A snowstorm leaves Olivia Benson driving you home, detouring to her apartment instead..
as usual this is very smutty so warnings!!!!!!!!!!
tags! .𖥔 ܁ ˖⋆ ˚❆ olivia x reader, wlw smut, olivia benson fanfic, olivia benson, scissoring, fingering, cunnilingus.
The snow had been falling for hours, thick and relentless, swallowing the streets whole. The city looked softer like this, with blurred headlights, muffled sirens, and the sharp edges of New York dulled beneath a blanket of white. Inside Olivia’s car, the heater hummed low, fighting the cold that clung to your coat and fingertips. You sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in your lap, watching snowflakes melt against the windshield as the wipers struggled to keep up.
“I can’t believe you expected to walk home in this,” Olivia remarked, eyes fixed on the road but her voice gentle, concerned, as she always was. “I would’ve been fine,” You said quickly, maybe too quickly. “I don't live that far,” She nodded, but you caught the way her jaw tightened, the faint hesitation before she turned onto a quieter street. The radio played something soft and old, barely audible beneath the crunch of tyres on snow.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, at least not in the way silence usually was. It was heavy instead, full of things unsaid, of moments stretched thin by restraint. You’d spent years working beside Olivia Benson, learning the shape of her presence and the way she carries herself. You knew the lines of exhaustion around her eyes, the steadiness of her voice when everything else was falling apart. The car slowed as she approached an intersection, snow piled high along the curb. She glanced at the GPS briefly, then at the road ahead. “Your place is another ten minutes that way,” she said. “Mine’s… closer. Roads are worse the further east you go,” You turned to look at her then, just for a second. The glow from the streetlights caught the curve of her cheek, the faint crease between her brows.“Oh,” you replied, heart thudding far louder than it had any right to. “Are you suggesting I stay at your place?” Olivia laughed, but it was brief, almost reflexive. “Don’t say it like that,” she said. “I just mean until the snow clears,” You nodded, eyes back on the windshield. The road ahead narrowed, streetlights growing more sporadic, their glow swallowed quickly by the falling snow. You told yourself it was practical. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Still, something tightened in your chest as she made the turn toward her neighbourhood.
The car felt smaller now. Too warm. You shrugged out of your coat, folding it carefully over your knees, suddenly aware of every small movement between you. The way her hand rested on the gear shift, the way she leaned forward slightly when the car slid on the ice. You watched how her hands would grip the steering wheel, wondering how her grip would feel on you.“You okay?” Olivia asked, breaking you out of your trance. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… tired,” You readjust yourself in your seat, brushing your hands over your lap. She hummed in response, “Tired. I see,” She didn't sound convinced.
Her building came into view not long after, lights glowing faintly behind snow-dusted trees. She parked carefully, engine idling for a second longer than necessary. Neither of you moved right away. “The guest bedroom is upstairs,” Olivia turned to face you, scanning you up and down, “You said you’re tired so I figured maybe you’d want to stay?” Your throat went dry. You’d fantasised non-stop about sleeping over at Olivia’s. You’d practically imagined every room in her house in your mind. “You really don't-” Olivia swiftly interjected, “I insist. I have spare pyjamas you could borrow, they might be big for you,” Olivia's words were stern, leaving you no room to object further. “That’d be good. Thank you.”
Her apartment was warm in a way that felt lived-in. Not polished, not staged, just homey. She shrugged out of her coat, hung it neatly, then took yours without asking, fingers brushing yours for half a second too long. Neither of you acknowledged it. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, disappearing down the hall. You heard drawers opening, the faint rustle of fabric. When she returned, she handed you a folded set of plain, soft pyjamas, clearly worn in. “They might be a little big,” she said. “Sorry.”, “It’s fine, thank you,” you replied. You meant more than just the clothes.
You changed quickly in the bathroom, staring at your reflection longer than necessary, trying to steady the restless knot in your chest. When you came back out, Olivia was on the couch, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, nursing a mug of something steaming. Olivia turned to look at you, scanning your body from top to bottom. Her eyes felt hot over your skin, like she was able to see right through you. “Glad to see the pyjamas fit nicely,” You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Hot chocolate. Figured you’d want something warm,” Olivia handed you the mug of steaming hot cocoa with a smile, you reached out, fingers brushing against hers, and the warmth of her skin sent electricity through your body. “Thank you, Liv,” you smiled. The space between you on the sofa was careful. Deliberate. Enough room to pretend this was nothing more than circumstance. Snow. Practicality. A spare room.
Still, you could feel her there, the warmth of her body bleeding through the cushions, the subtle shift every time she adjusted her posture. You wrapped your hands around the mug, letting the heat ground you. Olivia sat with one arm braced along the back of the couch, the other cradling her drink, eyes fixed somewhere ahead that wasn’t the TV. She looked tired in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. Unguarded.
“You don’t have to stay up,” she said after a moment. Not a suggestion. An out. “I know,” you replied. You didn’t move. The silence returned, thicker now. You’d worked in silence with her for years, in cars, in interrogation rooms, at crime scenes where words only complicated things. This felt different. There was nothing to hide behind. No case. No reports. Just the two of you, stripped of uniforms and excuses. You glanced at her without meaning to. She was already looking at you. Her expression was unreadable, but something in it tightened when your eyes met. The room smelled faintly of clean cotton and something warmer, coffee, maybe, or the soap she used. You realised, with a strange ache, that you’d known this scent for years without ever really placing it. Now it felt intimate in a way that made your chest tighten.
Her eyes flicked down, just briefly to your mouth, and then back up again. You felt it like a jolt, sharp. The realisation settled between you, heavy and terrifying. This wasn’t a passing thing. It hadn’t been for a long time. Olivia exhaled, slowly. “This is a bad idea,” she murmured, almost to herself. You swallowed. “Then why doesn’t it feel like one?” That got her. Her jaw tightened, eyes darkening not with desire exactly, but with restraint stretched too thin. She shuffled closer. You could feel the warmth of her body now, the quiet gravity of her presence pulling you in. “I’ve been trying not to want this,” she said, voice low. Honest. “You,” Your mouth went dry, you scrambled to find the words but couldn't seem to make sense of anything. Her hand came up slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. Her fingers brushed your cheek, warm and careful, as if she was memorising the feel of you. When she leaned in, it wasn’t rushed, it was hesitant.
The kiss landed softly at first, a question more than a statement. The kiss deepened just enough to make your breath hitch, her thumb resting against your jaw, steadying you both. When she pulled back, her forehead rested briefly against yours. She pulled back to look at you, smoothing the hair from your face, “I’ve wanted this for so long,” Her words came out breathless, “Ever since you walked into the precinct. I knew I wanted you. I also realised that I’m your boss and I shouldn't want these things.” You were still trying to breathe, “Liv,” Your words came out desperately, almost like a whimper, Olivia sighed at the sound of your voice saying her name, begging for her. “Liv,” you whispered again, the sound more desperate than before, and that seemed to snap the last thread of her restraint. Olivia surged forward, closing the distance between you on the couch. Her mouth crashed into yours, this time not hesitant, not questioning. It was claiming. Deep, urgent, full of all the years she’d held back. Her hands framed your face, thumbs stroking along your jaw as she kissed you like she was starving, like she’d been denying herself this for far too long. You melted into it, hands sliding up her arms, feeling the lean muscle beneath her rolled-up sleeves, the steady warmth of her skin. When she broke the kiss to trail her lips down your throat, you gasped, head tipping back against the cushions. “Olivia—” You begged, “Shh,” she murmured against your pulse, voice rough. “I’ve got you.” She shifted, guiding you with gentle but firm hands until you were lying back on the couch, her body hovering over yours. The oversized pyjamas she’d lent you rode up your thighs, and her gaze darkened as she took in the sight, your legs parted slightly, the soft cotton clinging to your curves. She ran a hand up the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, stopping just short of where you ached most. “You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this,” she confessed, low and raw. “About touching you. Tasting you,” Your breath hitched. “Show me. Please,” You were far too turned on to be embarrassed now, looking up at Liv with desperate eyes. She wasted no time. Olivia hooked her fingers into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down along with your underwear in one swift motion. Cool air kissed your skin for a moment before her mouth came crashing down, hot, wet, reverent.
The first slow drag of her tongue against your clit made your hips buck. She held you down steadily with one hand, pressing down gently on your stomach. She drew slow slick circles around your clit, then deeper, dipping inside, savouring every shudder and soft sound you made. “Liv, fuck!” Your fingers twirled in her dark brown hair, and she groaned against you from the pull, vibrations sending sparks up your spine.
She worked you slowly, drawing out every sound you had inside of you. When your thighs started to tremble, she slid two fingers inside of you, curling them just right, and you cried out loud, back arching against the sofa. She didn’t stop until you shattered, waves crashing through you, her name on your lips like a prayer.
But she wasn’t done. Olivia crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on her tongue. You gripped onto her shoulders, latching on still trying to catch your breath again. You reached for her, desperate to feel her, to pleasure her. “Please,” You breathed. Olivia nodded. You gently pushed her until she was sitting up, legs spread. She watched you with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, as you knelt between her thighs, tugging at the seam of her pants. She was already wet, glistening in the low lamplight, the sight sending an ache between your thighs. You started slow, trailing kisses up and down her inner thigh, offering teasing licks that made her hips jerk into you. When you finally closed your mouth on her clit, she let out a low, broken moan, fingers suddenly finding their way into your hair. “God, fuck! Just like that..” You gave her everything, tongue flicking, fingers curling in and out, deep, in time with your mouth swirling circles around her clit. You kept your mouth on her until her thighs clamped around you, and she came with a shuddering cry, her body tensing and then melting beneath you. Panting, you kissed your way back up her stomach, her chest, until you were face-to-face again.
She pulled you into her lap, straddling her thighs, chests pressed together. “I want more,” she whispered against your lips. “I want to feel you,” You nodded, breathless still. She guided you until you were aligned perfectly, slick heat against slick heat. The first press of your cores together drew twin gasps. Olivia’s hands gripped your hips, steadying you as you both began to move, slow rocks at first, finding the rhythm, the angle where your clits brushed just right with every grind. The friction was electric, intimate, overwhelming. Skin sliding against skin, wet and hot, building fast. You braced your hands on her shoulders, rolling your hips harder, deeper. Olivia’s head fell back against the couch, throat exposed, moans spilling out. “Fuck—yes, right there,” she groaned, nails digging into your hips, urging you on. You leaned down to kiss her, messy and desperate, tongues tangling as your movements grew frantic. The couch creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered was the building pressure, the way your bodies fit together like they’d been waiting years for this. You came first again, hard, sudden, crying out into her mouth as pleasure ripped through you. Olivia followed seconds later, hips stuttering, a low, guttural sound tearing from her throat as she ground up against you through the aftershocks.
For a long moment, you stayed like that, pressed together, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat and release. The snow continued to fall outside, silent and relentless, but inside the apartment, everything felt still. Peaceful. Right.
Olivia pressed a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your lips. “Is this how you usually treat your guests?” You let out a desperate laugh, moving your hair out of your face, Olivia laughed back shoving you lightly, “Only the special ones.”
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