olivia benson and her superman

olivia and her superman

Olivia could barely breathe. She felt the cold brush of his breath against the back of her neck, sending a chill down her spine. The putrid smell of vodka, gasoline, sweat, and something far worse filled her nostrils, thick and suffocating, making her feel like she was drowning in it.

She was trapped—her arms tied above her head to a creaking, rusted iron bed frame in an old, rotting beach house. Every small movement made the metal groan and the loose floorboards complain beneath shifting weight. The whole place felt like it might collapse at any moment.

All she could think about was Elliot.

She wanted him to come and save her. God, she wanted that more than anything.

But he wasn't coming.

She knew that. She understood it. Two years of silence had made that painfully clear. Two years without a word, without a sign, without anything.

And yet... the hope refused to die.

Maybe it wasn't hope. Maybe it was prayer. Maybe it was just desperation clinging to the last person who had ever truly mattered.

Even after all this time, Elliot was still the only person on her mind.

She had locked those memories away—the comfort, the warmth, the quiet nights together in her room. The way they would lie on her bed, tangled together under blankets while the world outside disappeared. The way he would murmur those soft, meaningless little nothings into her ear, his voice low and soothing, always knowing exactly what to say to calm her down when everything felt like it was falling apart.

God, she wished she could hear his voice right now.

But instead, this monster stood behind her.

And now he was bringing Elliot into it.

Her person.
Her caregiver.
Her protector.
Her everything.

"Who are you thinking about, Olivia?"

His voice slid into the room like poison.

"Mummy dearest? No... not mummy." He chuckled softly to himself. "Maybe a boyfriend?"

He paused, as if considering it.

"No... not him either. I saw him. You definitely aren't thinking about him."

The floor creaked as he shifted closer behind her.

"Oh, I know," he said, his tone suddenly pleased with itself. "A partner. Someone you can't stop thinking about. Someone who lives in that pretty little head of yours."

Olivia froze.

"Don't worry, dear Olivia," William Lewis—the devil himself—murmured. "You'll call out for him soon enough."

The words ripped out of her before she could stop them.

"You sick bastard!" she spat, her voice shaking with rage. "Fuck you! How dare you!"

Her chest heaved as fury burned through the fear.

"He's mine! My person!"

Her voice cracked, but she forced the words out anyway, louder now, desperate and furious all at once.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!"What pretty tears you have, Olivia," William Lewis said with a slow, satisfied smirk.

His voice dripped with cruel amusement, as though her fear was the most entertaining thing in the world.

"No one is coming to save you."

The words landed like a physical blow.

"I've had you for three days now," he continued casually, as if he were discussing the weather. "Three whole days." He tilted his head slightly, studying her face, watching every flicker of pain and exhaustion. "And God... you're so pliable when you're passed out."