#sergeant fin

[indira-korr]

For the ask game:

*intense laser eyes* You know I wanna know more about GG and Nineteen, buuuut. how about Artist/Authors choice?

Well well well, what a coincidence that I have already rambled a bit about GG and Nineteen here and here 🤭

Artist/Author's choice? 😨 What? Free will... Umm... Help!

Sneaky, Mar... making me think about what I want to talk about. Also... very dangerous 😈 but I think I'll keep it tame.

I have two things I'd like to show you. And @brokenphoenix99 might like to see this too.

Alrighty, first thing: I have something in the second chapter of Who's a Good Boy I just can't wait to share. We know GG can be a little pushy and has certain reputation. Let's just say, Nineteen's Sergeant gets a tiny bit 🤏 protective.

According to Chase, GG was an ‘arrogant, pushy, Son-of-a-Hutt Shiny-chaser who didn’t give a kriff about other people’s feelings’, something GG still thought was uncalled for and mostly untrue. And then he’d threatened to gut GG like a spike-finned sounder if he took advantage of Nineteen, or to break his legs if he broke the kid’s heart. Yes, he obviously doesn’t hold a grudge and isn’t biased—at all.

I still have to chuckle at the 'mostly untrue' 🤭

This was mainly a tribute to The Snarky Comment Machine™ aka my partner, who really dislikes GG—like... a lot.

But I thought you might appreciate the authentic Kaminoan fauna reference: Spike-finned Sounder

The second thing also has a fauna reference: Beldons from Bespin. This is a piece of art that has been on ice for months. But I'd really like to do something more with it.

[Art] Beldon gorge

I just like putting datapad or HUD visuals into my art to make it feel more like a first person view.

[dahllaz]

Just re-watched SVU s4e16 Tortured and the husband of the victim is explaining that she was screaming so loud that cops were called because of nightmares from the torture she had suffered.

And our intrepid detectives? Do not believe him one little bit. They do not believe, cannot understand, this is just too far fetched as far as they are concerned. What a bunch of bullshit is essentially what Elliot and Olivia say.

And all. All I could think was. That. Season 4 Olivia may not understand. But Season 15 Olivia would understand!

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“A written statement from the General himself.”

You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.

Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.

Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…

Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.

“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars. 

“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.

“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well. 

“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”

Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.

When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.

He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.

You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.

There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.

“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”

You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.

Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.

“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.

Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.

A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.

Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.

The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.

Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.

Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.

You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.

It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –

The door creaks open.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?

“Sweetheart.”

The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.

“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in. 

He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.

“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.

He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.

If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.

His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.

“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state. 

He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”

You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”

“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”

You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything. 

“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.

He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”

“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.

Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.

That is, until the man beside you breaks it.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.

“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”

You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.

“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.

“She’s got two left feet.”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.

“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.

“What breed is she?”

“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”

How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?

“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”

“You think I’m strong?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”

“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.

He doesn’t laugh.

And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?

You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.

Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.

“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.

“No.”

You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.

“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.

You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”

“A honeycomb.”

You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”

“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.

“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.

Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.

“They really like you, y’know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.

“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”

“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.

“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”

“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”

With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.

However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.

Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.

“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.

Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.

His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.

Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.

*

When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.

The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.

“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice. 

The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.

“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.

“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Rude.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.

When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.

“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”

Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”

Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.

“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.

As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.

“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.

“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.

“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.

The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”

“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.

It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.

“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”

“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”

You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.

“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.

Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two. 

“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”

“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”

You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.

“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.

You tilt your head.

“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.

“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur

[teamhappyme]

all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

aka the four times you save mike dodds + the one time he saves you

mike dodds x female!reader

word count: 9.3k

a/n: me? keeping mike dodds alive and well in every universe? absolutely. a good old fashioned 4+1 for you folks! this was another labor of love that has been years in the making because I could never string enough good things together - until I did! it's not my best, but it's one of my favorites, and i love writing for this guy! it's a niche character, but one near and dear to my heart. (I refuse to give up my Taylor swift lyric titles so fight me)

****

The first time you saved Mike Dodds, it was from the awful coffee in the squad room. 

It was his first week with SVU, and, let’s just say, everyone is adjusting. He stepped over you while getting the victim’s disclosure, he pursued a lead not pertaining to the disclosure without telling Liv, and to top it all off, Rollins’ sister was behind the whole situation. 

So, it’s been a tense week for everyone. 

After Kim was remanded to Rikers, and Amanda was released from the hospital, everyone could let out a sigh of relief.

You were wrapping up some paperwork in the squad room after getting back from the courthouse, Liv talking with the chief in her office. You could only assume the accolades he was giving his son, while Liv just had to sit there and bite her tongue. You don’t envy the position she’s in right now.

To keep your eyes open a little longer, you made your way to the breakroom to grab a soda. Much to your surprise, you found the sarge at the coffee machine, ready to pour a heaping cup of old coffee.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” You warned him as you fed a dollar to the vending machine, pressing for a coke to come out. “I guarantee it’s been sitting there since this morning, maybe even last night.”

He nodded, placing the styrofoam cup back on the table. “Thanks for warning me. I’m pretty sure everyone else would’ve let me suffer the consequences.”

“Rollins and Fin would’ve watched the whole thing, but Carisi would’ve ran in to save you. We’re not too fond of perpetuating the newbie pranks, especially on a sergeant.”

You offered him the coke once it came out of the machine, and he took it, giving you a nod of gratitude. He didn’t open it right away, taking a few seconds to fiddle with the tab. 

He looked up at you, looking quite defeated for the confident man that walked in here three days ago. “I’m not trying to step on any toes here, detective.”

“Dodds,” You started, but he cut you off. 

Again.

“I’m the new guy, the new second in command here, and I understand that it’s going to take some time for you guys to warm up to me,”

“Dodds.” You held your arm out in front of you, hoping he would stop talking. “First things first, stop interrupting me.”

He had a sheepish grin, and hung his head. 

“SVU isn’t like the rest of the department. It’s not as simple as getting the statement, arresting the perp, and going to trial. We have to connect with the victim, make sure they feel safe and supported enough to tell their story. And most importantly, we listen to Liv. She gives a masterclass everyday in being an SVU cop.” You paused for a second, taking another look at him. Of course he looked defeated, the welcome into special victims is never an easy one. “Listen, we’ve all been in your shoes. There’s a learning curve, and it takes a minute to get there, but you will. You’ve got good instincts, you’ve got the rank to prove it. You’ve just got to think in another way now.”

You saw the chief exit Liv’s office, and heard the dejected sigh leave Dodds’ mouth.

“I’m not worried about the learning curve. I know I have a lot to learn. What I’m worried about is not being taken seriously.” You looked over at him, and saw that he was locked on his father’s figure, following him out of the precinct. “I know everyone’s worried that I’m the boss’s son, thinking they have to watch themselves around me. But I’m not his puppet, and I’m not here to report back to him. What happens at SVU, stays at SVU.”

“I appreciate that.” He gave you a pointed look, not sure whether or not to believe you, but you only smiled. “Listen, we’re all straight shooters here. I’m not worried about who your father is or how you got this position. Everyone deserves a fair chance, and after these last few days with you, I think you’ll be just fine here.”

Honestly, you were never worried about his placement here. Sure, the rest of the squad was a little suspicious, and maybe gave him a hard time, but he’ll learn his place. And hopefully, they’ll see this guy, honest and vulnerable, instead of the shadow of his father the next time they look at him.

“Thank you. I know you could’ve chewed my head off after that disclosure, so I appreciate your patience.”

You laughed while moving back to the vending machine, getting a coke for yourself this time.

“It was your one free pass.”

“Technically two, since you saved me from the burnt coffee.” He added, walking back to the bullpen. 

“Yeah, next time I’ll let you drink it.”

****

The second time you saved Mike Dodds was after the Lily Evans case. 

It was never easy losing a kid, no matter how many years you have on the job. After three months with the unit, he felt like he hit his stride.

All until today.

It was late when Dodds and Liv came back from the Evans house, looking particularly jaded after informing the grieving parents they closed the case. 

It was business as usual for the next thirty minutes, paperwork was finished, a celebratory job well done for solving something in a timely manner. And just like that, we move onto the next one.

Once Liv emerged from her office, the rest of the squad started to pack up. 

“You going to see Amanda?” Fin asked.

“Yeah, I thought I’d stop by.”

“You know what, she’s been living off takeout. How about we all go up there, and I’ll cook us a real meal.” Carisi interrupted the Lieutenant, Fin in agreement to eat some real Italian food.

The smile on your face was automatic, loving the small moments in your day where there was a little room for happiness. 

“Hey Sergeant, you wanna join us?” You all looked to Dodds, slouched in his chair, the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. 

You’ve all been there before.

“Uh, rain check. Paperwork.” He sat up straighter in his chair, pulling a random file from his desk.

You exchanged a look with Carisi before setting your things back on your desk. 

“I’ll meet you guys up there. And don’t let Fin eat all the garlic bread,” you teased, trying to keep the happy moment alive.  

Once the rest of the squad left, you walked back over to Dodds desk. He continued to comb through the files on his desk, pretending to look busy.

“I know being a Sergeant is a big deal, but there’s no way you’ve accumulated this much paperwork since you’ve been here.”

“Well with all the joy rides you and Carisi go on, you’d be surprised how quickly those car change requests pile up.”

He said with a smile, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

“As appealing as that pile of paperwork may be, it’s got nothing on a home cooked Carisi meal. So,” you paused, giving him the opportunity to speak first if he wanted. 

He didn’t.

“Why are you beating yourself up over this case?”

“Lily Evans could still have been alive when we first got to her parents house. If I had taken this seriously, we could’ve got to her and maybe she’d be alive right now.”

“Sarge,”

“And I know I should have listened to Liv, she’s got this down to a science. But I just wanted to-“

“Dodds, what did I say about interrupting me?” You chided, and he held his hands out to you in surrender. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but she was gone the moment she got in the van. It’s not easy to accept that at first, but some of these cases, you have to believe it if you want to get through it.”

“I thought it was going to be an easy transition to SVU. Major Crimes was high stress, kidnappings, negotiations, terrorism, all while having the eyes of the media and the city on you.” He shook his head. “I thought I was doing okay. I was listening to the Lieutenant, I was really learning from her, from all of you really. I thought I was bringing something to the table. But Lily, she was just a kid.”

You placed your bag down on the floor, moving to sit in the chair next to his desk.

“My second case with SVU was the Johnny D take down. I transferred from Brooklyn Homicide, so I thought I’d seen it all. Until I walked into that basement, and found four teenagers and kids locked in that basement as sex slaves. I threw up as soon as we got out of the basement, just barely missed Rollins. I couldn’t sleep for the next week, and when I finally cracked, Liv was there to center me. She reminded me why we did this job, of all the people we help, despite the most gruesome cases we catch. It takes a special cop to work in SVU, and you don’t stick it out, you don’t feel this guilt if you’re not cut out for it.”

He looked at you for a few seconds, not saying anything as he took your words in.

“How do you get up and come back to work every day?” He asked and let out a long breath.

“I took Liv’s advice: go home, talk to someone you love, and don’t make this job your whole life. Easier said than done.” You said with a laugh and he joined in. “But you’ve got your dad, he’s been on the job your whole life. He knows what it’s like.”

“He’s not really the talking type. And I’ve never… failed at something before. He expects a lot out of me here, and I want to prove to him that I’m cut out for this.”

“You’re not failing here, Dodds. Trust me, you’d be hearing an earful from Rollins and Fin if you were. I’m actually really impressed with how you’ve adjusted. We’re not an easy squad to assimilate to.”

“You can call me Mike,” he started, a small smile on his face. 

You felt your cheeks get warm, and you hoped to god they weren’t bright red. 

“Okay, Mike. Then pack up your stuff, cause you’re going to eat the best Chinese food of your life tonight.”

“What about Carisi’s fantastic meal?” He joked as he closed whatever files were open and shrugged his coat on.

“He’ll understand. Now come on, we don’t want them to run out of egg rolls before we get there.”

“Alright, alright,” he joked, running to catch up to you. You waited in silence for the elevator, and you felt a shift in the dynamic between you two. A good shift, one that happens when you finally earn the trust of your partner. 

Mike spoke your name as you stepped into the elevator, and you looked over at him.

“Thank you for listening. It means a lot, to know that you have my back, in the field and otherwise.”

You smiled, gently clapping his shoulder as you responded, “Anytime you need an ear, I’m there. You’ve got a squad of incredible listeners surrounding you now. All we ask is the same in return.”

“You’ve got it.” He added without hesitation.

Mike Dodds was going to be just fine here in SVU.

****

The next time you saved Mike Dodds wasn’t exactly your finest moment.

Mike accompanied you to Gary Munson’s house on what was supposed to be a quiet Sunday afternoon. But after a call from his wife Lisa, saying she was finally ready to leave, your Sergeant graciously offered to accompany you to the house.

No one wanted to be back in the presence of Gary Munson, the rogue corrections officer accused of assaulting dozens of female inmates. The case hadn’t even gone to trial yet and it was already causing a lot of tension in the department, not to mention the DA’s office.

“Dragging me out on a Sunday is pretty cruel, even for you Detective.” Mike commented as you walked up to the Munson house. “I smell egg rolls and fried rice in the near future.”

“Hey, I paid last time. It’s not my fault you have a bleeding heart almost as big as mine and agreed to come along.” You said with a grin as you knocked on the front door.

Dodds had been at SVU just shy of a year now, and since the Lily Evan’s case it sort of became tradition to celebrate the closing of a case with that same greasy Chinese food. Even as the cases took longer to close, the two of you could be found there at least twice a week. It became your place, somewhere to meet when it was two a.m. and a case was keeping one of you awake; on a Saturday afternoon when the two of you had nothing better to do with the time off work; and of course, as a reward for helping each other out whenever they asked.

You waited for a minute before knocking on the door again as Mike walked around to the side yard.

“She calls and says she’s ready to leave, and when we get here there’s no answer?”

“What was her exit plan?” Mike asked, joining you back on the steps.

Before you could answer, Lisa opened the front door.

“Hi,” she began, “sorry for keeping you guys waiting.”

“Is everything okay?” You asked, attempting to take one foot in the door when Gary stepped out into view.

“Everything’s fine here.” He answered for his wife, her body stiffening at his voice.

“Mr. Munson, we're here at your wife’s request.”

“I… overreacted when I called you guys. We’re handling things.”

“That’s good to hear. So, you don’t mind if we come in?” Mike asked, trying to get some control of the situation.

“Do I need to call my lawyer?”

“We’re not here to talk about the case.”

“Oh right, you’re here because Lisa wants to leave me. Forgive me, I’m just a big, dumb CO.”  Gary commented as you shared a look with Dodds. 

He was already spiraling.

“Mr. Munson, we don”t want any trouble.”

“Great,” he replied, opening the door further for you to enter. “Neither do I.”

Lisa let out a deep breath as you entered the house behind her. You watched as Gary talked to their kids, trying to convince them everything was normal, but they were too smart for it.

“Why don’t I go upstairs with her and start to pack.” Lisa suggested as she moved towards the stairs, motioning you to follow.

“No.” He commanded back, causing you both to freeze. “She can stay down here with the kids. You go up.”

This was going to be the power struggle of all power struggles. You walked over to sit with the kids as Mike and Gary went into the kitchen. You exchanged another look with him, and he gave you a small nod. It was okay.

The kids slipped their headphones on as you tried to listen in on the conversation in the kitchen, but you couldn’t hear much. You took out your phone to text Liv, a gut feeling telling you this wasn’t going to end easy or as you planned.

You waited for a few more minutes as Lisa packed a bag for her and the kids before coming back down the stairs.

“Alright, Tommy, Annie, backpacks.” She handed her children their bags as they hugged their dad goodbye.

“Ok kids, let’s go,” you started, trying to shuffle them and Lisa out the door.

“Wait, I don’t get a goodbye hug from Mommy?” Gary asked, now cornering Lisa on the stairs. “Isn’t that the jacket I bought you for your birthday?”

“Okay, we’re going to go now,” you ushered the kids onto the stoop, still keeping one foot in the house as you saw Lisa throw her jacket on the floor.

In one motion, he grabbed Lisa off the stairs, pulled a gun from his waistband, and slammed the front door in your face, kicking you onto the step.

“Gary! Open the door!” You yelled out as you got to your feet, banging on the door. “Right now Gary! Open the door!”

After thirty more seconds of incessant knocking with no response, you turned to find the kids huddled together on the sidewalk.

“Ok guys, it’s okay. My sergeant is just going to talk to your parents for a couple more minutes. While we wait, can you go into your nice neighbors house until I come get you?” You noticed the older woman two houses down standing on the stoop, a young girl and a dog with her.

You walked the kids over quickly while calling this in over the radio. You checked your phone to see Liv had answered your earlier text, and that she was already on her way for backup. She should have just come along in the first place.

Instead of going back up the front steps, you ducked under the bay window to try and get a look inside the house. You could see Munson holding Lisa in a headlock, his gun pointed at Mike as he handed over his own guns.

“Shit,” you breathed out, knowing this was going to end with a gunshot from someone.

You backed away from the window and called Mike, hoping to god that you could try and talk Munson out of this before any patrols showed up.

“Detective, you’re on speaker.” Mike said when he answered, the sigh you let out when you heard his voice was a little too loud.

“Dodds, what’s going on in there? The kids are asking for their mom.”

“Tell them she’s not going anywhere.” Gary piped in, his voice beginning to shake.

“I’ve told Gary that we can talk this through, get him what he wants, what he needs.”

“That’s right, I’m here, listening to you, my Sergeant is listening. Do you want me to call a family member, or your union rep?”

“No, I’m done talking. I want you to get my kids somewhere safe, that is all I need. Now, hang up the phone.”

“Mr. Munson-“ the line went dead before you could finish.

“Dammit,” you ran your hands through your hair, trying to think of a way to slow this down. You ran to the back door, then to the storm door, both locked. He had planned this from the moment he came home. This is always how this was going to end.

Back at the front of the house, you saw Liv pulling up and you ran to meet her.

“What’s going on? I got the radio on the way over.”

“Munson’s holding Dodds and Lisa in the house, he’s armed.”

“You didn’t search him?” She asked, and you tried not to take the agitation in her tone personally.

“Lisa told us there were no weapons in the house, we confiscated his piece already. I was getting the kids in the car when all of this went down.”

“Okay. Is anyone hurt?”

“I spoke to Dodds five minutes ago, and they both seemed fine for now. But he doesn’t want to talk anymore.”

You heard the distant sirens, and you could only imagine the escalation Gary was making inside the house.

“Is there another way in?” Liv asked as the first of the patrol cars made their way down the street.

“Back door and storm door are both locked, I haven’t checked for anything else.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She ran over to the first patrol car, getting ready to set a perimeter around the street and then the house as the rest of ESU began to roll onto the street. Liv kicked it into gear, ordering everyone around and trying to come up with the best plan of action.

It wasn’t until Finn got out of his car that you ran into action to. You began to debrief the hostage negotiators on your last phone call, and to describe Gary’s demeanor through the entire duration of this visit. You stressed to them that he was no longer in the talking mood, but they were still going to try.

“ESU is going to try to plan a route in. You know the layout, what’s the best way in.”

“Fastest and clearest is through the back door. But, Lieutenant, give me two more minutes to find another way in. If I can get in there, one female cop is better than twelve SWAT guys taking him down.” You asked, trying to prove yourself in an attempt to earn her forgiveness quicker.

She thought about it for a moment before slowly nodding her head. 

“You have a minute to sweep the perimeter again for a secondary entrance. Go.”

You wasted no time in running back through the driveway, past the back door and into the backyard. All the shades were drawn except for one cracked piece, giving you a clear shot to the living room. Munson had a tighter grip on Lisa, his gun still pointed at Mike.

You had to get in there. 

The back windows were locked as well as the doors, but you weren’t going to give up. On the side of the house, you noticed the top window opened the slightest bit, and prepared to go in. 

You pulled a lawn chair over to give yourself a boost, and took a deep breath in. The window opened quietly at first, and you could begin to hear Munson’s voice again. Slowly but surely you got the window open in silence, and you swung one leg in to the kitchen.

You froze for a second, stuck without a view of what was going on in the living room, praying no one could hear you. After a few seconds, you swung your other leg in, quickly getting to your feet and grabbing your gun.

“… maybe your lawyer will plea out, 9 out of 10 corrections officers cases don’t make it to trial.” Mike was still trying to talk him out of it, even with a gun to his face.

You peaked around the corner quickly, making sure no one had moved since you looked through the window.

“Munson, drop the gun!” You yelled out as you entered the room, catching him off guard enough for Mike to make a move. 

Lisa slipped out of Gary’s grip and ran over to you as Mike struggled for Munson’s gun. 

“Put it down, Munson!” You yelled out again, but before you could move closer, a shot went off and Mike went down.

Gary froze, putting his arms up as you ran into action. You kicked the gun away from him as SWAT barged in, all guns pointed to Munson.

“Take him.” You yelled out to them as you turned to Mike, finally able to give him your full attention. You knelt down next to him on the floor, watching as he applied pressure to his shoulder. “Hey, can I take a look?”

He nodded, breathing heavily through his nose. You pulled his hand away as blood continued to pour out, but it was a through and through, thank god.

“It’s a clean shot, Mike.” You said as you placed his hand back over the wound, covering your hand with his to apply more pressure. “Hey, stay with me. The medics are on their way in.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He got out with a grimace as Liv led the medics into the house.

“I wasn’t just going to leave you in here.” 

You moved out of the medics way, your hands covered in Mike’s blood as they treated him.

“He’s right. What the hell were you thinking climbing in through the window without any view?” Liv asked, slightly less agitated than earlier.

“I was thinking I’m the one who left him in here.” Her eyes softened the slightest, the way they always do when she cares for someone. “And I think you would have done the same thing.”

“Careful,” she replied, a small smile crossing her face. “You don’t want to end up like me.”

“There are worse people to be.”

They finished wrapping Mike up, and you two followed him out to the ambulance. 

“Detective,” one of the medics called out to you as they loaded him in. “He’s asking if you can ride along.”

You looked to Liv for approval who gave you a nod.

“Keep us updated.” She added as you hopped in the back of the bus, sending her a thumbs up before they shut the door.

Mike fell asleep almost as soon as he got in the ambulance, but the medic assured you he was stable. He had lost a good amount of blood, but given the position of the shot, they were confident he would be okay.

The surgery was quick, and the doctor said it was a routine procedure. He’s been sleeping and recovering in the ICU for a couple hours, and the rest of the squad would be on their way over once he was awake.

“Detective, he’s awake.” A nurse came out to find you, escorting you to Mike’s room.

He was sitting up straight, arm bandaged from shoulder to elbow, but he looked completely unfazed.

“I come out of a workout class looking worse than you do right now. How is that fair?” You said as you walked into his room.

“Well, I regularly go to the gym, so that helps.” You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to smack him on his bad shoulder.

“Ok, hotshot, we get it.” You let out a breath, taking in his hospital state again. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot. I know it was a through and through, but God, it hurt pretty bad.” He said with a laugh, only to grab at his shoulder, moving too fast for his new injury.

You thought about what he said earlier, how you shouldn’t have gone in the house on your own. Maybe he and Liv were right. If you hadn’t gone in, without telling anyone, without any backup, he may not have been shot. It could’ve ended peacefully, without any harm to anyone.

“What you said earlier, you were right. I don’t know what I was thinking going in by myself. I put you and Lisa in danger, I got you shot. If you didn’t get the jump on him he could have hurt you two even worse-“

“Stop.” Mike interrupted you, placing his hand on your forearm, gesturing for you to sit down on the side of the hospital bed. “I didn’t say that because I was mad at you. I don’t blame you for me getting shot. You shouldn’t have come in because it could have been you in this hospital bed, with a gunshot wound much worse than mine. And I wouldn’t be able to have that on my conscience, you getting yourself shot for me.”

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, instead you just sat there, looking at the man that you most definitely would have taken a bullet for. And you’re pretty sure he would do the same for you; how terrifying to know someone cared for you like that.

“I’m really glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done…” you trailed off, not wanting to think about what could have happened.

“You shouldn’t have come in, but if you hadn’t, I don’t know if I would be sitting here, relatively unscathed.” he reached over, grabbing your hand in his. “Thank you for that.”

You squeezed his hand in recognition as your eyes began to water, not knowing what to say next.

“Are you sure you want to stay with us in SVU? You get shot twice in one year, that would have most people running away.”

“And let you drink the squad room out of coke on your own? Not a chance.” He replied.

“Good. Joint Terrorism would be too boring for you anyway.” You said with a smile.

“In all seriousness, I feel like I can make the biggest difference here. There’s time to move up the ranks later. Right now, I want to be at SVU, with you by my side.” He admitted, as his hand held onto yours tight.

There was a shift in the air, a conversation the two of you had been avoiding for a few months. It wasn’t the time now, and it may not be for a while, but now it’s out there. And neither of you are going anywhere.

A knock on the door pulled you out of your bubble, dropping Mike’s hand as the rest of the squad came into the room. They greeted Mike, lightly ribbing him about having nine lives.

A hand fell on your shoulder, and you looked up to find Liv behind you. She had a knowing smile on her face, but you knew she’d never ask. At least, not yet.

Instead, you focused on your family in the room, and how grateful you were for everyone to be here, safe and sound.

****

The fourth time you saved Mike Dodds happened off duty.

You agreed to be his date to an NYPD fundraising gala that his father was dragging him too. Mike warned you that they were a long night of politics and fake smiles, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious to see how the brass lived.

Unfortunately, Mike hit the nail on the head with the political atmosphere. You’d been at the gala barely an hour and you’d already spoken to two people running for district attorney. If you weren’t listening to someone’s campaign pitch, then you were hearing from the brass how much trouble the SVU squad caused the department, despite the “good work” we all do.

“I hate to say I told you so, but, I told you so.” Mike said while handing you a glass of wine. 

“How many of these has your dad dragged you to?” You asked as he took a sip of his beer.

“Too many. And now that I’ve ruined his dreams by staying at SVU, he’s going to continue to drag me to them as punishment.”

“Well, if the drinks and the food continue to be free, I’ll come to as many of these as you need me too.” You offered.

“First I’m paying for Chinese food, now I’m paying for galas, you’re an expensive date.”  Mike joked as you shoved his completely healed shoulder. He hasn’t let you pay for dinners since he got shot.

“That’s the price you pay for greatness.” You said with a smile, making him laugh. “Is he really still pissed at you for not going to JTTF?”

“The Five-Year Plan has been officially ruined, I’ve been told. I must have really pissed him off if he’s calling Matt and begging him to come home.”

“Your brother?” You asked.

The little brother that Mike had spent his whole life looking out for. He was responsible for him since he was a kid, and every one of Matt’s failures was considered one of Mike’s in his fathers eyes. The last time Mike talked to him was last year, after he picked him up from rehab. He was catching a plane to Mexico City with no plans of coming back.

“He called me last week, asked to help get dad off his back. I guess I’m the new disappointment in the family.”

“Hey, if your dad wants to go play savior with your brother, let him. But don’t let him and his agenda get in your head. He’s no better than these political puppets surrounding us.”

“Speak of the devil,” Mike muttered under his breath, nodding his head behind you.

You turned to find his father, Chief William Dodds, approaching the two of you.

“Hi son,” he greeted Mike with a firm handshake, then turning his attention to you. “Detective. It’s nice to see you.”

“You as well, Chief.” You shook his hand next, resisting the urge to squeeze too hard.

“Don’t you two clean up nice. Most cops that come to these things have no idea how to dress, they’ve spent too much time in the ranks to know what life is like outside of it.” Chief Dodds commented, and you gave a polite nod of your head.

If you didn’t care so much about Mike, or your career, you would’ve chewed his head off right here, right now.

“Well, we don’t have time for all the show business like you guys do, we’re busy keeping the city safe.” Mike added.

“My son, he gets so defensive, takes every comment personally.” His father said and turned towards you. “Mike didn’t tell me you were coming tonight, or else I’m sure he would have asked me to be on my best behavior.”

“Dad,” Mike tried interrupting him, but it was no use.

“But I never thanked you, for acting quickly at the Munson call. If it weren’t for your quick thinking, Mike could have been hurt a lot worse.” You took the compliment from the Chief, but waited for the other shoe to drop; you knew when you were being set up. “Although if you didn’t leave him in there alone with an armed perp in the first place, we could have avoided all of this. Nevertheless, it was handled, and I’m sure you acted just as your Lieutenant trained you to.”

It was no secret that Chief Dodds was not Liv’s biggest fan. He undermined her every chance he could, and he never tried to understand how SVU was different from every other department. Mike being placed as the Sergeant was his way of getting an inside scoop, but boy did that backfire on him.

And once you piss off Olivia Benson, you piss off her whole squad.

“Our Lieutenant is the best commanding officer I’ve had in my time at the department. Ask anyone that has served with her in SVU and they will tell you the same thing. It’s a shame that you didn’t get the opportunity to learn some things yourself. A lot of people hold her in high regard, so I’d be careful what you say about her around here.” 

“And if I were you, I’d watch my tone around your District Chief, Detective. Especially with your Sergeant standing in ear shot. It’s clear to me that SVU has no respect for the chain of command, and it would be a shame for you to learn this the hard way. Mike has already had to deal with the repercussions of being tied to SVU.” Chief Dodds threatened, and you actually had the audacity to scoff at him.

Mike began defending you, but you stopped him, holding your hand out in front of him.

“I don’t scare easily, Chief, and it's going to take a lot more than threatening my reputation to get me to turn my back on Lieutenant Benson and Special Victims. As for your son,” you looked back at Mike, his eyes steady on you the entire time. “Sergeant Dodds has been an incredible asset to our squad, so much so that our Lieutenant wanted him to stay in permanently, which I know is a sore spot for your ego. So you can continue to take shots at me, and my character, because you don’t really know me. But I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to stand here and listen to you drag Mike’s name, and his stellar reputation through the mud because he decided to make his own path. One that doesn’t involve all these fancy parties and pictures that you so thoroughly enjoy.”

Chief Dodds was stunned into silence, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He looked at Mike who also had a stunned expression on his face, but a smile was starting to show through.

“Excuse me.” The Chief removed himself from the situation, moving on to the next party goer with a smile on his face.

Once he was out of ear shot, your shoulders deflated and you turned around to apologize to Mike. 

“I am so-“

“Do you want to dance?” He interrupted you, his smile now fully covering his face. 

It took a few seconds for you to actually hear what he said, and when you did, you couldn’t help but laugh. Clearly, he wasn’t mad about you going off on his father. 

“I’d love to.” 

Mike took your hand and led you to the small dance floor, weaving in and out of older couples dancing the night away to the orchestra. You quickly took in your limited audience, including two Sergeants from your precinct, and the deputy commissioner of communications. He wrapped his arm around your waist drawing your attention back to him.

“You alright?” He asked as you curled your hand around his shoulder.

“Just a lot of people here, watching,” you said as Mike began to laugh.

“You just chewed my dads head off, a district chief, in front of these people, and now you’re scared of them seeing you dance with two left feet?”

“I don’t have two left feet.” You replied, squeezing his shoulder in jest. “I just don’t want people talking about me, that’s all.”

“Cmon, they’ve got better things to talk about than me and you.” 

“If they heard anything I said I’m sure they’ll be talking about the crazy SVU detective for ages.”

“Hey,” he squeezed your waist, drawing your attention back to him. “No one has ever stood up to my dad like that, not for me.”

“Well someone should have. I know he’s your dad and you love him, but that doesn’t give him the right to control your life or talk down on you.”

He shook his head as you continued swaying together, slowing down a bit to match the tempo of the music.

“It means a lot for you to do that. And if I wasn’t so impressed with your outburst, I would’ve done the same for you. I should have.” 

“I’m not worth getting into a fight with your Dad, Mike. Like he implied, I’ve got no real future outside of SVU, not that I’m really looking.”

“You’re worth it to me.” Mike said, eyes locked on your own. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have made it a week in the squad. You’ve changed my perspective on a lot, both on the job and off.”

You smiled, lightly ducking your head as you felt the blush creep onto your cheeks. 

“Well you’re not so bad yourself, Dodds. You’ve taught me a lot too, maybe too much. One day I’m coming for that Sergeant’s shield of yours.” You joked, and he threw his head back in laughter. 

It was so nice to see him like this. It was rare to get a moment of pure happiness on the job, and you weren’t sure how honest you wanted to be about changing your relationship outside the precinct.

“As soon as you pass the Sergeants exam, you can have it. You’d be better at this job than me any day.” 

You moved a step closer to Mike as more people stepped onto the dance floor. You’d never seen this many cops dancing in your life. 

“I meant to tell you earlier, but, you look beautiful tonight.” Mike said, trying not to be obvious in looking you up and down. 

You were blushing now for sure.

“Would you take it back if I told you I had to borrow this dress from Liv?” You had panicked last night, not knowing what to wear to a gala, and not wanting to embarrass Mike. 

“Not a chance, extra points for trying so hard.” You laughed as he put some space between you. 

“Mike, I know you’re a show off, but you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” You warned, but it was too late as he lifted up your arm, gently spinning you underneath him. He smoothly pulled you back into him as a few people cheered for you. “Do you have to be good at everything?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” You hid your smile in his shoulder, not missing the way his hand slid comfortingly over your waist and lower back.

And unfortunately, you fear you could get used to this feeling.

****

The first time you were saved by Mike Dodds was in the middle of a bar fight.

This wasn’t your finest moment, yet you rarely seemed to be on your best behavior around Dodds.

The two of you were undercover in a joint operation with Vice. The bar had been home to an underground gambling ring for years, and a few weeks ago you got credible intel that they may be branching out into sex trafficking.

Three other Vice detectives were in the bar with you as their Captain and the rest of their squad surveilled from an unmarked van outside.

“You want a refill?” Mike asked as you finished your second club soda, trying to hide the sour look on your face from all the bubbles.

“And pretend I’m not choking on this awful carbonation instead of a smooth vodka? No, I’ll pass.”

He got the bartender’s attention and ordered himself another alcohol free beer and a Diet Coke for you.

“Thanks.” You tipped your glass to his and took a refreshing sip before conducting another once over around the space. 

“Simmons is still situated by the door, Ruiz and Lawrence have been under for an hour now.” Mike stated into his earpiece, updating the team outside. 

There was no timetable on this, and as far as Liv was concerned, we were on our own in terms of conducting our investigation.

“This whole joint investigation thing is feeling a little one-sided to me.” 

“Well give it a little longer before doing a lap to check-in with Simmons. If they don’t want to help us, they can tap in two of their guys from outside. Lieu already made that clear to their Captain.” Mike said before taking a sip of his non-alcoholic delight, his face scrunching in discomfort.

“Looks delicious.” You said with a smile, earning a laugh from the Sergeant. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you talked to your dad since the gala a few weeks ago?”

“Oh, you mean since that SVU detective tore a Department Chief to shreds?” He joked as you rolled your eyes. “I have, and he was extremely talkative thanks to the fact I avoided him for a week after.”

“Do I owe you Chinese food for the rest of the year in order to keep my job? I should know that my outbursts don’t come cheap.”

“He told me that he was impressed by you.” Mike started, a smile slowly appearing on his face. “He was mostly upset about your blatant insubordination, especially in such a public place, but he was impressed. I think he may even like you.”

“Are you messing with me?” You asked, not fully trusting the relaxed smile he was giving you.

“He asked that I bring you along to the next gala, all of them actually, ‘if it wouldn’t be too much trouble’,” he finished in air quotes, signifying the direct words from Chief Dodds. “My father is impressed with you, and probably wants you to be his next conversational opponent.”

“And what did you say, you know, about bringing me along?” 

You hoped you didn’t sound pathetic, or eager, or anything other than an inquiring friend. But it was hard to act normal when you felt the butterflies in your stomach and your heart rate increasing over the fact that Mike and his dad were talking about you.

“I said I’d have to ask her. Not sure how she feels about spending so much of her free time with the Dodds.” He said before turning in his chair to face you. “But I told him I had a good feeling you would, you don’t just tell off a Police Chief for a work friend. And of course, as long as Liv lets you keep borrowing her clothes.”

“Funny,” you said while shoving his shoulder, earning another laugh from him. It was then that you saw Ruiz head up the stairs, subtly motioning for you to meet her in the bathroom. “Ruiz is back up, I’m gonna go check-in with her.”

You walked straight to the bathroom, having to dodge a noisy bachelorette party on your way. Ruiz was washing her hands when you walked in, and you quickly cleared all the stalls before she began talking. 

She kept it short so that she could get back to the game, but they weren’t getting far on the sex trafficking front. Apparently the boss was going to be here later on, but even then there was no guarantee he would offer anything up. Their investigation, of course, was going to be handled by the end of the night, but there were no promises for us. 

You waited a full three minutes to exit after Ruiz in case anyone was watching her. When you left the bathroom and started making your way back to Dodds, you saw a Blonde woman sitting in your seat, cozying up next to him at the bar. As you got closer, you recognized her from the bachelorette group, a sparkly pink sash giving her away.

“Hey, everything okay?” Mike asked as you joined the two of them.

“Yeah, just a bit of a line in the bathroom.” You said, watching as the new girl continued to look Mike up and down. “Did you make a new friend?”

“I’m Alex!” She jumped in, big smile covering her face as she moved to place a hand on Mike’s arm. “I came up to get a round of shots for my group of friends. It’s Lizzie’s last weekend as a single woman, and we cannot let her be sober for one second of it. But then I got distracted by Mike over here - a guy as handsome as him shouldn’t be sitting alone at a bar.”

“Well, luckily I came back in the nick of time.” You said, hoping she would order her shots and be on her way. 

“I was telling him about our weekend - we’re down here from Albany, we’re not city girls. We’re headed down the street for our next stop, apparently there’s a popular karaoke bar that all the famous people stop in at. I told Mike he should come with us, invite a few of his cute friends along too to keep the party going.”

“I don’t really see him joining you for the rest of your night, Alex, but thanks for the invite.” You replied while taking a step toward Mike, lightly wrapping your arm around his shoulder, hoping she would take a hint. 

“Okay.” Alex said with a chuckle before continuing, “But you should be careful, leaving your man alone in a bar with those pretty brown eyes of his, cause someone’s gonna come up and take him away.”

“His eyes are hazel, actually, they’ve got a little bit of green in them depending on the lighting. I know it might be hard for you girls from upstate to differentiate colors, so I can help you out.”

You never considered yourself to be a jealous person, especially over someone who wasn’t even yours to have. But something about this girl coming up to Mike on this night, after the recent events that have gone down between the two of you, you felt a little protective over him.

“Everything alright over here Alex? Where are those tequila shots?” Another blonde woman with a pink sparkly sash came over to us, checking in on her friend and drinks.

“Yeah, they’re coming. Just trying to tell my new friend here to keep an eye on her boyfriend or he may decide to join the group of pretty out of town girls for the night.”

“Listen, Alex,” you remove yourself from Mike, taking a step closer to the girl who was really ruining your already shittiy night of undercover work. “I don’t know how bar etiquette works at your little townie spot up in Albany, but us city girls like to take the fight outside.”

“Alright, why don’t we just continue our night and let you girls go back to your party.” Mike interjected, feeling his hand on your lower back, steadying you out as Alex only laughed.

You took another step toward her, not knowing what your next move was, before the bartender stepped in.

“You,” he pointed to you, then to the door. “Fighting’s gonna get you thrown out any night lady. You’re done.”

“Thank you, sir,” the girls replied.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything else, Mike was standing behind you, arm wrapped around your waist to lead you toward the exit. Simmons eyed the two of you as you walked out, shaking his head with a smile on his face. You weren’t going to live this down.

The two of you made it down the block before breaking away from each other, looking back to see if anyone followed. When you looked back at Mike, his hands were on his hips, a growing smile on his face. 

“Don’t,” you warned while running a hand through your hair. “Don’t say anything.”

He didn’t, but he couldn’t keep his laughter in any longer. You wanted to yell at him, tell him it wasn’t funny, that there was still an investigation going on, and this was completely embarrassing for you both. Instead, you joined in his laughter.

“Were you really going to fight the innocent bachelorette party from Albany?” He asked through his fits of laughter as you rolled your eyes.

“Of course not. But how else was I supposed to get the drunk bridesmaid away from you so we could continue our surveillance? Offer her more sparkles?”

“Or offer to buy the next round of shots.”

“Now you tell me,” you said as you leaned against the side of the building. “At least we didn’t mess up the whole op, then I’d be in really deep shit not only with Liv but with Vice, and there’s nothing I hate more than owing a favor to a Vice cop.”

He nodded, agreeing with you as he settled in next to you. You knew you should go check in with the Captain, confirm they don’t need you for anything else before leaving the investigation, but you weren’t going to move until Dodds did. And the way he relaxed next to you, you had a feeling he didn’t want to leave any time soon.

“No one ever notices that my eyes are hazel, you know. It’s kind of weird how you hit the nail right on the head with the fact about them turning green.”

You turned to look at him, a little smirk on his face as he leaned his head back against the wall.

“As weird as talking to your dad about your close friend’s gala availability?” You hit back, watching him laugh and nod along with your point. You smiled to yourself for a second, remembering the conversation from earlier. “You’re sure I don’t owe you, he does like me, or at least tolerate me?”

“Do you want to talk about how much my dad likes you or how much I like you? Cause let me tell you, I’ve got him beat by miles, I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

“Mike,” you started, watching as he pushed himself up to stand in front of you.

“Are you really going to look into my hazel eyes and tell me you don’t like me? That you weren’t going to get in a bar fight with a random girl for me?” He asked, and you let out a shaky breath.

“You know it took me a while to figure out your eyes were hazel, I thought they were brown for a while. I’m not some crazy person who just studies people’s eyes all day.” He nodded, trying to hide his smile as he let you finish, “and I wasn’t going to get in a fight with her. Maybe, maybe I would have shoved her, but I wouldn’t have thrown a punch.”

“Well that’s reassuring.” Mike added, and you couldn’t deny him now. Not when he was listening to you ramble on about his eyes, and his father, and all the weird things you two knew about each other.

“I like you too.” You confessed. “And you’re right, I wouldn’t attend galas and tell off police chiefs for just anyone. I’d only do it for you, Mike.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He said while wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

Mike’s eyes flickered down to your lips, taking his time bringing his gaze back to your eyes. You felt yourself nod the slightest bit, gently guiding him closer to you. His lips were soft against your own, slow and gentle as you kissed him back. He pulled away for a second, another check-in, before you leaned in again. You let him take the lead as you ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, trying not to smile as you felt his teeth graze your bottom lip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against you, lightly pecking your lips a few times.

“Don’t be, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hours could have been spent lazily kissing Mike Dodds, feeling your stomach slowly build with butterflies. But you caught the smile he was trying to suppress, and it became contagious.

“Well,” he said with a laugh, gently resting his forehead against yours. “I guess you do really like me.”

“I guess so.” You leaned back to kiss him again, not wanting to let him go now that you know how good he feels. His tongue danced across your lips for a few seconds, and you relished in the feeling before slowly pulling back. “I don’t mean to be a total buzzkill, but we aren’t exactly going to be able to hide this for long at the station.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He assured you, gently kissing your forehead. “If some shuffling needs to be done, or conversations need to be had, we’ll take care of it.”

“So your dad may get to move you around after all, how nice.” You said with a laugh, as Mike nodded. If it meant you could be together, and Mike was happy with it, why the hell not. 

Before he could say anything else on the subject, his phone began to ring.

“Please don’t be Liv, please don’t be Liv,” you begged as Mike pulled away from you, quickly answering his phone.

“Hey Lieutenant,” he greeted Liv on the other end of the call and you closed your eyes. This was going to be good. “No, the Captain got it wrong. She got us thrown out for threatening to fight another woman.”

You rolled your eyes as he continued to talk to Liv, pacing the sidewalk trying to set the story straight and wrap up this godforsaken joint investigation.

Mike pulled the phone away from his ear now, walking back over to you.

“She wants to talk to you.” He said, trying to hand you his phone.

“No, she’s going to yell at me in that Liv tone, when I didn’t really do anything wrong!”

You caught his small smile before he gave you a quick kiss.

“Then you can explain that to her.” He said, holding out the phone to you. He kissed you one more time, for good luck and courage, before placing the phone in your hand.

You tried to hide your smile as you took a breath and placed the phone to your ear, ready to plead your case.

“Hey Lieu, I did not get into a bar fight with the bridesmaid from Albany.”

****

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (3)

Part 1 Part 2

I blinked after a coffee fueled daze and this shite was written, and I don’t proofread very much, so enjoy!

Dividers and banners by @strangergraphics , check her stuff out, I could scroll through them for hours!

Amsterdam, Netherlands October 29, 2022 0500 hours

The safehouse was dimly lit, cluttered with maps, weapons, and tactical gear. Price, always the epitome of calm even in the midst of chaos, meticulously cleaned his rifle. Across the room, Gaz glanced through the intel on his tablet, his focus unwavering despite the occasional glance towards Rumor.

Rumor, seated at a table with a cup of strong coffee, wore a wry smile. If he was a cat, the sergeant would have bet that his tail would be swaying slowly. His Welsh accent lent a certain smoothness to his words as he spoke. "So, Gaz, you’ve got everything sorted for tonight then? Or do you need me to double-check anything?"

Gaz glanced up, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. "No, I’ve got it covered. Just making sure we’re not missing anything crucial."

Price, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help but chuckle. "Rumor’s right; we need to make sure everything’s in order. Can’t have any surprises tonight, especially not the bad kind."

Rumor’s eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his long fingers on the creaky table, his casual demeanor contrasting with the seriousness of the situation. "Oh, I’m sure Gaz’s got it all under control. But if you need a hand with anything, just give me a shout. I’m very good at checking gear, Cariad.”

Gaz’s gaze flickered towards Rumor, his nerves evident. "Uh, thanks. I appreciate it."

Price, catching the subtle flirtation, gave Rumor a knowing look. "Easy, Rumor. We’re on a mission here. No time for charm."

Rumor’s smile widened slightly. "Just trying to lighten the mood, syr. It’s not every day I get to work with legends like ye."

Price’s grin softened. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but let’s keep it focused. We’re heading out in an hour. Make sure you’re ready."

Gaz nodded, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "We’ll be ready, sir."

As the clock ticked down, the team prepared for the mission ahead. The tension was palpable. Even as the mission loomed closer, there was a certain camaraderie forming between them, with Rumor's charm adding an unexpected layer to their interactions.

0600 hours

The night was thick with fog in Amsterdam, the city's lights barely piercing the darkness. Rumor, Price, and Gaz approached the water's edge, the cold air heavy with anticipation. Their mission was clear: infiltrate the barge, secure the target, and exit without a trace.

Price, taking charge, leaned in to address his team. “Alright, team. We’re hitting the water now. We need to clear the docks, take out any patrol boats we encounter, and then board the barge. Stay sharp.”

Rumor, his confidence unwavering, replied, “Got it, Price. Just lead the way, and I’ll make sure we’re not swimming in trouble.” Gaz had done a minor look into the limited info on Rumor. Known for his exceptional recon skills, the Welshman was adept at locating enemies and navigating through complex environments.

Gaz, slightly flustered but focused, adjusted his gear. “Understood. What’s the plan once we hit the shore?”

Price’s orders were clear as he scanned the dark silhouette of the dock and the barge moored nearby. “We’ll approach from the rear entrance of the barge. It’s less risky. Rumor’s leading us, so follow his lead. We need to take out any patrol boats first.”

The trio slipped through the water with practiced ease. They swam toward a buoy where they would emerge and make contact with Kate Laswell.

Emerging from the water beside the buoy, Price activated his comms. “Laswell, we are in position.”

Laswell’s voice came through the earpieces. “Copy, John. What do ya got?”

Price held up his binoculars, scanning the barge. “I got AQ loading cargo into a barge.”

Laswell responded, “That’s your target. Get onboard and find out who they’re working with.”

Rumor, with a playful grin, swooned, clutching the spot over his heart, “Ah bless me, I hear angels in me ears, ready to take me home to me mam.”

Laswell’s voice, with a hint of dry amusement and a touch of firmness, replied, “Rumor, save the poetry.”

Price chuckled quietly and said, “Rog. Out here”

Laswell’s voice faded as she ended the comms.

Price turned to his team, his gaze sharp. “We’ve got sentries on the perimeter. Stay low and keep alert.” He handed Rumor the binoculars, who checked the area with practiced ease and then passed them to Gaz. As their fingers brushed briefly, Gaz’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he quickly refocused on the task at hand.

Gaz, now holding the binoculars, peered through them. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye on the perimeter.”

Rumor, showcasing his expertise, addressed the pair. “Understood. I’ll handle the navigation.” His knowledge of the barge’s layout and skill in locating enemies made him the perfect guide.

The barge loomed ahead, dark and imposing. Inside, every sound seemed magnified.

Price, scanning the dark silhouette of the barge ahead, added, “We’ll approach from the rear entrance. Less chance of running into guards that way. Rumor’s leading us in, so follow his lead.”

Rumor, with a slight grin, remarked, “I see the hat still never comes off, syr.”

Price shot Rumor a brief, amused wink despite the seriousness of their situation. “Keeps the rain out of me eyes. Plus, it’s good for keeping the noggin warm.”

Gaz, still focused but slightly flustered, adjusted his gear. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to hang about.”

Navigating through the barge, Price maintained control with clear directives. “Watch for guards. Stay silent and sharp.”

Rumor, now fully focused, scanned the surroundings with a keen eye. “We’re clear so far. Stick close and follow my lead.”

Gaz kept his gaze alert, trying to stay composed. “Point the way, Rumor.”

As they approached their target, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Rumor’s usual charm was replaced by a focused intensity. He turned to Price and Gaz, whispering, “Almost there. Stay alert.”

Price met Rumor’s gaze with a nod of fondness. “Check. Let’s get this done.”

With their objective in sight, the trio moved with determined precision.

The barge was eerily quiet, its darkened interior filled with the sounds of dripping water and the creak of metal. Rumor, Price, and Gaz moved with practiced stealth, Rumor pausing by each door, expertly checking for traps and disposing of them when needed.

They advanced cautiously, their breaths steady and silent.

Rumor led the way, his expertise in recon work making him the ideal guide through the dimly lit corridors of the barge. He signaled for Price and Gaz to stay close, his eyes scanning every corner for potential threats.

Price, his demeanor serious, held his weapon at the ready. “Keep it tight. We clear the barge, take out every enemy inside, and secure any intel we can find.”

Gaz, his gaze sharp, nodded in agreement. “Understood. Let’s move.”

The trio continued, taking out enemies with swift and precise movements. Each opponent was neutralized before they could raise an alarm. Rumor’s keen sense of direction and ability to memorize layouts made short work of their path through the barge.

They reached a central room, where the remaining enemies were gathered. With a coordinated effort, Price, Rumor, and Gaz engaged the foes in a stealthy firefight. Each shot was calculated, minimizing noise and chaos. The battle was fierce but efficient, ending with the last enemy falling silent.

Price, surveying the area as text tones rang in the room, turned to his team. “Check their phones. We need any intel they’ve got.”

Gaz moved quickly, scanning the phone of the defeated final enemy. After a few tense moments, he found a series of text messages that made his eyes widen. “Looks like the Las Almas cartel is working with Al-Qatala. They’re planning to transfer someone into the U.S. The transfer’s happening at Café Gracht at 8am.”

Price’s eyes narrowed with concern. He activated his comms, his tone urgent. “Laswell, we’ve got a situation. The Las Almas cartel and Al-Qatala are coordinating a transfer to the U.S. The operation’s set for Café Gracht at 8am. We need you to locate the café. Something big is about to go down.”

Laswell’s voice crackled back through the earpiece. “Copy that, Price. I’ll find the café and get everything in motion. Keep me updated.”

Price turned to Rumor and Gaz, his expression resolute. “Alright, we need to get out of here and prep for the next phase. We’ve got a lead on where this transfer is happening, and it’s crucial we’re there to intercept.”

Rumor, ever calm, nodded. “Understood. Let’s get to extraction and prepare for the next move.”

With their mission on the barge complete, the trio retraced their steps, moving efficiently to their extraction point.

As they exited the barge, the fog of Amsterdam enveloped them once more. The night air was filled with the promise of further action, and the stakes had never been higher.

[urrockstar-xe]

detective sweetheart - n.a x fem!reader

posted nov 3rd, 2023 12:22 am

this was what i did for my "based on my day" challenge (i spent it watching svu season 14 lmfao) its also my first time writing for nick amaro or any detectives in general so I'm sorry if he's a bit ooc, its also a crossover with criminal minds and i think i made up the whole technical analyst assistant thing but that's my job in my criminal minds DR lmfao. hope you enjoy :)

this includes alcohol (reader consumption), use of Y/n, and possibly wrong wording for FBI stuff?? the reader likes children (in a not creepy way). Jennifer Jareau

summary: the BAU's technical analyst assistant develops quite the crush on SVU's detective Nick Amaro

masterlist

word count: 0.8k

You sat quietly in a bar, sitting amongst a group of FBI agents you knew well and a few detectives you’d just recently had the pleasure of meeting, chatting about the now-closed case and a few chatting about their children, you hadn’t spoken much, too busy trying not to stare at Detective Nick Amaro.

“Detective Amaro, this is Y/n L/n, she’s our technical analyst assistant, our official technical analyst is back at Quantico focusing on another case” Your boss, Aaron Hotchner, introduced you to one of the detectives you’d be working with for a necrophilia serial killer case, 

You two spent the last few days working very closely together on this case. 

Penelope had been working on another case and due to a small fire that you and Penelope accidentally started with a candle in your already small office, Hotch decided to bring you with the team to Manhattan.

And of course, with your luck, Penelope couldn’t be there to fangirl over the hot detective with you, so you had to deal with the consequences of your short attention span all on your own, (granted our beloved Spencer did try to relate and fangirl with you, he did his best, but he was quite busy getting into conspiracy arguments with Sergeant John Munch).

Now that the case was over, Hotch decided that the team was in no rush back to Quantico and could leave in the morning, so while he called in early and left back to his hotel, the rest of you went out with some of the SVU detectives,

Including Nick 

of course.

“What about you? Got any kids?” Nick asked, accidentally snapping you out of your trance, as he handed JJ back her phone after she showed him a photo of her boys.

“Oh, uh”

fuck, he smelt good, why did Derek have to sit you right next to him?? 

“No, no kids, I do adore them though” You smiled in a way you hoped wasn’t too awkward, before Emily spoke up “She’s great with them too! I mean they just love her” 

Nick smiled at that, nodding as Emily talked. 

You laughed awkwardly in response, “she’s exaggerating” you whispered just loud enough for Nick to hear, earning a laugh. 

oh my god, he LAUGHS?

“As much fun this has been, I’m gonna call it a night” JJ announced, standing up from her seat, her actions mirrored by Spencer as he agreed. 

They were shortly followed by Olivia, Fin, and Emily. Derek went home with a pretty girl (obviously) and finally, Rossi left with Rollins, after she offered him a ride back to the hotel.

That left, you and Nick, alone

of fucking course

“So, miss L/n, how was your first time in New York, huh?” He asked, taking a sip of his bourbon or was it whiskey? Maybe scotch? You couldn’t remember

“Oh, you mean besides the corpse-loving freak? Pretty great, thanks for asking, Detective.” you joked, feeling less intimidated thanks to the vodka cranberry sitting in front of you.

He laughed, “Yeah, dumb question” he shook his head almost embarrassed but you were eating it up.

“How was your first time working with the BAU, hm?” Nick smiled as you practically hummed the question, he thought it was cute, and you could tell, which only boosted your confidence.

“Gotta be honest, I was worried you guys would swarm in and take everything over but, it was a lot easier than I expected” You nod in response, 

“A lot of people think that, but typically it’s an ego thing. was it an ego thing for you, Nicky?” The nickname had slipped off your tongue with ease as you teased your schoolgirl crush, having called him that just a few days ago when you first started working together.

Nick scoffed, “What? No, absolutely not” but the small smirk on his lips was a dead giveaway. “Okay, maybe it was kind of an ego thing, just a little bit” he whispered his confession. You all but giggled in response

“It’s gettin’ late, what do you say I walk you back to your hotel huh?” he offered, standing up and putting his coat on before reaching for yours 

“I’d like that, thank you, Detective” You smiled, standing from your seat and sighing as he carefully put your coat on for you.

The hotel wasn’t far but god you wished it had been, it would’ve given you some more time to flirt with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life

(exaggerating? Pft nuh-uh) 

But yet, here you stood, in front of the tall building that ruined your excitement.

“Hey, uh how would you feel if the next time you were in New York, I took you out?” Nick asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

You smiled, hoping the lights surrounding you both hid the blush on your cheeks instead of accentuating it. “Or if you’re ever in Virginia?” 

He smiled, nodding. 

“I think I’d like that a lot” You responded, quietly, suddenly very sober.

“Great, have a safe flight back home, alright?”

it's already over

“Thank you for walking me back, Nick” 

“Anytime, goodnight, sweetheart” he smiled once more.

Sweetheart

“Goodnight, detective”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 7

Ao3 | 2.7k Words | Darlin's POV

Milo is a drill Sergeant. Darlin' gets some emails. Angel washes dishes. Quinn is the type of asshole that flirts with teenagers.

TW: Stalking, threatening behavior, vomit.

“You’ve gotta put on some weight.” Milo tutted, his hands resting on his trim waist. Even two years later, Milo was a picture of petty tension. He hadn’t grown, despite the fact that he claimed people could grow into their mid twenties. He had built up a good deal of muscle in his back and chest, which served to make him look just a little bigger. He still had an air about him that made him seem two feet taller, even when you stared purposefully past the top of his head to piss him off.

Milo had started working you out as soon as Sam had given you the all clear, after you gave up on trying to avoid him. He was faster than you when he wanted to be, and staying away from him was so much less fun than just giving in to the familiarity of your quiet, playful arguments. 

The workouts started slow; annoying, silent yoga, something his partner had gotten him into that left you infuriatingly loose and relaxed afterwards. Once you could do that without panting and twitching with pain, he moved up. Light cardio and weights. You’d managed alright with that. Your stamina was shot but you were strong. Now, Milo had moved on to C.P.A.T. specifics. 

You’d passed the Candidate Physical Ability Test with flying colors the last time you’d taken it, but that felt like a lifetime ago. You were younger, stronger, fitter. What came to you naturally at eighteen made you wheeze at twenty-seven. Milo cast his gaze across the practice course before cutting those clever eyes back to you and your sorry state.

“There aren’t any weight class requirements for the physical.” You snapped. 

“No,” Milo replied, “but you’re not gonna get through the endurance test like this. You’re gonna fall out.” 

“I guarantee you I won’t.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, doll.” 

“Call me that again and I’ll knock your teeth out.” 

“Twenty?”

“Fifty.”

You won, just barely. Milo had a point, though. Running that course in full turnouts, hauling that ladder, scaling it, finding the hidden dummies in the fake building’s facade and hauling them back down, dragging the dummies and the ladder back the safe distance requirements; it was nearly too much for you. By the time you’d finished the run, you were gasping for breath, gripping at your protesting ribs, and dumping the dummies at your feet without a care for their ‘wellbeing.’ That part wasn’t new. It was a habit from your days as a probie you couldn’t shake. This time, though, it was done with some extra disdain. 

Milo clapped a fifty in your hand and let you catch your breath before he tugged off your turnouts, up your tank top, and pressed his thin, clever fingers into your flesh to check your ribs. 

“You’re gonna make me blush.” You gasped. Milo sneered. 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you don’t give your body what you need. You have to eat to heal.” He shook his head, dark curls bouncing this way and that. You patted him on the head the way you knew he hated. 

“You’re preaching to the choir. David’s already working on me.” 

“He’s got the patience of a Saint.” 

“No, he’s just force feeding me.” 

“Good.” 

You were eating three square meals a day, all packed with protein and healthy fats and carbs. Whenever David wasn’t putting out fires, both literal and figurative, he was cooking. He put more plates in front of you than you could manage in a day. It was the biggest bulk you’d experienced in your life, and even it was falling short of what your body needed. To be completely fair to David’s efforts, your body had always run on fumes. There had never been enough to go around. You had gotten used to making that work. 

David surrounded you with abundance. The tension of your sort-of-fight had eased. He had started asking you questions. They were uncomfortable, and you were finding it harder and harder to dodge them. 

You were going to spill your guts soon. You could feel it crawling up and out of you. You were going to lay down your load at David’s feet, unburden yourself through clenched teeth and let him take the weight. You’d done it with Gabe. David looked so much like him. 

You hit the showers, scrubbing the sweat from your skin. The cold tile made your toes curl. The lines of your tattoos were raised with cold and irritation from the cheap body wash that was stocked in all of the shower stalls. You ran ghost-soft touch over all of them before moving on to your scars. The one over your side, the newest one, was still pink and new. If you pressed hard enough on the two inches of clean, stitched skin, it still hurt. 

David caught you in the locker room as you slipped a D.F.D sweatshirt over your head. You’d slowly moved your meager belongings from your shitty studio to the last locker in the row at the 10-19. David had offered you plenty of his own clothes, but you didn’t like to wear them. Not the way that his spouse did, anyway. The little Shaw slid one of his giant tee-shirts over their head and wore it like a badge of honor, like a mark of ownership. You didn’t own David. You certainly didn’t plan on letting him own you. As it stood, the majority of your wardrobe was either covered in blood or stolen pieces from the D.F.D.’s lost and found. 

“Hey,” you mumbled, pushing your still-wet hair away from your face, “are you done, do we need to go?” 

“No,” David shook his head. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his uniform pants. “I’ve got a few more hours. Look, I reactivated your D.F.D. email account. There’s a form in there for the next C.P.A.T.. Fill it out sometime today.” 

“Okay.” You nodded. “When is it?” 

“Three weeks.” David said. “I can get you back on the job within forty-eight hours if you pass it.” 

“If?” You grinned. “I recall holding a record with my last one.” 

“Yeah well,” David shrugged, “you were a spring chicken then. We’ve gotten old.”

“Speak for yourself, Shaw.” You flashed teeth. “I could still kick your ass.” 

“Email. Form. Today.” David barked. You could tell, somewhere in your gut, that he was joking just as much as you were. 

“Yes, Captain, sorry, Captain.” You clicked your heels together in a salute as he rolled his eyes and retreated down the hallway towards his office. A smile slid over your face as he left you alone in the cold, quiet locker room. 

You D.F.D. email had two-thousand-and-seventy-three unread messages waiting for you once you’d managed to remember the password. You flopped down on a couch in the bunk room and sighed as you clicked into the newest one, skimming the form to sign up for the C.P.A.T.. Something about filling out that form, going to that test, made your chest hurt. It made all of it, being back here at the 10-19 feel… real. That was a dangerous thing for you. You couldn’t explain why. 

November was drawing towards a close. The cold had long settled over Dahlia and into your blown, shitty joints. You could do the C.P.A.T., you could not do it. December would come on either way. 

You clicked out of the form, out of the email, and back to your inbox. Maybe you’d feel more inclined to carry on with your future when all of the spam messages were gone. 

Spam. Advertisement. Debt collector. Spam. Medical bill. Spam. 

You almost swiped it right into your archives when your eyes caught on the subject line of a message from an email address consisting entirely of scrambled numbers and letters. That was usually enough for you to chuck the whole thing as bullshit. The subject, though, made your heart squeeze. You sat up on the couch, your feet hitting the ground. You needed your boots flat on the floor. You needed your legs under you when you read this. You might need to run. 

Back home so soon, Precious? 

Bile rose up in your throat, acidic and cutting. You swallowed hard and clicked on the address’s icon. Copy, paste, the address went into your search bar and twenty-odd unopened messages popped up. 

California state employees’ email addresses all followed the same formula. Last name, first initial. It would be so easy for Quinn to find it. 

You scrolled down to the earliest message and opened it up. The subject line made your hands shake; I’m never far behind, you know.

It was a picture of you from sometime in September. You were still black and blue from the fight you two had devolved into. You were standing in a gas station somewhere in Washington, staring at two different, overpriced painkiller options. You’d killed that bottle in less than a week. 

You’d known, in your gut, that Quinn would follow you when you ran. You hadn’t noticed him. You thought for sure, if he was that close, you’d have noticed. 

It was more of that. A picture of you in a diner, flirting with the waitress who gave you free pie. A shot of the back of your head in a Greyhound bus heading for California. You through the stained, narrow windows of your shitty apartment. 

Sam and his EMT’s leaving the night you’d been stabbed. 

Sam’s truck in the firehouse parking lot. 

Sam at lunch in a plush restaurant with a handsome man in his mid-forties. 

Sam sitting on the porch of his cabin, coffee cup in his hand. He looked so peaceful, his eyes closed and head tilted back against his rocking chair. 

Vincent in his fancy car, kissing who you assumed to be his partner in a school parking lot. He’d mentioned that they worked in an elementary school. 

Sam’s Probie walking towards a nightclub, their arm linked with a drop-dead-gorgeous man, surrounded by friends. 

David outside of a fire, smudged with soot, directing the scene like a conductor. 

Little Shaw standing at the sink, scrubbing the remnants of dinner from a plate, taken through the slots in the pantry door. 

He had been inside David’s house. He had stood three feet away from them and taken that picture. He was close enough to hear the little songs they hummed to themself whenever it got too quiet. 

You locked your phone, stuffed it into your pocket, and moved. You barely made it to the bathroom before you lost your lunch. 

He could get inside the house. He had gotten inside the house. There was no telling how long he’d stayed there. He could be there right now, waiting in the shadows for somebody to pass by and make an example out of. You had to tell David. You had to make them leave, had to put them both somewhere safe and torch the fucking place. It was tainted. He’d been in there, and it would never be safe again. 

Hands shaking, you replied to that last picture, staring at their tiny frame and estimating how long it would take Quinn to subdue them. Seconds. He could kill them in seconds. 

What do you want? 

The response was almost instant. 

You. 

He attached an address. You didn’t need to punch it in anywhere to know it. Max’s was familiar ground. The house ordered from there more than anywhere else, and Gabe’s accident had been just down the road. 

It got dark early this time of year, and by the time you emerged from the bathroom, the sun had set and night shift had invaded the building. You could smell dinner on the stove and hear the chatter of the house through the walls. If you hung a left, you’d be surrounded by them. You could find David, ask him to talk. He would know what to do about Quinn. He would handle it. 

Quinn was dangerous. David could handle himself, but Quinn fought dirty. David couldn’t win against him, not playing by the rules. 

No, you had to handle this yourself. David was already in danger, his spouse too. Quinn liked to aim for the weakest link. He liked to strike where it was easy to do real damage without taking any injuries himself. That’s where he’d hit you. The only way you’d learned to make him back off was to hit him head on, to not even give him the chance to find your weak point. 

He knew you just about as well as you knew him, of course. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t call your bluff. You’d have to hope he wouldn’t smell the terror rolling off of you in waves. 

You retreated away from the noise, from the sounds of your house, and towards the ambulance bay. You could sneak out the backdoor, have it out with Quinn, and be back before David was any the wiser. You gripped your hand into a fist as you shrugged on your jacket and shouldered open the back door. 

“Darlin’,” Sam’s voice called from inside. You stilled, boots just barely on the icy sidewalk outside. You turned, your hands still fists at your sides. Sam’s uniform collar was unbuttoned. He must have been getting off shift. “Where ‘ya running off to?” 

“Mother hen.” You muttered bitterly. Sam smiled anyway, seeming almost… bashful. “Just going on. Meeting somebody. Shouldn’t be long.” 

“Well, I’m off.” Sam reached inside to grab his jacket off the rack. “Let me drive you. It’s cold as all hell.”

“I’m fine.” You shook your head and stepped back. “Really.” You did not want to introduce Sam to Quinn. You didn’t want Quinn to make any assumptions. You didn’t want Sam to hear the things he was going to say to you, about you. Whatever you were, whatever parts of you Quinn had broken, whatever parts of you had always been broken, Sam didn’t know about them. You didn’t want him to see you and all of your broken parts in the naked light.

“Is it… um… are you going to see him?” Sam squinted at you, his jacket still in his hands. You swallowed. Your poker face crumbled. You’d never been a good liar. 

“Sam,” you started, hands clenching and unclenching. 

“I’ll take you.” He said decisively. You blinked, surprised. You were expecting him to try and talk you out of it. 

“You… you’ll take me?” 

“I’m sure as shit not letting you go alone.” Sam grinned like it was such a ridiculous notion that it was funny. “Come on, we can talk on the ride.” 

You were quiet for most of it, your throat constricting over all of the warnings and defenses you desperately wanted to spew. Instead, you answered each of Sam’s questions steadily, one word at a time. 

“How’d he reach you?” 

“Email.” 

“And he followed you here?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So he knows where to find ‘ya if you don’t go to him.” 

“Yeah.” 

“He’s liable to start a fight?”

“If not him, then me.” 

“And he fights dirty?” 

“He brings guns to knife fights, let’s put it that way.” 

“I understand.” 

“Do you?” You turned to him from the passenger seat, your face pinched and twisted in concern. Your teeth worried over the scar on your top lip. Sam’s eyes caught yours, brown gone red with the street light. 

“I do.” His shaking fingers tapped against the steering wheel in an awkward, unsteady rhythm. “Better than I can put into words.” 

The parking lot outside of Max’s was full this time of night, so Sam parked across the street. You spotted him through the wide, bright windows. Quinn had taken up a booth at the back of the small restaurant. His feet were kicked up on the table, shitty, worn boots smearing dirt across the clean surface. He was flirting with the teenage server who was refilling his coke. She blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The guy behind the counter was eyeing the two of them nervously. Anybody who had ever known an asshole before could see right through Quinn if they tried hard enough. That was why he had to flirt with teenagers. 

Quinn turned suddenly, stiff and aware. His bright, blue eyes caught yours through the window. His face split out into a terrible, toothy grin as he beckoned you inside.

[diejager]

Chapter 1

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Cw: none in this chapter.

Series masterlist

Laswell had informed their Task Force after the briefing that a newly appointed sergeant, both she and Price had specifically chosen them, picked them from the mass of qualified and unqualified soldiers in the SAS to join the Special ops Task Force 141. It had taken Laswell a few days to have the transfer approved by Lieutenant General Shepherd; which he did.

They had a week to prepare for their arrival and the mystery sergeant that they would share barracks and bunks with them. Soap had droned about their gender, their name, their callsign - Winter, Price told them when he searched for them in the Mess Hall - and their personality. Gaz and Roach both shared his excitement, remembering that the last time that someone new joined them - Roach - was a few years or so.

They seemed like young high school girls gushing about a cute boy or a pretty girl they saw walking down the hall, so much excitement and mirth.

When the time came, Soap had forced Ghost to meet them at the landing site, wanting to be the first team in the base to greet their new member. Ghost grumbled behind the trio, a brooding figure following his brothers. He was guarded, eyes glazed over with wariness as he waited behind the 141 once Price met up before the aircraft landed.

Time seemed to stretch as they watched it land, engines stopped before the cargo door opened slowly. Ghost could hear a low thank you with steady steps echoing around the hatch, his mind swam with everything he had read about them - her, you.

Ghost had asked Price for your file, wanting to know who he would have to meet and work with, suspicion and alert for any dangers that you would bring. He remembers reading it over and over again days prior to your arrival, committing every little piece of information to his mind. Your name was (Name) (L/N) - callsign Winter - a woman with a long list of successful deployments as a sniper and infiltration specialist, both things he saw worth in; however, the added note of combat medic made your skills twice as important.

None of them were well versed in medical care, finding the knowledge of basic care enough to push past the dangers of bullets and grenades. If you were as skilled as your file implied, Ghost would be able to stop worrying so much about Soap or Roach getting hurt by acting recklessly - something they seemed to be prone to.

You approached them with such ease, light on your feet even with a tactical vest being weighted over by a duffle bag, black and in pristine condition. You turned to wave at the pilots and whoever had accompanied you one last time, walking until you were faced with Price. The tilt and smile you gave was innocent, taking the hand Price gave you and shaking it firmly, still smiling.

"It's nice to see you again, Captain," you spoke with respect.

Your voice was soft - perhaps too gentle for a battle-scarred and hardened soldier in the SAS - and would be easily missed between hardy men.

"Winter, welcome, " he returned with a nod, a smile hidden under his thick mustache and wrinkled eyes squinted in recognizable joy. "Meet the team."

He moved, facing his Task Force with his head held high - pride, Ghost could tell he felt proud of his little, dysfunctional family - and let them greet you. "Soap and Gaz," his head cocked towards the smiling men, the Scot and Brit fighting the urge to swarm you with a warm welcome.

Soap, the Scottish, SAS sergeant, shook your hand, feeling the significant difference in size between you both. He dwarfed you by a head, standing sharp and tall with the same boyish smirk and boisterous personality that drew people in: "Soap MacTavish, nice t'meet ya, Winter."

Gaz, the olive-skinned man followed after Soap, voice silky soft with his softer British accent than Price. He shook your hand with a similarly boyish smile, shorter than Soap, but still standing over you. He shook your hand with more finesse, gentler than his brother:

"Gaz Garrick, a pleasure, Winter."

A masked man with gentle, caring green eyes stepped into the place Soap and Gaz were previously in, gloved hands moving in swift gestures. He was signing to you, perhaps he was mute or simply preferred signing over talking.

"Roach, he signs," Price cautioned you, watching your reaction to the young sergeant.

They all were, wanting to gauge your expression at the news that one of your new teammates would use BSL. Although most knew the basics, complicated words being a bit more complicated to learn, they wanted to know whether you'd ridicule Roach for his choice or do nothing of it. It was the kind of protection that grew within the team, a family protects their own.

Your head tilted right, eyes wide as a smile stretched your cheeks, you raised your own hands and greeted the mute sergeant, Hi Roach, it's nice to meet you. He practically beamed, hands moving to shape each letter in a quick sequence, matching the pace of your sign, somehow too quick for the rest of the team to catch. You know BSL, I haven't seen anyone with fluent BSL in a while, his mask wrinkled with the smile that spread over his lips.

I have a friend who was born mute, learned it to talk to her.

They watched your silent conversation, understanding a few snips here and there, but the rest seemed to pass on quickly. Now, they knew you'd do fine with Roach, both being so fluent in BSL (Ghost doesn't remember finding any notion of your language skills in your file, perhaps some information was withheld by you or someone, or you hadn't bothered telling anyone of your fluency since most soldiers spoke fine with their rumbling voices).

After he pulled away, the last member left was Ghost, his tall, towering figure that stood over you like an impenetrable wall of muscle. He was silent, eerily so that you'd beat that most privates on base would shit their pants if they met him.

"Ghost," were his only words, a curt nod and a glare before he left, his back so broad that the shadow he cast on the cemented ground stretched on and on like a beast in hiding. His voice was deep and gravy when he spoke his name, his callsign was like the summons of a demon, a Ghost.

"Don't mind him, L.T's like that ta everyone. He'll warm up to ya," Soap promised, strutting to your side, and slinging an arm around your shoulder to bring you closer to him. "How 'bout I show ya round? You'll be bunkin' with Roach, that fine with ya?"

Roach reaffirmed his testament when you turned to him, asking him if it were alright with him, having to share his barrack when he'd been sleeping alone for a while.

I'm fine, I'll finally have a roommate to brag about, his shoulders shook with a muddled chuckle.

Next

Tag list (reply here if you want to be tagged): @lauraliisa @iirosietumbles @thefairybird @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @tayaisback @deadpoetsandhoney @ghost-reine @raidenmylove @sollucifer @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @mandythemint @static-knight @suzuyamitsuki @rk111 @shuttlelauncher81 @discowizard88 @v1naco @imjustabebeh2003 @tbrfic @hotchlover @mstosi

[mygfisprentiss]

I want to be close to you

what if Casey was never censured, Alex came back in season 7 and they had to work together? -

-

-

Watching from the doorway Alex deeply admired Casey, she seemed so graceful yet intimidating from a few feet away. She loved the hoarseness of her voice, how her copper hair laid on her shoulders; she wondered how it would feel in her hands.

      She knew it would never happen - could never happen; they were barely friends, colleagues at the most, Casey didn’t even call her “Alex” it was always Cabot, or counselor. 

Before Alex even thought of coming back she used to imagine how the squad liked Casey. She’d call Liv asking about the new ADA asking if she was as good as her, as cliche as it sounds Alex missed her friends, she wished she didn’t have to use a burner phone to call Liv; she wanted to drink coffee with colleagues, walk in Central Park, she wanted to be a prosecutor again.

      “Heard we got a new ADA what’s up with Novak?” Fin yelled out as he walked back into the squad room; everyone starts looking around like he was spouting nonsense. “Sergeant where exactly did you hear that?” The captain wondered along with everyone else but no one was ready for who was about to walk in.

    “Alexandra Cabot back from the dead.” 

Alex’s face went white as she walked in the squad room as she heard Stabler, “holy mother of god.”

It felt so nostalgic for Alex to talk with the squad again; to finally smile with Liv again, laugh with munch and Fin, and Cragen giving her that kind of side hug only a father could give to his daughter. Although she wasn’t the only one wondering where Novak was. 

 “Oh how I’ve missed you Alex!” As she pushed up her glasses to see who was barging in her door she soon became much happier; George huang her confidante. 

“George, it’s so nice to see you! Believe me i wanted to call you once I came back but as soon as i moved back into here they put me straight to work.” Alex felt like an ass for not sending him anything, before she had to go into witsec her and George were like two peas in a pod being the squad’s helpers. They’d go out for drinks, watch movies together, he was always there whenever she had a case too twisted for her office to handle. 

“So have you seen Casey since coming back?” Alex could feel her ears turn red as she thought of her office crush; it felt odd to call it that because Alex has never had a crush, she definitely has never liked a woman before. All she could respond with was “no, but I think branch is trying to get us to meet.”

    “Hello?” 

Casey and Alex unknowingly responded the same exact way to Branches message; he wanted them to officially meet outside of the courtroom, he had a proposition for them. 

 “So you want us both on svu?” Casey was mind boggled; she thought this was Ludacris, she could barely get past the fact that Alex was back, she seemed so intimidating and not to mention how stunning she was. Every time she passed her after court it felt like her heart was pounding so hard it would burst; all Casey knew was that before her time at svu, Alex was unstoppable; the squad admired her and she was known as the ice queen throughout the DA’s office. 

‘This cannot be happening’ the only thing that could come to Alex’s mind. She honestly wouldn’t mind working along with another ADA because god knows the workload at svu was hell; but to work with Casey would be damn near impossible. No matter what, whenever Novak was in Alex’s view she couldn’t think about anything besides her; their was no aspect of Casey’s that Alex wasn’t in awe of, her green eyes; whenever piercing blue eyes met Casey’s it felt like the world stopped for just a second; Casey’s lips; as inappropriate as it was Alex couldn’t stop staring at her pink lips, they looked so soft like an angel’s; she could say anything and it wouldn’t matter because Alex was in such awe of Casey, she could do nothing wrong.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Rescue

Author’s Note: this is the second part of mer-Hagiel’s fic! Previous. Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: blood, injury, mild body horror, consensual blood-drinking, sexual thoughts, implied menstrual kink, please ask me to tag anything that bothers you

Summary: Hagiel wakes up in a dark, metal cell. Luckily, you come to his rescue!

Hagiel woke slowly and painfully. His arms were pinned over his head and away from his body. His tail was stretched out to it's furthest extent and each of his fins were stretched out to a painful extent. His thoughts were sluggish and slow, and someone had wrapped cloth around his eyes, keeping him from being able to see. He attempts to move, and agony shot through his body from the lingering points of pain in his body, electric in nature and would be blinding in intensity, if the cloth covering his eyes wasn't currently keeping him from being able to see. 

As the agony faded slowly from his body, Hagiel's mind finally gave him the relevant knowledge as to how he'd ended up in this miserable situation... 

But it begged several questions: Why would humans from Ancient Terra seek to capture him? Or at least, they were seeking to capture Astartes... Why would they want such a thing? Was the human they were threatening safe? Or had they also been captured? 

The Lamenter Sergeant was quite certain that he'd managed to activate his emergency beacon before whatever poison or heavy sedatives the baselines had used to knock him unconscious for God-Emperor knew how long, did the young scouts he'd been watching over and leading through one of their first missions away from the main Lamenter pod that had come together on Ancient Terra followed after the signal? Or did they flee back to the others in hopes of mounting a more successful rescue attempt? He sent a desperate prayer to the Emperor of Mankind that his younger brothers hadn't tried to rescue him and were trapped alongside him... Or killed for their bravery.

Tentatively, Hagiel moved his head from side to side, then up and down. When agony did not strike him for those movements, he did so as quickly and while pressing the knot to whatever metal surface he had been pinned too with as much force as he could manage. It took longer than he would have liked to undo the knot holding the cloth to his face, but once he finally did get it to fall from his eyes, he searched every corner of the small metal room he was in. The first thing he noted was that they had stripped him of all of his armor and weapons - they'd even clipped or filed down his claws. He ran his tongue along the thick, cushioned something they'd shoved in his mouth. Possibly to keep him from speaking? Or biting. Thin wires ran from the short metal rods that the humans had sunk into his arms, fins and tail to a crude battery of sorts that had been left in an open container on the floor. The room itself was dark enough that baseline humans wouldn't be able to see in it without a light source of their own.

Now would be a fantastic time to spontaneously develop warp-powers. Even though it was much more difficult for Librarians to use the warp in any meaningful way, if he could remove the wires from the heads of the metal stakes, Hagiel was quite certain he could brute-force his way out of his restraints, wait for the holes in his flesh to heal enough for him to be capable of coordinated movement and get the fuck out of wherever here is... And maybe find that poor, terrified human, if they hadn't been killed, as their purpose by those nefarious baseline humans as bait had served their purpose. 

But Hagiel had never been blessed - or cursed, depending on who you asked - with so much as a whimper of Warp-touched capabilities, and could therefore only glare in abject frustration at the most effective part of his restraints and hope that they would cower away from his seething glare.

...

Fuck. Being captured was not something that Hagiel had ever wanted to be subjected to. He was about to try moving one of his fins - seeing if the electricity would get him as intensely as when he'd tried moving both of his arms earlier when he heard quick but tentative footsteps. The human (who'd been used as bait against him) was just on the other side of the door. Their breathing was quick and shallow, and they called out in a hushed tone "Uhm... Big yellow mer-person, are you in here? I managed to escape the room they put me in 'cause they didn't check me over as thoroughly as they should have. I... I'm not with the people who captured both of us... If... If you're in here, please say something, or at least make a noise."

Hagiel let out a loud rumble, surprised and a little bit delighted by the formerly terrified human's ingenuity. He wished he could respond properly, but the large thing in his mouth prevented him from making more than the most basic of noises. 

"I really hope that's you in there, and not more of the kidnapping bastards playing a cruel trick on me." The human murmured - likely to themself, though he heard you clearly enough.  The human rattld the door handle, cursing lowly as it was clearly locked.

Hagiel heard scraping and clicking noises of the lock's internal mechanisms for what felt like several eternities, but was more than likely a handful of minutes in reality.

Hagiel heard one last click before the door handle swung open slowly, revealing your anxious but determined face. You give him a relieved smile as you swiftly run into the room, closing the door softly behind yourself, before horror dawns on your face. "Oh... Oh fuck, look at what they did to you, to keep you stuck like this! Shit, hang on. Let me... Lemme get the wires off of you. Then I can try and find something to pull those rods out of your... Everything. They ditched your armor in the water before hauling you deeper into the ship. I'm not sure what we're going to do once I get you out of this room, but we'll figure something out."

... His younger brothers might believe him to be dead, if they'd discarded his armor. Especially if they'd ensured that some of his blood was on it. His hearts eased a little. Hopefully the scouts he'd been training would follow protocol and return to the greater pod, rather than swimming off half-cocked on a mission of holy vengeance in his honor. Hagiel had the utmost faith in his baby brothers to behave themselves.

The. Utmost. Faith.

"Hey, buddy. I've removed the wires from the rods in your body. Blink once if you're comfortable with me getting close enough to remove the gag in your mouth. Blink twice if no, then I'll start by trying to get your tail unstuck." You asked. 

Hagiel hummed a little, smiling around the gag in his mouth, looking at you in your eyes before deliberately blinking once before looking away, so as to not confuse you. He wasn't entirely sure, as he'd only heard of Brothers and Cousins finding baseline humans on Ancient Terra to bond with. But he could feel the first whispers of affection, care and the desire to protect you, beyond the baseline training that he, as with all Loyal Astartes felt toward baseline humans in the Imperial Era, as all Astartes had been created to protect and guard baseline humanity from all who would seek to destroy, maim or enslave. 

Your small fingers were deft and gently, and he couldn't help but lean into your touch, gold-flecked red eyes warm with affection as he murmurs a hoarse "Thank you. You needn't try and pull the rods from me. Step back please."

You step backwards a couple of paces, nearly back at the door as you ask "Why, what are you going to do?"

"This." He answers with an easy smile. With a concentrated effort of will, he yanks his arms free of the rods, refusing to give into the urge to howl in pain and likely give his captors' notice that he was escaping their grasp.

You splutter in horror as his arms go limp at their sides, bloody holes dripping. The bastards had drilled through the bones in his arms and hands to get their restraints in place. Just how long had he been unconscious?

You rush over to him, hands flailing in the desperate desire to help "There's... There's gotta be a better way of getting you free than doing this! I'm pretty strong, but there's no way I'm going to be able to carry you through the ship, unless you're a lot lighter than you look."

"Don't worry, Astartes heal fast, brave mortal." Hagiel soothes, smiling woozily down at her. He could feel the intense itchy pain of his bones reforming and knitting themselves back together, before muscles, nerves, blood vessels and skin began to reform as well.

You stare in horrified fascination as he heals, still shaking and visibly anxious. Once his arms have fully healed, he begins yanking the rods out of his fins two at a time, pained growls occasionally escaping his chest, despite his best efforts to suppress all of his pained reactions. 

Unfortunately, with the amount of damage he'd taken, and whatever they'd used to keep him under was slowing the rest of his healing. To make matters worse, he'd been on a hunting trip with the scouts and had not eaten in several days, which slowed his healing - and made the eternal hunger that all Lamenters did their best to deny at every turn that much more difficult to resist. Especially as you were right there, warm and worried and filled with delicious, tempting blood. But he would not feed on you - especially without permission.

He would not be the monster that his cousins the Flesh Tearers had turned into, nor would he strike at an ally who'd come for him, despite the danger it put them into, rather than trying to escape on their own. 

"You... You seem to be healing slower. Is there anything I can do to help you?" You ask, looking up at him anxiously as he continued to bleed, slumped against the metal wall he'd been pinned against until moments ago.

Hagiel hesitates, looking at you briefly before looking away "... If I had something to eat, it would help replenish the resources my body is expending in healing me. I had not eaten for some time before my capture, and whatever vile poisons they used to knock me unconscious are doing me no favors now."

"Oh... Unm..." You murmur as you pat your pockets desperately. You pull out several small pieces of caramel. The packaging is brightly colored and shiny, even in the darkness of the room that you and Hagiel are in. "I have a handful of candy. It's... It's not much, but it's better than nothing? Is there anything else I can give you, for sustenance?"  You'd heard that Astartes could eat pretty much anything as long as their teeth could break it down. you started to unwrap the candies, offering them freely for him to take.

Hagiel shifted a little, taking the offered candy and swallowing them - and the wrappers - within a second. "I... There is... But..." He shifts, not looking at you.

"But nothing! Will this kind of food help you heal faster? I don't know how long before those bastards come back, and I'm not much of a fighter. But I'm not going to just ditch you to go to one of the buffet rooms on the upper-level decks. I don't know how many of the crew and passengers are in on this, and if they know I'm running around free, they might come to check on you... And I... I don't want you to get more hurt because of me. Tell me what it is! I want to help you, so that we both can escape this shitty place."  You growl as quietly as your anxiety-fueled irritation would allow you. You shove your way into his personal space, glaring up at the giant dumb fish-man.

"I... It's... You will likely deny me, when I tell you, not that I would blame you." Hagiel hedged, trying to press away from you. 

You're not having any of this squirrely nonsense. You've been threatened at knife point and kidnapped by a bunch of uppity assholes, and your ticket out of here was being weird about getting what he needs in order to make sure the two of you escaped alive and relatively whole. With a boldness you're sure is fueled by desperation, you grab his ridiculously handsome giant face and force him to look you in the face "Tell me. Right now! I don't care how weird or off-putting whatever you need is. Just. Fucking. Tell me!" You'd heard a number of rumors about Astartes. What they were capable of. What they wanted. What they needed. You weren't sure how much of that was true and how much was bullshit, and you needed this squirmy golden bastard to cooperate with you.

Hagiel growled, pulling away from you, his sharp teeth flashing and snapping half-heartedly at your fingers. He could have easily bitten you and deliberately choose not to. "Fine! If you insist. Raw meat would work but blood - fresh, warm blood would be best. Would you allow me to drink from your life-essence, in order to gain the strength necessary to get us free of this prison?" He bared his fangs at you, hissing in irritation.

Part of you was screaming to get away from this large, terrifying predator. Most of you was delighted to have found a handsome vampire-merman. Despite his hissing and growling, he'd been nothing but gentle and considerate of you, and considering how shittily other humans have treated him so far, that was damn near a miracle he hadn't snapped your neck the moment he could and ate you. Youd been an (unwilling!) part in his capture after all... And you'd fantasized more than once about what it would be like to have a vampi- no! You weren't going there. Not right now. "Yes, I will. How much do you need?"

"... I will endeavor not to take too much from you. I have... Occasionally fed from baseline humans before, and I know how much to take before it weakens you." Hagiel answers. 

You wanted to push the issue, but given that he'd needed your help before, it made sense for him to err on the side of caution. "Alright, how do we do this?" You ask. 

He gently grabbed one of your hands with both of his. "I can drink from a number of veins or arteries, but given the likely limited time that we had, either from your neck or from one of your wrists. Unless... Ahh..." A bit of a blush colored his face as his eyes glanced down at your legs. A couple of his most experienced brothers spoke of how baseline human women bleed for days at a time from their cores without the blood loss negatively affecting them. Shedding the blood had other unpleasant side-effects for them, but the monthly bleeding happened regularly. "But that would put you in a vulnerable position and we are strangers in a dangerous position. But uhm. If you. If you were already bleeding without injury I could. Uhm. Take sustenance from that instead. Or so. My older brothers have told me."

"Bleeding without being injured? What do you mea-oh. Ohh. I think. I think I know what you're referring to. I don't. I'm not. Which wrist do you want to drink from?" You ask, a flustered blush burning on your face as you beat back the thoughts of seeing his handsome face between your legs during that time of the month. Being able to thread your fingers through his curly golden hair as he relieves some of the pain and tension as you - no! Now was not the time to lose focus!

"Which is your non-dominant hand? My saliva will heal the wound well enough, but there may be some lingering pain." Hagiel asks, his large hands surprisingly warm as he cups both of yours with a surprising amount of gentleness. You can feel the callouses on the palms of his hands, and silently wonder what they are from.

"I'm left-handed." You answer, unable to get the blush on your face to die down fully. You shiver when he takes your right hand in both of his, bringing it up to his lips.

He presses a series of courtly kisses to your fingertips and knuckles, before gently flipping your hand over. His breath is warm on your palm and wrist as he presses one kiss to the middle of your palm, and one final kiss to the inner portion of your wrist. His red and gold eyes search for yours, and his voice has a rough, almost growly edge to it as he asks, his lips brushing against your wrist "Are you certain, *la mia perla?"

It's sweet that he's so concerned about your consent, but given the urgency of the situation, you feel justified at the frustration creeping into your voice. "Yes, I am sure. Drink quickly, before the bastards show up! I don't know how often they check on either one of us."

He hums in agreement, giving your wrist one final kiss before opening his mouth and sinking his fangs into your wrist. The pain burns, but not as badly as you were expecting. You bite the inside of your cheek, to keep from allowing the pained squeak that wanted to crawl out of your throat. He'd probably stop, and that wouldn't help either one of you.

Hagiel took several swallows of your blood before withdrawing his fangs and licks the two small wounds he'd left on your wrist. His wounds have at least sealed over completely. "Stay close to me, and I'll get us free. I can swim through the air." He scooped you up, wrapping one arm around your waist, encouraging you to hold on tightly as he flew through the hallways of... Wherever the fuck you and he had been stashed. You didn't recognize where you were, at least not until he carried you up several flights of stairs, the bare steel and wood giving way to well-decorated and often carpeted floors that were well-lit as well.

"We're still on the cruise ship! Head down this corridor, up two flights of stairs and then we'll be on the observation deck! From there we should be able to get to open air! I... Uhm. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but you'll be free to return to the ocean, and whatever you were doing before you rescued me." You responded, at first elated but then crushed. If the ship was on it's current heading, it would be days before the cruise ship made part at it's next stop - and that was if a majority of the crew and passengers were unaware of the temporarily kidnapped Astartes and the plans that yours and his kidnappers had for the large yellow mer. "I'm sure I can hide in the room I rented until the ship makes landfall."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're coming with me, *la mia perla. This ship is as dangerous for you as it is for me, and I won't leave you behind to be hunted. Besides, there's a possibility that-" Hagiel said, being interrupted as something slammed into the side of the cruise ship, causing it to list fifteen degrees starboard. He readjusted his flight trajectory "- as I suspected, that is quite likely some of my brothers, mounting a rescue or more likely with the discarding of my armor, an assumption that this ship was responsible for my death and intend to sink it in vengeance." Please let the attack not be only by the scouts he'd been watching over. He'll be very disappointed... And proud... Of them if they didn't go for help.

"I can't breathe under water." You point out. Sirens had started and people were starting to fill the hallways of the ship, fear and panic on everyone's faces. 

"I can swim in air easily, and after I reassure my brothers of my status as among the living, I can swim you to a nearby baseline settlement through the air, as I am moving now, so that you will be returned safely to land." Hagiel explains. Part of him wants to offer you the chance to change - to become a near-eternal mer similar to himself, but that had other connotations and despite being quite certain that you are his bonded human, rushing to such things has spelled near-disaster for less patient brothers and cousins in the past.

"... Oh, that works. Uhm, there's a good chance that most of the humans who are aboard this ship have no idea what our kidnappers are up to, and are innocent of their crimes." You point out.

Hagiel sighs, nodding a little "I suspect that is true as well. But first I need to reassure my brothers that I am alive, and that not every baseline human aboard this vessel was complicit in my temporary capture. You chief among them, la mia perla." As he said that, he carried you out onto the observation deck of the ship. He flies out of one of the holes made in the glass, looking around and seeing eight of his brothers attacking the ship with fist and spear.

The scouts he'd been leading... And no one else. He sighs and calls out "Boys! Retreat from the ship, and someone call the nearest Chapter master. We have innocents mixed with the guilty aboard that ship. And why didn't you follow protocol?"

"We sent a call for aid, sir! Chapter Master Malethas is coming with as many as he can rally to his side! He also ordered us to lame the vessel, so that it wouldn't be able to escape justice." The scouts chorused as one, rushing over to him, peering at the mortal in his arms.

Altheas, the boldest of the scouts asked "Why are you holding this human? Is she a captive?"

"No, she helped me escape, and did not play a willing part in my capture." Hagiel corrected swiftly, before any of his bratty and unruly baby brothers could take an ill-conceived notion.

"Ohhh... Thank you for rescuing our older brother, pretty miss!" The scouts chirp as one, moving closer to Hagiel and you, eyes shining with curiosity. 

Two of them peel off to watch the cruise ship and further damage the engines, hissing at any human who pokes their head over the side of the ship to figure out what's going on.

Hagiel sighs a little, shifts how he's holding you before swatting at his little brothers "Go on, help your brothers slowdown that ship, and stop staring! Honestly, it's like you've never seen a baseline human up close before, and I know that you all have."

"Yes sir..." The remaining scouts chirp as they gleefully dive after the cruise ship, cackling.

*my pearl in Italian according to google translate

[windex-for-blood]

I ended up with a new streaming service and happened upon a later-season episode of Law & Order SVU. It would appear Mariska Hargitay has stuck around long enough that Olivia is the new Sergeant of the station.

In this episode, she asks only remaining early show character Fin "When did we become the voices of reason".

And it's like, girl. Your partner was Elliott Stabler, who was born hanging by a thread. That man is one more family tragedy away from deciding he's just going to beat every criminal in New York to death with his bare hands. You were always the voice of reason

[rahleeyah]

In the shower (naturally) I realized that Fin is the one who models respect and sets the standard of respect that new detectives in the unit will have for Olivia. Like imagine if Fin was the kind of sergeant who mocked, belittled, and disrespected his captain behind her back… which would obviously set a different standard in the squad room. Instead he makes it clear that she is the boss and he will not stand for any disrespect of Olivia… anyway I just smoked a J and might have totally bombed the wording of this ask. I’m sorry!

This is so real tho like the sergeant sets the tone. Each new person who comes in sees Fin and Liv as a unit, working together, watching each other's backs, and Fin absolutely does not tolerate any disrespect to her and that informs the behavior of everyone around them. And they're both old timers, both senior officers, battle hardened and bound on account of what they've been thru and that makes them a formidable team. That's her bestie your honor

[bensonnstabler]

hey do you ever think about s16 e13 'decaying morality' where liv had another young girl named jenna in her squadroom who had experienced unimaginable trauma and that she likely went home and had nightmares about the last time another young girl named jenna who had experienced unimaginable trauma was in her squadroom? do you think that when she saw this jenna out to the elevator with nick by her side that she saw the ghost of elliot's past and did not leave for home until she was sure this jenna wasn't coming back? do you think that nick wanted to say something about her hands suddenly shaking after the elevator doors closed? do you also think that she ordered nick and rollins and carisi out as soon as she could? under the pretence they had a hard day and needed the rest? do you think that fin hung around, watching his sergeant carefully, knowingly and decided he wasn't leaving that night until she did?

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So I wrote both this and the oneshot on the strike week, just had to add the quotes and polish them a bit before posting :)

This chapter's name is "Wont of Devils"

[Wont means habit, didn't know that before looking it up]

Page 15 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 6:

What shall I call you, the Blind Man once asks,

A Beast is all I know, the creature answers,

Yet the man urges, heart yet sated,

It is but what people past have named you,

A Beast is all I know, the monster answers,

The Blind Man quiets, so a Beast speaks,

I shall name you anew, not with words,

But with deeds,

How would one do so, the Beast queries,

The Blind Man finds his answer,

With terrible mercy,

With ferocious will,

To not stand on a path paved, but to carve,

Mark yourself with actions yet to come.

Yet again, Soap rejects the easy way out. He can feel Ghost’s gaze prickle his nape. 

He wonders, what the soldier thinks of him now. Ghost agreed with his past actions, in a way not many did… and when he told him of Price and Lieutenant Riley, Soap could swear he saw something different in his eyes…

Almost like a light ignited behind them.

Soap turns around to look at Ghost. Somehow, he can still see some of that light, muted within his dark brown eyes. He shakes away those thoughts - he’s not here to befriend the criminal. They have a job to do.

“We should move. Not gonna find anyone to grab around here.” he moves past Ghost, and past his damn absorbing eyes. He hears the man trail him.

Soap steps around the many corpses Ghost left behind (all with one clean slit in their throat - efficiently and expertly killed), “what intel do you have on the Hunter?”

Ghost lets out a huff, “practically nothing. They’re more thorough than me, don’t think anyone alive has seen their face.”

“Nationality?”

Ghost shakes his head, “unknown. Never talked to me, had a communicator relay information for them.”

“A communicator… think they’re the ones on comms as well?”

“Know they are.” Ghost murmurs, “recognized their voice. They were there when the fucker poisoned me.”

Soap watches Ghost’s leg shaking again, sees how his arm loosens its grip on his knife. “Most of the soldiers runnin’ around here won’t know where the commander is, most likely. But I bet the communicator would…”

The radios of multiple dead soldiers crackle up, a tinny voice demanding a status report. Soap is struck by an idea, and leans down to unclasp the comms from one body.

“-have you located the Brits?”

“Affirmative.” Soap grunts, donning on a more American accent, half smirking when Ghost’s head whips around to stare at him, “one soldier, unconscious. Should we bring ‘em to you, sir?”

The communicator instantly replies, “unconscious? If you haven’t roughed him up too much, get him to the abandoned water tower over east. I’ll deal with him personally.”

Soap smiles, answering easily, “copy that, sir.”, and clicking off the radio.

Ghost’s eyes are slightly wider than usual, and Soap takes it as a win that he managed to take the man by surprise, “well? What are ye waitin’ fer? Let’s get teh the water tower.” he lets out with a heavy Scottish accent.

The Brit shakes his head, huffing an almost-laugh, “after you, Sergeant.”

Something odd bubbles up Soap’s chest, while he and Ghost make their way to a vehicle. He never cared much for the approval of his COs, something that was probably detrimental to his career in the end, but…

He doesn’t finish the thought. Despite how, over the day, he started seeing the man hiding behind the skull mask, that man still betrayed him. Ghost is an enemy of the 141, not someone to be trusted.

Soap had seen men do unspeakable things in the past. You don’t need to be a monster to be evil.

The drive to the water tower is quiet. Soap occasionally glances at Ghost, watching his limbs spasm every once in a while. Ghost catches him, and from then on tries to suppress his muscles, which only makes the rest of his body shake with exertion.

Soap thrums his fingers on the steering wheel, brows furrowed. He’s not been trained on interrogation tactics since his unit was forced on a course for that, and even that knowledge was rusty before he got discharged. He opens his mouth to ask Ghost about it when the man beats him to it.

“I needed to go to the doctor for my inability to navigate roads.” he mutters through clenched teeth.

Soap tilts his head, “...what?”

“Turns out I just needed directions.”

Was that… is he…?

He groans, “not my strongest one, I know.”

Soap turns his head to stare at Ghost, “... that was the worst pun I’ve ever heard.” the fuck is he quoting dad jokes for all of a sudden??

Ghost’s eyes crescent with hidden mirth, “I’d like to hear you-shit- hear you do b’tter.” his right arm started shaking too, Soap notes. The poison is started to spread there…

Oh. He’s… distracting himself.

“...A drill Sergeant once told me, ‘I didn’t see ye at camouflage training this morning, Private.’” Soap slowly says.

Ghost hums, the shaking going from his shoulders right down to his fingertips.

Soap continues, “Ah told him ‘well, thank ye very much, sir.’”

Ghost closes his eyes behind the mask, leaning his head back on the headrest, “not bad. What do you get when you drop a piano on an army officer?”

“Tell me.”

The Brit’s leg kicks uncontrollably, “a f-flat major.”

Soap couldn’t stop his chuckle, “alright, I’ll give ye that one.”

“We could do this all day.” Ghost murmurs, the convulsing recedes and his limbs finally relax.

His brown eyes open to stare at him.

Soap averts his eyes, “that’s what I’m afraid of…”

Soap thanks every god he could name for the tinted windows their stolen truck has, making it so when a soldier passes them by, he just drives away. 

The water tower is a large, domed structure, which was once white but over the years lost most of the paint job. Soap spots a man overwatching the makeshift base underneath him. Must be their target.

He rolls the truck to a stop near the staircase, hopping out and taking cover behind a stack of crates. Ghost soundlessly joins him, surveying the area.

“Only way up is through the stairs…” Soap says half to himself. The stairs wrap around the outside of the tower, leaving whoever climbs them completely exposed for the entire way. 

Ghost grumbles, “we’ll need to look convincing only from afar.” He lowers to a tighter crouch, “get on, Soap.”

Soap blinks, “huh??”

“You told ‘em you captured an enemy. One of us needs to act as the captive, and the other needs to carry them up.” Ghost looks him up and down, “and not only you don’t look like a Hunter’s soldier, frankly I don’t think you’ll be able to carry me for that long.”

Soap tenses, wanting to argue back but finding no holes in Ghost’s argument. He steps closer to the masked man, awkwardly draping himself over his shoulders so he could lift him in a fireman carry. 

“Jus’ so ye know, I would’ve hauled ye easily.”

Ghost rises up effortlessly, and Soap feels his gloved hands securing his hands and feet, “I’m sure you would, Soap.” He starts up the stairs, “hope your acting is as good as your Yankee accent.”

“Ye ordering me to play dead?”

“No, just knocked out.”

Soap rolls his eyes, “Ah don’t have to follow ‘em, ye know-”

Ghost pulls on his boot lightly, “sleeping people don’t talk, Johnny.”

His mouth snaps shut. Soap closes his eyes, leaving him with only one thing to focus. That being Ghost, the warmth exuding from him, the hold he has on Soap, and his words.

He never lets people call him “Johnny”. As a kid, he found it patronizing, and as he got older the feeling only got stronger. The only ones that won’t be in danger of getting punched for it would be his family, but that doesn’t mean he likes it even from them.

After being dishonorably discharged, he had to go back to being “John”. Over the many months in the civilian world, he grew to hate that name, grew to despise being reduced to that weak, pathetic mess.

And yet, when Ghost called him that, low and gravelly, deep Manchurian accent rounding the syllables…

Soap would have to lie to himself to say he truly hated that.

Ghost leans him against a wall when they reach the top, motioning him to stay still while a soldier comes to question them. The Brit waits until the unsuspecting soldier rounds the corner, and in a flash slices his throat and catches his falling body. He drops the dead man off (with much less care than he gave to Soap), and inspects the walkway ahead.

“Clear. Rise and shine, Soap.” 

Soap doesn’t get up instantly, opting to search the body and take a few garments. Specifically, the bulletproof vest marked with the Hunter’s blood-red insignia of a skull, and the black face mask covering the soldier’s nose and mouth.

Ghost nods in approval, cleaning the bloody knife off on his pants and tucking it back in place. They both lower to sneak quietly towards the front of the water tower, where a small control room is built up against the dome.

The walkway is dead silent, and Ghost grabs the handle, lifts a hand to motion Soap to be ready on 3, and slams the door open.

The communicator inside startles, hand reaching for his weapon. Soap rushes forward, tackling the man before he could lay a finger on the metal.

“Who the fuck-” the communicator snarls, before his eyes widen so much Soap fears they’ll pop out of his skull. Ghost slinks out of the shadows, a blade twirling in his hand.

The man underneath him trembles in panic, “Ghost…”

The Brit looks down at him, “tie ‘im up.”

Soap grabs the radio off the man’s shoulder, letting it clatter to the floor, and yanks him up to the office chair besides the desk. He finds zip ties scattered among the gear on the table, and makes quick work of securing the communicator to the chair. The man struggles, but Soap roughly binds his arms and legs to the chair.

Ghost shuts the door, slowly stepping closer to the communicator, “we need the location of the Hunter. You are going to give it to us.”

The man spits, “fuck you. You can go shove your damn knife up your-”

Ghost stops his rambling by taking his jaw and shutting it, “I said”, he drags the knife down his throat, “you’re going to give it to us…” he presses the blade to the pale skin, letting beads of blood roll down the man’s neck, “by force, if necessary.”

The communicator tries to back away from Ghost, but Soap takes his shoulders and straightens him.

He lets himself soak in the anger and fury that fuelled him for the past several days. This man, along with the Hunter, are the ones responsible for the destruction that befell on the city. They’re the creators of orphans, the destroyers of homes, the instigators of unjust pain.

Soap growls at the communicator’s ear, “we killed the guard. No one will hear you scream from up ‘ere. I suggest you start talkin’.”

The man doesn’t look at him, his stare pinned on Ghost’s knife, now shining with deep red blood. Soap thinks the communicator’s voice is far less confident than he wants it to be when he snarls, “I don’t know where they are!”

Soap pushes his nape to face him, “bullshite.”

The man’s eyes flicker between his, confusion overtaking his dread for a moment, “who the fuck are you?!”

“He’s with me.” Ghost grounds, pressing the tip of the blade to the man’s groin, “and you better stop asking questions and start giving answers, otherwise I might decide to not leave you with a working pair.”

The chair rattles with the force of the communicator’s struggling, “I don’t know! I don’t know-!”

Ghost slides the knife off the man, only to sink it into his thigh. The communicator opens his mouth to shout, but Soap clasps a hand over it to silence it.

“Wrong answer, mate.” Ghost’s voice lacks any of the deep roundness it had when he was calling him ‘Johnny’. Instead, it is sharp and cold, so much so that even Soap has to suppress a shiver.

The knife is pulled out of the flesh, a dripping sound joining the muffled screams of pain. Ghost moves the knife up, positioning it over the man’s shoulder.

“Where is your commander hiding?”

Soap feels the communicator’s head shaking, his eyes squeezed shut.

Ghost doesn’t bat an eye, driving the knife slowly into his shoulder.

Soap has to bite his tongue at the sounds the communicator makes. He has interrogated before, seen a lot worse than this, but the way Ghost looks almost disinterested, completely unaffected by the man, emotionless and methodical…

He doesn’t remind him of a beast, or a monster, at this moment.

No, Ghost is a weapon. A serrated edge, a rusted knife.

A cruel blade.

“Stop!!! Please stop!!!!!”

Ghost wipes his blade on the man’s ruined shirt, “all you have to do is answer. You decide when it stops.”

The communicator gasps for air, tear tracks and snot running down his blotchy face, “I can’t! They’ll kill me, m-my family!!!”

Ghost slashes his chest again, ignoring the man’s pleas.

This is taking too long. Soap has moved to the door, keeping watch over the stairs for any investigating soldiers. So far, the coast has been clear, but they’re not exactly working with unlimited time here.

“You’ll die either way.” Ghost says apathetically, “you can die quick, or I can keep chipping away at you. And believe me.” Ghost flicks some blood off to the marred floor, “I know how to keep you alive to feel it all.”

“Please-!!!”

Ghost lifts his hand to swing at the communicator again, when his arm seizes up. Soap hears the knife clatter to the ground, Ghost soon following.

“Hrgh… fuck…” the Brit growls, his limbs convulsing uncontrollably. Soap crouches down to help him when he hears a wheezing laugh.

The communicator, tears still in his eyes, heaves a gurgling chuckle, “I almost started worrying you were immune to it.” he says between laughter, “the Ghost, brought to his knees. How I wish the Hunter was here to see this!”

“I’ll still fuckin’- fucking hell…” Ghost’s jaw is clenched, the words barely getting out. Soap drags him up to lean against a wall.

He’s fed up with the communicator’s laughter quickly enough, and stomps over to grab him by his short hair and pull his gleeful face towards him.

“I think ye forget I’m still here, you bastard. Tell us where yer boss is!”

The man winces at Soap’s handling, but his eyes are still curved in mirth, “why do you care?” he asks with a smile, “do you even know who’s your partner over there?”

Soap feels his anger overflowing, “I care because you’re here, massacring innocent people like they’re fuckin’ animals! Where the fuck is the Hunter?!”

“We did it to frame him”, the man nods to Ghost’s shaking form, “someone needed to take the Ghost down.”

…What? Some part of Soap shouts that it doesn’t matter. Another tells him he shouldn’t care what Ghost has done to warrant that.

A third, loud voice, commends him to dig further.

“Why?” Soap asks lowly, and Ghost groans behind him, clothes rustling as he tries to get up.

The communicator barks a short laugh, “why?! He’s a fuckin’ merc, buddy! Doesn’t care who pays, as long as they pay good! Do you know how many politicians this guy killed?! High ranking officers?!! He could topple countries, He survived the worst of the worst, cheated death himself!”

Ghost’s movements stop.

The communicator’s mouth curls into a sharp smile, “didn’t you, Simon Riley?”

Soap takes a step back, eyes wide in shock. That’s- Ghost is-?!

A knife wheezes past him, barely missing his ear before burying into the communicator’s right eye. The man’s cheerful expression lasts for a second longer, before his features slack and his head hangs down, lifeless.

Soap stares at the corpse, breath halted. He turns around slowly, stare sliding over Ghost’s extended arm.

“What… the fuck… did you do?”

Simon’s eyes don’t meet his.

Page 19 of the  “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 7:

There are many Beasts, who roam the blessed land,

Many creatures who one, who wishes for his fellow men well,

Must slay with no remorse.

It is why a hunter, a man such as myself,

Must take a heavy blade, and bury it within the monster.

Yet you, Blind Man,

You protect this evil?

The Blind Man answers, this is no beast,

No more twisted than me, no more different to his fellow men than me.

Very well, the hunter does not falter,

This path seems to only harbor beasts,

And therefore I shall slaughter you both.

[bishopsbelova]

13 years ago today - season 13 premiered

And can I just say that with the premiere of season 13, came the best and most realistic character the show has ever seen???? From the moment she stepped off that elevator into the 16th, threw her box of stuff at some random uniform with the most southern "stash that somewhere for me hon, thank yew." I was hooked.

We watched her go through so much shit, be so rightfully jaded and closed off because of her father, men in charge in APD, we watched her literally hit rock bottom with her addiction and her family troubles, her rape.

But through it we also saw her partnership and friendship with Fin start to develop and blossom. And how he was there for her when no was else was back then (Remember when he immediately tried to give her money to help her out of her hole? Or how he punched her bookie after he roughed her up?)

We watched her slowly pick up the pieces, get through her gambling addiction; become a mom - and be a better one for Jesse than she had. We got to see her partnership with Carisi develop and watch her allowed herself to let people in again (Sonny and Liv) and realize hat she can in fact rely on others instead of having to do everything on her own.

We got to watch Amanda as her squad because her family, watch as her relationship with Sonny change as he became more and more important to her and became her safe space.

We got to watch as her rocky relationship with Liv turned into one of the most important relationships of her life - she's her kids godmother for a reason - and become one of the strongest female friendship ever seen on tv.

We got to see Amanda believe in herself again, to feeling worthy of love and allow herself to fall in love (with the best guy) and be loved.

Amanda Rollins has quite literally been through hell and back (multiple times) and yet somehow, she's still standing and continuing to work on herself and be better.

And now? She's about to be a fucking Sergeant of the NYPD Intelligence Bureau???

Amanda Rollins is a survivor. A recovered(ing) addict. A mom. A wife. A best friend. A Sergeant.

That's my girl.

13 years of the best god damn character development.

[thena0315]

#0231 Sergeant Badge Holders

Munch [S9-S15]

Fin [S19-S25]

Rollins [S26-Present]

Since Kelli was spotted filming with Fin's badge number, it's possible Fin will be getting a new number (or they'll confuse us by making them share the same badge #)

If they do tell us that Fin wanted to give Amanda his badge number, I think it would be a nice full circle. Munch was Fin's first partner when he joined the squad and Fin was Amanda's first partner when she joined the squad.