil but you knew you couldn’t “Papi!” you yelled, smiling sweetly at the man.

Joe walked up behind you, “Aww did my girl catch your eye?” he asked the man.

“In a dress like that she’s hard to miss.” the man said, pulling you towards him.”What colors do you run with?” the man said, looking Velasco up and down, unable to identify what gang he was a part of.

“Bloods, Crips, North side, West side - The only color I care about is the green that lines my pockets. My girls are loaned out to everyone, as long as they can pay.” Joe said, giving you a slight shove so you landed on the man's lap.

The man nodded, letting a smack land on your ass as your already short dress rode up even higher. “I can respect a man who has his priorities straight. Think I can take shorty here upstairs for a minute?” he asked, rubbing his hand up and down your side.

You let your finger trace over his jaw, seducing him just like you were told to.

“Just don’t tear her up too bad, she’s my top girl. $800 an hour.” Velasco said. He pulled you up as the man gulped down the last of his drink. He leaned in close whispering in your ear, “Be careful, I’ll be close by.” he said.

The man slapped a wad of cash into Velasco’s hands before he grabbed the back of your arm, dragging you up the stairs. He slammed the door shut as you sat on the bed with your legs crossed. The man smiled at you flashing a few golden teeth in his mouth as he slid his hand between your knees pushing your legs apart. “Why don’t you lean back so I can show you a good time baby?” he said, pushing you onto your back.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, starting to panic. He pulled the skirt of the dress up, tearing at your panties. You prayed Olivia and Fin saw what was going on through the spy cam that was the button on your dress. “W-wait…” you squeaked out.

“You don’t tell me to wait bitch - I paid your man, now I get you for an hour to do whatever I want.” he said, slapping you across the face.

You groaned, the fat rings on his fingers stung against your face. You pushed against him, trying to make him back up.

“Oh you’re gonna be difficult?” he said, holding your wrists down before pulling a knife, he held it near your throat, shutting you up entirely. You felt tears leaking out the sides of your eyes. You prepared for the absolute worst, looking up at the ceiling as you tried to dissociate.

The man ran his hand up your leg before the door shot open. The man quickly straightened up, slicing your leg open on accident as he pulled away. You shrieked at the searing pain.

Velasco stood in the doorway, nothing but hate on his face. “What you want papi? I paid, now fuck off!” The man pulled you by your ankle so your hips were at the edge of the bed.

“Tony Marco put your hands up - you’re under arrest for sex trafficking, possession of narcotics with intent to distribute, and a whole bunch of other shit.” Velasco punched him twice - hard. You could hear the bones in his face crack with each hit. He cuffed him and shoved him towards the first cop who entered the room. “Get whoever you can downstairs, see if you can get any of them to flip on him.” Velasco said, trying to shield your body from the other police who flooded into the house.

“Baby…” he rushed to the bed. Your hands were held up, trembling. Velasco gently pulled your skirt down to try and make you feel more comfortable. You flinched away from him and as much as he knew it wasn’t because of him, his heart still felt a pang of sadness. When Valsco pulled his hand back up he couldn’t ignore the bright red blood on his hand. He pulled your dress to the side, noticing the large gash. Whatever knife he used was sharp as could be. He didn’t see bone but he did see muscle, it needed stitches ASAP. He took his top shirt off, remaining in his muscle shirt. He pressed the fabric to the gash, asking you to sit up.

You were so overwhelmed and had lost a good amount of blood all you heard before the world went black was Velasco calling for a bus.

-------------------------------------

You heard rhythmic beeping before you were able to open your eyes. When you finally did you saw Joe sitting in the chair next to the hospital bed, his hand in yours as he slept.

“You’re up.” you heard from the doorway, Olivia shutting the door quietly.

You nodded at her, the memories from the night before were still fresh. You moved the covers slightly to look at your leg, it was wrapped from the knee to the upper thigh in white gauze. “How bad is it?” you asked.

“He got you good, 30 stitches. I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner, the guys downstairs put up a fight.” she sighed.

You shrugged, “I knew the risk going in there.”

Olivia gave you a tight-lipped smile, recognizing that you needed time to process. “Take a few days. You and Velasco. He hasn’t left your side since you got here.”

You looked at him, watching his peaceful face.

“You picked a good one.” Olivia said, looking between the two of you before she smiled and closed the door.

You smiled; you and Joe had been together for almost a year but kept it from the squad, wanting work to remain work and private life to remain private. You shook Joe’s hand slightly.

He jolted awake, eyes landing on you immediately before he stood up, sitting on the edge of the bed. He held your hand between his, using the other to stroke your cheek gently. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What happened wasn’t your fault.” you said, holding his wrist as his thumb rubbed over your cheek.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad. I never should have let you go up there.” he sighed, eyes glancing down at your wrapped leg.

“Hey,” you said, sitting up and tilting his face towards you, “you are the one who got up there and got that bastard away from me. You are the one who arrested that absolute scum. And you are the one who’s here for me.” you said, pecking his lips.

Joe leaned his forehead against yours, taking in your presence. “I love you, I’m never putting you in that position again.” he said.

You kissed him again, “I can think of a few different positions we could be in…” you chided with a smirk.

Joe laughed, “You couldn’t wait ten minutes without being an absolute freak?”

“You have that effect, let's go home.” you said.

Joe nodded, going to flag down a nurse to get your discharge paperwork ready.

-------------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello! First SVU fic :D will probably also write for Carisi because I love that Italian fuck. Would LOVE requests for either him or Joe. Send them my way ASAP!!!!!! XOXOXOXOXO

#law and order svu #writing #svu #l&o svu #svu fanfiction #olivia benson #mariska hargitay #joe velasco #joe velasco x reader #velasco x reader #joe velasco x y/n #law and order svu fanfiction #svu fic

143 notes · View notes

hotmomsonly101 · 1 year ago

Text

Olivia’s girl (Olivia benson x fem reader

Summary: when someone disrespects you and Olivia(your wife) needs to remind them who’s wife they just go fucked with.

Genre: cute

Warnings: light teasing

This morning I woke up in pain as I am 5 months Pregnant, the bed is empty as Olivia had already went to work, I slowly get up and go Noah's room and walk in and see him sleeping, I smile to myself and walk next to his bed and lightly shake him.

"honey its time to get up" I say as I gently rub his back and he is slowly waking up

"mommy" he says sleepily and slowly opens his eyes

"hi baby, time to get up and get ready for school" I walk to his closet "how about you wear the new shirt mama got for you angel" I grab it and go to his drawer and grabs pants as he slowly sits up in his bed

"I wanna see mama mommy" he says as he gets up and raps his little arms around me

"I know honey, shes at work but if you get dressed we can face-time her before I take you to school" I say and he gets happy and quickly gets dressed for school and I grab my phone and video calls Olivia

"hello princess" she says as she answers wearing her glasses in her office "what do I own the pleasure to see your beautiful face this morning"

"hi liv" I laugh as Noah sits next to me "Noah wanted to talk to you before I drove him to school"

"HI mama" he says waving

"hi my love, I see your in your new shirt, are you ready for school" she says

"yes mama" he nods and smiles

"did you brush your teeth" she tells him

"no mama" saying it truthfully and smiling

"go brush your teeth" she says in a sweet but motherly tone and he goes to the bathroom "how are you feeling babygirl" she asks me

"good just my lower back hurts so much" I tell her ad I get up to get Noah's lunchbox from the fridge and put it in his bag

"come visit my later" she says making that teasing and loving face I love and I giggle

"okay baby, I will come see you later, maybe you can see something later" I say smiling brightly

"mhm is that so?" she says In the dominant and seductive tone

"yes" I smile and we talk for a little longer and I hang up so i can get Noah to school, drive him to school and go home and take a shower, picking out an outfit I pick leggings and sweatshirt and vans, and I do a little makeup and do my hair in a half up half down hairstyle with a cute black bow, I go to my car and drive to the station I walk in and see Amanda and Eliot

"hey there beautiful" Amanda comes over and hugs me "you are glowing today how is the baby" she asks and rubs my belly

"active" I say and smile as Eliot comes over and hugs me too

"you do look amazing Y/n, the baby is making you look like a million bucks" he laughs

"wish I felt like a million bucks, but thank you guys, the baby is so active lately mostly when Noah or Liv talks to my belly" I say as I feel the baby moving a lot "is the lieutenant busy" I say

"I think she has a girl in office but go in girl" Amanda tells me as I walk to her office and knock and hear come in and I walk in and see Olivia with someone but I'm not sure who it is

"well hello, this is a new hire, Jane, and Jane this is Y/n my-" she gets interrupted

"friend?, wow girl, you should lose a little weight not gonna lie no man will want that sorry" she says I look at her and then at Olivia, I can tell her blood is boiling right now "I mean you are pretty but you are fat"

"excuse me, what did you just say to my wife" Olivia says and gets up with her hands on the desk

"your, wife?' she says not fully believing it

"yes my wife, detective, not that it would matter she isn't fat, she is 5 months pregnant with my baby, so watch what you say" she is so pissed right now

"you guys are married, lieutenant she is like 20" she says looking at me

"actually Jane, I'm not 20 I'm 29 thank you very much not that it is any of your business" I tell her

"lieutenant you are a beautiful woman and you're dating a child carrying a child"

"I'm not dating a child I'm married to my wife who I love very much and we have an age gap so what, we love each other, we've been married for 4 years and please get out of my site you're fired" she says pissed

Jane leaves and I look at Olivia "woah baby that was hot" I say causing her to raise her eyebrow and smirk

"oh yeah? I'm sure it was come here" she says and I go over and she grabs my waist causing me gasp and smile and lean up to kiss her as she lightly makes my back lean on her desk

"you are such a beautiful girl" she says and kisses me again "my girl" she says and smiles leaning to kiss my forehead.

#olivia benson #law and order svu #age g4p #wlw love #pregnant reader #mariska hargitay #fanfic #olivia benson x reader

693 notes · View notes

masorciereviolette · 2 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

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

58 notes · View notes

bananafiction · 5 months ago

Text

The Weight of Silence Part 1

Olivia Benson x Genderless Reader

2k words

The precinct hummed with the low buzz of voices, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, and the shuffling of files as the Special Victims Unit delved into another case. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your tired arms over your head, stealing a glance at Captain Olivia Benson’s office. The glass walls of her office provided a clear view of her, head bent over a pile of files, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her desk lamp cast a soft glow that framed her in shadows, giving her an aura of authority and elegance.

You had been Olivia’s lieutenant for years now. Together, you’d seen more horrors than you cared to remember, stood in the thick of crimes that shook the city to its core, and brought justice to those who couldn’t fight for themselves. But through it all, you had stood by Olivia’s side. It wasn’t just a professional relationship—it was a bond forged in fire, through trust, respect, and something more, something neither of you dared to acknowledge.

There was an undeniable chemistry between you, something you could feel in every shared glance, every brush of her hand against yours, and every quiet moment spent side by side, piecing together the details of a case. It lingered like a shadow between you, this unspoken tension that crackled in the air, and though you both pretended it wasn’t there, everyone in the precinct knew.

“Lieutenant, we got something.” Fin’s voice broke you from your thoughts.

You turned toward him, grateful for the distraction. He held a tablet out to you, a frown pulling at his lips. “Take a look at this.”

You took the tablet, your eyes narrowing as you read over the autopsy report. The victim, a 16-year-old girl named Lily Sampson, had been found three days earlier in a dilapidated apartment building on the outskirts of Manhattan. Bruises covered her body, and the evidence pointed to a particularly violent sexual assault. The medical examiner had just confirmed that the DNA found at the scene was a match for a known predator—a man by the name of Gavin Ross, who had slipped through the cracks of the justice system more than once. A chill ran down your spine. Ross was bad news, and if he was involved, this case was far from over.

Olivia emerged from her office, her sharp gaze landing on you. She seemed to sense the change in the room, her posture immediately shifting to one of alertness. “What do we have?”

You passed her the tablet. “It’s worse than we thought. DNA came back, and it’s a match for Gavin Ross.”

Her eyes darkened as she skimmed through the report. “Ross… Damn it. I thought we’d locked him up two years ago.”

“We did. He got out on a technicality. Bad evidence collection on a prior case,” you said, your voice laced with frustration. “And now we’ve got a dead teenager on our hands.”

Olivia clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing with anger and determination. “We’re not letting him slip through again. Not this time.”

Her resolve was one of the things you admired most about her. No matter how dark or twisted a case got, she never gave up. But with cases like this, you knew it took a toll. She bore the weight of every victim, carried the burden of every injustice like a cross. You saw it in the way her shoulders tensed at every new revelation, in the tired lines that had begun to crease her face.

“Let’s bring him in,” Olivia said, her voice firm. “Fin, Rollins, see if you can get an address on Ross. He’s slippery, but he’s got a pattern. Check the usual haunts.”

As the team dispersed, you caught up to Olivia. “Do you think we’ll get him this time?”

Her expression softened for just a moment, a fleeting crack in her armor. “We have to.”

Hours passed in a blur of dead ends and frustration. Ross had gone underground. Fin and Rollins had come up empty at every location they searched. You could see the tension building in Olivia’s shoulders, the weight of the case pressing down on her. As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the squad room began to empty out, officers heading home or grabbing a few hours of sleep before the next shift. But you and Olivia remained, as always, locked in the hunt.

You sat across from her at her desk, the two of you going over case notes, when Olivia suddenly slammed a file shut, frustration bubbling over. “We’re missing something,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

You watched her carefully. “We’ll find him, Liv. We always do.”

She looked up at you, her eyes softening at the sound of your voice. There it was again, that unspoken connection—just beneath the surface, always there, always waiting. “You should go home. Get some rest. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“I’ll go when you go,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

A small smile tugged at her lips, the first one you’d seen all day. “Stubborn as ever, huh?”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “It’s one of my many talents.”

The brief flicker of amusement in her eyes warmed your chest, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by the heavy burden of the case. Olivia’s hand moved to the file in front of her, fingers tracing the edge of a photograph of the victim, her eyes distant. “She was so young,” she whispered, more to herself than to you. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

You stood and moved around her desk, standing beside her. You didn’t say anything—there was nothing to say that would make it better. But you placed a hand on her shoulder, offering silent support. She glanced up at you, and for a moment, something passed between you, something raw and unguarded.

Her gaze flicked to your hand on her shoulder, and you quickly pulled away, clearing your throat. The tension crackled in the air like static electricity, the pull between you undeniable. But, like always, it was left unsaid.

Before either of you could say anything more, Rollins burst through the doors of the squad room, her face flushed with urgency. “We’ve got something. A tip came in—Ross was spotted at a motel down in Hell’s Kitchen. We’ve got units headed there now.”

Olivia shot to her feet, all traces of fatigue gone. “Let’s go.”

You were already moving, adrenaline pumping through your veins as the three of you rushed out of the precinct, sirens blaring as you sped through the darkened streets of Manhattan.

The motel was a run-down, seedy place tucked away in the shadows of Hell’s Kitchen. The kind of place where people disappeared. As you approached, your heart pounded in your chest. This was it—your chance to bring Ross in before he slipped away again.

“Units have the perimeter secured,” Rollins reported, her voice low as the three of you approached the motel doors, weapons drawn. “He’s holed up in room 214.”

Olivia nodded, her face a mask of focus. “Let’s do this.”

You took position beside her, exchanging a quick glance. In that brief second, the rest of the world fell away. It was just you and her, two parts of the same machine, moving together without needing to speak. The trust between you was absolute.

Olivia knocked on the door, her voice authoritative. “NYPD! Gavin Ross, open up!”

Silence.

Your grip tightened on your weapon, your pulse quickening. Every second felt like an eternity. Then, suddenly, the door flew open, and Ross bolted.

“Stop!” Olivia shouted, but Ross didn’t listen.

You sprang into action, chasing him down a narrow alley behind the motel. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the confined space as you closed the distance between you. You could hear Olivia right behind you, her breath labored but determined.

Ross darted around a corner, but you were faster. You lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. He struggled, but you pinned him down, twisting his arm behind his back as you slapped the cuffs on him.

Olivia was beside you in an instant, her eyes blazing with triumph. “You’re done, Ross. You’re not getting away this time.”

Ross spat at her feet, but Olivia didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her presence commanding as always, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. This was what you did, what you both did—together.

Back at the precinct, the team was abuzz with the victory. Ross was in custody, the case was wrapped, and Lily Sampson’s family would finally have justice. It was a rare moment of celebration in a job that so often ended in heartbreak.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, you found yourself back at Olivia’s office. She was sitting at her desk, her expression thoughtful, but there was a quiet satisfaction in her eyes.

You knocked softly on the doorframe. “Mind if I come in?”

She looked up, a small smile playing on her lips. “Always.”

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. There was a comfortable silence between you, the weight of the case finally lifting. But just as you began to settle into that brief moment of reprieve, your phone buzzed. The precinct’s alert system flashed across the screen—a new development. Something big.

Olivia’s phone buzzed at the same time. She looked at you, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

You glanced at your phone. “Ross’s prints came up on another crime scene. It just came in.”

Olivia’s face darkened, the weariness of the day replaced by a sharp edge of concern. “Another crime scene? When?”

You scrolled through the alert. “Two days ago. The body of a woman found in a park in Queens. Her face wasn’t recognizable, but the prints match Ross.”

A heavy silence settled between you. You thought you had him, thought this was finally over, but it seemed Ross had been busy before you caught him. Another victim. Another life lost.

Olivia rubbed her temples, her voice low but full of resolve. “We need to talk to him again. If there’s another victim, we can’t afford to wait.”

You nodded, already standing up. “I’ll grab the case file on the new victim. Let’s go make sure he doesn’t slither out of this one.”

The precinct was quieter now, the late hour thinning out most of the officers and detectives, but as you and Olivia moved with purpose toward the holding cells, it felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Cases like this were never clean, never simple. They stuck to you, left scars that couldn’t be healed.

When you reached the interrogation room, Ross was slouched in his chair, his wrists shackled to the table, his face twisted into a smug smile that made your stomach turn. The guy had no remorse—he never had. He glanced up lazily as you and Olivia entered, his expression daring you to do something.

Olivia didn’t waste any time. “We found your prints at a second crime scene, Gavin. Two days ago. Another woman dead. You think this is over?”

He shrugged. “You got me on one, Benson. But two? You sure about that?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Olivia. This was typical of predators like Ross—never give anything up unless they had to. His cocky demeanor only made the tension between you and Olivia grow thicker, the unspoken frustration of dealing with another monster who thought he could outsmart the system.

Olivia stepped closer, her voice low and dangerous. “We’re sure, Gavin. And so is the DA. This isn’t just about Lily anymore. You’re going down for both, and we’ll make sure you rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable life.”

Ross’s smirk faltered slightly, but he leaned forward, his eyes glittering with something dark and twisted. “You really think you know me, Benson? You think you know everything I’ve done?” He chuckled, a sound that made your blood boil. “There’s more. And you won’t even scratch the surface.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. You could feel the anger radiating off her in waves, but she didn’t give in to his provocation. Instead, she motioned for you to step outside with her.

Once in the hallway, you could see the tension in her posture, the way her fingers drummed against her side. You knew what she was thinking—this case was spiraling, and the more you learned, the darker it became.

“He’s taunting us,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but her frustration clear.

You nodded, your mind racing. “He’s hiding something. We need to dig deeper—check for other unsolved cases, anything that fits his MO.”

Olivia turned to you, her eyes intense, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to slow. You were standing closer than usual, the small space between you filled with that ever-present tension. Her eyes flicked over your face, lingering for just a moment too long.

You swallowed, feeling the pull, that undeniable chemistry that had been simmering for years. “We’ll get him,” you said, your voice softer than intended.

Olivia held your gaze for a second longer before nodding, her expression softening just a fraction. “We always do.”

The next day passed in a blur of information gathering and connecting dots. You worked tirelessly alongside Olivia, poring over files, cross-referencing old cases, and piecing together Ross’s movements. What you uncovered was chilling.

There were at least three other unsolved cases over the past year that matched Ross’s MO—each victim a young woman, each one lured to an isolated location and murdered brutally. The cases had slipped through the cracks, but now, with Ross in custody, it was clear he had been hunting for far longer than anyone had realized.

You and Olivia sat across from one another at a table covered in photos, maps, and reports. Your shoulders brushed occasionally as you leaned in to point out connections, the closeness sending small shocks through you. It was nothing new—this proximity—but lately, it felt heavier, more charged.

As you pointed to a spot on the map, showing where one of the victims had been found, Olivia’s hand brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately, and your eyes met, lingering just a beat too long. There it was again—that unspoken electricity that had crackled between you for years.

You cleared your throat, pulling your hand back and trying to refocus. “If we push the DA, we might be able to tie Ross to these other cases. Build a stronger profile.”

Olivia nodded, her voice a little quieter than before. “You’re right. Let’s get the detectives on it.”

But even as you both continued to talk strategy, the air between you felt different. Something had shifted in that moment of accidental touch, something that neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge.

It was late again, the precinct emptying out as you and Olivia prepared for one final push. Ross had been formally charged for Lily’s murder and the second victim, but the investigation was far from over. You both knew there were more victims, more pieces to the puzzle that needed to be solved.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of Olivia’s desk as she reviewed the updated case files, the soft light from her desk lamp casting a warm glow over the room. There was a comfortable silence between you, the weight of the day’s work settling into your bones, but there was also something else—something that made your chest tighten every time you looked at her.

Olivia glanced up at you, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “You’re still here.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. “I said I’d go when you go.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze holding yours for a moment before she spoke again. “You always have my back, don’t you?”

There was something in her voice—something softer, more vulnerable. It caught you off guard.

“Always,” you replied, your voice equally soft. The word felt heavier than usual, like it carried more than just professional loyalty.

Olivia leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. The tension that usually held her so tightly seemed to slip away, and for the first time that night, she looked almost relaxed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the intensity of her words hanging between you. For a moment, the case, the precinct, the entire world seemed to fade away. All that remained was the two of you, the unspoken bond that had always been there but had never been acknowledged.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before the words could come, the sound of your phone buzzing on the desk shattered the moment.

You both blinked, the spell broken. Olivia sat up straighter, her usual mask of composure slipping back into place as she glanced at your phone. “Looks like you’ve got a message.”

You grabbed the phone, glancing down at the screen. It was a notification from Fin—Ross’s lawyer had arrived at the precinct, and they were prepping for another round of questioning in the morning.

Olivia stood, her expression shifting back to business as usual. “Looks like tomorrow’s going to be another long day.”

You nodded, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Yeah. Guess we should call it a night.”

As you both gathered your things, the tension between you returned, heavier than ever. But just like always, it remained unspoken.

As you walked out of the precinct together, the cool night air hitting your skin, you stole one last glance at Olivia. There was something in her eyes, something you couldn’t quite read, but before you could dwell on it, she gave you a small smile.

“Good night,” she said softly.

“Good night, Olivia,” you replied, your heart aching with everything you couldn’t say.

And as you both went your separate ways, the weight of silence followed you, lingering in the air like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

#law and order svu #svu #law and order fanfiction #olivia benson #mariska hargitay #olivia x reader #olivia benson x reader

105 notes · View notes