#captain olivia benson

[wandasaura]

WAIT FOR IT

summary — you’ve been holding it together since the first graze of her fingers against your core in her office — since the look she gave you that promised later seconds after her touch disappeared. every touch since then has been a test of patience, a slow burn stretched across stolen glances and subtle tension. but now, the wait is over. with your bedroom door closed and her body pressed close, olivia unravels you with the same deliberate care she always does — not rushed, not gentle, but intentional. you’ve been aching for this moment all day, and she knows it — because she has, too.

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, mommy kink, orgasm denial, edging, teasing, praise kink, slight humiliation, light condescension, thigh riding, fingering, hickeys, forced orgasm, multiple orgasm, overstimulation, orgasm control, marking, choking, hair pulling, mentions of firearms, crying, begging, mention of previous injury, finger sucking, firmly believe olivia would coach you through it, nipple stimulation, slight nipples torture, makeouts, men/minors dni

authors note — olivia benson returns. part one here! can be read entirety independently though. enjoy :)

“I’ve wanted to get my hands on you all day.” Olivia’s mouth is slotted against yours to where her upper lip is fitted between yours, and her teeth mark your bottom lip whenever she’s not playing tonsil hockey trying to take your breath away — even more than she already had with her wandering hands and teasing touches on the way home that had been even more infuriating than the entire scene in her office. Her hands had trailed across the small of your back like heavy weight, sometimes trailing lower, lifting higher, falling away entirely only to clap against the globe of your ass when you were least expecting it. She’d disguised every tantalizing spank, concealed every pinch of your nipples when an arm draped across your shoulders and hung over your chest.

You’d been drunk on her touch before, sure, but now the breeze has sobered you, and that yearning for more creates a campfire in your tummy, doing somersaults every time she looks at you the way she is now, with her forehead against yours and her nose just a single tiptoe lean away from brushing against yours. “So, why are you still wasting time?” You panted against her lips, your hands curled into the collar of her blazer. You don’t let the question wash over her for more than a second before you’re kissing her again, sucking a purple patch onto her upper lip that’ll disappear by morning, but remind you of her willingness to be yours for the next few hours.

A hand grabs at your hair, and you briefly considered that maybe you fucked up. You might be resisting her temptation, forcing yourself to remain a fully conscious participant in this scene instead of her fucked-out submissive that begs for anything she’ll give. You don’t know why, there’s no reason, but ever since she’d left you high and dry in her office, there’d been this inescapable need in your belly to avoid sinking into the pillowy blackness. Maybe you were scared. You’d been vulnerable enough today. Whatever the reason, Olivia didn’t appreciate the bratty quip when she’d made it perfectly clear she was taking the reins tonight. “Do you want to try that again?” Her eyes narrowed, her hand yanking that fistful of your hair again until there was stinging tension against your scalp that made your eyes water and your throat contract before a whine fell into your bedroom.

“Please, Liv.” You gasped, your mouth falling open. You already missed the warmth of her against you, and the taste of stale breakroom coffee washing against your tongue every time she taunted the muscle. It wasn’t often she drank break room coffee all day instead of taking a walk down to the cart by the street, but evidently she’d been chained to the precinct for longer than you’d realized, and her only vice had been whatever Fin created for her between paperwork. Her mood makes sense. You don’t know what it is about those beans, but even you know it takes nearly double the cups to feel any caffeine.

You both have your problems right now, but this is going to fix them. It always does. Sex isn’t a cure all in your relationship, but this dynamic is sacred, it's something special built between the two of you, and the simple act of falling into it right now means that neither one of you is too far gone to be present and committed right now. That resistance in your head melts away, something snapping into place so abruptly it almost leads to whiplash, but Olivia doesn’t let your body jolt with the suggestion of submission. That grip on your hair gets tighter when your body goes slack, and the whine that rolls off your tongue isn’t an exaggeration when you wince in pain, fresh tears stinging your eyes as your eyes cloud, your mouth slackens.

Olivia lets go of your head in a moment, her eyebrows furrowing in worry as she makes sure her grip didn’t hurt you anymore than just an accidental pull that was just harsh and not fun. There was a line, a very fine line, but one that you’d learned very well. It had been a while since Olivia’s hands tangled into your hair had sparked tears of pain, not agonizing pleasure. It’s grounding. You can still make mistakes in this space, she can still be imperfect and human, but it all gets smoothed over unlike a case. One wrong step and the whole thing is blown, but not here, not with this, with you. That’s the beauty of it all.

”Please, Mommy. Undress me.” You pleaded with Benson, your eyes a glassy picture to see. Olivia never tired of the sight of you like this, especially not when it got better with time, as she unmade you and left you unraveled on the sheets in bliss. When the tears started falling and begging was the only language you knew, that’s when Olivia would be done with you. When she’d kiss your head, clean you up, and fall into the mattress beside you to sleep until your alarms went off tomorrow morning.

Olivia hummed, a fire flaming bright between her eyes when those five letters rolled off your tongue. She smiled, but she didn’t comply. Instead, one hand gripped your cheeks, pressing your lips together until they puckered like a fish. Your eyes, if they weren’t already a window to your heart, were probably reflective by this point as every thought slipped from your head. It should be embarrassing, she hadn’t even touched you yet, not really anyways, not since her office, but youre drunk on her.

It should humiliate you, the way that she looks at you like she’s inspecting you, trailing her eyes across your empty gaze, your flushed cheeks, your mouth that still tries to remain open and unlatched but is being held together by her fingers. She’d say you look pathetic, because you do, but it gets caught in her throat. “So pretty like this, sweetheart. Mommy hasn’t even touched you yet, but I’m sure those panties are even more wet than they were when I checked before, huh? Are they?” Olivia leaned forward, her tongue softly trailing from your cheek until it hit the corner of your lips. You tried to crane your head to meet her halfway, your body automatically responding to the call of her proximity, but she doesn’t let you move, and you whine. “I asked you a question, honey.”

“Yes, Mommy.” You whispered, attempting to pout with your lips puckered together. Her grip was beginning to ache, the pressure of your teeth beneath her fingertips uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything about it, not that you would’ve been able to. Olivia knows your body, she knows when something is too much, or when it's just uncomfortable enough to send you spiraling into pleasures and overwhelming bliss. You’re on the right track right now, she just needs to lay it on a little more.

“Well, I’d love to make that better for you, sweetheart, but I just don’t want to right now. Mommy had a long day, let her play with you for a little bit, okay?” She coos eventually, but it’s condescending and you know it. There’s a pitch to her voice that cuts right through your heart, and you find yourself whining hopelessly between her palms. Your thighs press together, and Olivia puts an end to that with a slap to your thighs. “Be good for me, baby.” She redirects your frustration with two fingers slotting between your lips in the same second that her grip on your cheek disappears, trailing lower until she can grip your neck, her fingers careful, tight but not digging. “Suck them, baby. Get them nice and wet.”

You dutifully do just that, hollowing your cheeks around her fingers, letting your tongue lap at every groove in her knuckles that have gotten more pronounced with age. Her fingers don’t have the same elasticity as someone in their thirties, still young enough to think wrinkles and constant joint pain was on the horizon of some far away future, and the reminder that she was older, of higher authority, your boss, it put an end to the last sting of consciousness sparking to life inside your brain. Your mouth created a delicate suction around her fingers, suckling every few seconds until you matched the beat of her heart in her fingers, the pulse beneath your tongue something addicting until she pulled it away. Your cry of loss was desperate, and Olivia cooed, her eyelashing batting at you without sympathy, not that you could tell.

Her wandering hands that hadn’t even dared to try and test the waistband of yours pants on the walk home found that silver button with ease in the darkness of your bedroom, the lamp on the dresser connected to a switch on the left sight of the door not even turned on despite how dim the yellow light glows in your bedroom anyways. You hadn’t thought about it, neither of you. She’d been so close to you then that the brown of her eyes had been bright enough to memorize, but she’s stepped back from you now, and you can’t see her. You don’t have tim to think about it, because Olivia’s fingers pull your button loose, somehow without the two digits you’ve damped, and then you’re totally gone, lost in pleasure as her fingers sweetp through your folds clumsily. The act is purposeful, tactical. She nudges your clit uncaringly, probing your weeping hole as she makes a face of contemplation, going faster when it seems like she’s not satisfied with the squelch her fingers are creating. She sinks just one into you, only up to the first knuckle, and you would’ve thought you were back in her office had her wrist not snapped and that single digit soon became two, and then four.

A relentless pace was set, and you saw stars, your head falling backward as breathy gasps and pants slipped into the air. You could feel that coil spinning in your belly, getting tighter and tighter with every scrape of her heel against your enlarged nerves. The sensation was building, budding, but then it was gone, and her hand was in front of her face, and she was liking her fingers clean with a smug smile as she nodded.

“Those panties are absolutely ruined, baby girl.” Olivia pouts and your cheeks blush, red hot and clammy beneath her intimidating glare. She’s so sweet, so soft with you, but you know she wants to be mean. You know that her kindness is a distraction from what she won’t say, but uses her fingers to express. She’s cruel, truly evil sometimes, but when she seals every denial with a pet name that makes your heart soar, how can you realize that she’s breaking you apart. “Come on, let Mommy get you undressed.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, eagerly raising your arms above your head so that she could strip you down. Both of your guns had already been put away, no matter how much Olivia wanted to rip your clothes off, she’d never risk either of your safety. Tucked away in your nightstand, they’d be retrieved again tomorrow morning. But for right now, you think about her hands trailing across your torso when she takes your top off. She turns you around, pulls you back against her chest, her breath is fanning across your neck and its tantalizing.

She tells you that you look beautiful as she trails kisses along your neck until she reaches your earlobe. Her teeth are a dull sensation that you notice when she sinks them into the softest part of your neck behind your jaw, her fingers working on your bra in tandem with her bruising efforts. She lets the material slip off of your shoulders, and when your breast are free, exposed to her in the comfortable air of your bedroom, she lets her fingers be crueler than her words, and calls you a plethora of sweet names until you’re sure there’s a war raging in your belly, her twists and turns and pulls and pinches on your nipples pulling you into pleasure that’s blinding and severe. She’d discovered she could make you cum with nipple stimulation years ago, and while she thought it’s as hot, you thought it was hell. It was intense, all encompassing, the intensity was exhausting, but there was no enjoying it either. The orgasm came quick, it built even quicker, and then it was over and your tummy felt uncomfortable chasing pleasure that had already ended.

Olivia doesn’t let the pleasure build to that point though, and you can’t help but think that this is now the fourth time she’s built you up and denied you and you’re truly not sure how much more of this you can take before the tears start falling and you plead for anything more than empty touches.

You don’t have time to beg, you’re going to, it’s the only thing you can think of actually, but then you’re distracted by her getting on her knees behind you, her hands on your hips until they’re trailing down your thighs. She trails them up again, grabbing the globes of your ass just once, before she’s continuing up until her fingers grapple with the waistband. She eases them down your legs, and when she taps your ankle, you step out of them one leg at a time, wobbling for a moment before Olivia laughs and steadies you. It’s a momentary lapse in her reserve, and it brings comfort over you that you didn’t even know you craved.

She doesn’t waste time letting your panties stay around your waist, they’re the next thing to go, and you shiver when she taps the inside of your damp thighs, sticky with arousal she’s evidently pretending not to notice. You step out of the sodden garment, and then she guides your legs apart, and the rush of air hitting your core makes you whine, your hips jumping. Olivia chooses that moment to bite into the back of your thigh, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you steady when she anticipates the jolt that comes next. A moan rips through your chest, and the vibrations of her moaning shot tingles through your spine.

She lets her tongue run up your thighs, humming in appreciation for the taste that spreads across her tongue every time she swallows. She takes her time cleaning you up, worshiping one thigh with kitten licks and nips before she moves onto the other one. She doesn’t let an inch of your skin go untouched by your tongue, and when she finally gets to the apex of your thighs, you let out the most disappointed moan when her tongue doesn’t immediately part your folds. She takes her time there too, lips wrapping around a lower lip before the sunken loosened and she pulled away with a pop that made your cheeks flame. The other side is just as tedious a process, but she takes you by surprise when one second she’s biting at the softest flesh between your thighs and in the next she’s between your thighs entirely, licking a bold stripe up your slit and moaning unabashedly into your core when that honeypot of moisture dripped onto her tongue.

She’s careful not to flick that sensitive bud too harshly, focusing solely on cleaning you up before she lures you to bed. Your hips twitch, attempting to grind down and find pressure, but she keeps you still, tsking against your core and your eyes roll into the back of your head in bliss. It all ends prematurely, but this time she hadn’t been working you up with the intention to let you down, so the disappointment of her disappearance doesn’t hit as hard.

She guides you to the bed, tells you to lay down, to get comfortable, but you stop her with a hand tangling into the hem of her blouse. “Want to see you.” You plead, and Olivia smiles, letting her palm cup your cheek as she leans down to kiss you sweetly, everything else that had been behind her ministrations falling away.

Olivia appeases your request, stripping down quickly until the sliver of moonlight peaking through the blinds illuminates her body just enough for your eyes to memorize its shape. Her weight disperses on the bed when her knees straddle either side of your waist and her hands frame your head. She kisses you deeply, passionately, and then her lips trail, leaving marks on your chest only where she knows your tops will cover easily. The sole mark on your neck will be light work in the morning, and Olivia knows your limit with marks, and she’s never gone beyond what you’re comfortable having to cover up for a couple of days while they heal.

“How do you want me, baby, hm?” She asks you gently, but the choice isn’t really yours. She doesn’t think her words even reach you, your eyes closed, mouth agape as your back arches off the bed into her chest as your head tilts back at an angle she thinks is definitely uncomfortable. “How about my fingers, yeah? There you go, take them, sweetheart. You’re doing so good, there you go, how does that feel? Tell me, honey, how does it feel to be stuffed with my fingers?” She coaches you, slotting her body until her core is against your thigh. You barely recognize the fact that she’s using you to get off, but if you had, you’d have fallen into this floaty, pleasure drunk headspace regardless. Olivia knew what it did to you when she claimed her pleasure by whatever means she wanted.

“G-Good.” You choke out, only because her words had been accentuated with a sharp snap of her wrist, forcing you to focus on them, to absorb them and process them. “Feels good, Mommy! O-Oh, right there, right there, please! Please!” You should be humiliated that she’s built you up to this point so quickly, but she’s denied you five times now, and that’s not easily forgotten. Every muscle tenses and quivers as the coil builds in your belly, Olivia’s shamelessly just as close, her ministrations affecting her as much as it had affected you. She grinds against your thigh and gasps when a particular thrust changes the angle, the pressure. She rocks her hips harder, another finger slipping into you, three digits keeping you open for her.

She massages that spongy part inside of your walls, pressure ebbing and flowing as she flicks back and forth, stretching apart before everything becomes small again. “You're close already, baby?” She can’t help herself, and the whine you return is enough to make the small moment of cruelty worth it before she apologizes with a bruising kiss, panting against your lips when she pulls away. “Hold it for me.” She can see your face twitching, scrunching up in pleasure that you have no control over, but she asks that of you anyways, because you're a good girl, her good girl, and she knows you’ll make it until she can get herself to fall apart with you. “Tense your thigh, yeah, just like that baby, oh fuck, fuck, no no, hold it, angel, hold it!” She’s desperately, panting against your mouth, too uncoordinated to kiss you. Her fingers are getting lazy, wild, but it feels so good. You’re right there, climbing close, coil breaking little by little and if you don't let it snap soon it’s going to entirely fall to pieces one by one until you're broken and weightless beneath her.

“Please! Please!” You beg, tears slipping down your face finally, everything crumbling at the last possible moment but its perfect timing for Olivia.

“Okay, okay, cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it, let go.” She works her fingers harder, really focusing on it now, and her hips grind against your thigh until they don’t, going still as she pants, comes down from her high. Her fingers are still working inside of you, still pumping, and you think she’s evil for doing this to you when she’s too sensitive for another herself, but you can’t tell her that when moans come one after the other until you’re whining, nearly screaming, crying and thrashing beneath her but she doesn’t let you escape. “You’re doing so good, so good. My good girl, just one more. I know you can do it, give me one more honey.”

You explode, and Olivia grins, kissing you softly as she works you through it carefully, avoiding your clit, just letting her fingers move until she knows you’re done, worn out. You feel every ridge as she pulls them out, and once you’re empty, slightly gaping, pulsing from the absence of her fingers, you whine softly. Olivia shushes you sweetly, and when she moves to get up, to run to the bathroom and get a wet rag to clean you up before you crash, you shiver when the air catches on the wetness she’s left behind, turning its warmth cold and uncomfortable in seconds.

Olivia apologizes with another kiss, though you both know she’s not really sorry at all, and she slips out of the room. You’re hanging onto consciousness when she comes back, awake enough to blink at her and smile softly when she tells you she loves you, and when she slips into bed, the rag thrown on the floor where your clothes are still scattered, she tells you to stop getting hurt at work otherwise she’s going to bench you. You just laugh, because you know she would’ve even dream of it.

[fantasticvoidnerdshoe]

I say this will all the love in my heart to the entire L&O SVU fandom but if I see ONE more person saying Olivia Benson deserves better then Jelliot I will scream. People who say Liv deserves better then Elliot just because he's jealous of the men around her piss me off because you seem to have missed a crucial part of Livs character. Which is that she's just as fucking jealous of Elliots love life. Like I get disliking EO for a multitude of reasons (the letter, him leaving, him being married) but to FUNDAMENTALLY miss how down right possessive Liv is of Elliot is baffling and say its only Elliot who possess this toxic trait is so dismissive.

Yes, Elliots jealousy is seen more often (Dean Porter, Cassidy, asking about 'how many') but Liv has so many moments of being equally jealous. Like the look on her face when he's near Dani Beck when she's in Cragens office, her thing with Hendrix and keeping his rebounds out of the office, her mispronunciation of Fluturas name. Her jealousy is less obvious but it's not hidden very well.

Yes, Elliots jealousy can be toxic, but so can Livs and to completely dismiss their relationship as her deserving better than his jealousy is showing how little you understand Olivia Benson and her relationship with Elliot Stabler.

Ship who you want, I don't care, but please stop saying Elliot is so jealous and Liv deserves better than that because you seem to miss that Liv isn't a perfect angel eho can do no wrong. Remember when she beat a man in handcuffs and Elliot had to drag her away or when she yelled at a grieving widow in the very first episode? Yes, Liv hides it better now because she's a higher rank, but she's still willing to commit police brutality if you catch her at the wrong moment. By ignoring her jealousy you're ignoring the darker aspects of who Liv is, a woman raised by an alcoholic mother who held her very existence against Liv. The abuse she suffered as a child has manifested in so many ways, and occasionally she becomes possessive of what/who she think of as hers (in this case Elliot Stabler)

[oneshotnewbie]

Olivia Benson and Reader break up. Two weeks after that, they're distant towards each other even though Reader is working with the SVU. Two weeks after Olivia breaks up with Olivia, she sees Reader dancing with a stranger and she is jelly. Maybe she goes to Reader, takes her by the hand without saying a word and brings her to the next room or something and then... it's up to you! Fluffy, Angst and maybe pre-smut pls?

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes pre-smut and the plot is presented. That's why I only recommend reading it if you are over 18+. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

Authors note: Woah.. Lets say I got carried away. I had to cut out a whole section to keep it suitable for my younger audience, even though it hurt my heart to delete my work. There is still a bit of pre-smut like you requested. But I hope you like it anyway ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The hum of the neon lights on the ceiling and the roar of the air conditioning mixed with the muted clacking of computer keyboards seemed louder than usual in the busy Special Victims Unit. The air was heavy with unspoken words and broken promises. Everyone in the room felt the change, even if no one said it out loud.

The office was usually a place of hectic activity, where phone calls, keyboards, and hushed conversations formed a constant backdrop. But today was different.

You sat at your desk, eyes glued to the screen in front of you, the words of the report blurred before your eyes. Your mind was far away, on old memories of happy times before everything fell apart. On the woman who had broken your heart. Olivia Benson, Lieutenant and steadfast leader of the team, had been more than just your superior. She was your partner, your confidante, the love of your life. But now she was just your boss, and the distance between you was painfully real.

Since splitting up with Olivia, everything had changed. The dynamics in the office, the atmosphere, even the way others looked at you - everything was different. She had been your rock. Strong, determined, and unwavering. She had always held the team together, been a leader, and the one who never backed down, no matter how hard it was. But now there was something in her eyes that you had never seen before - a coldness, a distance that hurt every time your eyes happened to meet.

You only spoke to each other when necessary, and the times when you had worked as a harmonious team seemed far away. The rupture in your relationship was reflected in every aspect of your work. Cases that were once solved with ease now dragged on. Decisions that were once made instinctively and together now had to be laboriously and formally agreed upon.

Olivia sat in her office, the door only half open. She had tried to throw herself into her work to fill the emptiness in her heart, but it didn't help. Every time she looked up, she saw you - and every time you looked at her, it hurt. Your eyes met briefly through the glass before both quickly looked away again, unable to hide the feelings that still burned within you.

Detective Amanda Rollins, who was sitting at her desk next to Fin Tutuola, sighed quietly and shook her head in displeasure. She and the rest of the team had noticed the unspoken tension and cool politeness between the two of you. "Have you noticed?" she whispered quietly so only her partner could hear her. He nodded, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "Yes, it's hard to miss. It's as if a dark cloud is hanging over the office. Rain is pouring down on us."

"I thought they would stay together forever," she said sadly, more to herself, watching you with a sideways glance. "They were the perfect couple. Why did they have to split up?"

"Sometimes love alone isn't enough," Fin murmured, his voice heavy with life experience and knowledge of the complexity of human relationships. Amanda pushed her chair back and came to your desk, sitting on a corner of the wood, her arms folded under her chest. "What's wrong with you two? You're like two icebergs meeting in Antarctica." she began her conversation, giving you a questioning look.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes. "It's complicated, 'manda. It wasn't exactly a nice break-up. Just leave it, please?"

Amanda shook her head, her face showing compassion and understanding. "I know it's hard, but you both have to find a way to deal with it. It's not just a burden on you, but on the entire team."

You nodded, but you knew it wasn't that easy. The rifts that had developed between you and Olivia were deep and painful. It wasn't just a professional challenge, but a personal catastrophe that you both tried to overcome in your own way.

Meanwhile, Olivia had made her way out of her office, a stack of files in her hands. She moved through the room with her usual determination, but there was a certain rigidity in her posture. You could see her shoulders tense as she crossed the room to your desk. In the past, you would have known how to calm her down and take away her nervousness, would have known what words and gestures she would have needed. But those days were over.

"Y/n, I need you in my office," she said, not looking directly at you. She handed you a report, your fingers touching briefly before you stood up, your heart beating faster at the thought of being alone with her. The tension between you was palpable as you followed her and closed the door behind you. She sat down while you stood across from her, the desk as a barrier between you.

"We need to talk about the case, you're the lead investigator," Olivia began, her voice professional but cool. "The evidence is thin and we need a new strategy."

You nodded, trying to focus on the conversation, but her proximity made it difficult. "I agree. Maybe we should question the witnesses again and see if we missed something."

Your eyes met again, and for a moment everything else was forgotten. The attraction, the passion, the love - all of it was still there, just beneath the surface. But you both knew it wasn't that easy. Too many things stood between you, things that couldn't be overcome so easily. "We have to stay professional," Olivia said finally, her voice breaking. How she would love to hug you right now. "The team needs us to be strong."

You nodded again, your eyes heavy with unspoken feelings. "I know. But it's hard, Liv. Working with you every day and pretending everything is fine when it isn't."

"We have no choice," she whispered, visibly tense. "We have to find a way to deal with this. For the victims who are counting on us.“

The following days were torture for both of you. You worked side by side, your interactions brief and distant. Each of you tried to remain as professional as possible, but the unspoken feelings and the broken relationship between you and Olivia weighed on you.

One evening, when most of your colleagues had already gone home, you stayed late at the office. You worked on a strategy, trying to distract yourself. Olivia was still in her office, the light on, casting a lonely shadow in the large room you were sitting in.

Finally, you stood up and went to her. You knocked softly on the door and entered when she invited you in. "Olivia, we need to talk," you began, your voice quiet but firm. She looked at you, her eyes tired and sad. "I know, y/n. But I don't know what to say. It's all so... messed up."

"Just tell me it hurts you as much as it does me," you said, your voice growing more intense with each word. "Tell me you regret it."

"Of course it hurts," she replied, her voice shaking as she placed her sweaty and shaking hands on her lap, leaning back in her chair. "I still love you. That will never change. But you deserve better."

Tears glistened in your eyes as she reached out an arm to you, your hand enveloping hers before pulling you to her side. "I love you too, Liv. I don't need anything better, I need you."

Olivia hugged you, tight and desperate, as if she never wanted to let you go. In that moment, you both knew that the love between you was strong, but the reality of your situation demanded more than just feelings. She knew she had to find a way to balance your situation and your work so as not to put further strain on the team.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Two weeks had passed since Olivia Benson ended her relationship with you. Two weeks of stolen glances and feelings that remained unspoken. But life and work must go on, and so Olivia threw herself into her duties while you behaved just as professionally. The team continued to sense that not everything was settled between you, but no one spoke openly.

That evening, the team was at Club Delirium, a popular downtown nightclub, to conduct an undercover operation. The goal was to break up a human trafficking ring, and you had volunteered to act as bait. Olivia watched the scene from a secluded table, her eyes always fixed strictly on you.

The music blared and the lights flickered in different colors. You, in a tight, black, low-cut dress and perfectly styled hair, looked stunning. You were dancing with a strange woman whose hands were on your hips. Olivia felt a stabbing sensation in her chest. Jealousy mixed with the pain of separation burned inside her. A dangerous combination.

Every step you took, every movement, every smile you gave the stranger felt like a slap in the face. Olivia knew it was part of the mission, but it didn't make the situation any less painful. Her hands clenched into fists as she tried to keep her emotions under control.

The plan was simple: get the suspect, a ring leader, to give you information by gaining her trust. But Olivia couldn't focus on the details entering her brain through an earpiece while she watched the woman she loved give herself to someone else, even if only in appearance.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you gave a signal. The suspect had given up the information, and the team moved in to arrest her. The club turned into a chaos of flashing lights, loud music, and cops suddenly appearing. Amidst this chaos, Olivia kept her eyes on only one thing - you.

As soon as the mission was complete and the suspect was taken into custody, Olivia looked for you. She found you at the edge of the dance floor, away from the crowd. She walked up to you, grabbed your hand, and wordlessly pulled you into a side room of the club that served as a storage room.

You were roughly pushed inside, Olivia closed the door behind her and turned to you. Her eyes sparkled with unspoken jealousy. "What were you thinking?" she hissed, her voice lower but charged. You looked at her in surprise and confusion. "It was an undercover mission. I only did what was necessary."

"Necessary?" Olivia stepped closer to you, her presence overwhelming. "It looked like you enjoyed it."

Your eyes widened in shock and anger. "It was part of the job, Liv! You know that better than anyone." you said and she grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer, your bodies almost touching. "I know," she whispered, her voice rough. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt me to see you like this."

You took a deep breath, your eyes searching Olivia's. "I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't know it would hurt you so much. After all, you broke up with me, remember?"

Olivia ran her fingers over your wrist, then your arms, until she reached your hands. "I don't want to lose you, y/n. I can't bear to see you with anyone else, even if it's just for a mission."

The tension between you was almost palpable as Olivia leaned even closer to you. "I need you," she whispered before pressing her lips to yours, possessive and desperate. You returned the kiss, your hands grasping Olivia's hair as the passion between you ignited.

In that moment, everything else was forgotten - the separation, the mission, the world outside that small room. There was only the two of you, your love, and the incessant longing that drove you to each other. Olivia pulled you closer to her, her kisses intense and demanding, as if to make up for lost time and broken promises.

You parted, panting, your foreheads leaning against each other. Olivia pulled back a little, her hand sliding to your neck, encircling it with a determined gesture. Her thumb gently stroked your skin while her dark, sparkling eyes searched your gaze intensely. "You're mine," she murmured, her voice deep and possessive.

You trembled under her touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. "Yes, Liv," you whispered, the words full of desire and devotion. "Only yours."

Olivia pulled you closer again, her lips found yours once more, the kiss stronger this time, even more demanding than the one before. Her hands slid down your back, reaching for you as if she never wanted to let you go again. She pushed you against the wall, her body pressed tightly against yours.

"Tell me you want me," Olivia demanded, her voice dark and rough, gasping for air. "I want you, Liv," you answered, your pupils blown with desire. "I only want you."

Olivia's mischievous and dark giggle filled the small room and she continued to glide her hands over your body. Her lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin.

Your breathing quickened, your hands grabbed at her shoulders, holding her tight as Olivia continued to kiss and touch you. The world around you faded, there was only the two of you, your love and the burning desire that drove you to each other.

The intensity of the moment seemed to stop time, every touch, every kiss was a promise, a proof of her unbroken love for you. Olivia's hands slid down your sides, finding their way under the dress you wore, leaving a trail of passion on your skin.

"I need you," Olivia whispered, her voice hotter with pure desire. "Now." You nodded, your eyes closing as you surrendered to her. "I'm yours, Liv."

The heat between you was overwhelming, the passion you felt was all-encompassing. In that small room, shielded from the world, you and Olivia found yourselves again, your love and desire for each other stronger than ever.

[oliviasgreenmug]

same face, different decade

[cissyenthusiast010155]

How It All Started… ~Pre-S1!Younger!Olivia Benson xFem Older!Detective!Partner!Reader

Summary— My own little take on how Liv ended up working for SVU. I know the story with Karen and the two year old, but in this AU, Reader is Liv’s first partner and this case causes her to move to SVU.

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: normal SVU related violence, talk of murder, blood, mentioned suicide, working the case, young and innocent Liv, etc.

Enjoy (;

It seemed to all have been arranged–Olivia sensed this when she finally entered her apartment that night and closed the door behind her. Looking back, it all made sense now. How could they have missed it?

A week ago, Olivia and you her partner had walked onto the fresh crime scene. You specialized in homicide cases, and this case was a homicide if they had ever seen one. Olivia blew into her gloves, sliding them onto her hands one at a time, as she walked into the kitchen where the body lay. She still was not completely used to the sight of a body, especially a girl as young as this one was, so she took a moment for some deep breaths, before she drew reality back into her head.

“Female vic, Ellie Paige, 17, shot in the head… Jesus…” You sighed, rubbing your forehead and staring at the splattered blood and then the body.

It wasn’t everyday that you two found a seventeen year old dead in a kitchen. Although it did happen more than you or Olivia would have liked. The girl was on her back, face up, with a singular bullet to the head. Blood was spilt across the floor and splattered across the cabinets from the shot. But something about this particular case got to both detectives.

“Time of death?” Olivia breathed out a question to the coronary who was standing near the dead girl’s body.

“In between 1 and 3am…” they responded.

“Mom a Katherine Paige is in the bedroom, apparently hysterical.” You spoke out, looking to Olivia, “Liv, they waited for us to interview her.”

Olivia nodded, looking around the room once more, before following you into the adjoining room. In the main bedroom, there were two techs trying to calm an older woman down. The mother. You swiftly excused the techs, as Liv approached the woman.

“Ms. Paige. I’m Detetive Olivia Benson, and this is my partner Detective Y/N L/N. We are here to take your statement. Can you please tell us what happened?”

The woman’s hands were flailing and shaking as she paced back and forth. At the sound of Olivia’s voice, the woman stopped in her tracks and suddenly met Liv’s gaze.

“I don't, I don't understand… I don’t understand…!” Ms. Paige exclaimed, “I… my daughter, Oh God my daughter!!”

The mother then proceeded to break down, and Olivia was swift to grab her before she fell to the floor. She continued to ramble.

“Hey, let's get her out of here. Take her to the precinct…” You murmured lowly for only Liv to hear as you nudged her lightly.

Olivia looked up at you and nodded, proceeding to get up and guide Ms. Paige through the room, past the kitchen, and out the door. After she successfully got the woman in their patrol car, the ride to the precinct was rather smooth.

Both detectives made sure that the woman was comfortable, placing her in the family room at the precinct, a colorful and bright room, designated for family interviews. Olivia sat with the woman on a couch, while you watched on the opposing side of the mirror window.

“Ms. Paige, I know this is hard… But can you do your best to try and tell me what happened…? What is the last thing you remember?” Olivia gently prompted the woman, after letting the woman calm down a bit.

“I… I remember going to bed… I was really tired…” the woman stammered.

The young brunette detective squeezed Ms. Paige’s hands with her own in reassurance.

“That’s good, really good. What is the last thing you remember about Ellie?”

“Ellie… Oh Ellie… I… I remember Ellie doing the dishes…” The woman stammered in response.

You watched your partner continue the interview with a similar pattern of responses. Meanwhile, you began to look over the current files of the case. When Olivia was finished had let Ms. Paige go for the night, she came back to her desk across from you, who were quizzically looking at the case file.

“What’s up…?” Liv asked you, nudging you slightly along with her prompted words.

You were sucked back into reality from your thoughts, sucking in a breath before starting.

“Nothing I just…”

“You think the mom looks good for it…?” Olivia asked with a chuckle, accompanied by an eyeroll.

“Yea… Yeah I do.” You chuckled in response.

The young brunette sat in her desk chair and sighed.

“It is convenient that she doesn’t remember anything…” Olivia admitted.

Now that you had gotten your partner hooked on the theory, you lit up and started to present your case with gleaming and intrigued expression.

“Yes, and prints on the gun came back and guess who’s prints were on it…?” You said with a glimmer in his eyes.

“You already compared prints?” Olivia chuckled again when you nodded and hummed in response, “Ok ok, I’m going to guess the prints belong to the mom…”

“Bingo.”

“But she had no gunshot residue…” Liv sighed.

“Aha! But neither did the girl!” You exclaimed.

“Okay… But doesn’t that speak for a break-in?” Olivia questioned skeptically.

You shot your partner another quizzical look.

“A break-in where they only shot the girl, didn’t take anything, didn’t harm the mom, and they left the gun…? Nuh uh, I don’t think so…” you insisted.

“I don’t know… Something is off about this one…” Liv hummed.

“No signs of struggle on the girl. If she knew her attacker, she may not have put up as much of a fight…”

Liv sat back in her chair, in thought.

“What…?” You chuckled.

~~

Two weeks later, the Katherine Paige was arrested for the murder of her daughter, Ellie Paige. But nonetheless, something didn’t sit right with Olivia.

“Benson, you’re still getting used to this job… it’s okay to be wrong. That’s part of working homicide, sometimes our theory’s turn out to be just that, theories.” You explained, looking across your desk to the young brunette.

Olivia still wasn’t convinced. Her gut told her it was something else. But she was forced to move on with her partner, go to the next homicide case.

That was until one of Ellie’s friends stepped into the precinct. She told the detectives a story about how Ellie’s mother abused her and how Ellie was suicidal. Olivia’s gut wrenched having to interview this girl, and by the time she met you on the other side of the glass, she wanted to throw up.

“Gotta hand it to you, now your theory has more credibility… maybe your gut was right.”

“How could a mother do that to her child…?” Liv breathed out.

You handed the young woman a cup of water. She took it gratefully.

The case was reevaluated and closed out, ruled a suicide. But it changed Olivia. And four weeks later, Benson was transferring to SVU.

~~~

Olivia Benson Masterlist

[pinazee]

In honor of the 25th season, I did something i swore i would never do again, and rewatched all 24 seasons of SVU for these stats.

Justice for living victims: 1816

Justice for Murder victims : 702

Victims with no justice: 226

No answer: 13

Total victims with justice: 2518, a 92% closing rate

Benson also personally saved 231 people, not to mention all of New York from anthrax. 🫡

[claires-audience]

After the successful completion of 25 seasons of Law and Order :SVU, I wanna personally thank whoever would put Olivia in date night outfits every now and then without reason. You really fueled my bi awakening, please never stop.

[jitteryjoedoodlez]

portrait of Mariska Hargitay

aka Captain Olivia Benson

Hello crush!😍

Congratulations on the success of your creative journey!

You inspire me.

I love you!

carbon pencils HB 4B 8B

[wittygutsy]

[spicybleach]

Um can I get more Captain Olivia Benson Smuts???!

LIKE!??? it’s actually criminal there’s not more. DOMINATE OLIVIA BENSON PLZ I BEG

[sairrahthewriter]

For my SVU girlies, starting drama on ao3 very soooon

[wandasaura]

ITS NO BIG DEAL

summary — your entire life you’ve brushed off the subject of your father, but you can’t outrun genetics

warning(s) — sibling relationships, half-siblings, mentions of death, mentions of cancer, mentions of past rape, mentions of addiction, mention of death by accidental overdose, discussion about serial rapist, joseph hollister warning, olivia benson mother mention (slight), meredith/lexie ‘we’re sisters’ moment if you squint, generally comfort, elements of fluff, slight shock and panic, hurt/angst vibes but not really, pet names, college, campus/dorm, precinct, protective olivia benson, mom olivia benson (noah mention)

authors note — matilda reference because that’s the vibe !! take that as you will !!

All your life, you’d never dared to question where your father was. When your mother dodges fliers for father daughter dances at pickup, you remained blissfully unaware of all that you’d been missing out on, but then you’d reached middle school, and it was glaringly obvious that all of your friends groaned and moaned about how uptight their fathers were raising daughters in New York City. Even then, you hadn’t said a word. Your mother worked two jobs to keep the lights on and your tuition paid at the private school you’d been enrolled at since Kindergarten. When she’d been diagnosed with cancer, you still hadn’t posed the question of where your father could possibly be, but then she died during your freshman year of college, and it felt too impossible to bear the weight of being all alone in the world at nineteen years old, and so you’d sent your DNA into a genetic system the first Christmas alone and prayed that by the end of the next year, you wouldn’t be eating scrambled eggs and crying over how the lifestyle of the Grinch had gripped you possessively without warning.

The results came back four weeks later, and every day was painstaking and slow. You’d always prided yourself on your patience, as had your mother when she was alive to witness your efforts and struggles with control, but all of that control seemed to vanish when it came to finding out if there was anyone else in this world you shared DNA with anymore. It shouldn’t have meant that much to you. The story of your father had never been even a ripple in the current before, and you were confident in your friendships, but it felt like a glaring absence in your life without your mother to distract you from whatever else was out there, and so when that package did arrive through USPS, you’d torn into it the moment it was in your hands.

The results weren’t what you expected. A half-brother named Simon Marsden, a half-sister named Olivia Benson, and a father named Joseph Hollister. For all of your life, you’d thought that your mother was all you had, and you’d forced yourself to be okay with the isolation of family gatherings only ever being for one. You had never ridiculed her for what she failed to provide, because what she did provide was genuine and sincere and made up for what she sacrificed to have anything for you at all, but it was still a comfort to know that you had something else to throw yourself into.

Well, it turns out that Simon is dead. He’d been the first one on the DNA result list, and so you’d copied his name first and put it into your search engine. The results were devastating. The first link being to his obituary that dutifully outlined who he was in his short life, but broke the tragic reality that a battle with addiction prematurely ended his life after a short and one off relapse.

Olivia was your next gamble, and her results were promising, so promising, that you hadn’t bothered looking into your father, wanting to hear whatever account of his life she had to say for herself. That would beat anything a website could tell you. There wasn’t much about her, but there was a handful of praise surrounding her career as a detective at the 16th precinct, and an article that spoke highly of her recent promotion to Captain.

You’d sat on the decision for days. Your arrival could potentially derail her entire life. From what you’d gathered, she and Simon hadn’t grown up together, and any contribution of her in his life was short and in descriptive in the obituary, so you gathered they hadn’t been close, or even aware of each other for very long. Would it mean enough to you for it to be worth disrupting her? You hadn’t been sure at first, it had felt unbelievably selfish at first, but after the third night of restlessness, you knew that it couldn’t be put on the backburner any longer. So, you dodged your classes one Tuesday. Chemistry was easy enough with your professor, so it was just another thing on your mental back burner as you navigated Manhattan until you found sex crimes in the 16th precinct.

You don’t recognize the surroundings you’ve stumbled into. Courthouses and law offices aren’t exactly your domain as a second year college student, but you make do with the common sense that hasn’t alluded you as your nerves compile in your belly. You’re really doing this.

“Can I help you?” A woman asks, a perceptive expression on her face as she analyzes you.

“Um, I’m looking for Olivia Benson?” You squeak, because you’d never been good in the face of authority, even with unwavering innocence and a guilt free conscience. Your mother had drilled this fear into you, you know that much, but you’re unaware as to why. It’s never made sense to you, her disdain for cops, her anger toward lawyers, her insistence that the justice system is a scam. As far as you know, there had never been an instance that your mother saw herself being toyed with by the law system, but her passion was unavoidable, and a glaring part of your childhood in retrospect.

“Alright, well, Captain Benson’s in a meeting right now. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime?” The woman, still nameless, still just as kind even with your fidgeting and anxious eye contact, asked you dutifully.

“Um, no. No.” You shook your head, because it was weighing on you that you were already here disrupting Olivia’s day, you couldn’t possibly lay this information on whoever this woman was without knowing first if Olivia even wants it spread around. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say anything. It’s not… it’s not illegal, or anything! If that’s what you were thinking! It’s just… personal.” You deflate, realizing how she could’ve been perceiving your anxiousness, but then that wind of adrenaline ebbed, leaving you vulnerable to her stare and the ticking down seconds.

“Captain Benson will be done soon. You can wait over here.” She kept smiling as she led you over to a couple of chairs crammed between a block of walls and two vending machines. You eye’d the one filled with snacks, aware of your growling stomach. In your haste to get out the door, you’d bypassed a trip to the dining hall, and the result of your prolonged hunger strike was beginning to work against you. You didn’t have the money to cave on a five dollar bag of cheetos no matter how compelling the growl in your stomach was, so you sat cross legged in a chair farthest away from the glowing machine, your eyes looking anywhere but the taunting sight.

You’d seen enough pictures to know what Olivia looked like, and you recognized her instantly as she stepped out of her office, two men following after her, neither one sticking around for long to mingle or exchange professional courtesies. You think it peculiar, but there’s no chance to wonder about what their relationship could be because the unknown woman who’d spoken to you approached Olivia, gesturing in your direction.

It was somewhat of a blur after that, up until you got into her office and she closed the door before you. You jumped in your skin, and you know that your antsy reserve worries Olivia. She’s perceptive, scarily so. “Detective Rollins said you wanted to speak with me.” She starts the conversation, guiding you through the rough start. You’d told this apparent Detective Rollins that you’d come with nothing illegal to report, but you don’t get the sense that she believed you, because Olivia seems wary.

“Yes, um,” You fiddled with your fingers, plucking at the skin you’d already picked raw and bleeding. “I’m your sister. Half-sister. Same dad.” It came out all at once, in broken sentences that just barely told her what she needed to know without anything else. It wasn’t how you planned to drop it on her. You’d thought up about four different monologues, all explaining your life, your recent loss, the motivation to find a family outside of your mother, but none of it came out.

You know she’d been expecting a few hundred other things, and you can’t decide if what she’d been anticipating is worse, or better. This line of work, you can assume that a secret half=sister is a more pleasing weight to grapple with than anything else that goes on here regularly.

“Sorry, that’s now how I wanted to say that.” You blush, glancing down at your hands. Your name comes off your lips, but it’s rough and it sounds like a slur of consonants nad vowels that have no distinctive place. “I took a DNA test, one of those at home genealogy kits, and um, the results came back a match for two half-siblings and a father. I, well, honestly I didn’t get into our father… your father, my father, um… I don’t know.” You want to palm your forehand, crave for the floor to open wide beneath your feet and suck you up so that you can avoid this moment and whatever comes after it, but no amount of miracles could save you from what you’ve started. “My point is, I would really like to get to know you. And, I didn’t know how else to contact you without it being creepy. I saw somewhere that you have a son, and I heard that cops tend to be paranoid, so I didn't just want to show up at your house. Or, well, I don’t even know where you live, I couldn’t have shown up if I wanted to, but that just brings me back to the point that I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

For a moment, Olivia looked absolutely horrified, but then the corners of her lips upturned and you had the slightest inkling to recognize that she found your rambling humorous despite everything else. The realization made your cheeks flame, your gaze dropping to the floor.

Olivia asks your age, and the answer rolls off of your tongue as a whisper. If she’s affected by your admission of relation, she doesn’t let it show, guiding you toward the couch by the windows and calling out the door that ‘Fin’ is in charge until further notice. That sinking feeling in your gut comes back, knowing that you’ve interrupted her schedule and her work.

“If this isn’t a good time I can come back. Really, I can.” You tried to assure that it was perfectly acceptable if she didn’t have the time for you right now, but she forced you to remain seated on the couch, a comforting grip on your wrist the only anchor you had in the moment.

“Alright, did your Mom tell you anything about… our father?” You can’t help but notice how Olivia swallows thickly, and you know that it means there's some kind of estranged relationship between them. It’s a sinking feeling, a realization that you’d created this mess and the answers you’d held out for aren’t what you hoped.

��No.” Your voice is hoarse and your head shakes. “She avoided the topic and I never asked. She passed last May. I thought that if I could find my father… maybe I wouldn’t have to spend another holiday alone. It was always just her and I, our table was never set for anyone more than two people, but not having anyone last Christmas and New Years… I don’t want to do it again.” You’re afraid to look at Olivia, to know what she thinks of your reasoning for causing all of this, but when you finally do glance up at her after a beat of silence, there’s nothing but tender understanding in her glittering eyes. There’s tears collecting in her waterline. They’re large, iridescent, but she doesn’t let them fall, willing her reserve to remain unbroken.

“Alright, honey.” You had hoped she’d welcome you with open arms. Though admittedly you’d always pined after a potential older brother, ever since you’d found out there was an older sister in your bloodline, your thoughts were overruled with narratives of finding a typical sibling relationship with her. You didn’t expect her to turn you away with a glare and choice colorful words, but this warmth was jarring, entirely off your radar. “Your fathers name is Joseph Hollister?” Olivia wanted to clarify, because there was no way she’d bestow this information on you if you didn’t absolutely need to know. If she didn’t know what it would feel like to send you out of here without answers for your own well being, she would’ve shut your curiosity down instantly, but unfortunately she’d walked the path of wondering and longing when Simon popped up in her life, and she’d never wish away the months she’d gotten to spend with him when things were good.

“Yes.” You nod, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Joseph Hollister, Olivia Benson, and Simon Marsden. That’s what the genealogy results said. I-I looked up Simon first. His name was at the top of the list, y-yours was next. I didn’t look into anything about our father, I thought I could hear it from you. I-If you know anything that is?” There’s a hopeful edge to your tone because despite the warning signs, you're still just a young woman looking to patch up all the broken parts you’re slowly recognizing.

“Alright, okay. That’s good.” Olivia swallows and reaches for your hands. You let her have them, let her cup them between her palms and reap the warmth that she surrounds you with. “Honey, Joseph Hollister was a rapist. He raped three women between 1967 and 1969, but we’ve been trying to pin him for a fourth rape… the year you were born. He went off his meds, we have all the evidence… evidence for a case that went cold by a woman in her early twenties. She reported the rape eight weeks later after getting a positive pregnancy test. She denied fetal genetic testing, there wasn’t anything anybody could do with the evidence they had.”

Your mouth goes dry, and while you do your best to keep your mothers name alive every day that opportunity strikes, it feels like sandpaper against your tongue as it breaks the silence in th office. Olivia’s nod of confirmation shatters you, a guttural sob falling off your lips.

In a single second her head is holding onto your head, pulling you into her chest until you can hear her heart beating beneath your ear. It’s calming, but nothing will quite calm the storms that have begun to rage within you at the assault of information. A product of rape. You are. All your life she hadn’t told you because, you could only assume, she hadn’t wanted to remember. She didn’t give you a reason to question her love once, but you don’t understand how you can love her at all when you have his eyes. You know that you do. His picture was attached to his profile, something that should scare you considering he had never made a profile, but had brought you comfort at the time. The picture was grainy, one from the internet, but you’d known in an instant that you had his eye shape. You hate that simple fact now.

“My whole life she hated the cops. She could never watch NCIS, she couldn’t stomach Criminal Minds. I thought she was just weirdly passionate about injustice. She never… she never told me.” Your voice breaks, and Olivia hums sympathetically, allowing you to pull away from her chest until your eyes meet. You don’t have the same eyes, but theres a spark in familiarity in them that you think you’ve known your entire life.

”There’s no right way to deal with trauma.” Olivia says, but the explanation feels cheap and she knows it. “I’ve known who our father is my entire life. It didn’t change the struggle I went through as an adult having to accept where I come from. Simon… Simon came into my life at a time when neither of us could handle a relationship. He died just as thinks were starting to realign for us. Believe me, I want to have this conversation with you. I want my son — his name is Noah — to know more than just me. So, do not think I am putting this on the back burner, but this is not where you should learn about our father, or my life. So, what do you say I give you my number, and I’ll treat you to lunch. You must be a college student?”

Your eyes narrow, a slight pout on your lips as your eyebrows draw together. You chose to ignore how her eyes brighten as she mentions Noah, sharing his name with you willingly, and not diminishing the affection that’s so evident in her expression as she speaks. It’s promising. A sincere display of her genuine offer to continue this conversation at a better time for the both of you, but that’s not what catches your interest. It’s her last question, one so specific bu not brought up or alluded to at all by you. “How’d you know?” You question.

“Detective.” She muses playfully, and you huff out breathily, suddenly disarmed from your bout of tension and panic. It’s not gone entirely, you don’t even recognize how to process what she’s just dropped on you, but it’s a start at the very least. You’re treading water, and that keeps you afloat. That’s all you need to do to survive. “And I can see your Student ID.” She finally lets you in, and your eyes glance down at the wristlet you’ve carried around your wrist all morning.

“Oh.” You sigh, a blush coating your cheeks. “Yeah, I’m a sophomore.” You tell her because she told you about Noah, and while your education isn’t exactly on par with her human child, its the best piece of information you have to establish your commitment to this as well. You think she deserves that from you now. It’s not just your life that’s changed.

”Lunch, my treat.” She promises again and you nod, satisfied with that agreement. She puts her number in your phone, and you put yours in hers, feeling like your at risk of seeing sentiste information, but she assures you that nothing of use to a case will come in before you hand the device back. She’s right, but you’re still shaken, and this time she doesn’t spare a laugh at your jitters.

She guides you out of the office, and you turn to wave at her, leaving with what you came for and the promise of so much more.

[lilborealis]

I ship Bensler but watching the episode of where Richard Wheatley goes on trial and Olivia and Rafa are arguing in her office about Rafa acting as defense and she goes “or is this about Stabler?” and I was just “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

[oneshotnewbie]

A jogger finds a phone and calls the cops. When they take it and put it into a zip back, they accidentally turn on the phone - revealing a picture of The Captain of the SVU and Reader?

Possible trigger warning: This one-shot includes the mention of blood and kidnapping, the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

William Jacobs ran across the Brooklyn Bridge at the same time every morning, trying to beat his best time. But today he desperately thought about turning back and skipping today's sports session - the weather was playing into his cards.

Despite all the negative voices in his head, the young man ran from the Brooklyn bridge to the Manhattan Central Park and back. At this early hour there were hardly any passers-by and only occasionally a few cars drove past. As he took his first step off the bridge, he was inspired by the release of happiness hormones and increased his pace.

William loved being able to look out over the East River and let his thoughts and feelings flow freely. His black hair flowed in the wind and was dampened by the drizzle, her ragged breathing evident in the chill of dawn. When he managed halfway of his way, he was panting like never before in his life - the cold air making it harder to force enough air through his lungs. The young man felt the slight sting in his side, but did not hesitate to stop.

It was not until his head moved towards the entrance of the Central Park that he saw something blue and shimmery lying on the ground. Confused, he stopped and cautiously approached the object, peering left and right to locate other people.

Startled, he jumped back and almost stepped into the street when he saw red-brown stains around it, some of them even splattered on the cell phone he had found. William did not even hear the car behind him screeching to a stop next to him and the car door being opened with an aggressive jerk. "Are you crazy? I almost ran you over!"

But the young man did not answer the older women. She looked at the black-haired guy and saw fear and disgust on his face. His shaky fingers pointed to the main reason he stopped, which was why the woman looked confused on the ground and shortly after promptly walked back to her car in shock. "We have to alert the police." he shouted in a shrill, abnormally bright voice. The stranger nodded her head and pulled her cell phone out of the glove compartment of her red car. She quickly tapped on her phone and held it trembling against her ear.

"Emergency call center, how can I help you?" A calm voice asked on the other end of the line, beginning to type on her keyboard to find out the location of the caller. "We found a phone." she spoke anxiously, earning a sigh from the 911 agent. "Mam, you know this is not an emergency, right?"

William looked confused at the device in the old lady's hand, and in his adrenaline rush he did not quite understand why the sigh was being given. So he quickly snatched the cell phone from her and continued the conversation. "Listen. Here is a cell phone lying at the entrance to Central Park, covered in blood splatters. I also recognize an original NYPD cell phone case."

“Which entrance are you at?” the woman's low voice slowly calmed his rapidly beating heart. He took a deep breath while trying not to let his mind sink into a hole of horror scenarios. He looked around, trying to figure out which entrance he really was at. "Fifth Avenue at the Plaza Hotel,"

"Do not touch anything. I will send you a unit."

ᕚ---ᕘ

The gentle rain pattered quietly against Olivia's bedroom windows and made her open her eyes just a crack wide. Her tired gaze glowered out and a hand brushed over her face as she watched the night slowly fade away. Her attention turned to the other side of the bed, her fingers curling into the cold sheets next to her.

Her fiancée was no longer lying next to her and she sighed heavily. She usually woke up before you almost every morning, kissing along your naked spine stroking her hand with pleasure over your sides before she remained on your bare hip, waking you up for another day. Olivia loved waking up next to you since she shared a bed with you and enjoyed every minute of it. But she respected your exercise routine in the early hours of the morning and was in no way offended if she started the day without you.

The brunette tried to close her eyes for another five minutes, but quickly abandoned the idea when her cell phone rang. A little angry, she felt around on the bedside table for the annoying-sounding device and answered the call. "Lieutenant Benson?" she sighed loudly, already pulling the blanket off her body.

The brunette, half asleep, rummaged through her closet for some clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. "Central Park, I will be right there." When she ended the conversation, she tried to reach you on your cell phone to take you home, but her attempt came to nothing and she did not think about it any further - you had already put your phone on silent often enough to avoid being distracted.

After quickly downing a cup of coffee to wake herself up, she pulled her coat off the hook and slipped through the door into the day's events. The rain worsened on the way to the crime scene, washing every possible mess back into the sewers. When she got out, Amanda and Fin were already standing at the cordoned off area that had been created to protect the evidence from the rain. "What do we have?"

"A blood-spattered cell phone," the blonde expressed, gratefully accepting an evidence bag from another officer. She carefully placed the found object in it and handed it to her boss. "A cell phone? Why were we called?" the Sergent and the detective shrugged and raised their hands in question. "The caller thought it was a cell phone belonging to one of our colleagues, which is why we were notified because a significant amount of blood was found next to it."

Olivia nodded, looking worriedly at the phone in her hand. You had the same case around your phone, she had given it to you as a small gift. She turned it around so the screen was facing her and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the scratch on it. The brunette had almost caused the same one on your phone when she saved you from a bullet a couple months ago.

She always wanted to have it repaired but you would not let her - it was a memory for you. "Liv, are you okay?" Finn asked worriedly, watching as the color suddenly drained from his best friend's face. She nodded in response, looking back from the evidence to the paving stone. A good amount of blood that was not easy to ignore. "Yeah, it is just.."

The tough woman could not finish the sentence right away. The screen turned on on its own, showing a reminder notification on the display. Underneath you could clearly see two smiling faces smeared with light gray paint as a background image.

She recognized the image immediately. Olivia shot it herself when you were recoloring your bedroom together. Olivia swallowed hard, the phone shaking in her hands as she tried to suppress her rising panic. “It is y/n’s. It is her phone."

[oliviasgreenmug]

I need to know something

Why tf did she have this thing??? It just seems so out of character that she would keep a massive shotgun in her closet (with her child in the house no less). Like I know she’s not using it for hunting and the only gun we’ve ever seen her keep at home is her service weapon which I doubt she would keep in a place as conspicuous as a closet with a little boy around. So wtf is its purpose other than to gratify the magnitude of this particular moment?

Because they could’ve made it that oh she just got it because her and her son almost just got taken out so now she’s scared and she needs to protect him. But it was already in her closet?? With the ammo??

And although she’s never expressed it much, I think Olivia is definitely all about gun safety and she wouldn’t encourage having a gun in the home let alone a cannon like this. Especially considering all the shooting cases she’s worked/been involved in. It’s so out of character for her.

This has been bugging me for ages and no matter how much I think about it I cannot fathom why Olivia Benson would own this big ass gun.

[forevereo]

Credit to Anna @ wherestheexit on twitter…