#*blows you a kiss* double homicide

[sugcrxspice]

"you don't have to take care of me." + cy

Rolling her eyes at the bravado behind his declaration, Ava looked at her older brother for a beat before lazily retorting, "Uh... duh. I know I don't have to, dummy. But that doesn't mean I don't want to." Despite the fact that she'd spent her entire adolescence railing against the idea of being similar to any of her siblings (no matter how much she secretly admired them, looking on with reverence as they grew into themselves with an open rebellion that she subconsciously sought to emulate), the stubborn way that her brother refused to accept help was a little too familiar to the brunette. She knew full well that his chronic illness was wreaking havoc on his body. Cyrek did his best to hide it from her, but she could see it in the way he moved, in the way he interacted with his daughters and those around him. So despite her recent penchant for being the troublemaker of their family, Ava knew it was her responsibility to offer a lending hand, even if his pride wouldn't let him accept it so easily. Fixing an unamused expression at Cy, she remarked impatiently, "Come on. I've stitched myself up a thousand times. I'm not squeamish. Now will you just tell me where you keep your medication already? I'm just trying to help." She knew he was putting on this front to protect her from the reality of his diagnosis, but Ava couldn't bring herself to simply ignore it any longer. Even if she had to fight him tooth and nail to get him to admit it to her, she was going to become someone that Cyrek could lean on for support.

[robynlilyblack]

Bro if you're able can you do sirius black x female reader, they're both stupidly drunk and sirius is trying to teach y/n traditional dancing like a waltz or something. Idiot james walks in and is like oh well done pads you finally told her about that crush then, cue drunken blushing awkward sirius with homicidal tendencies towards james bubbling up and reader is like sirius calm down don't kill him you should thank him cuz now I feel brave enough to confess that I like you and if it weren't for james we'd both have kept our mouths shut so really we should be thanking james. And then the two drunk idiots thank james and James is just so smug and proud of himself

(Don't worry if you have too many requests to do, like it blows my mind how much you manage to write like honestly I'm astounded so if you don't have time for this request that's honestly fine. P.s I love your writing and make sure you take some time to take care of yourself 💚)

He loves you silly...and she loves you dingus

Sirius Black x fem! reader

Summary: While Sirius teaches Y/n how to dance James makes a surprise appearance, and his slight misunderstanding of the scene leads to some confessions

Warnings: swearing, first kiss ish (you'll understand at the end), drunk reader and sirius, drunken confessions, getting together, best friends to lovers, James being unapologetically James x

A/n: 1.1k words, aww thank you so much, don't worry i'm taking care of myself x thank you for the request, enjoy!

Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist

“No Siri…Siri…ow” your hands slip when you try to sit up and make your point, causing you to fall face first into the mattress

“You good darling?” Sirius asks although it’s more like a laugh, his arms looping around your body to pull you up 

You lean into him, back now against his chest as you look around “No I’m upset” you whine a small giggle escaping your lips near the end

“Why?” he matches your energy, his tone almost teasing in your drunken states 

There a delay in your response, only a few seconds, but each of you savour them. You were definitely drunk, moving from a fifty-fifty chance of remembering to zero pretty quickly. Drunk enough that both of you were slipping with your act in hiding your respective feelings and being just friends

“I can’t dance Siri!” you exclaim, pouting like it was the end of the world

“What kind of dancing?” he inquires, holding you a little closer before he taps your nose, heart-warming at the scrunch 

You trace his face with your eyes

“Ballroom” you say, shifting around on the bed, grabbing his hands in yours making them dance around “Like the waltz and…the…the waltz” you repeat…even in your sober state you wouldn’t remember any dances

He chuckles sweetly at you “I can do the waltz and the the waltz” he makes fun earning a playful shove but you grow excited when his words register fully

“Really?!” you move onto your knees, bouncing up and down on the bed

He could have kissed you there and then, he should kiss you…but as usual he’s too scared

“Yeah, come on darlin”

He not so gracefully climbs off the bed, almost falling flat on his face but acts like he didn’t and holds out his hand

You do something similar to him, pretty much falling into his chest, and you both burst into giggles 

“Still with me darlin?” he cups your face, checking to make sure you hadn’t become too drowsy for this

You give a firm nod, eyes a little glassy and he could trick his mind into thinking you where admiring him, really admiring him in the way he was you

You let out a hum “Perfect” you almost whisper, a double meaning as you meet those stormy eyes of his “Now teach me” you bounce on the balls of your feet

He smiles at your enthusiasm

“Okay darling, take my hand and…place the other on my shoulder” he gently instructs and you do as he says, face warming as his hand slips down to your waist

“Now what” you ask, chests brushing

“Watch our feet” he looks down, you wearing his socks with little dogs on them and he wearing yours with little bunnies on them “As my foot steps forward yours steps back, so pretty much you are doing the opposite of mine…” he half explains, when you were sober he’d teach you properly for now this will do

You follow his instructions, mirroring his moments, both of you laughing and teasing each other as you go.

Your eyes were fixed on your feet while Sirius’ was on your face. Observing the way you bite your lip in concentration, looking so beautiful just like you always did. In that moment, once again, he felt the urge to kiss you, any part of you, and he succumbs to it just a little

As his lips meet your forehead the door opens revealing a James “Oh that’s where you two got too” he says when he first sees you before noticing the position

Sirius’ nose in your hair, lips against on your forehead, holding each other close in a small waltz

“Oh finally told her! About time…” he chuckles shaking his head “…thought he’d never confess”

His laugh and grin fades seeing your eyes widen and Sirius give him a death glare, his mouth dropping open as he realises what he just did

“Con…” you hiccup, drunken state catching up with you “Confess?” you look up at Sirius with a huge grin on your face, detangling yourself from him

James cracks a smile too, he knew you liked him back but the confirmation still made his heart warm, although the smile was laced with nerves as Sirius looked like he was going to kadvra him

“Y/n” Sirius doesn’t and won’t look at you, too scared to see your reaction “Umm” his cheeks slowly going red “The thing…thing…I” as he struggles to even form a sentence 

James can’t help but laugh at the normally smooth-talking boy reduced to incoherent noises and babbles as he gets all flustered. His sniggers finally pull Sirius away from his embarrassment though

“I’m going kill you” he steps forward but is quickly stopping by two hands clasping around his wrist 

“Leave him…” another hiccup “…be” you say, a lazy smile on your face

“But…” Sirius turns back to look at you, doing a double take when he realises your smiling “..but…” he can’t help smiling 

“But nothin” you pull him towards you, an adorable angry pout on your face

He wiggles his arm out of your grip and cups your cheeks “Why shouldn’t I kill him?” he asks with a grin, slowly inching his face forward, both of you completely forgetting James who wishes he brought popcorn…or maybe the others to watch…or even just a camera

“Because if he didn’t say anything then I wouldn’t know you liked me” you smile, nudging your nose with his

“I don’t like you” he corrects and although his heart aches at your sad look he knows you’ll be happy in a second “I love you silly, always have….” he kisses your forehead “always will”

The way your face lights up again makes him fall in love all over again, although he doesn’t have much time to admire it as you launch forward and peck his lips again and again, words slipping out between kisses

“I…love…you…too…dingus”

You start giggling during the kisses which have been getting progressively longer until eventually Sirius holds your face in place so he can properly snog you. 

James smirked as he leant on the doorframe. The kiss wasn’t the perfect drunken moviesque kind, it was messy, real, yet it remained sweet to watch especially after the countless years of mutually oblivious pining.

He raises an eyebrow as he watches you both stumble towards the bed, wondering if he should leave or maybe even stop you both. Luckily Sirius and yourself seem to be growing tired the moment your bodies collide the mattress, kisses getting slower, until eventually you and he are whispering soft sweet nothings, promising dates and finally goodnights as you drift off.

James smiles at the scene moving to help tuck you both in before he realises something. You and Sirius had snuck off during the parties on more than one occasion and He would usually find you both cuddled up in Sirius’ bed by morning just like this.

He lets out a couple of chuckles at the notion of how many times you and his friend had liked confessed only to forget in the morning, and it was this thought which led him to grab a quill and quickly scribble a note on both yours and Sirius’ arm so you didn't forget

He loves you silly

and she loves you dingus

Thank you for reading 💛

[elycore]

I don't know if requests are still open but I've been thinking about Raiden Shogun's ability to create clones of herself in her boss battle and I was thinking about how hot it would be if Scaramouche could utilise that ability for more entertaining purposes

hi, anon!! thinks about sex immediately (to be fair, thats the appropiate context) yes, requests are open~ 3p scara x reader? sure can do! i'm thinking this will work like seele and veliona (breedable waifus, search them up) where 'kunikuzushi' is like part of scara, like veliona is with seele but instead of both sharing one body like seele and veli, scara can let kunikuzushi out in his own physical form so theres two of them at the same time...

fem!mean!dom!reader x two.. sub!bottom!scaramouches? (they fuck in the living room because they're all degenerates)((scaramouche = jealous))

can you tell i died at the porn part.. hha also this is like too long you dont have to read it LMAO this so rushed;))

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

"hey, you know how your mom can makes clones, right? like the raiden shogun." you blurt out. the weather in inazuma is cool today, the cool breeze blowing through the air.

scaramouche flinches at the wording. "not my mom. but uh, yeah, what about it?" he gives you a look, scrunching his nose up.

you cup his cheeks, squeezing them and kissing his the tip of his nose. he yowls, startled by the sudden show of affection and jumping off of you. people are staring now. "hehe, well, can you do that too? since you're like her son."

"not her son." scara repeats, glaring but with a tint of pink on his cheeks. "but... i kind of can."

"whaddya mean kinda?" you tilt your head, urging him to go on. scaramouche sighs, and grabs your wrist to drag you into an empty alley to explain.

"um," he starts awkwardly. "i can only create clones of 'myself'. so like, i can't make another raiden shogun; only another 'me'. does that make sense?"

"so i can have two scaramouches? double holes?" you cling to his arm in excitement. scaramouche sputters at the wording.

"double what? ...anyways, you got your answer. i'm not doing it. not even for money." he turns to you, giving you his "that's final" look. of course, that didn't seal the deal for you.

"cmon please? i always give you stuff. you haven't repaid me for the two-hundred dango pack i ordered for you." you shoot him with a teary, puppy-eyed expression.

"that was literally a gift. and i..." you squish your breast against his arm, giving him your (attempted) most seductive look, sticking your tongue out just barely and lowering your eyes.

"we can have a lot of fun. you want that, right puppy?"

"this might take a bit." scaramouche took a deep breath as he rubbed his temples. "cover your mouth, (y/n)." with only that as a warning, you shriek as a cloud of dust suddenly envelopes your sight. you cough, slightly annoyed. your nose stung, and your eyes watered to the extent that it looked like you were crying (though you were sure scaramouche wouldn't have minded).

fanning the smoke away, you squint your eyes. scaramouche's shape is present with another person next to him, sitting on the floor. the smoke cleared after a moment, and you gasp.

a beautiful boy is sitting on the ground, looking confused. he had the same feautures as his lover, but his eyes were softer and he didn't have the looming aura of homicide. his long hair gathered around him like a puddle. "scaramouche, why did you call me?" even this boy's voice was angelic, unlike scara's who was rough (outside of the bedroom, at least).

"there's somebody you'd like to meet. kunikuzushi, meet (y/n). (y/n), meet kunikuzushi. she's my girlfriend. " scaramouche seemed more polite with his dual's presence, not wanting to be himself rude in front of kunikuzushi.

"kunikuzushi." you repeated, getting used to the long name. "it's nice to meet you!" kunikuzushi seemed less tense, shoulders relaxing as you smiled at him.

"to you, too. it's an honor to meet scaramouche's beloved." he returns the smile, eyes crinkling.

"you should be more like him. maybe i'd fuck you more," you whisper in scaramouche's ear, and he flushes, hissing a weak 'shut up'. kunikuzushi is staring at you both, confused.

"ahem. we need to get you some clothes, kuni." scaramouche interrupts, about to walk away.

"actually, he doesn't." you set your plan in action, violently tackling scaramouche to the floor by surprise. he's stunned by shock, before groaning in pain with the hard contact.

"(y/n), please do not hur-" kuni's cut off by you pouncing on him, locking your lips with his. kunikuzushi lets out a little gasp, before melting into the kiss. scaramouche glares at the sight of you engaging with his other self, trying to drag you down by the shoulders, but you return his glare.

"good boys get rewards, and this one's been pretty good. not you, of course," you start furiously making out with kunikuzushi again. kuni seemed confused, but stayed pliant as you started to toy with his dick. the blush on scara's face was left unnoticed as he sat on the ground, watching you and wishing he were in kuni's place for once.

too enchanted by his facial features before, you didn't kunikuzushi's body. his nipples were puffy and pink, like scaramouche's (you were sure his were rock hard, though). as one hand teased his erection, another was toying with his equally sensitive chest. kunikuzushi let out small pants, not used to this feeling. you could hear squelching behind you, an obvious sign that scaramouche was finger-fucking himself.

"(y/n)." scara's voice calls, a bit breathy. "if you're going to fuck him, make it good." he really thought kuni was the only one that was going to get wrecked tonight?

you return you attention to kuni, fumbling for your strap under the couch (scara had insisted on putting some around the house. a waste of money, but convenient at times). "(y/n), that isn't going to fit." kunikuzushi whispers. at least he knew what you were about to do.

"it will if i want it to." you reply with a sweet smile, before thrusting in raw. kunikuzushi chokes, although it wasn't the reaction you were hoping for. for some odd reason, he was unbelievably wet (later scaramouche had explained it as 'puppet perks').

as you fuck scaramouche's counterpart ruthlessly, scara spreads your ass and puts a finger inside your cunt. "you can't ignore how wet you are, darling. let me." with only that as a warning, he dives into you, licking into your pussy. your pace stutters, kunikuzushi letting out quick breaths while you stop. "you really thought i was going to ignore this?" scaramouche teases as he licks your clit. you grunt in response, bucking your hips up into kunikuzushi.

the three of you cry out in ectasy, two of you chasing your incoming orgasms. it didn't help for you that once you opened your eyes to take a break from the unrelenting pleasure, kunikuzushi would stare up into you with the lewdest expression, cheeks dusted with light pink. you finally caved in, gritting your teeth as you squirt all over scara's face. at the same time, kunikuzushi lets out an unholy mewl as he falls over the edge, cumming on his chest. the room is silent with heaving breaths, all of you exhausted.

"scaramouche," you breathe out, looking back at him. "you're not done yet."

yeah im stoppinghere

[the-bau-quinjet]

Trending

Summary: Steve thinks you’re too young to like him despite the obvious hints you’re dropping.

Warnings: unspecified age gap

Word count: 2246

a/n: I’ve clearly spent too much time on TikTok recently, but inspired me to write something so that's good. It was loosely based on a request for a young reader x Steve, but I forgot part of the request so I'm gonna write something else for that one! Also, I wrote this on my phone so please excuse any typos I missed when trying to edit it lol

Masterlist

Messing with Steve is one of your favorite things to do. Tiny pranks, over the top flirting, poking fun at his lack of understanding of technology. Anything you can do to get him to roll his eyes and chuckle.

Nat would say it’s because of your feelings for him. She would be correct. Not that you’d ever admit that to anyone. Nope. So instead, you have your fun, and enjoy the way his eyes crinkle and his cheeks redden.

Your newest method of hearing the sweet sound of Steve’s laugh? TikTok. It’s a double whammy. One because he doesn’t understand the app and two because a lot of the trends make him blush.

It started as a fun way to blow off steam. Sometimes, being one of the younger and newer team members made you feel like an outsider. Of course, Peter was younger than you, but he had his own friends outside of the team. You didn’t have anyone else. When Tony found you and invited you to join, it was you against the world. Now you have this makeshift family.

Having your account on TikTok helped you when you hadn’t really become a part of the group yet. You bonded with Peter because of his account, and you found a new way to make Steve blush.

Anyway, you’ve learned way more TikTok dances than you ever would have thought just to see his pink cheeks. It’s not even always over the top dances that have him chuckling. The last trend you did had him laughing the entire day. It was that sound about Wednesday Adams having one thing on her mind. Only when it said homicide, instead of a deadpan expression you panned the camera to show Bucky and Sam arguing over who got the last donut.

Of course, you knew when you made the video it would appeal to Steve’s sense of humor. Sam and Bucky feature in a lot of your videos for that exact reason.

In general, you make a lot of videos featuring the Avengers just to keep Tony happy. He likes to be the center of attention, plus the only way he would approve of your account was if it could also feature as PR for the team. You agreed, as long as you had final say over what you posted. There’s nothing scripted or designed for a specific reason, you just feature the team sometimes.

Like when that sound from the Big Bang theory was popular amongst Avengers fans, you made a video confessing to Pepper that you’d been thinking about the Avengers, panning to show the team during training.

Of course, the text on the screen said “you are an Avenger” instead of “I believe that”, allowing you to play off the joke. But still, it was fun to include the team.

One of your favorite videos features none other than Scott Lang, mostly because nobody else would do it. Scott thought it was hilarious though.

Using the sound from New Girl, Scott played Schmidt and you Jess. The text on the screen read as follows:

Scott: You just walk around all day thinking about America’s Ass?

You: Yeah, don’t you?

Scott: No! How do you get anything done?

You: It’s hard…

Steve blushed like crazy when everyone cornered him to watch it. Bucky, Sam, and Tony wouldn’t stop bringing it up for at least a month. A part of you hoped he might make a move after that video, seeing as you put yourself out there, but he just assumed it was a joke and laughed it off.

Honestly, you were running out of trends that you could use to get him to understand your feelings. You only had two ideas left, and one of them would be mortifying if it didn’t work out…

-

“Steve. You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bucky sighed, exasperated with Steve for the umpteenth time that month. “You’ve been pining for forever, just make a move!” he whisper yelled, doing his best not to throttle his lifelong friend.

Steve rolled his eyes, purposefully ignoring Bucky’s pointed glare. The two men had spent the last hour looking through your TikTok account. Bucky was adamant that you liked Steve, but the blonde didn’t believe it, despite the so called proof Bucky kept forcing him to watch.

“Buck, would you please just back off? We’re friends. She’s too young to want to be with me like that.” Steve blushed, thinking about the context of his words.

Before Bucky could say anything about how repressing his feelings is bad for him, a new video popped up on your account. Bucky smirked when he saw the thumbnail was once again a picture of Steve, this time with a beard. Steve took the silence as an opportunity to escape, walking into his closet to change.

The video opened with a video of you and Natasha just hanging out, you lip syncing to the words “I like you have a cupcake.” You repeated the words as the video cut to you and Tony.

Bucky nearly dropped the phone when “smack my ass like a drum” blared from the speaker. He cackled bending over in a fit of laughter when he realized that’s what Steve’s picture was used for- and one where he had a beard to boot.

“What is it now, jerk?” Steve emerged from his closet, having changed into loungewear. The sight of Bucky fully cackling had him nervous.

Bucky tossed him the phone, doing his best to stop laughing long enough to tell him to watch the most recent video. With a hesitant sigh, Steve obliged.

Again, Bucky rolled his eyes at how obvious Steve’s feelings were. The second he saw you on the screen, he smiled. And not one of those half hearted polite smiles, a full on happy smile.

Steve’s eyes widened, nearly bulging out of his head when he got to the end of the video.

“‘She doesn’t want to be with me like that.’” Bucky mocked his friends earlier words, grabbing his phone back. “Punk, I don’t know how much more obvious she could be.”

With one more glare in Steve’s direction, Bucky finally left him to his own thoughts. Okay, so you made a lot of videos about how you find him attractive. That doesn’t necessarily mean you’d want to be in a relationship with him. Leave it to Steve to talk himself out of everything Bucky had spent so long trying to convince him of.

-

You were desperate at this point. You honestly thought the cupcake one would send him over the edge, but it didn’t work either. It has been three days, and you know Steve’s seen the video because everyone likes to tease him about it.

“Naaaaaat, it’s not working,” you whined, dramatically throwing yourself onto her bed. She laughed at your antics, briefly looking up at you before deciding to stop what she was going and give you her full attention.

“Look, not only is Steve one of the most clueless people I’ve ever met when it comes to women, but he can also talk himself out of believing someone’s interested in him. Especially you.” Nat watched as you lifted your head from her comforter, slowly turning to stare at her with narrowed eyes.

“Especially me?” you questioned. Why would you have a different standard?

“Y/N, Steve’s from the 40s. He’s super old fashioned. You're a hot young thing, super up to date on modern trends. He thinks you're just messing around as friends because he doesn’t believe someone as young as you would be interested in actually having a relationship with him,” she spelt it out for you, sick of trying to get you to figure it out on your own.

You took a minute to fully understand what she was saying, but then sat up when a new idea struck. “So you’re saying I need to be more direct?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I’ve got an idea. Thanks Nat!” you ran from the room before she could question your newest plan, instead checking to make sure her notifications were on for posts from your TikTok account.

-

“Steve!” you shouted when you saw him down the hall, about to turn a corner. He immediately stopped, turning back to see you running at him. “I need your help!”

You pulled him into the gym, briefly glancing around the room to make sure it was empty. Confirming nobody else was present, you set up your phone on one of the weight racks to record the two of you. It was already open to the recording section of TikTok, the sound you needed queued and ready to begin.

“What’s going on?” Steve looked between you and the phone, nerves heightening as he realized what you were doing. All of your videos about him thus far hasn’t actually involved him filming anything.

“I just need you to react to this trend, okay? It’s kind of old, but that doesn’t really matter,” you spoke quickly, trying to start the video before he could decline.

The music started playing instantly, with Steve awkwardly looking between the screen and you. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was reacting to, and it had him on edge. Just as the song reached the chorus, you turned and grabbed his face. Throwing caution to the wind, you followed through with your plan before you could back out, kissing him with all the passion and emotion you’d been holding back.

Steve froze, clearly surprised by your actions. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. He kissed you with equal passion and emotion, no longer paying attention to your phone recording the moment.

Neither of you noticed when the music cut off, too wrapped up in each other. When the need for air overpowered the desire to keep kissing him, you pulled back to gasp in a few breaths. Steve leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closed and breathing erratic.

The two do you spent the next few moments just breathing, trying to come to terms with what just happened. You gasped when his hands moved, one resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek. His eyes were still closed when you chanced a glance at him.

“What was the trend?” he breathily whispered the words, still coming down from the high of kissing you.

“Huh?” you mumbled, unable to comprehend the question when he was still touching you like this.

“The TikTok trend? What was it?” his grip on your hip tightened, but his hand framing your face remained gentle.

“Oh, uh, it was- it was kissing your best friend/crush.” You whispered, heart still racing from his proximity. Your nerves had never been greater. Yeah, Nat always tells you that Steve has feelings for you, but what if he was just being polite? Maybe he didn’t know how to reject you when you kissed him out of nowhere, and now he’s trying to find a way to turn you down gently. What if-

“Was my reaction good enough to post?” he broke your train of thought with another question. You took a minute to think about the question, your brain still moving like molasses

“Um, that depends…” you froze when his eyes opened and stared into yours.

“On?” he prompted you to continue.

“Which caption I can use.” you finished the thought, finally remembering the two most common outcomes of the trend.

“What are the choices?” Steve smirked when you looked flustered, clearly not expecting this conversation.

“Uh, the two-” he began rubbing small circles into your hip with his thumb, effectively cutting off your train of thought again. It wasn’t until he lightly squeezed your hip again that you remember you were answering his question.

“Right! The two most common captions are some variation of ‘this was so awkward’ or ‘we’re dating now’,” you managed to blurt out the choices, blushing when he smiled at you.

“Well, I know which I prefer…” you waited with bated breath as he prolonged the silence, enjoying seeing you so on edge. You nearly whined when he let you go, moving to pick up your phone from the weight rack.

You watched in silence as he typed out a caption, tapping each letter with his pointer finger. A small smile formed on your lips at his adorable old man behavior. He then managed to find the post button, adding the video to your account before handing you the phone to see what he chose.

Your smile only grew after you read the caption, dropping the phone and immediately kissing him again.

-

Meanwhile, Nat had gathered the rest of the team that happened to be around to wait for whatever video you had planned to be posted.

Tony, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, Peter, and Clint all watched as the new video popped up on the screen. Peter bounced with excitement when he heard the song, instantly recognizing the trend. The rest of the group watched as you kissed Steve, mouths gaping open when he actually kissed you back.

Fans were already commenting about how long it took for the two of you to get together, but the team was too focused on laughing at the caption to pay any mind to the comments.

She said the trend was kind of old, but that fits because I’ve got a habit of waiting too long anyways.

Permanent taglist: @averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @strawberryspence @sebastnstn @jswessie187 @ellobruv

Marvel: @leyannrae @livstilinski @oceaniamaddness @justreadingficsdontmindme

[cheelduh]

How to Not Kill a Ginger (High School Au!)

Part 5 to the series hehehe

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Synopsis: Childe’s stomach stirs when you take care of him, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his major crush on you or just plain old diarrhea.

Warnings: Swearing. Graphic descriptions involving the true idiocy of teenage boys.

Words: Abt 2.6k

Note: Sorry I sort of half assed this. I have big ideas for the next part tho ✨😮‍💨

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that Teucer knows how to throw one hell of a tantrum.

Him and his brother, Anthon, under your watch, manage to get into a petty squabble that's been airing for the last fifteen minutes. You've done everything, from offering candy to promising an extra hour on the switch, but your efforts do not bear fruit.

What did you tell Childe again? Oh yeah, that babysitting kids was a breeze. Apparently it's not a breeze. Maybe something more like a shart. A chunky, messy one at that.

"Listen dude," You reason to Anthon, the oldest of the bunch gently. "Where did you hide his toy?"

Anthon sticks a tongue out at you, and you nearly cry at the intensity of the insult. "Not telling."

Your patience runs thin.

"C'mon Anthon," Tonia lectures from her chair on the table like the godsend she is. "Just give him his toy back. You're being so annoying." She's taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Not until he apologizes!" Anthon crosses his arms, huffing. "He ate my cheese string!"

"There are more cheese strings!" You exclaim, opening the fridge to prove your point. "I'm sure Teucer's sorry for taking yours. Just pick another one."

"But it's not the same! He took the last cheddar and mozzarella one, now there are only mozzarella ones left." He speaks in between Teucer's wails. You wonder if this is a daily occurrence.

Tonia sighs, gets up from her chair, and hands the eldest her cheese string. "Just take this and give him his toy back."

Almost immediately, Anthon reaches a hand behind the tv table and pulls out the miniature Mr. Cyclops, then throws it point blank at Teucer's feet.

Teucer wails louder.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shoulders sagging under the stress of being a temporary teenage mother.

Then you take a deep breathe, voice booming over Teucer's cries, Anthon's grumbling, and the clicking of Tonia's tongue. "Let's make a cake!"

Everything in the room stills. Even Teucer's loud cries comes to a halt, and he inhales so sharply that the streak of snot over his lip goes right back into its origin.

You wince inadvertently.

"Poggers!" Anthon cheers, and his siblings join in, laughing and clapping in excitement.

Tonia's eyes widen in confusion when she briefly pauses from her rally. "Wait a minute. What are we celebrating? We can't bake a cake for no reason! It won't taste nearly as good."

Everyone stops to ponder.

Then you snap your fingers in realization, and the kids huddle around you. "How about a 'get well better' cake for your big brother?"

They erupt in cheers again, but you shush them gently, wink an eye for extra measure. "We have to be quiet! He won't get better if we wake him."

The three nod in understanding and begin shushing each other, failing to conceal their giggles.

As you watch them making their way into the kitchen, bounce in their steps, you can't stop the warm smile that reaches your eyes.

That smile soon becomes a frown of horror when Anthon cracks an egg over Tonia's head.

-

The cake is not half as bad as you thought it would be initially. Between mixing the ingredients and ceasing the kids minus Tonia from being menaces to society, you were able to find middle ground.

Eventually Anthon found interest in finding ways to lick the batter whenever you turned around, and Teucer found comfort in your left leg, latching onto it as if it were a life line.

Just like how Venti latches onto his stupid little bottle of wine disguised as a water bottle. Seriously, you’ve never talked to him sober, and at this point are afraid of what’s he’s like lucid.

Tonia had been the only one taking things seriously for the most part, except for the sprinkles-to-icing ratio. She drowned the entire cake in sprinkles, the mere sight adding on the ghost of an ache in your teeth.

It looks like twilight sparkles took a fat dump on it.

"Okay besties," You inwardly curse yourself for giving into Gen-Z vocabulary as you brush your hands on the apron. "I think we've done a pretty decent job."

"It looks so pretty!" Tonia grins widely, eyeing the edible pearls she strategically placed. She quickly strikes down a finger Anthon tried to poke into the icing, with the accuracy of a true warrior.

You shudder at the thought of Childe teaching her how to stab someone with safety scissors.

"Can we add candles?" Teucer asks, but Tonia clicks her tongue in distaste.

"It's not a birthday cake." She crosses her arms judgementally. The power in her glare reminds you of La Signora, strangely enough.

You ruffle his copper coloured locks anyways, and his grip on your thigh tightens. "We can add candles if you want Teucer."

He nods his head and snuggles deeper into the side of your leg. Your heart warms up considerably.

After the candles are poked in, you try to shrug him off. "C'mon dude, just for five minutes. You don't want me to drop the cake before your brother can get a bite do you?"

Reluctantly, he obliges, and runs off to help Tonia collect utensils to take up to Childe's room.

Anthon's on door duty, kicking away any toys that serve as obstacles in your way like a professional soccer player.

Once you four make it up the stairs in front of the designated room, Anthon doesn't bother knocking. He barges in like he owns the place, chin up high and a signature smirk on his face that he probably learnt from his older brother.

Childe fumbles awake, kicking the air whilst in shock by the chaotic sound of the door hitting the wall and Teucer screaming "Happy Birthday!" at the top of his miniature sized lungs as he runs in to plop right on top of his older brother.

His bewildered expression soon turns into something of a loving smile as he begins to process what is happening, eyes lighting up despite the deep bags that frame them.

Tonia places the plates on his side table, right next to the empty soup bowl you placed there earlier. She climbs up onto the bed as well to join in on the hug.

Anthon approaches at last, hands in his pockets as he coolly acknowledges his older brother. Instead of a bone-crushing hug like the other two are indulging in, his opts for a fist bump that Childe happily reciprocates.

Then finally, between the shield that are his siblings, his cerulean eyes land on your near the doorway, then trail down to the cake in your oven-mittened hands. He averts his gaze back to your own, and grins so wide his cheeks start to throb.

"Big brother! We made you cake." Teucer moves his head from his chest to face him. "So you can get better."

Childe's laughs ring in your ears, but you don't shy away from the sound. It's a pleasant, something that you wish to hear more of in the near future. Sure enough he laughs a lot at school, but the genuineness of it at home, surrounded by his siblings, stirs something deep within you.

"How thoughtful of you." He ruffles his hair, then his eyes widen as he ushers the two off of him. "You guys can't be near me! I don't want you to fall ill as well."

"But-but how will we feed you the cake without getting close to you?" Tonia frowns, and her two brothers nod in unison.

You chuckle lightly, approaching the bed with the cake in your hands. "I'm sure he has enough strength to feed himself. The hugs and kisses surely must've energized him."

To be honest, Childe's all green in the face and the last thing on his mind would be to indulge in the cake. You understand the feeling all to well. With his nose clogged up, throat all sore, there's no way he'll stomach it. It took a lot of nagging on your part to get him to finish the soup earlier as well.

He blows the candles anyways, clapping along his siblings and letting Tonia drop a fat chunk of the golden cake onto his plate. You find it endearing, regrettably so. His dedication to keeping their dreams is admirable in more ways than you can count.

This is the same guy that wears meme shirts to school, topped off with douchey sunglasses to give him a pristine vibe. The same guy that punches holes in walls like a Kyle. The very boy that flexes his toned biceps in-front of you during lunch time, successfully ruining your appetite.

"Wait a minute..." Childe inspects the cake closely, narrowing in on the candles. "Why is there an eleven?"

Teucer scratches his neck sheepishly. "Those were the only candles we had left."

After another short-lived laugh, Childe manages a bite as everyone stares in expectation, the sound of a tight crunch enveloping the room, making you grimace in secret. If Childe feels like puking out his guts right now, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it from his darling siblings.

You're glad nobody forces you to take a bite, or it would've been a double homicide right then and there.

Soon enough, one by one the children file out of the room, satisfied with their visit. The reality is that they don't want to miss an episode of backyardigans.

Once they leave, you approach him with a napkin. He gets the gist, spitting out the remnants of the cake you slaved over for about two hours.

"Colour me impressed." You snort, moving the cake aside so you can take a seat on the open space next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Amazing." He exclaims, eyes red like a crackhead's, nose runny, with goosebumps kissing his pale skin. He sure does look...amazing.

"Cool." You say, abruptly getting up. "I'm gonna vibe with the kid—"

His hand shoots out from underneath the blanket, clammy palms wrapping around your wrist to keep you locked in place. You gulp in anticipation.

"You kissed me." Childe reminds you, eyes twinkling in mischief, a vicious grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

You try not to choke on your words. "You have circumstantial evidence at most." No attempts are utilized to pull away from him.

He raises a teasing brow, and you give in because the tension is thick. Thicker than the tension between Albedo and Kaeya when the latter shamelessly unzips his front to show more of his biddies. You have no idea why he hasn’t been dress coded yet.

"Fine." You snap out of your impure thoughts, and huff out, frustrated all over. "I kissed you on the cheek."

"Still a kiss though."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Also, cute nails." He points out, hand moving down to grasp your fingers. The act is intimate, his caress gentle and caring. Despite his brash, violent personality, he shows you a completely different side to him that hatches butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks." You show off the bright jewels on your index. "You have a real nail technician in the house."

Tonia has some serious talent.

When he taps one of the jewels, you slap his hand away. "Careful there dude. These cost me a fortune."

His chuckles die down and he smiles again, but this time apologetically. "They didn't trouble you too much did they? I know they can be loud."

"I like loud." You answer him truthfully. "They're fun to be around. Not nearly as chaotic as you."

He blinks in mock offence, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You come into my house, talk to my siblings, and have the nerve to insult me? Right after taking advantage of me?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll also have the nerve to rip you a new one." You reply dryly with the innocent curl of your lips.

"Bet."

You're about to lunge at him and scream a string of obscenities that no one has ever heard of before, but the Archons are listening and you don't want his siblings to grow up without someone to look up to. Wait a minute—scratch that. You'd be doing them a favour if you wiped his existence right here and now.

You have a fragile heart though. So you sigh, and grab a fistful of sheets in both hands instead.

Childe's grin turns into a petrified scowl.

"Oh no," He pleads, weakly fighting you back. "Have mercy! Please!"

You have loads of mercy. Just not enough for him.

When you have him wrapped in a successful bundle, Childe can’t help but beam, laying limp in his confines.

“What are you smiling about?” You inquire, pulling out the medicine from his box, pausing momentarily in shock. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re into these things you freak.” Head snaps up so fast you nearly suffer from whiplash.

He’s about to answer you but his words turn into a fit of shallow coughs.

“I’m into whatever you’re into.” Childe’s shrug is nonchalant. “Even if that means I have to be tied up. Kinky by the way.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you hold the spoon up. The dark reddish medicine swirls in deep hues.

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“Girlie, I don’t think you understand how contradicting that statement is.”

You momentarily wonder if it’s too late to abort yourself.

—

Childe awakens at the crack ass of night, sweat slick, sticky all over, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. He’s a panting mess, eyes darting around the dark room, inhaling, exhaling, mind in a haze from the fever. Gaining somewhat of a grip on reality, he fumbles around to turn on his lamp, throat parched and in need of water.

When he manages to find the switch, he recoils at the brightness, adjusting to the sudden change in his vision. On his side table, there’s a bologna sandwich tucked safely in plastic wrap, a glass of room temperature water, and a bottle of painkillers.

His eyes disregard most of the things, finding interest in the bright pink sticky note next to the painkillers. Unable to ignore the dryness of his throat and the pounding of his head, he quickly gulps a pill down with most of the water, instantly feeling the relief of hydration.

Then, he pounces on the note, giddiness overtaking him despite the pang in his muscles, and the general feeling of absolute shit.

I had to leave. Don’t worry about your siblings, they’re all tucked in and fine. Except for Anthon maybe. Apparently he’s mildly lactose intolerant and thought it was a good idea to overdose on chocolate milk when I was busy with Teucer. Anyways, get better soon stupid.

— Y/N

He safely tucks the note under his pillow, edges of his lips turned upwards, warmth flooding his veins when he takes another look around his surroundings.

The room itself is cleaned, floor cleared from the initial clutter and the cool shiny collector’s knives he buys off of Amazon safely hung over the wall, not littered on his desk like they usually are.

The homework he was supposed do, but most likely wouldn’t, is already completed, stacked neatly atop each other.

Childe swears his heart bursts in his chest, exploding into tiny particles that overheat his entire body.

There’s no way in hell a few days worth of homework is gonna bring his failing mark up, but then again it’s the thought that counts.

While the sandwich is catered to his nausea, bland and plain for easy digestion, an easy fill, it’s the best meal he’s ever had in his life.

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

Four Lines: Day 1 - Day 31

Chapter 1

You turn off the pan and put it aside when you hear her padding in the corridor. Humming to herself like she usually does after a satisfying day, she walks into the kitchen where you are, barely acknowledging your presence. It’s a game you know far too well to get bothered by that behavior.

Your first instinct would’ve been to ask her what has she been up to, outside, but after the last time, where she persuaded to stop asking questions with a not-too-gentle training session off the clock, knocking the curiosity out of your by force, you just bite your tongue and keep chopping the vegetables.

There are times when she returns home with dried blood under her nails, others, which happen more frequently, she’s so bruised up she can barely walk. Your mind often drifts on all the possible scenarios: fights, gun battles, homicides of all sorts, and you’re feeling scared, your stomach turning into a tight knot, yet you can’t discern if you’re more scared about her life, her nature, what she’s actually capable of, or the fact that she could go out, one day, and never come back.

Not that much has changed from when she gave you the last of the four lines on your left shoulder, forever making you hers with her initial carved in your flesh:  Miranda kisses you, lets you kiss her in return; Miranda takes you whenever she’s in the mood, and she lets you lay beneath her when she needs to get herself off after a particularly stressful day. She plays with you and you let her. The rules of that game haven’t been discussed, she is a player as well as the moderator, she sets the limits and breaks them whenever she wants; but still, it’s fresh, it thrilling, it’s what gives color to your otherwise grey life confined in that apartment. You wait for her to return home when she’s out, and buzz around her when she’s home, wondering when she’ll play with you again. In the night, rather than wonder if she’ll ever get bored of you, you often wonder when. While you wait and push the denigrating, useless thoughts in the back of your mind, you take whatever she wants to give you, well aware that anything is better than nothing at all.

When you feel her presence behind you, you do nothing to prevent your eyelids from fluttering close. The spicy scent of the cooked food gets soon replaced with the sweet one of her shampoo and soap and you inhale greedily, the grip getting loose around the handle of the chopping knife.

Miranda is silent when she breathes against the column of your neck, sharp teeth scratching lightly at your jaw. One arm loops around your waist, knocking almost all the wind out of you, the other, flushed against your side; her hand trails down steadily against your half-bare thigh, fingers tapping rhythmically against your skin, then creeping under the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing.

You still and force your eyes to open, focusing on the thin thread of smoke coming from the pan. Struggling to detach your mind enough from her touch to prevent your body from shivering, you can’t help the smirk blooming on your lips when you feel her stroking upward, palming the inside of your thigh, and dwelling on the black string fastened high on your leg. It’s not the first one she gave you, which was plain and practical, this one - also a gift - is thicker, just as efficient despite being made of a far cuter lace.

You shift impatiently when her nail scratches on the length of it, moving around, searching, relentless.

“Where’s your knife?” She hisses against your neck, looping her fingers inside the strap, and she pulls at it roughly, using the leverage to nudge your legs apart.

You hardly contain a whimper when she claws at the soft flesh under her hand, dangerously close to the apex of your thigh, but not close enough to make any damage.

“You’re disobeying me?” She nibbles at the shell of your ear, but her teeth prick this time. “I think I told you to wear it always.” She reminds you, lolling her head backward so her teeth tug, and tug until your skin stings with pain.

“I have it.” You reply then through a wheeze. You can feel her smile against your neck. “I have it here.” You add, softer, unfolding the fingers of your dominant hand to reveal the shiny, tear-shaped knife, ready to be used.

You don’t actually need to look at her to know that her eyes are sparkling with the familiar glim of upcoming violence that doesn’t scare you anymore.

Your blows are not messy like they were a few weeks ago, you’ve learned to angle your wrist and arm, you know exactly where and how to strike. There are times when you wonder whether Miranda lets you get this close to her face or a part of her body or if your skills have actually improved.

She hisses, a playful grin widening on her lips when she studies her arm, the torn sleeve, and, with more interest, the thin red line appearing on her freckled skin.

It’s a superficial cut, merely a scratch, but you contemplate the idea of begging for forgiveness before swallowing the words, your own mouth curving into a satisfied smirk when she lets out a breathy chuckle.

“I’m getting good at this.” You state boldly, your tongue stroking the edge of your teeth as you grip even firmer the knife in your hand.

“Oh, don’t be smug.” Miranda replies, and despite the grin curving her lips, you gasp at the feral sparkle behind her eyes.

When she launches forward, you immediately realize your mistake and regret your inability to shut up. Yes, a couple of months ago that same inability gave you the chance to make her mask drop and crack open the outer shell - in all honesty, if you hadn’t talked, you think that whatever you’re doing would’ve never happened in the first place - but right now, your big mouth will only give you some nasty bruises that are probably going to last for days.

You only back away a few steps before the counter presses in the small of your back. You drop your knife, hitting away her fists with some of the moves you’ve learned, but that, too, doesn't last long.

Seemingly getting bored - or frustrated - after a couple of deftly averted shots, her knees hit your square in your abdomen. The piercing pain knocks the wind out of you, but you don’t have the time to double over, cradling the offending spot in your arms, before you feel her hand grabbing a fist full of hair, pulling at your scalp with viciousness.

“You're getting good.” She confirms with a snarl, deaf to your protests, and you grip at the edge of the counted when she pulls you near the induction hobs. “But not good enough, yet.”

You close your eyes when she draws your face near one of the hot surfaces - you’ve turned it off, but it’s still scalding, and you can feel the heat lap at your cheek.

You try to resist her when she pushes, and you’re aware she could push harder, easily making your cheek burn, but she simply doesn’t.

You can hear the tip of your hair sizzling against the scalding plate, and the smell of burnt is foul, it makes you cough and struggle even more when you fight the soreness that is settling in your neck.

“Sorry!” You mumble hurriedly, almost fearing that the littles movement can bring you closer to the searing pain she threatens to give you. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not.” She replies, tugging you flushed to her chest and away from the cookware.

When she spins you around, her palm is cool against your cheek, but hardly soothing. When she kisses you, it’s all teeth clashing together, fighting for a predominance you’ve already granted. When she palms you through the shirt, scattering backward only makes her rougher. And you grip at the counter edge at either side of your waist when she presses the small of your back into it, pinning between the hard surface and herself.

“And you shouldn’t be.”

Instinctively, you try to squirm away, lift yourself on your toes, but she follows, tugging at your lip with her teeth until a taste of copper pricks the tip of your tongue.

Miranda laughs at your struggle to contain pitiful whimpers when she twists your nipple between her fingers unexpectedly, and her other hand hurriedly groups the shirt up, fingers sliding between your bodies to cup your mound through the thin cotton of your underwear.

You kiss her back with fervor, chasing her hand with your hips, muffling your moans into her mouth when she presses harder, and moves faster, rubbing the damp fabric against your skin, spreading the growing arousal, making you wince in both discomfort and pleasure.

One of your hands keeps on gripping to the edge of the counter for leverage, the other flares up to fist at the back of her shirt when you feel the familiar heat coiling low into the pit of your loins.

“This is because you’ve been good.” She whispers against your mouth, hot, labored breath fanning your parted lips. Her fingers edge to your core, pushing the scratchy fabric in, for a moment, making you hiss.

“Miranda-” You whimper, not sure if you want to tell her to stop or be merciful and properly touch you so you can have some blissful relief.

“And this,” she says, teeth grazing at the shell of your ear, “is because you got me.” She pecks a single kiss on your cheek, then pulls away altogether, leaving you panting and unsated.

“Fuck-” You growl biting more foul words back and heavily falling down on your feet, knees weak and you lean more on the counter behind you.

The woman smirks at you, clearly satisfied. She nibs at the tip of the fingers that have been between your thighs, her grimace swinging from a fake alienation from the facts and a mischievous admittance of her guilts.

“Let’s eat now.” She says, perching herself on her stool, face gracefully propped on the palms of her hands, elbows on the table.

You shake your head, a meek grin poorly hidden behind your gaped mouth.

You eat in silence, she dries the dishes after you’ve washed them, putting each back herself because she likes her own disposition, which you still can’t manage to figure out precisely - or so she claims, but at some point, you knew she just wanted to mess with you.

It's late in the evening when Miranda makes you drink a mix of alcohol and some bitter solution she adds - every couple of days one drop more - a little something to prepare your body makes it go numb in case... something happens. She doesn’t tell you in case of what, of course. The first few times it got you terribly sick, but then your body grew accustomed to it, much to her satisfaction - or relief, you’re still unsure.

Feigning reading your book at the feet of the couch, you watch her working on her laptop for hours. You stare at the scrunch of her nose when she focuses on something, at how she pushes back her glasses when the frame slides dangerously close to the tip of her nose, how she grunts and smiles and taps her fingers on the keyboard with no apparent rhythm.

When she’s done, you follow her for a moment, before dropping your gaze to the book in your lap, hardly paying any attention to it, your whole body alert and set on Miranda and what she's doing.

You hear her walking around the apartment, getting ready for bed - you hear the water running in the bathroom, the rustle of clothes when she changes into her tank top and shorts to sleep.

When she comes back, you pretend to read. It’s the same damn sentence for the fourth time or so.

Miranda’s presence is heavy behind you, almost vibrating in the room. You feel the cushions on the couch bend under her weight, and when her cool hand wraps around your neck, you obediently tilt your head up, blinking at her upside-down face. She smells of minty toothpaste and lotion.

Before you can even control your mind, restraining one of the too many things you’d like to say, and ask - but never say nor ask - your mouth has moved of its own volition.

“Join me to bed?” You mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

You watch her expression twitch, you hope for it to shift, but it doesn’t: Miranda smirks at you, shakes her head slightly.

“Don’t be clingy.” She admonishes, pressing her mouth to yours, nails digging for a moment into the tender flesh of your throat. She kisses you softly this time, then she’s gone. “Don’t stay up too late.” She warns.

You nod in agreement, but she doesn’t see you, already walking into her room.

You wish her goodnight, but she doesn’t heart you, already too distant from you.

The tip of your tongue runs across your lips to taste what’s left of her.

[rue-king]

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Masterlist, Next Part

Summary: Gavin is tired, so tired. He is tired of being the bad guy, but thats just who he is he's mean and unapproachable. He can't be replaced, he just can't, work is all he has left to tie him to this world. It is the only thing that proves he's not as terrible as he feels.

But when the fancy RK900 unit walks in, along with a terrible string of murders, Gavin is pushed backwards. He can't on this way anymore, but he doesn't think he is capable of change.

This is his last chance, he is Gavin's last chance.

Warnings: cursing

Chapter 1:

Gavin Reed is a mess. A walking tragedy. Rough on every edge and totally banged up. From the scar on his nose to the little marks on his knuckles.

If the scruffy appearance and constant 5 o’clock shadow doesn’t make it obvious then the darker than night eyebags and shitty attitude certainly does.

He looks rough, but he's not a bad guy, at least not internally. He's a man who feels too much and is easily hurt, but he would rather die than ask for help or express himself. The man has more baggage than an airport.

He’s bitter and cold, almost aloof in demeanor. A rabid dog with a muzzle on at all times, marked “dangerous don’t pet” only by fault of trusting too much.

A stray, left wondering all by his lonely self fulfilling prophecy of isolation.

A grade “A” mess.

He drags his sorry ass to the Detroit Police Station everyday and works himself to the bone because that's all he knows. It’s all he is able to do in order to tune out all the thoughts that he knows will drown him.

Not a team player in the slightest, but he's certainly one of the best detectives the DPD has seen in a long time. Stupidly efficient, his brain makes connections in ways that are unparalleled by his human peers. Too bad no one in the building likes him enough to let him know it.

Another consequence of his own actions, he is an asshole and he knows it. The only person he can call a friend is Tina Chen, but even then he feels as though she could do better. They all can. He is mean and cuts people off, unapproachable and snappy. Truthfully he’s surprised she's still around.

If it wasn’t for Fowler's firm hand he’d practically live in the building, it's not like he takes breaks anyway, but alas he has a shitty apartment with two demon babies to get back to anyway.

Bright and early on a Monday morning the man, the myth, the legend himself walks his groggy ass through the doors of the DPD. The caffeine withdrawal headache already encroaches on his brain and he sports a fresh set of bandages over his abused knuckles.

He keeps his head low and heads straight for the breakroom, aiming to get a cup of the worst coffee Detroit can offer. His reputation around the office has always been less than great, but ever since the android revolution his peers have been walking on eggshells around him.

He doesn’t blame them, it's not like he tried to hide his anti-android sentiment. He huffs quietly to himself, why would he care what those assholes think about him.

He prepares his shitty coffee and walks over to his shitty desk in the shitty bullpen. He’s dramatic like that. He doesn’t bother the anticipatory itch he feels deep in his chest that eggs him on to dive straight back into work. Like a craving, a workaholic.

Days are long and hard now that there has been mass losses in employment and crime skyrocketed. Reed just has to solve it all himself. Masochist.

He sits at his desk reviewing the last notes he took at the scene of his most recent case. Double homicide, suspected breaking and entering, but nothing was stolen.

He hears loud belly laughter come from the entrance of the bullpen, in comes Hank Anderson and his sidekick Conner.

Reed glances at the clock and snorts a bit.

Won’t you look at that, Hank Anderson is early for the first time in about a thousand years.

He shakes his head, and goes back to his notes. Normally he would throw out a rude remark or two, but he simply doesn’t have the energy today so he settles for an eye roll.

He is drop dead tired. Insomnia is a bitch and he hardly has an appetite anymore.

“Good morning Detective” Conner calls in a stupidly cheery tone.

“Fuck off” Gavin mutters back, his words lacking their usual bite. He just sounds defeated, deflated.

Conner hovers for a second longer in front of Gavin's desk. A second longer than usual, too long for Gavin’s liking. He moves his head up to call Conner out, but is met with nothing but air.

Whatever.

Gavin goes back to work, shuffling lightly under his desk. He is focused on nothing. Staring blankly at his own words in front of him, unable to comprehend what he is looking at. His mind is somewhere else, caught between nowhere and here.

He looks away quickly and puts his head in his hands.

Breathe in and out. Just focus, you idiot. Focus.

He rubs his eyes harder as the frustration moves like tides within his chest.

This is an improvement from Gavin Reed, if it were a few months ago he would've just slammed his hands on his desk and stalked off to go smoke. Not that anyone cares enough to know it of course.

He breathes in deep again and sets his mind to try one more time before he swears he’ll scream or something,

“Reed! My office now!” A deep yell calls out, breaking his second of peace. Fowler, of course.

He audibly groans. He hasn’t done anything wrong so why the hell would the captain want to see him.

“Ohhh, someones in trouble~” Tina Chen calls out, she’s barely walking into the area. She’s late, again Starbucks in her hand.

Not surprised.

“Bitch” he retorts, making his way toward Fowler's office. Tina laughs lightly and blows him a mocking kiss. Gavin just rolls his eyes.

Conner and Hank rise from their work stations to start after him.

Oh great, fan-fucking-tabulous. Reed huffs some more.

He opens Fowler's door with a hard swing, his patience slips away from him quickly.

The bad buddy cop flick duo follows behind him closely. Gavin elects to stay standing, way too anxious to sit and just accept whatever shit Fowler will be throwing at him.

Hank takes a seat, the other is already taken by Conner.

He does a double take, Conner is right next to him. Two Conners?

The not Conner turns a fraction.

“The fuck is this” Gavin questions and recieves a scathing look from Fowler.

Conner shuffles quietly next to him, the movement capturing his eye as it always does. Why does he look anxious, the fuck is wrong with him.

“Reed shut up and let me speak before you go butting in, '' Fowler dictates before continuing on, “this is RK900 and he will be assigned as your new partner.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t do partners, you know this Fowler. What makes you think I need one, much less that tin can.” Reed is quick to anger, well at least he has some energy now.

Has he not been efficient enough on his own? Fowler can’t just give him some pity babysitter to fix him up like Conner did with Hank.

“You do what I tell you to do, Reed. He is top of the line and you, annoyingly enough, have the best solve rates as of now. So he goes to you.” Fowler is strong with his statements and doesn’t leave room for arguing. Which doesn’t stop Gavin.

“What the fuck! That should mean that I don't need the help of that asshole! Dump him on someone else, it doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well you better make it make sense or else you can hand your badge over, Detective.” Gavin clenches his jaw, his eyes lit with anger.

“You don’t get any special privileges Reed, especially with your disciplinary file.”

Gavin huffs again shaking his head. “Well that doesn’t explain why these two are here” he gestures to Hank and Conner wildly with his hands. He treads more lightly with his words, he’s an idiot and a dick, but he will not lose his job over something as stupid as this.

“I asked them here in case you reacted poorly to this decision, much like you did” Fowler draws.

Yeah, yeah he's disappointed, when is he not.

“Yeah, quite the show you put on there, Reed” Hank mocks.

Go back to playing house, Hank.

Reed fumes, grinding his teeth. He could be so much meaner, but he holds back. All the energy that the anger gave him rapidly left his body and he’s left with tired resentment. A cold emptiness that leaves him chilly and lacking the will to continue fighting back.

“Are we done here?” He asks in a low tone, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Well yes-”

It doesn’t matter what came after that, Reed saw the green light to leave.

“He‘s not well, Lieutenant”

“Conner it’s…”

He walks faster, escaping the muffled voices.

He sits back at his desk and grabs for his coffee. Empty already, great. He goes to make another cup, desperately wanting to get his mind off of the shitstorm that just happened.

Every other partner Reed has ever had did not last, they just couldn’t tolerate his shitty attitude. Essentially he ran them all off, like nannys to a terrible toddler.

This one will be no different, android or not, no one can put up with him for long. At least that's how Reed reassures himself.

Before he knows it he’s back at his desk, hot coffee in his hand and an absurdly tall knock off Conner in his way.

“The fuck out of the way, tin can” Gavin grumbles not even looking up to meet RK900’s eyes.

He doesn’t move.

“Did you not fucking hear me? Are you deaf, asshole?”

He moves a fraction, and Gavin takes it with a slight shoulder check to get to his seat.

Stupid not-Conner and his ugly fucking white jacket. Was gray not terrible enough?

Another small huff to himself. He’s been doing that more and more today.

He goes back to his notes. 5 minutes has passed and not-Conner continues to stand unmoving in front of Gavin’s desk.

He tries to ignore it, but he can’t stand seeing the stark white shadow in his peripheral vision. Looming like a cage starting to close in.

“Can you not just fuckin stand there like a freak?” Gavin snaps, finally looking the RK unit in the face.

Maybe he isn’t like Connor. RK is sharp and cold with defined cheekbones and pale blue eyes. Connor is warm in demeanor and soft where RK seems impenetrable and well…  intimidating.

“I am assuming that that empty desk is mine to use?”

Even his voice is different, this one is firm and lower in pitch compared to Connor’s.

Reed lags behind a beat, taking in all the information he can from what's before him. RKs suit is clean and pressed, untouched by the qualms of living. He looks shiny and brand new, but the disdain in his eyes says otherwise.

His posture is stiff and the collar on his neck more so, making RK look down with his eyes and a miniature head tilt. It makes him look condescending, physically and metaphorically looking down on him.

Gavin curls his lip, dislike drags within him. “If it gets you to fuck off than yeah, knock yourself out, tincan.”

An hour or two, or three, passes. Gavin manages to transfer his written reports onto his terminal. Using the work to blissfully tune out the presence to his right. RK900 staring blankly at the terminal with a flashing yellow light circling at his temple.

Gavin has so many questions swirling around his head, but has too big of a pride to ask them. Asking would mean being civil and he is NOT going to do that. Instead he’s elected to just simply pretend that his brand new partner doesn’t exist at all. That's all he can manage with the lack of energy he has at the moment.

Besides, it's not like his fancy new plastic counterpart is aching to talk to him anyway. He just sits there with his perfect posture in perfect silence. For once Gavin is thankful for his ability to just fall into his work, because it provides the perfect distraction.

(stay tuned for the next chapter!)

[ksbwnotes]

Chapter 2

1. Oof

I’m sure, even after being told about this ‘relative’, Sangwoo kept it cool and didn’t tip off anything to the police, acting like “OH RIGHT MY RELATIVE THAT I HAVEN’T SEEN IN A FKKN DECADE”. It comes to show that he is incredibly calculating and intelligent, able to keep a facade on to an artform. This was probably something he has been able to do ever since he was a child, as we’ll later witness in his flashbacks.

Later Sangwoo says “you might as well have said you were my brother”, which is meaningful because Sangwoo doesn’t have one. So every relative Sangwoo knows is just as nonexistent as his nonexistent sibling.

2. I find this important to note

Bum obviously is prone to putting people on pedestals, only seeing them through the rose tinted glass he wants to see them in.

3. Why this though?

I find it very interesting that, because he doesn’t want to die, what he yells out is “I FELL IN LOVE!”  Why this? I’m sure he’s also used this an excuse for the others he has stalked (I wonder if Sangwoo ever realized that Bum also stalked women and how he felt about that), but it most likely never worked with them. 

Bum was just spouting whatever came to mind, so the fact that the word ‘love’ is what jumped out of him says a lot of how much it has been consuming his every being, even in the face of death.

4. s;jgio;sejro;gisejro;igerj wtf sangwoo

...I...well. I mean, it’s a great parallel, I think. Bum’s desperation for love making him yell that as his last words, while Sangwoo’s desperation for that same love making him stop in his tracks and even...fucking pet Bum???  I dunno, lonely or not, that wouldn’t be the first response of a completely not-gay-straight-as-an-arrow man. But obviously, Bum is a cutie pie and can appear feminine, which is why Sangwoo didn’t automatically kill him. If Bum looked like a ‘man’, then there would seriously be no saving Bum. 

And I’m sure Koogi meant to emphasize Bum’s feminine attractiveness in that petting panel, maybe as a way to show what Sangwoo was seeing. I love how it’s purely white and blank behind Bum, as Bum is all Sangwoo is seeing. The fact that it’s white rather than black can suggest that Bum could be a new beginning, something pure and untainted.

I do kinda wonder if Koogi had Sangwoo as straight as a way to mitigate the stigma against homosexuality???  As a way for her to say “just because the story is between two men doesn’t mean this is supposed to be representative of homosexuality itself”.

5. Wow, the whiplash of mood and quick thinking

Boy didn’t even fkkn hesitate to destroy Bum’s legs, goddamn. 

However, this does show that Sangwoo is very aware and his mental faculties are intact, even during times like these. You think he’d be fkkn furious and lose it, beating Bum to death automatically before Bum could even say anything. But Sangwoo doesn’t. The moment Bum says “love”, he stopped. He wasn’t in a haze of fury...maybe excitement (especially with that goddamn terrifying smile as Bum runs up the stairs), but even that was controlled. 

In away, Sangwoo just seems...tired. He’s moving only because he knows he has to. 

Also, the moment he says “not with your legs the way they are”, Sangwoo sees Bum the same way he has seen the women who’ve also been in the basement. The CEO daughter girl also had broken legs, so obviously the first thing he does is ruin their legs so they don’t run away...which...yeah, smart. I actually haven’t seen that even with Criminal Mind. xD

So that does show that Sangwoo seems really set in keeping his prey with him. Not to ‘chain’ them or anything, but to keep them from leaving him. 

6. Double homicide

Ooooh 3 years ago?? Okay this is interesting...conscription age is 18 (or 17 since Koreans add that one year). I’m confused because, technically, Bum should’ve met Sangwoo first in the military, then in his college days. So did Sangwoo go to military later at age 20?  Could be since his mom is...yeah. And his dad...sure. 

Also, Bum and Sangwoo are four years apart. So say that Sangwoo went to college first, so Bum met Sangwoo when he was 22...then while Sangwoo was 20 and Bum was 24, they went into the military later. Since Sangwoo is 24 now (or 25 in Korean age jfc), that means he was 21 when his parents were killed. 

Sangwoo also seemed to have needed to be discharged early, most likely because of his sick mom, which would explain also why he was in no position to befriend Bum. 

Anyways, so that means Bum knew Sangwoo and was in love with him for about 6 years.

7. Wow

No wonder Sungbae is like this. He sees the eyes of every person he chased in Sungwoo’s dead-eyed stare. But he’s actually wrong about this, lol. Sungwoo’s mom is the culprit, technically, even though she was also a vicitm.

8. UHHHHHHH

HEY, SANGWOO, HEY, WHY IS BUM FKKN NAKED TO HIS UNDERWEAR WHAT THE HELL. WHY DID YOU UNDRESS HIM SANGWOO. HEY.  

Oh my god, wait, was that really Bum’s underwear or did Sangwoo put that on him??

Also, wow, Bum’s hips. He seriously has a feminine body. Like...pear body shape lol. 

Also, seriously, Sangwoo is treating Bum right off the bat like the other women. Rather than completely heterosexual, Sangwoo is more demisexual. And rather than femininity, he more prefers ‘weaker’ bodies, so that he doesn’t feel threatened by them. That is automatic towards females. 

9. Hmmmmn....

Ah, for this to be the first thing you fucking wake up to, jesus christ. xD

I wonder though, why did Sangwoo cut her hair short? There’s probably multiple reasons for it...but one theory I would find interesting is that it’s because he met Bum. 

Maybe he wanted to see how she looked like with a male haircut, how it would look like and compare how it felt like to see a pretty girl beside a pretty boy. He compared the two physically and made his decision that Bum was worth more than her.

I really do find it interesting that Sangwoo truly chose Bum over her, despite her being voluptuous and beautiful and actually a woman, which...you know...important for het men right. 

But Sangwoo chose Bum because even though Sangwoo went straight to beating him with a goddamn bat, Bum yelled “I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU”.

If the choice was between what’s between the person’s legs vs the person themselves, Sangwoo will choose the person.

10. Interesting insight

Into why Sangwoo killed her and his thought process.  Again, interesting, the fact that he kept emphasizing how stupid she was. 

Her screaming for help and stuff is a very natural reaction and no one should ever blame her for that. But, for Sangwoo, it was ridiculous because she should’ve known that would piss him off more rather than make him feel guilty. 

Part of it is how he learned to survive growing up--by reading his parents’ moods and figuring out how to respond. And on a smaller scale, how to respond to other people so that they see nothing but a charming, handsome man. The fact that she can’t even do 1/100th of that is fucking infuriating...and on a personal level, I can understand that frustration.

The other part is that her begging for mercy is obviously NOT what he wants. He wants someone like Bum, who’ll respond to him with loyalty and desire. Who won’t be afraid of him and will still stay to ease his loneliness. 

11. Uh

What kind of half-baked excuse was this, bro. You spared him only because of what he yelled out to you and you just don’t want to admit it to yourself...or maybe just don’t want to say it to Bum, so that you can control him better.

12. Women have hair too, asshole

Sangwoo really does try to feminize Bum throughout the whole story. So obviously, yes, his instinct is more hetero. If Bum were burly like a guy rather than delicate like a girl, there would be no saving him. Sangwoo has his preferences. And Bum fits the most important aspect--and that most important part isn’t Bum’s genitalia.

I also do think it has to do with social construct. Sangwoo most likely grew up internalizing misogynistic and homophobic belief systems, whether or not those are what he truly agreed with.

13. The first time Sungwoo snaps

Notable to mention that it’s because he sees Bum trembling in fear of him. Sangwoo doesn’t like being reminded of the monster he is. He doesn’t take pleasure in it. But because he knows that he’s unforgivable and can’t go back, he just makes the situation worse by further slipping into the skin of a monster.

Honestly, this might be more indicative towards what he witnessed with his father. He’s emulating his father’s qualities because he knows that he’s no better than him, and can’t handle that fact. He’s also locking up his women THE SAME WAY HIS FATHER DID TO HIS MOM. 

But, honestly, I think it’s because his mom is just as bad as his dad, that’s why he’s doing the same things as his dad.

14. You beat the girl

This is indicative of the fact that Sangwoo would be willing to be with Bum despite being a guy. And also suggests that, again, he really was comparing them and decides that Bum, with all his ‘loser’ like qualities, is still worthier than her. Heterosexual first, but demisexual overall.

And again, I think he’s doing the same things he has seen his father has done, pouring the food over Bum’s face like that.

15. First reward

Ah, here comes the training. 

Also, I can see how differently Bum responds compared to every single person he’s seen, including his mom. They all will feel humiliated and resentful, hateful towards Sangwoo, seeing him as a monster, or being completely defeated. But Bum, instead, responds exactly the opposite. This is exactly why I think Sangwoo decides to kiss Bum. 

Because, despite Sangwoo calling him a retard, that is exactly what Sangwoo wanted to see (but at the same time, not...Sangwoo doesn’t want someone as messed up as Bum, but he knows that only someone as messed up as Bum can be with him, and more than anything, he doesn’t want to be lonely). 

If Bum reacted with fear rather than desire, Sangwoo would’ve never kissed Bum.

This is also a huge catch-22 that will end up blowing up on both of them. Bum reacting like this will make Sangwoo feel better about his actions and like he was able to find the person who’ll be able to accept him for who he is. But in the long term, it will reinforce this behavior and truly make him into his father. It will also keep him from truly dealing with his past. 

16. Oh goddamn

Great insight into Bum’s mentality.  It’s amazing, also, that he sees this as a sign of ‘dating’.

What I find telling is that Bum is thinking this DESPITE SEEING PROOF OF HIM BEING A MURDERER. I do get that it could be from his dissociation from real life, so he doesn’t quite understand what is going on. But at the same time, really, if Sangwoo treated Bum better, then Bum would’ve been absolutely fine with him being a serial killer and even join him. I honestly do believe Bum is more of a natural-born murderer than Sangwoo (though Sangwoo is probably more of a natural asshole lol).

17. Why are you also mentioning the word date!?!?

And I’m not sure if Sangwoo senses that those are Bum’s thoughts, but he also is thinking about dating in this context??

I can see how Sangwoo could’ve ‘read’ his prey and responded in a way that would’ve messed with their heads, but at the same time, it could be that Sangwoo is looking at this situation in just as much a twisted way as Bum is. But rather than Bum’s “I’m disgusting, yet he’s kissing me” mentality, he’s more likely thinking “Kissing him isn’t disgusting, so he passes round 3″ (round 1 is the first time with the bat, round 2 is the one where he kills the girl instead of Bum).

The thing is, since Sangwoo didn’t find Bum’s kisses disgusting, it reinforces his desperation to keep Bum with him. If he didn’t like kissing Bum, then I truly believe Bum would’ve died right here and now.

Also, interesting: “You’ll be the only one that ends up hurt, you know?”  So, obviously, Bum having one working leg increases his chances of escape. So this is Sangwoo’s way of saying ‘if you escape, then I’ll make sure to hurt/kill you because of that’.

18. Here comes the sledgehammer

This is an interesting parallel. Looking back at chapter 1, it also seems like only one of the girl’s legs are broken, like how Bum’s leg was after falling down the steps. 

So to keep the girl from escaping, Sangwoo just most likely tied her up. It’s not full-proof and it limits her movements, but Sangwoo probably doesn’t give a shit because with how she’s acting, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

But for Bum...with Bum, he’s planning to let him live much longer. He doesn’t want to restrict Bum’s movements because that makes him less appealing. Instead, Sangwoo takes it personally--takes it upon himself--to actually break Bum’s legs. This is a much more permanent fixture, reflecting how he’s planning to keep Bum with him for a much longer time. 

Also, now that I’m looking at this, I think Sangwoo doesn’t actually rape his victims. Yeah, he has molested the girl’s dead body, but I think that’s more of a curiosity towards a dead body than actual sexual interest. It’s natural after seeing his mom’s corpse in front of him and all that...screwed up as fuck jazz lol. 

I think he has sex with them in the beginning and that’s probably when he snaps because...his mom raped him, so. After that, he tortures them according to their reaction to him. But he probably doesn’t actually touch them more than that. In the case of hypersexuality, Bum fits this much more than Sangwoo does at this point. Sangwoo seems to just use it as a weapon, while Bum does it because he wants to be fucked. 

This makes sense because it seems like Sangwoo was raped once by his mom and probably molested the other times, while Bum was frequently raped.

Furthermore, Bum--as we’ll later see--is most likely the only one he truly does rape. 

[queenbrightwhitly]

Trust You

If someone were to ask me what the most awkward experience I’ve ever had? I would have nominated this moment. 

Colette hadn’t said much to you since you started working on this case. She not only surprised you but everyone else in the room when she wanted to take you on to help with this case. Malcolm hadn’t said anything but you saw the look he gave you, he was worried, his fist was clenched and you knew he wanted to object but if he were to do that than everyone would become suspicious of you two relationships. 

You and Malcolm were seeing each other for almost four months now, and it still surprised you both that you were able to keep it under wraps for this long. The only one who knew was his mother, which you knew you couldn’t avoid but she agreed to keep it to herself as long as she gets a dinner with you both every so often. 

Colette, however, was another story. You knew she didn’t like Malcolm, she made that pretty clear with her various shots taken to him about his mommy issues. Which if anyone was paying attention to you they would've noticed the slight change in your demeanor and the way you clenched your jaw in annoyance. This woman had only been here for thirty seconds and she already made your blood boil. 

“So, Detective Y/L/N.” Colette came up to seat herself on the edge of the table. “I gotta ask you. Malcolm Bright.”

You smiled knowingly, “I see, so this is about Malcolm.” 

She smiled back, but it didn’t seem as friendly as it looked. “Do you trust Malcolm Bright?”

You nodded, “Malcolm has his weird habits, sometimes acts without thinking of his own life, he’s also unconventional.” She nodded, waiting for you to continue. Leaning forward I looked at her confidently. “I would trust him with my life. Why?”

“Because I don’t.” She stated simply. “I don’t think Malcolm has divulged the full extent of his relationship with our Junkyard Killer.” 

You laughed lightly. “You don’t need my help on this case, you want eyes on Malcolm.” You stated knowing. “Malcolm would never let his personal interests get in the way of a case.”

“Can you say the same?”

“Can you? Because I get the feeling that you came here to bury Malcolm. I mean. were all on the same side right?”

“You two are close?”

You scoffed, “I mean, we work together-”

“No,” she cut in. “I mean more than that. You seem defensive of him, and you only call him by his first name. Did you actually think nobody was taking notice of your reaction earlier? I would say based on certain reactions from you and him; this is much more than work.” 

My palms were sweating, she kept her gaze on me knowing she got me. I got up from my chair forcing a smile, “I think I’m going to take a break.” Just as I’m about to walk out she speaks up. 

“Malcolm Bright is a cautious man, especially to those he keeps close to him. You can’t always believe what he says.” 

I stop abruptly, my hand resting on the door handle. Knowing better to keep her entertained I open the door not expecting to almost run into Gil and Malcolm looking like they were on their way out. 

Both men stopped in front of me, taking a glance behind me at Colette. “Just keep in mind what I said, Detective,” Colette called from behind me. 

Biting my lip, I closed the door looking at both men as they looked at me curiously. “Everything alright, Y/L/N?” Gil asked.”

I looked between the two, my eyes resting on Malcolm. He looked at me intensely, I knew he was trying to read me. Quickly smiling, I looked back at Gil, “Peachy.” I simply stated, walking past the two. I felt Malcolm's hand brush against mine as I pasted him. 

Ignoring it, I made my way into the staircase and up to the roof. Typically this would be were cops come and smoke all their stress away, but since everyone was working the Junkyard Killer case and now a double homicide, plus making do with the FBI here most of the cops were out which left the roof empty. 

I sat on the ledge and swayed my feet over the edge, feeling the cool winter air blow my hair behind my shoulders. I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the streets below. It wasn’t until I heard the roof door open and close that I slightly got annoyed. I knew some alone time in this place was too good to be true. 

The sound of footsteps got closer, I would’ve thought it was the average cop coming to smoke but that idea soon disappeared when the footsteps stopped behind me and I felt two slim arms wrap around my waist. Smiling knowingly I place my arms on his, as Malcolm kissed the side of my neck before resting his chin on my shoulder. 

“You really shouldn’t be up here by yourself. You sitting on this ledge, you could easily fall, or someone could come up from behind and push you.” Malcolm whispered. 

Leaning back onto his chest you turned your head to look up at him. “I’m not alone now. Why are you up here anyway? I thought you and Gil were leaving somewhere?”

Malcolm looked out to the city. “He had something to do before we could leave.” He looked back down to you. “And so did I.” 

I rolled my eyes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t seem fine earlier. You wanna talk about it?”

You sighed. “Colette, she is just- ugh shes good.”

Malcolm smiled. “Good?”

“That woman read me like an open book! I didn’t even know she was doing it. At least with you, I can tell when you are profiling me.”

“I don’t-”

“Malcolm.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe I do sometimes, but it's not always on purpose.”

You laughed softly. “It’s okay, I know.”

“So what did my old colleague do this time? I know she profiled you but I feel you wouldn’t be so riled up if that was the case.” Malcolm's grip tightened around you, his hands snuck under your shirt drawing circles on your hips. 

You sighed. “It really isn’t important.”

Malcolm sighed, turning his head he pressed a kiss to your head. “How about you tell me later, say at the Christmas dinner?” Malcolm suggested.

You groaned out. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Malcolm laughed. “You still plan on coming?”

“I have to, your mother will be there and I promised I would bring my homemade Christmas cookies. Along with a bottle of something strong.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “She asked you to bring alcohol? Wow, she's has gotten comfortable with you.” Malcolm looked down at his watch. “I better get going before Gil puts an APB out for me.” 

“Malcolm?”

“Hmm?”

“I trust you, ya know?”

Malcolm looked confused and worried, he took ahold of my arms forcing me to pull my legs on the other side of the ledge, he was towering over me now, standing in between my legs his hands moved from my arms to my shoulders. 

“Y/n, are you sure you don’t wanna talk about this now? I can tell Gil-” Malcolm rambled, but you quickly shook your head. 

“No, you really should head back to Gil. Later tonight, okay?” I smiled reassuring at him. Bringing my hand up I grabbed Malcolms tie, pulling him down I kissed him which he quickly returned. His hand reached behind my head, trying to bring me closer to him. 

When he finally pulled away we were both out of breath. Malcolm looked down at me sweetly, setting a strand of hair behind my ear he placed a kiss on my head before backing up. His hand had dragged from my shoulder to my arm until he was holding my hand. 

“I will see you tonight,” Malcolm said, squeezing my hand before letting it go. He backed up a few steps before turning around to walk back to the door. I watched as he made his way to the door about to walk through until he stopped, leaning back he looked back to me. “Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“I trust you too,” Malcolm stated. I smiled at him, knowing he was going to bring that up later. 

Malcolm smiled sweetly before he winked and walked out the door, leaving me until later. 

[euesworld]

Wake up sleepy head,

"A morning couldn't be good if there were no you to say it to, I wake.. I drink coffee, and I think about you. About how if you were here in my face smiling the way that sun shines, I would kiss your nose lightly and close my eyes and take in the fact that you are actually here with me.. you are in a way but not the way that I want. I want your arms around me but your voice at the end of a dial tone will have to do, I feel like such an alien here without you.. maybe that's why I whisper ET phone home sometimes under my breath. You make me feel like less of an alien when I'm in your embrace listening to your voice as it pummels my heart with such soft pitter patters that would beat me to death if they did not enjoy bouncing around at the sight of you. I just wonder when it is that you will come home and hold my hand, I really miss you beautiful.. but I understand that you always have work to do. You never do fail to call me though, and I treasure those moments that I CAN have with you.. hey, if you don't hear it by noon that one would commit a double homicide to be with you, then I was probably caught, haha. That's how damn beautiful you are.. I'm kidding!! You are more beautiful than a sunrise suddenly blowing pink rose pedals into the air and I know that I'm weird, but this weirdo loves you more than life. Until we talk again sunshine, bye.."

You are only a voice away and sometimes it isn't enough but it's always enough, you know what I mean?? *fog rolls into the room, the lights get dark, and I tear away all of my clothes like a male stripper* Riddle me this Batman, hahaha - eUë

[sincerelyreidburke]

I for once am in a mood for quindo fluff. Some playful bickering perhaps?

Given that you’ve asked me for this twice, Percy, I would have felt very bad not giving it to you.😂😂😂😂 Here’s the Quindo bickering content of your dreams, but from Remy’s POV! Set during junior year, and briefly featuring two more fictional hockey players of my creation.

Also on ao3, in the ficlet collection. (Ask/send me anything about the crickets!)

//

junior year | october

  The commotion in the kitchen wakes Remy up from the best nap he’s had in awhile, and that in and of itself is a sin.

Naps are not only a spiritually enriching experience, they’re also essential. Remy is slowly learning to use them as a remedy for the fact that he only gets so many hours of sleep per night. Ben keeps telling him that he should look into taking melatonin or something for the insomnia, but it always feels like a problem for another day. The other day it’s a problem for has yet to come.

So today, after he wakes up at five AM and does not fall back asleep, he spends the better half of the morning in the library busting out his entire upcoming paper for HI 387 (British Empire). When he finishes formatting his bibliography, he feels his primal nap instinct coming on, and the sky outside looks gray, which just helps the urge along. He gathers up his stuff, walks back to the house on Beech Street, changes into sweats, and flops into his bed with his feet on the pillow and head on the pile of stuffed animals at the end of the mattress.

Only God and Ben Shaley can judge him for his stuffed animal collection.

Some indeterminate time later, he wakes to the noise downstairs. He can’t make out exactly what’s being said, but he’d know Quinn’s shrill voice anywhere, piercing the stairwell and creeping right up into Remy’s room.

There’s a steady rain drumming on the window, and he lifts his head off of his arm. He feels like he accidentally imprinted the sleeve of his sweatshirt onto his cheek, if the weird bumpy sensation when he runs his fingers over his face is any indication. This is a sign of a good nap. Unfortunately, it’s been interrupted.

Downstairs, Quinn is still talking. He has one volume, and it’s loud.

Remy buries his face in between his stuffed snake and his duck, and sighs.

He lays in bed for a minute more, weighing the merits of attempting Naptime Part Two versus going downstairs to see what the fuss is about. In reality, he knows that there’s probably no fuss at all, and that Quinn is just on another of his random rants which must double as practicing onstage projection based on how loud and animated he can get. Remy fishes through his plush pile until he finds his phone, where he checks the time— it’s 3:02, which means he slept for at least two and a half hours. If he tries to go back to sleep now , there’s no way he’ll ever be able to get to sleep at the normal time to go to sleep.

So he rolls over, sits up in bed, and rubs his eyes. He feels a mighty yawn coming on, but it doesn’t actually hit him until he fixes his shirt— somehow, under his hoodie, it bunched all the way up to his chest in his sleep. And the ankle seam on one of his joggers is up to his knee.

Wow. It really was a good nap.

The yawn hits him when he stands up and out of bed. He kind of feels like a zombie, walking after such a deep sleep. He guesses it isn’t such a bad thing to be so well-rested. It’s been awhile.

Downstairs, Quinn’s voice persists. When he opens his bedroom door and steps out into the hallway, another factor comes into play— somebody is cooking down there, and, well, okay, he can say ‘somebody’ but the smell tells him without a doubt it’s Nando. It smells like that spicy chicken soup recipe he loves making on rainy, crappy days, and Remy had no idea he was hungry, but all of a sudden his stomach growls like a feral cat.

Jeez.

As he heads down the stairs, slow but steady, he can gradually start to make out Quinn’s words. “... do not understand even in the slightest how you can work like this—”

“Baby,” he hears Nando laugh, which puts a temporary stop to Quinn’s tirade. “I swear, there’s a method to my madness!”

“Oh, it’s madness, alright,” Quinn replies. “I mean, goodness , Sebastián—” There’s a clatter of dishware, like someone has put something in the sink. “You’re building an entire tower over here!”

Remy rounds the corner into the kitchen just in time for Nando to protest, “But I’m gonna clean it… promise!”

Quinn is the first thing he sees, orange-haired and pint-sized in a baggy (obviously stolen) sweatshirt and gesturing snappily. He stands next to the counter. “The issue isn’t that you’ll clean it eventually,” he’s saying to Nando, who leans against the stove with a goofy grin on his face and a ladle in his hand. The huge pot on the burner behind him, Remy wagers, must be the source of the smell. “The issue ,” Quinn adds, “is the mess.”

Which, okay, yeah. There’s a mess.

Nando has stacked the sink full of obviously relevant dishes, and both counters are laid with evidence that he was there, from cutting boards to empty cans to knives. Nando being a disaster cook isn’t new news, not to Remy or to Quinn or anyone else in this house— but he must have struck a nerve with Quinn today, by the looks of it.

Quinn looks ready to gear up for another rant, and Remy’s half-asleep brain doesn’t really love the thought of that, so he cuts in before he can. “ Crisse , Q,” he says, rubbing his eye as he stands in the kitchen doorway. “Is there a national emergency?”

Quinn folds his arms and lets off a sigh, leaning his hip against the counter. “There may as well be.”

Nando is grinning at him, like he’s trying not to laugh. “ Baby .”

They’re not alone in the kitchen, though— Ben is at the table by the window, sketching by the looks of it, based on his huge spreads of paper and the pencil stuck into his bun. Jordy and Sam are playing cards at the same tabletop Quinn is leaning against, and X is next to them, on his phone. “Stay out of it, Rem,” Ben remarks, turning in his seat to face him, with a half-grin on his face. “He is on the warpath .”

Quinn snaps his head over to Ben. “I am not on the warpath,” he says. “I am maintaining a sense of order.”

Nando puts his hand over his face and makes a noise like he’s trying not to laugh. Quinn whips back to him and jabs his finger at him menacingly, which is really hard to do when you’re 5’6 but your boyfriend is 6’4. Quinn does it anyway. “ Sebastián Hernandez , you are going to get it—”

Remy suppresses a laugh of his own, and slumps into the chair across the table from Ben. “How long has this been going?” he asks, in a low voice.

Ben is still grinning. “Like ten minutes?” he replies. “He got in from his drama thing and unleashed holy terror.”

Remy sighs. “Great.”

“I hear you talking about me, Ben,” Quinn calls across the room, despite the fact that calling is completely unnecessary given the size of the kitchen.

Ben shields his face with one hand. “White flag! I surrender. I’m sorry, your majesty, for my great offense—”

“ Benjamin .”

Ben winces, and pulls the pencil out of his hair. “Message received,” he remarks, and goes back to his spread of papers. It is drawing stuff. Remy doesn’t understand architecture homework, but Ben is great at it.

Remy watches as Quinn walks back to the sink. He turns the faucet on, as if to conquer the stack of Nando’s cooking collateral. “How do you people live like this?”

“How are you surprised?” X asks, not looking up from his phone but grinning like crazy. “You were in here all last year.”

Which is true. Although Remy just moved into Beech for his first year this preseason, Nando lived here last year, too. Quinn is well familiar with the disasters he makes in kitchens, particularly the Beech kitchen. At least freshman year, he was relegated to the shitty student kitchen in the basement of Wilson Hall, the freshman boys’ dorm. Beech Street gives him a space of his own. Which is good because the whole team gets to eat his food. But bad in the process of making said food.

“I’m not surprised, Xander,” Quinn says, turning to X, in a slightly less homicidal tone. He holds a soapy blue sponge in his left hand. “I merely wish that a certain boyfriend of mine would learn to clean up his messes—”

“I told you, baby,” Nando replies, stirring his soup with the ladle, “I’m gonna clean, when I’m all finished. What’s the use of cleaning during the process, when I’m just gonna make a mess again on the same surface?”

Quinn turns off the sink, presses his fingers to his own temple, takes a long breath, and replies, “What’s the use of keeping your empty bean cans on the counter?” He points the sponge to the counter, where there are, in fact, empty bean cans everywhere. His point makes a flicking motion and sends a stray sud flying into the air. It lands on the floor. “ Empty bean cans , Sebastián.”

“They’re just cans,” Nando replies.

Quinn bristles, puts the sponge in the sink, and dries his hands on a kitchen towel. “And the rubbish barrel,” he replies, pacing to the counter, “is right there.”

Quinn scoops the cans off the counter, opens the top of the nearby trash, and drops them into the bag beneath. With a hmph , he turns his pointy, freckled nose up at Nando, like he’s saying so there.

Nando blows him a kiss, which intensifies Quinn’s rage. “Thanks, mi amor .”

Across the table, Ben is still grinning even as he draws, like he wants to laugh, and Remy can’t blame him. This is not at all an unfamiliar dynamic— since their earliest days dating, Nando and Quinn’s relationship has been characterized by bickering like they’re an old, married couple.

Well, okay. In actuality, their ‘bickering’ looks more like Quinn bitching at Nando and getting nothing but heart eyes in return. Nando is a simp, and Quinn is an irritable priss, and they’re in love.

Remy doesn’t get romance, but he knows it works for them.

Ben looks up from his sketching, and catches Remy’s eye across the table. He wears the unmistakable smile of someone who is going to cause problems on purpose. “Duck,” he murmurs, in a mischievous voice with volume only for him. “Watch this.”

“Oh, God,” Remy mutters, but it’s too late.

Ben leans over the back of his chair and remarks, “Y’know, Quinny, you talk mad shit for someone who can’t cook to save his life.”

Remy snorts into the neckline of his sweatshirt. “ Ben .” At the stove, Nando guffaws. Jordy and Sam, who, as wise, observant bystanders, have chosen to remain quiet right up until now, both start heckling like their brains are connected. (They’re a D-pair, so they probably are, come to think of it.) “ Yoooo ,” Sam mumbles, and Jordy lets out a quiet, “Oh, shit.”

Flushed pink in the face, Quinn whirls on his heel to face Ben and Remy’s table. He has the energy of a tea kettle that’s ready to start screeching. “ Benjamin Shaley .”

Ben grins, owning his chirp. “What, so you can dish it, but you can’t take it?”

“You’ve gotta get used to that,” Jordy cuts in. “Being manager comes with the responsibility to get chirped…”

“Oh, trust me, Jordan.” Of all the people in the kitchen, Jordy seems to have irritated Quinn the least. “I am well accustomed to the chirping.”

“Yeah, Jordy,” Nando adds, with a big grin as he pulls up a steaming ladle of his soup. “He’s been dating me for two years.”

“Oh, please ,” Ben replies, because he is clearly not done. “I’ve never heard you chirp him in your life , Nanny. All you do is kiss his ass.”

Remy snorts again. “ Yoooooo !” Sam cries.

Nando drops his ladle into the pot. “ Rho ! I do too chirp him!”

Ben laughs wildly. “You do not ,” he says. “You don’t dare chirp him. You’re too busy simping twenty-four-seven.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you chirp Quinn,” X offers, still grinning at his phone.

Remy jumps on the bandwagon. “They kinda have a point, Nanny,” he says, and waits for the reign of terror to descend upon him.

But Quinn has apparently tuned out. Rather than participate, he has chosen the duration of this exchange to tidy up Nando’s counter mess. He throws away trash— the fragments of a poblano pepper, the remaining bean cans, a bag that held frozen corn. Then he deposits the cutting board into the sink with the knife Nando was using.

“There we go.” He wipes his hands on the dish towel, then turns around to face their side table again, and Remy thinks for a second that he’s going to take another shot at Ben. Instead, Quinn looks to him , which is terrifying until he says, very evenly, “Hello, Remy. I heard you had a nap.”

“Uh.” Remy isn’t sure if Quinn would kill him if he laughed. He can turn on a dime. It’s terrifying. But also beneficial, for managerial purposes. “Yeah,” he tells Quinn. “It was a good nap.”

“Well, good.” Quinn dusts off the front of his sweatshirt. It says Hernandez on the sleeve, as if its sheer size on him wasn’t proof enough that it’s stolen property. “I hope we didn’t disturb you too much.”

“Oh—” Now Remy does let out his laugh. He doesn’t dare tell Quinn that yes, actually, he did wake him up. He really did need to get up for the afternoon, so it doesn’t matter. “Uh, no. It’s fine.”

“Good.” Quinn smiles, then turns back around, walking to Nando by the giant soup pot. He rises on his tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “Isn’t that better?” he asks him, gesturing to the clear countertop.

Nando is still grinning, like the huge simp he is, and smiles sideways at Quinn as he stirs the soup. “Much better, baby.” He wraps him up sideways in his arm. Quinn gets swallowed by the sheer size of him, as usual. “Thank you,” Nando adds, and gives him an actual kiss.

Quinn is still flushed in the face, but now it’s that cheesy blush Remy has watched Nando give him so many times. Just like that, Quinn has cooled off, and the noise level in the kitchen is better for it. Remy looks away, because watching them together always feels like an invasion of privacy, even when they’re engaging in mild PDA. He thinks it’s just a him thing.

Nando keeps cooking. Quinn keeps him company. Ben gets back to drawing, and X to scrolling, and Jordy and Sam to their cards. The rain keeps pattering at the windows, and conversation returns to a normal level, and it’s a perfectly normal Sunday afternoon.

Yeah. Remy doesn’t get romance. And he definitely never will. But he loves this team, and he loves this house, and he really loves his friends.

[rentalboos]

Not sure if you do requests but idea for a fic: a friend at the Doctor and the Master's wedding (13+Dh) proposes to their partner and steals the spotlight from the couple getting married. In an act of revenge, the Doctor and the Master furiously try to conceive so they can announce their pregnancy at the friend's wedding.

You asked, you shall receive! Because I really liked the pettiness of this whole concept lmao

It had started off as a joke.

“Let's invite Jack,” she had said, “he'll make every party entertaining, even if it's a one man show.”

It was a necessary thought, at the time, considering they really didn't have a lot of common friends left to invite to their wedding. Even less who would come to show their approval of it. The few people she would've possibly had considered safe to invite were all dead and gone along with Gallifrey... again.

“Let's invite Jack,” the Master had replied with a nod and a nasty grin, “he'll absolutely hate every second of having to watch you getting married to me.”

The Doctor had, fairly quickly, bid farewell to that particular idea.

He had a point.

The Master, however, morally carefree just like she knew (and apparently loved) him, had sent him an invite regardless.

And it had come back to bite him in the arse.

“I'll kill him,” he called out, indignation in his voice, so loud a few heads turned towards them – which, the Doctor thought with a gnawing of her teeth, would actually be appropriate.

But people returned to ignoring them soon enough, squeaking and applauding to the loud, outgoing dork that had entertained them throughout the whole ceremony, currently on his knees in front of the shy Wales boy, who was blushing furiously.

Jo Grant, currently on her fifth glass of Gallifreyan Champagne, was giggling uncontrolled.

“So I thought I'd ask, you know,” Jack laughed almost nervously and the sound thundered through the little crowd gathered around them. “We've been together – as in together together for so long now, it's... it's something I want to give a shot.”

“You can't kill him,” the Doctor remarked dryly. “You know that. You tried often enough.”

“It's our wedding! How... how... he planned this! He planned to ruin this for me!”

Ianto had sunken to his knees in tears now, kissing Jack hard, the engagement ring in their hands completely forgotten for a moment.

“Well, you just had to invite him, didn't you?” the Doctor snapped back, in a way that made it perfectly clear she was just as pissed as he was. Here they stood, in their shiny suits, her beautiful, TARDIS blue suit, flowers braided into her hair and guests showing up more or less willingly – And Jack had taken all their attention away with his own stupid, healthy relationship with that Ianto boy.

The Master shot her a wide grin, the annoyance in her mind sweeping over to him and opening quite a lot of doors to new possibilities.

“How about we plot some revenge, dearest?”

She gave him a little side glare.

“We're not torturing Jack, if that's what you mean.”

The Master simply kissed her forehead.

“You know me so well. But no, when it comes to revenge, I pride myself to be a bit more imaginative than that. I thought more of... Well. Let's just congratulate him, shall we?”

“For real?” the Doctor asked, stunned. “That's the last thing on my mind right now.”

The Master smirked.

“Gotta make sure we're being invited to his wedding, love.”

“So, the best times would be...” the Doctor scrolled through three different, chaotic pages in her hands, trying to find what she was looking for in an ocean of notes and scribbles. “Uhm... “

Well, the truth was, even if she could find the best time in her notes again, Gallifreyan biology made conceiving in any way that didn't involve looms.... a little bit of a lottery. Either that or the Doctor simply had no idea because she couldn't remember the last time she had been a woman, let alone wanted to get pregnant. Really, old school pregnancy? Hell no. There was no way to save the universe with a belly as big as a planet.

Currently, however, she was drowning in revenge thoughts and fantasies of out-staging Jack on his own wedding, the Master's own petty cravings raging in her mind, mixing with her own hurt feelings, and it had become impossible to separate them anymore.

Plus, the universe's biggest danger was currently by her side, hands under her shirt and a wide grin plastered onto his face.

“I don't care about the best times,” he muttered smugly into the crook of her neck, his hot breath on the sensitive skin making her shiver. “We'll just do it until it works.”

“I'm just not sure this is a good idea, really.”

“You agreed it was necessary,” the Master hummed, clearly tired of the subject being brought up yet again.

“I agreed it would've been... appropriate to return the favour,” the Doctor replied begrudgingly. “But lying to them and saying I'm pregnant when I'm not?”

“Aw, who cares, they don't need to know,” the Master waved dismissively. “It's not like they'll see you a lot.”

“They'll see me sometimes,” she noted. “And they'll kiiiinda notice the absence of a child, I think.”

The Master frowned. “Are you sure? I mean... have you seen the man's ego? I doubt he'll think about anyone but himself for even a minute.”

“Pot meets kettle,” the Doctor muttered, under her breath, but the Master merely raised an eyebrow, indicating he had understood her perfectly.

“It's charming when I do it,” he sulked.

“It is, it is,” she hastily reassured them. “I just... don't like lying to friends, okay?”

“They're not friends! Friends don't ruin other friends' weddings!”

It was the Doctor's turn to raise her eyebrow at him and he let his shoulders sink slightly in turn.

“Well, my point exactly,” the Master added sullenly. “See? We're not friends!”

“One last try,” the Master pleaded, begged almost, as they sat on the table, looking at food from seven different planets and trying to block out the constant welsh chatting from their right. “We could get pregnant here and now, and wouldn't that be a blow for the stunning couple, hm?”

The Doctor shook her head barely noticeable, her eyes still fixed to Jack and Ianto, who were currently dancing happily unaware of her scorn. They didn't only have everyone's eyes on them and were admired and talked about by the whole crowd, more people had showed up to their wedding, too.

It simply wasn't fair. Just because Jack hadn't married a homicidal mad man and his friends still were alive because his partner hadn't destroyed his whole home planet.

The Master's hand under the table slipped between her legs and the Doctor sighed. They had had sex..... a lot in the last few months. A lot a lot. She wasn't exactly complaining. Her body still reacted to his touch like it had  the very first day, so much in fact, that the heat of her rage mingled with the heat of his proximity and the heat of the honey mead they'd been drinking excessively and suddenly the Doctor's head swam and she couldn't find a single reason to not get pregnant here and now.

The Master grabbed her arm and pulled her to the toilet, neither of them feeling Martha Jones' alerted eyes on them.

“I'm telling you!” she called out. “He just grabbed her and dragged her somewhere, he's doing something to her.”

Jack shook his head gently.

“Martha, they're married, he's not...”

She gave him a very dark look and Jack sighed.

“Okay, yes, he's still... you know... him. And I hate him. And I wouldn't put it past him that this whole “I'm domestic” act is just a plot to painfully murder her. But...”

Martha's gaze became more intense and flatly, Jack asked, “Which direction did they go?”

Sitting on the Master's lap, naked, several body parts disappearing inside the other person, his hand gripping her hair, her head thrown back against the door of the very tight toilet cabin, that wasn't exactly how she had pictured this revenge.

But when Jack, Martha, Ianto and a crowd of their friends had set out to start a desperate search party to find and rescue her, they probably hadn't pictured this, either. Worried, they had ran down the door to the cabin after having heard sounds of pain and moaning from behind.

Yeah. Well. She liked it a bit rough, so what?

The Doctor was still giggling at the thought, actually, that Jack with his one track mind, had, for once, not considered sex to be a possibility.

Jo Jones, meanwhile, was standing in the back, leaning against a wall, shaking with silent laughter and it was clear to everyone that she had come along not out of worry, but simply to enjoy the show.

“Sorry, Jack,” the Doctor said sweetly, as she climbed off the Master's lap and pulled up her trousers again. “Really didn't mean to crash your wedding.”

Jack simply snorted.

“Yeah right. I guess I deserved that.”

“Double, in fact,” the Master gave back, glaring at him darkly, as he stepped out of the toilet cabin behind his wife, fully dressed. “Because now you ruined this for me, too.”

It had done the trick, however, as they both couldn't help but notice with not a small amount of satisfaction. The whole room was suddenly talking about them, the news spreading like a wildfire, while the Doctor and the Master subtly slipped out and made their way back home, whistling.

“You know,” the Master noted after a little while of companionable silence, when they had almost reached their TARDIS. “In a way, I'm glad our original plan didn't work.”

“Yeah?” the Doctor asked, unlocking the door and pushing it open for him to enter. “Why?”

“I don't know,” the Master shrugged, in a way that perfectly signalled to the Doctor that he was merely pretending to be casual. “I think if we ever... you know, had a child.... I wouldn't want Captain Jack Harkness to be the reason.”

The Doctor froze mid-movement and the door snapped shut behind her.

Then she smiled.

“Yeah.”

[callenennis]

Hey so I asked earlier if requests were open. Could you please write a fanfic of Ango & a criminal female s/o. She’d be a drug dealer working for a drug lord (like Jesse Pinkman). She & her drug lord operate under pseudonyms. There‘s an outbreak of deaths from drug addiction in Yokohama and related shootings & Ango has been trying to hunt them down. It’s a cat-mouse game when him & is a/o are together. He’s been oblivious to his s/o’s involvement until he arrives at their meth lab. Thanks! 😊

Firstly, my sincerest of apologies for the late response on this request, I’ve just started college where I live so I’m trying to balance this blog and my schooling. Secondly, thank you so much for the request! I was so excited when I saw it! Thirdly, I’ve never seen Breaking Bad before so I really hope I did Jesse Pickman justice.

Enjoy!

Raise Hell

Synopsis: When a dangerous drug outbreak starts killing the citizens of Yokohama, Ango Sakaguchi is tasked to investigate; unbeknownst that he’s already met with one of the ringleaders, his girlfriend.

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Pairing: Ango Sakaguchi X Female Reader

Genre: Angst, Fanfiction

Warnings: Illegal Drugs, Violence, Swearing, Blood, Bombs, and Death

Rating: 17+

Word Count: 1.9k

——————————————————————————————-

Meth isn’t as terribly difficult to make than most people give it credit for. Most every ingredient can be found with items from your average supermarket for a cheap total, no need for plants or needles, you truly can’t get any easier than that. Once you’ve been in the drug trade from so many years you pick up a few things: One, if you really don’t want to get caught, destroy whatever remnant of your life you had before. Burn anything that would tie you down or be held against you. If you really want to make sure of this, just do what I did, stage your own death. Some type of terrible car accident where the car catches on fire or explodes will do fine. Two, Become a chameleon. The old you is dead and gone forever and you’ll need to blend in with the populous now so no extravagant purchases with your new-found wealth. Which brings us to number Three, hide any and all suspicious amount of money you have, and no, I’m not talking about a stupid shoebox in the closet type shit. I talking under the floorboards before sealing them tight to blend in with the rest of the ground, wooden framework of your furniture, the back of a painting in a frame, false bottoms in drawers, somewhere hidden but accessible in emergencies.

Out of everything I fabricated and lied about there was one thing I couldn’t make up, how much fun it was to keep toying with my boyfriend, Ango Sakaguchi. For over three years we’ve been playing this cat and mouse, having gotten so close to being caught and thrown in prison only made my desire to continue stronger. With each close encounter sending a rush of adrenaline through my body as a devilish smirk would spread across my lips. I know I shouldn’t keep going, I know I should have jumped ship as soon as I heard Ango was investigating the drug-related deaths and shootings that kept growing. Every nerve in my body was shouting, screaming at me to stop will I’m ahead, you don’t have to keep going, you can stop and have a normal 9-5 life with Ango, have a normal life, get married... but I couldn’t. This is all I’ve known for so long, my hands have long been stained with dirty money, long been stained with the chemicals and lives I’ve taken by proxy, I can’t imagine doing anything else. I couldn’t, I’m not leaving Kazuki. We’ve been in this game together for too long, and I intend to see it through to the end. “Hey babe, I gotta run out for a minute and help Hiroshi, okay?” I called out using Kazuki’s alias as I pull my arms through the coat, peaking my head into his office.

Ango hardly looked up from his paperwork, simply humming in response as he continued working on his mound of paperwork. I leaned my body against the doorframe, my eyes softening upon seeing the dark circles forming under his light-colored eyes. Seeing him so overworked and exhausted but still trudging on for the sake of work made me feel awful. Especially now when his desk is littered with crime scene photos, autopsies, and blurry CCTV photos of masked people, people I know, and try to protect all while simultaneously working against them. An unwilling double agent if you will. I quietly walked over to Angos’ hunched over form, placing my hands on his tense shoulder while carefully massaging them. “Ango,” I spoke again softly, “I think you need to take a break.”

“I wish I could,” he answered leaning against the back of his chair, lulling his head back to look at me. I arched my brows in worry upon seeing his face up close: eyes half open, hair slightly tousled, brown kobicha tie disheveled, his thin frames glasses slipping down his nose. “The bad guys are still going to be there tomorrow, babe” I hummed pushing his glasses up, giggling at his bashful face. I placed a loving kiss on his forehead, combing my hands through his hair making him close his eyes and hum. “You’ll be better focused tomorrow, I mean who knows? Maybe they’ll slip up while your sleeping.”

“That’s why I need to keep working,” he argued opening his eyes slightly, struggling to keep them open with each slow blink. I sighed, slightly annoyed at his continued persistence, “Please Ango, it’s not healthy to stay up for so long” I pleaded, wrapping my arms around him in a loving hug. “If you go to sleep now I’ll make you breakfast in the morning” I heard him laugh slightly at my offer. “You know me too well,” I smiled in return, knowing he couldn’t resist my cooking before responding, “You’re not terribly hard to read.” I watched him walk out of his office sluggishly while I cleaned the papers littered across his desk, my eyes catching on an autopsy report. I scanned through the sheet diligently looking at the chemicals found in the victim: Ephedrine, Ammonia, Gasoline, Toluene, Freon- my heart dropped upon reading the final ingredient.

“Son of a bitch” I cursed pulling at my phone, taking a quick picture before hastily packing up the rest of the paperwork. My shoes were hardly tied as I rushed out the door through the labyrinth of back alleys towards the lab while pulling my mask on, busting down the door to Kazuki’s office. His head shot up upon my loud entrance, narrowing his eyes in annoyance as he spat out, “you know damn well how much that door costs.”

“That door’s not gonna mean shit soon, we got a problem” I barked back, my voice slightly muffled though still carrying an authoritarian tone, slamming my fist on his desk. “If it’s about the overdoses we already tweaked the ingredients for a new batch,” he said with a bored tone kicking his feet up, “Our sales will be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Like that’s gonna do shit, look,” I said pulling up the photo and sliding my phone towards him, “read the chemicals.” His long fingers picked up the photo, carefully reading the words before seeing his eyes expand in shock, “Fuck, that’s-”

“Catecholamine and Tolcapone, and way too much if it” I interrupted looking at his face, knowing that we were thinking the same thing, there’s a spy in our ranks. Swiftly we started scanning through the files on every older member in our group or any younger member with elderly relatives. These aren’t your typical over the counter chemicals you get at the corner store, this is regulated, controlled. Chemicals and drugs found in prescription medications you can’t simply trick a doctor into giving you. With enough Catecholamine and Tolcapne in someone’s body there a ticking time bomb of rage with virtually no impulse control. Mix that with all of the chemicals in meth, and you’ve got an adrenaline run, short-tempered, raging, and homicidal machine who won’t stop until their heart inevitably either explodes or stops altogether. My fingers continued to grow more cramped and sore with each page turn until finally finding it. “Where’s Asuka Miyazaki?” Kazuki’s head shot up so fast I thought he’s broken it, face painted in horror, “the roof!”

We both dashed up the towering flight of stairs at breakneck speed, as I lagged behind with each tripping over my own half tied shoes; letting Kazuki rush passed me like lightning up several flights, bursting through the door. Before I could take another step to join him I froze, taking a deep breath, smelling something... off. I couldn’t quite place it for a moment trying to find the right words. BO? Sewer Water? Burned-out matches? My blood ran freezing cold upon realizing the smell, rotten eggs. Methane gas. That son of a bitch is gonna blow the whole Ward sky high! My body took over before my mind could, bare feet leaping down each landing and step, feeling my ankle twist and snap once jumping onto the ground floor. I bit my lip, fighting back the grueling pain and urge to curse with each step towards the emergency alarm. I need to keep going. If I can pull it the alarm the sprinklers should help rid any gas or flames. One more, I screamed at myself, just one more-

The moment my fingers brushed against the alarm the building came to life with overwhelming heat and flame, I pulled the alarm just seconds later though it did nothing against the rapidly growing inferno. The following explosions’ shockwave hurled me through the lab walls like a freshly sharpened knife to paper; before I was slammed into something hard, knocking the wind out of me before crashing to the ground. Desperately I gasped for air, feeling my broken ribs stab into my lungs with each breath. My right eye struggled to keep open and see through my mask, my vision blurred and distorted with each moment. The only sound I heard was the deafening ringing in my ears as summoning any remaining strength to flip over to my chest; my ribs further stabbing into my lungs. I outstretched my right arm attempting to pull myself up, seeing the deep gashes littered with shards of glass and rubble bleed profusely onto the ground. The sight itself nearly made me vomit. As the ringing in my ears cleared I heard the muffled sound of breaking glass and footsteps come closer before stopping near me. I craned my head painfully towards the sound, only to find myself peering down the barrel of a gun I’d never dreamed of being on the other end of.

Angos’ gun. Cocked and loaded, his finger itching to pull the trigger and end my life right there. I could feel his harsh glare on me, reflecting all of the pent up emotions he’d been harboring for months: rage, frustration, loathing, murder, all shooting through his veins. A moment of suffocating tension mixed in the air with smoke and iron. “Who are you?” Ango asked, pure venom dripping from each word uncharacteristically, it was terrifying. His sharp glare burning into my skin hotter than the flames around us, the feeling of defeat finally creeping into my broken bones. As if on cue, the white theater mask covering my face feel onto the rubble littered ground like a loud clattered, exposing my bloodied and bruised face.

Ango’s eyes widened in disbelief, his once steady hand holding the gun now beginning to shake as his mind tried to piece together what he was seeing. His lover—the one he trusted more than anyone else—and the two drug lords he’d been hunting. They can’t be the same, they couldn’t be. I could see he didn’t want to believe it, it’s not possible, I’ve been so loving, so kind, there’s no way she would never be apart of this. But he couldn’t deny it, with each moment that passed the more I saw the gears in his head click. Every unanswered question, botched raid, failed trap, all of the missing pieces coming together. My unexpected errand runs, late nights out, surprise visits to Hiroshi, no, The Jesters place. It lined up perfectly. But there was still one question he wanted to know, need to know. “Why?” he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, salty tears threatened to run down his cheeks, an expression of unfathomable hurt and betrayal painting his face. Before he could speak another word, my head fell against the cement ground, vision fading to black as I steadily suffocated on my blood. With my final breath, I choked out the answer...

“For... him... For... Kazu...ki”

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

Present Day: The Ninth Circle

Blythe

"Do you really think he could ever love you?"

Harry

Harry didn’t look at John.

The demon’s barbed words hit home in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible only a few days ago. But now… now he didn’t know what to think.

He didn’t even fully know his own past, after all, and that was because John had tampered with his mind. A violation of trust that threw every single moment he’d had with John into an entirely different light.

Just how much had Constantine fucked with his head? Manipulated him? Conned him? Looked right at him and lied to his face while sharing stark naked, laid-open bare intimacy with one another?

Well. Not as open as he had thought.

Harry didn’t look at John. He didn’t want to see the lies still written on his face.

Instead, he looked at Blythe, spitting blood onto the ground as he gave an ineffectual wrench on his chains. “Hey... who needs love... wh-when you could have a homicidal... stick bug of an ex string you up and torture you to death instead?”

John and Blythe

Someone very, very powerful had drawn the binding circles on the ground around both the warlocks. Circles that firmly kept magic out.

The two warlocks themselves, were shackled at hands and feet, the metal inscribed with runes of power.

John would be flattered at the effort, if he hadn't been sick with pain.

Oh, no, Blythe hadn't done anything to him beyond forcing him to his knees and clasping the shackles around wrists and ankles. His pain wasn't physical. Not yet. Not like Harry's.

His torture was purely and exquisitely of the emotional variety.

Forced to watch and listen as Blythe turned their full, hellish attention on Harry.

Harry himself, was strung up by his shackles, his feet barely reaching the ground and hands fastened spread out to either side over his head. The position left him to either strain to push himself up on his toes or to suffocate from the weight of his own body.

Crucifixion torture minus the crucifix. How very sarcastic of you, Blythe.

And the demon hadn't just left it at that. Oh, of course not.

Over their shoulder, tangling elegantly with the bright red feathers on whatever appendage it was that most people would mistake for a boa, hung a bullwhip. Two inches thick where their clawed hand held onto it and tapering down, down down to three thin leather straps tipped with glinting metal.

They were good with it.

When they had started, it was only those sharp metal spikes that had kissed Harry's skin. Hours ago.

But the last two lashes, Blythe had used the thick body of the whip, where the leather was woven tightly into itself, to catch him around the sides of his torso, driving out the air from his already struggling lungs and leaving forearm thick, quickly bruising stripes.  The blood Harry spat out made the possibility of some internal damage way, way too real.

John had watched, eyes wide even if each lash felt like it caught him across the heart. This was his torture.

Harry was the tool, not the target.

And John worried that if Blythe thought that it wasn't affecting him enough, that he wasn't paying enough attention … they'd do worse.

So he watched.

--- Blythe laughed a sharp little laugh, genuine humour in their  wind-between-dead-branches voice.

"Death?", they chuckled and frowned, all six of their glowing red eyes now open and squinting with amusement. "No, I've got no plans to kill John."

They stepped closer to Harry and tipped the whip, letting the tail of it caress his chest. Their smile widened when they heard the sharp intake of breath, the desperate click of John's throat as he swallowed against what was sure to be nausea.

"John taught me a beautiful lesson about suffering.", they continued. "And that is that human suffering is so much more effective when you're still alive. Living in pain, dear Harry, is such a sweet, sweet appetizer for what is waiting for him in Hell. And he's doing a very good job at killing himself. Did he tell you that he's dying from cancer? Or is that something else that he kept from you?"

Harry

Harry knew pain. Every kind of pain imaginable. He knew it on a more intimate level than most could ever even dream of. Pain was an old friend of his, kept close to his heart, fueling his actions, feeding his will, overflowing from his memories. Giving him the incentive to keep fighting, to keep standing between the monsters in the world and the people he had chosen to protect with his very life.

He knew pain, but he had never known pain quite like the pain that John Constantine had inflicted on him. Even Blythe's barb-tipped scourge didn't come close. Even as it tore the skin of his torso and back to shreds again and again and again for what felt like an eternity, even as the power of Blythe's blows left cracked ribs and dark bruises. Even as he struggled to find purchase with his bare feet, fatigued legs threatening to collapse underneath him and leave him to suffocate.

The breath rattled in his lungs as he pushed himself up with shaking legs enough to drag in a mouthful of air. Blythe's mocking laughter seemed to skitter and crawl over him in creeping, stinging trails that shivered down his skin.

No, I've got no plans to kill John.

Those simple words were a stark reminder of why he was here. Blythe wasn't torturing Harry. Not really.

They were torturing John. Harry was just a means to an end. Do you really think he could ever love you? Blythe had asked, voice dripping with condescension.

Images of that morning swept through his mind, the morning that his memories had finally broken through in full. The morning he had realized that the man he had fallen in love with-- again-- had broken into his mind and stolen something precious to him, violating him in every way imaginable.

What. Did. YOU. DO?!

I saved your life.

Harry closed his eyes as Blythe drew nearer. The whip touched his chest, and despite not wanting to give them the satisfaction of a reaction, he couldn't stop the flinch that jolted through his body, or the soft whimper that escaped through clenched teeth.

And then another revelation came, and Harry opened his eyes, finally turning them to John. Finally seeing the agony written on his lover's-- his ex-lover's face, an agony that rivalled his own.

Cancer.

John was dying.

And no, he had not told Harry. Because of course he hadn't.

He turned his eyes back to Blythe, teeth grinding. “You'd... know all about H-Hell... wouldn't you?” A cough racked his body, shoulders burning as the impulse to double over made him pull on his chains. “F'you're f-feeling nostalgic... kn-know of a nice little... travel agency you could b-bbook with...”

John and Blythe

Harry turned his attention to him and John looked away.

Coward.

What good would a Soulgaze do them now? Except cause even more pain.

So, John stared into the darkness beyond the reach of the candles all around them. And there … just at the edge … was there someone? Something?

He could almost see a silhouette. A shape made of darkness a little lighter than the mere absence of light. And … were those …

"Oh, this one really got spunk, John.", Blythe laughed and John's attention snapped back to them. To Harry. "This is really such a shame. We could have had so much fun, you know, if you hadn't broken our deal."

"An' I paid for tha', didn'I?", John ground out between clenched teeth. "Twice."

"Twice?", Blythe replied with mock surprise. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Being forced into inaction against Nergal was for breaking our deal. Sweet little Oliver was just my bonus."

They stepped out of the circle around Harry, hoofed feet careful to avoid the delicate lines and stopped right outside the line of John's magical prison. "Sweet little Oliver was for you tricking me the first time."

John scoffed a laugh. "Aaw, So sorry.", he spat and leaned forward, towards them, taking the slack out of the chains attached to his shackles. "C'm'ere an' I'll make i' up to you."

Blythe crouched down then and tutted. "Oh, John. I know that you think you're smarter than everyone else, but even with all these precautions, I'm not stupid enough to come close to you.", they grinned at him, full of sharp teeth. "Your ego really is your downfall. I mean, wasn't that why you took dear Harry's memories? Because you thought you could handle it on your own? Yes, I think that was exactly what you admitted to me, your dick still inside me while you cried your eyes out."

Their words were like a lash of their whip. And when Blythe turned their sly expression up to Harry, John knew. That little revelation was just as much part of the torture.

"You see, dear Harry. It didn't take John much time at all to return back to his old ways."

"Shut up!", John demanded sharply, teeth clenched. "You tricked me."

"Oh, did I? I mean, yeah, I did. But only with who I was. You wanted your pretty little succubus, didn't you? Because you were missing the demonic part of you. The power that you got from consorting with us. You, Johnny boy, wanted the power back that came with being Tainted. Did he ever tell you about that, Harry? That he made a deal with a demon. Demonic blood and all the power that comes with it for a little bit of help? Don't answer, spare your breath. Of course he didn't. You really have to work on your communication skills, John."

Harry

John avoided Harry's gaze, because why would John do anything but avoid having to face up to his actions? It seemed pretty much true to form. Why should he expect a sudden change just because the two of them were sharing a super fun torture dungeon with John's jilted ex-lover playing pass-the-pain?

And yet, when Blythe stepped away from him to approach John, Harry felt himself tense, his wheezing, labored breaths taking on a frantic edge as he tugged at his chains. Pain licked across the skin of his wrists like flame. The cold iron had spread a slowly creeping burn around his wrists and ankles; his flesh had turned bright red after the first hour, like a chemical burn, and was now slowly darkening, seeping, blackened, spidery veins visible in his arms and legs just past the shackles. The metal-barbed whip that had left hundreds of shallow slices in his skin didn't help matters either. Weakness had long since flooded his body, nausea and vertigo turning his stomach and swirling inside his head. It was all he could do to keep pushing up with his legs, to keep dragging desperate, ragged gasps of air into his lungs. Heaven help him if Blythe decided to start breaking bones.

Grinding his teeth, he watched the demon approach the captive magician, helpless to stop them. Again, he remembered that this entire ordeal was meant to hurt John, and his heart lurched in his chest as an image of that cruel whip shredding pale skin burned itself through his mind. Nausea crawled up his stomach, and he swallowed, forcing down a surge of bile.

Even with all that John had done to him, the thought of seeing him hurt was almost too much to bear. And then came another revelation. Blythe shifted their eyes back up to Harry, and he glared back at them, fighting the tears that prickled at his eyes. He'd be damned if he would give Blythe the satisfaction of a visible reaction.

...your dick still inside me while you cried your eyes out...

...demonic blood and all the power that comes with it...

Constantine was not denying anything. Blythe was speaking true.

The man kneeling in the circle was a stranger. Harry had never known him, not really. Even as intimate as they had been.

Hell's bells. He'd always been prone to wearing rose-colored glasses when it came to his lovers, but this really took the cake.

“Who... the fuck... are you?” he whispered.  “You... fucking b... bastard...”

[lovemesomerafael]

No One Else Chapter 7:  Into The Light

Source:  @dailypeterscanavino​

Chapters 1-6      Read it on AO3

“Go for help!”  Sonny shouts at Fin at the same time he reaches down to feel for a carotid pulse. Fin wastes no time; all but ignoring the potential hazards on the floor of the tunnel, he turns and sprints for the entrance, too far away to be more than a hazy gray spot in the distance.   The beam of his flashlight can be seen, bouncing with his stride and becoming smaller and dimmer as he runs back down the tunnel toward the emergency vehicles he knows are there.  At least one of them is an ambulance.

Sonny notices immediately that Kate is warm.  She’s alive.  Her pulse is slow, but it’s strong and steady.  He lowers his head to put his ear next to her mouth, and can hear her breathing and see her chest rise and fall slowly in the dusty light from his flashlight.

“Katie?  Baby, I need you to wake up.  Can you wake up for me?”

He can’t resist putting an arm behind her and pulling her to a semi-sitting position, her head resting on the crook of his elbow so that he can cradle her to him. He knows he probably shouldn’t be moving her, but he needs to hold her.  He needs to weep into her hair, and kiss her forehead, her cheek, her lips. She’s not responding, which he desperately wants her to do, but she’s alive.  He realizes he is smearing her blood all over his shirt and jacket as he clasps her to his chest, his lips pressed hard against her forehead and tears falling into her hair, rocking her and muttering a tearful prayer of thanks, and a further plea for her to be all right.  Later, he will laugh at himself for thinking of sex at this moment, but what he’s thinking is that he knows they’ve been committing adultery, and he promises God that he will marry Kate as soon as he possibly can.  In the privacy of his mind is the idea that this is somewhat of a negotiation – if God will save Kate, Sonny will stop sinning and enter into Holy Matrimony with her – and that Sonny really wins on both sides. He doesn’t worry about that.  God likes when lost lambs come back into the fold, so Sonny thinks He will be OK with the deal.

Besides which, Kate utters a tiny moan at that moment.  Sonny smooths a palm over her cheek and very lightly taps it with his fingers.  

“Kate?  Sweetheart, can you hear me?  Can you wake up for me?  Katie? Please, Baby.  I love you.  I love you so much.  I need you to wake up…”

He continues calling her as he cradles her in his arms, rocking her slightly and telling her how much he loves her, for what feels like forever.  In the distance, he sees a pair of headlights enter the tunnel, small but bright.  He can soon tell that it’s an ambulance, because it’s outlined in lights.  

“See that, Baby?  Help is coming.  I got you. You’re gonna be OK.  All right?  I love you. I got you.”

It seems to take hours for the lights to approach, the flashers making dizzying patterns on the walls of the tunnel.  He’s blinded by the headlights as it approaches, so he looks down at Kate and shields her eyes, although they are closed.  The ambulance drives just past them, and two paramedics, a man and a woman, jump out and begin to pull out equipment.  The rear doors open and Fin jumps out, then assists the female paramedic to pull the gurney from the back.  

Sonny stands, bending to keep his left arm behind Kate’s head and shoulders, and slides his other arm under her knees, lifting her in his arms to set her, as gently as he can, onto the gurney.  He doesn’t want to let her go, but the paramedics nudge him out of the way and begin to examine her.  There are bright lights on the rear of the ambulance for exactly this purpose, and they illuminate Kate’s dirty face and the blood smeared on the right side of her head and neck.  The male paramedic quickly slides a C-collar onto her neck, examining her head as he does.

“How bad is it?”  Sonny is practically hopping up and down with impatience and fear.

“I can’t see dick back here,” he says to his partner.  “Let’s get her inside where there’s better light.”

He and his partner secure Kate to the gurney with straps, moving with a rapidity born of frequent repetition.  While they do, Sonny removes the folding knife he always carries from his pocket and slits the zip ties on Kate’s wrists and ankles.  The others pretend not to hear what he mutters about Mary Duderon under his breath as he does.  It’s not very flattering.

The four of them quickly collapse the gurney and lift it into place in the back of the ambulance.  The male paramedic vaults in and sits beside Kate, speedily taking a set of vital signs and neurological checks, shining a light in and out of her eyes to check her pupil reflex.

“Vitals are a little low, but good.  Pupils are dilated, but reactive, so I’d say she’s got some heavy narcs on board.”

“Narcan?”  The female paramedic suggests.

“Not until I know what’s going on with that head wound.”  

“Sounds like she’s stable enough to transport, and it’s gonna take forever to back this thing outta here.  Why don’t you do your assessment and see what you can do for her while these officers guide us out?”

“Let’s do it.”

“I’m goin’ with her to the hospital,” Sonny says.  “That’s not negotiable.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the male paramedic shrugs, pulling the doors shut.  “We’ll pick you up once we’re clear of the tunnel.”

Sonny tries to be patient as he and Fin, walking on either side of the tunnel several feet behind the ambulance, use their flashlights and hand signals to guide the driver in backing out of the long, dark kiln.  The tunnel is wide enough that there’s a fair amount of room on either side, so that she can go faster than Sonny expected, but it’s still the pace of a slow walk, and to Sonny it feels like a crawl.  He reminds himself, time and again, that Kate is stable and is now getting medical help.  Since they’ve now found the woman they’re looking for, the other first responders come to the tunnel with their own flashlights and line the walls at intervals, which speeds up the process, but it still takes many minutes.

At long last, the ambulance clears the entrance to the tunnel kiln and turns around, stopping just long enough for Sonny to climb in and take a seat on the bench next to the male paramedic before driving out of the brickworks property. Once they reach the street, the siren starts and Sonny is relieved to feel them speeding toward the hospital and whatever help Kate needs.

 **************

Sonny objects when the ER staff stop him at the door of the treatment room into which they wheel Kate.  They’re used to the protests of loved ones in this situation, however, and he recognizes a hard no when he hears it.  So he’s pacing the waiting room when Fin arrives twenty minutes later.  

Fin’s clothes are smudged and smeared with dirt.  Sonny’s are, too, and he’s got a fair amount of blood on him, but he was on the ground with Kate.  He doesn’t understand why Fin’s so dirty.  

“What happened to you?”  Sonny asks, waving a hand to indicate Fin’s clothes.

Fin looks down at himself, the flashes Sonny an embarrassed grin.  “I, uh, got goin’ too fast when I was runnin’ out to get the bus.  Tripped over somethin’ and took a header.  Got me a nice souvenir.”  He points to a bloody, dirty scrape on his forehead that Sonny has been too preoccupied to notice until now.  “Your girlfriend better buy me a drink after this.”

His smile is reassuring, and Sonny manages a grin.  “Hell, I’ll buy you two.  Thanks, man.”

He claps Fin on the shoulder.  “So how much trouble am I in with whoever that white-shirt was back at the scene?”

Fin smiles wider.  “Let’s just say you’re lucky you don’t work for the NYPD anymore.  And you better hope your boss is a romantic, cuz he was already on the phone to her when I left.”

It’s another half hour before an Indian man in scrubs holds open one of the double doors to the treatment area and looks out.  He sees Fin’s shield around his neck and motions to him and Sonny. Sonny practically runs to him.  

“You here with Kate Kinsella?”  The doctor asks.

“Yeah.  Yeah, we are,” Sonny answers breathlessly.  In his eagerness to get information, he is standing a bit inside the doctor’s personal space, but the doctor is well used to that by now.  

“I’d have called your name, but I think she’s still a little muddled from the drugs.  She called you something like Greasy Homicide?”

Sonny laughs way too loud, while tears spring to his eyes.  He knows it would take too long to explain, and he doesn’t want to waste a second.  “She’s awake!”

“She is.  I’m Dr. Chowdhury, by the way.  She’s actually in pretty good shape.  Whoever abducted her tased her good, gave her a bit of a burn on the side of her chest, but it’ll be fine.  She’s also got a laceration on the back of her head, but however that happened, it wasn’t a hard enough hit to do any damage.  Head lacs bleed like crazy, so they often look worse than they are, and that’s the case here.”

“But she was unconscious!”

“She was, but not from the blow to the head.  She was drugged.  Toxicology’s not back yet, but if I was a betting man I’d say she got a heavy dose of Refliceine.”

“Which is?”  Fin asks.

“It’s a long-acting injectable narcotic.  You get a shot of that, you can be out for days.  Illegal as hell, for exactly that reason.  But it responds to narcotic antagonist medication.  I gave her a shot of Narcan, and she woke right up.”

“Can we see her?”

“Sure.  She’s been asking for you.  Right this way.”

Kate is sitting up on the gurney when Sonny and Fin reach the door of her treatment room.  Someone has toweled the worst of the blood from her hair, and her face and hands have been washed clean of the dirt from the tunnel.  The short sleeves of her hospital gown don’t cover the raw, red marks from the zip ties that had held her wrists, and a square white bandage shows low down on the right side of her head, but otherwise she looks unharmed. She breaks into a wide, bright smile as soon as she sees them.

“Hey, guys!”  She calls cheerfully.

Sonny rushes to her, leaning over the railings of the gurney to grasp her tightly. “Katie, it’s so good to see you awake! You have no idea.  I was so scared…  I love you so much…”

She puts her arms around him and pats him on the back.  “I love you, too, and I’m fine, Sonny.  I’m good.”

He sniffles as he squeezes her.  

“Hey,” she says, pushing on his arms a little.  “Look at me.”

He doesn’t let her go, but he loosens his arms enough that he can look into her face.

“I’m good,” she says with finality, smiling into his eyes.  “I can’t believe I let that fuckin’ troll get the drop on me, but other than that, I’m good.”

Sonny smiles through tears, but seems to be having trouble speaking.  

“OK?” Kate asks, tilting her head a bit as she peers at Sonny, willing him to understand that the danger is past.

“OK,” he chokes, standing up to wipe his eyes.  

Kate turns to Fin and holds out her arms.  “Hi, Fin.  I guess you must be my hero, huh?”

Fin hugs Kate as Sonny lets out a wounded, “Hey!”

Kate and Fin laugh and Kate keeps Fin’s hand in hers as she turns to Sonny and takes his hand, too.  

“Honestly?  I have almost no idea what happened.  I know the very beginning and the very end, and the doc tells me there’s a day in between, which I’m guessing musta sucked for you.  But I got nothin’.”

“Well, tell us the beginning, ‘cuz that’s the part we don’t know,” Fin says as he pulls a chair from against the wall to sit next to Kate’s gurney.  

“I got a pretty good idea,” Sonny growls, doing the same on the other side.

Kate scowls.  “Hensler dropped me off at my place.  I wanted to pick up a few things, and then I started walking toward your apartment,” she looks at Sonny.  “You know that alley between the pizza place and the grocery?  Where we found those kittens that time?  A kid comes out of that alley and tells me there’s some lady hurt in a car.  So I’m an idiot, I just walk right behind him toward this car parked a ways down the alley.  We get almost to the car, and I get zapped from behind.  Never even saw her.  The kid goes running, and there I am, laying there.  I can’t move, and I see Mary – well, her feet – and she leans over and pokes me with something.  I don’t know what it was, but I started to chill even before the taser wore off.  Then she just drags me over to her car and stuffs me in the back seat.  Bitch is stronger than she looks.  Anyway, she starts driving, and I was out.  That’s it.  That’s all I know, until I woke up here.”  

Sonny and Fin spend the next hour telling Kate everything that happened from the time Sonny realized she was missing until the time she awoke here in the ER.  Fin takes every opportunity to give her shit about sleeping through all the excitement, but Sonny’s not ready to make jokes yet.  Every once in a while, a nurse comes in to take Kate’s vitals and do neurological checks, but Kate insists she feels fine and begins to ask when she can go home.

After an hour, Fin says he has to go, gives Kate another hug, and heads for the door.

“Hey,” Sonny calls, standing up from his chair next to Kate’s gurney and going to Fin.  “Thank you. For everything.  I owe you bigtime.”  

They clasp hands and give eachother a one-armed hug, and Sonny’s expression makes clear how truly grateful he is.  

“Yeah, well don’t think you’re gettin’ out of buyin’ me those drinks. I’mma collect on that, believe me.” He points back at Kate.  “And you owe me, too.”

“Proud to.  Thanks again, Fin.”  Kate smiles at him as he leaves.  

Sonny returns to Kate’s bedside, and takes her hands into his.  He sighs deeply as he gazes at her.  “You scared me, Katie.”

“I know,” she replies softly.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.  It’s not that.  It’s just… It was hard.”

“I know, Sweetheart.  I’d have been a wreck if it was you.”  She pulls his hand to her lips and kisses it.  “Thank you for everything you did for me.  Thank you for holding it together.  I don’t think I could have.  Besides which, I gotta tell you, for a lawyer, you’re a hell of a detective.”

But Sonny is still not ready for jokes.  He’s also clearly going somewhere with this.  “Kate, you’re the best thing in my life.  I don’t think you know how much I love you.”

“You just gave me a pretty good demonstration.  And I love you, too.  I feel exactly the same way.”

“The thing is, I want us to be together.  I don’t wanna just date anymore.  I been thinkin’ for a while now that we should move in together.”

“We should.  Let’s,” Kate agrees happily.

Sonny’s a little frustrated.  Kate’s saying exactly what he wants to hear, that’s not the problem.  The problem is that this isn’t what he meant to say, or how he meant to say it, and he doesn’t know how to make Kate understand the enormity, or importance of his feelings.  

“No!” He blurts out.  “That’s not good enough.  Katie, I want to marry you.  Or, I want you to marry me.  I want us to get married.”

Sonny notices that Kate gives a little start before breaking into the widest and most beautiful smile Sonny has ever seen on her face, although he can see tears form in her eyes.  “I want to marry you, too,” she whispers.  

For a moment, they simply lock eyes and smile.  

“I’m gonna need a way better proposal than this, though,” Kate smirks.

Sonny’s radiant smile lights his face and the crinkles Kate so loves frame his blue, blue eyes.  “I can definitely manage a more romantic setting,” he laughs, then his voice takes on a more serious tone.  “As long as I know you’re gonna say yes.”

“I’m definitely gonna say yes,” Kate responds with equal sincerity.  

They are still kissing when Dr. Chowdhury comes in many minutes later, clearing his throat loudly.

“If you’re going to behave like that, I’m going to have to send you home,” he cracks.

************

Sonny is kneeling on the bathmat next to his tub, shampooing Kate’s hair as she sits in a hot bath.  It feels wonderful.  Sonny lives in an older building, with real porcelain bathtubs deep enough to soak in, and an apparently inexhaustible supply of hot water, and this is the second time he’s washed her hair.  He thinks he’ll get all the dirt and blood out this time, but he’s kind of enjoying this. He likes the feeling of taking care of Kate.  

Amanda Rollins is on speaker, explaining her questioning of Mary Duderon, and her reaction to Kate’s rescue.  

“She was actually having a hard time deciding whether to be proud of Carisi for finding her or being mad that she’d been found.  She eventually decided to just cry.  It’s kinda sad, actually.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sonny grumbles, scooping up water with a plastic beer pitcher and pouring it over Kate’s head to rinse her hair.  “It’s sick and it’s twisted.  She’s too smart to be sad.  She arranged it so Kate didn’t have a chance, and she could just drag her in the car and dump her out again.  That fuckin’ kiln, there’s no way Kate coulda gotten out, and she coulda screamed ‘til kingdom come and no one woulda ever heard her.”

“I wanna know where she got a hold of Refliceine,” Amanda comments.

“It’s not that hard,” Kate says, rubbing soapy water from her eyes.  “There’s a black market for any drug you want. That’s why I’ll always have a job.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re OK,” Amanda says.

“Thanks to you.  I appreciate everything you did so much, Amanda.”

Sonny squirts a handful of conditioner from a bottle and begins to run his fingers through Kate’s hair.  She closes her eyes and smiles as he asks Amanda, “Hey, who caught this case for the DA?”

“Hadid recused herself, so Stone took it.  Which could prove interesting, given Mary’s propensity to go gaga over men who pay her the slightest bit of attention.”

Sonny’s laugh is slightly evil.  “Yeah, if he plays his cards right, she’ll plead to life without parole just to make him happy.”

“She’s looking at that anyway.  He’s throwin’ the book at her.  Apparently, he’s a fan of yours.”

“Yeah,” Sonny grins.  “We get along OK.”

“Is that Peter Stone?”  Kate asks.

“Yeah, you know him?”  Amanda answers.

“Seen him.  Seems like poetic justice, Mary getting prosecuted by man candy.”

“All right, well, I’m gonna get goin’ home, you guys,” Amanda says.  “Glad you’re safe and well, Kate.”

“Thank you again.  I owe you.”

Amanda hangs up and Sonny begins rinsing Kate’s hair again.  

“MMmmmm.  This is so nice, Sonny.  But you still have some of my blood on you.  Maybe you should come in here with me.”

“Nope.  Now that you’re clean, you’re getting out and I’m gonna dry your hair.  And then I’m gonna wrap you up in a blanket and put you in my bed.  After that, I’ll take a shower.”

“Sounds wonderful.  And then what?”

“And then I’m gonna unwrap you.”

[rue-king]

Family Found, Family Taken

(AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32892439)

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: Gavin jumps right into the case that drives his brain in circles. He ignores and pushes RK900 to the side, determined to pretend he doesn't exist, but RK900 has had enough and makes a move.

Warnings: descriptions of a crime scene, cursing, kidnapping

Chapter Two:

“For someone whose handwriting is so messy you are quite organized” RK900 starts coming out of his interface trying to make conversation.

Reed rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore his attempt. Of course I’m organized, I am a fuckin good detective.

“You know partners need to actually work together” He continues on.

“You know I don’t actually give a fuck right” Reed snaps back lazily.

“Captain Fowler instructed that you cooperate”

“No he told me to accept it, not that I have to hold your fuckin hand”

“Aw you guys talking about holding hands already” Tina Chen jibes as she walks up from the direction of the break room.

“Real cute Chen”

“Haha, oh come on Gav. Anyway, move I wanna meet my new best friend. Hi I’m Tina Chen! Nice to meet you!” She says enthusiastically, putting her hand out for RK to shake.

“Hello, I am RK900.” He says, not accepting the handshake. It doesn’t seem like his ignorance is done in disdain but rather not really feeling quite comfortable enough to do that. Awkward.

Reed laughs quietly under his breath, Tina shoots him a dirty look taking back her hand.

“So new guy, you just go by RK900?”

“That is correct, I have no formal name given to me by cyberlife”

Stiff. Is he even deviant?

“Oh okay! Well it was nice seeing you!” She turns to the side to be dramatic “don't worry about this kid he’s like that to everyone.”

“I am not sure that’s a good thing” He says in a flat tone.

Gavins jaw drops a fraction, “alright, alright get out of here Chen.”

She blows a kiss and walks away with flourish. There is a moment of silence and Gavin starts to go back to work.

“There are multiple cases that are assigned to you and are marked as open.”

Gavin nods his head sarcastically, waiting for the RK unit to get to the point.

“Was that it?” Gavin asks coldly. “4 out of 5 of those cases are already closed, but our computers were down last week so paperwork is slow. I am currently assigned the string of double homicide cases.”

“We” RK corrects.

“The fuck did you say to me?”

“We- you mean, we are assigned to”

“Hah, you fuckin wish. I am assigned to the case, you are here to make the station look pretty.” Gavin bites back.

“Really? Well it seems to me that you are struggling with this case. Perhaps you need my assistance, Detective”

“I don’t need to ask you for shit”

“Well-”

“No fuck this, I’m leaving.” Gavin grabs his jacket, his luke-warm coffee and storms off.

Gavin hops in his car and starts it quickly, taking a deep breath, he pulls out of his spot and toward the latest crime scene.

As he drove he thought about the case's details. His knuckles curl around the steering wheel, stinging as he reopens the slight scabs and cuts that linger there.

Husband and wife, Christina and Mike, found dead in their home at 11:30 AM on September 21st 2039.

They are suspected to have died about 10 to 11 hours prior to their bodies being discovered.

Christina is suspected to have been killed first by strangulation and then Mike by blunt force trauma to the head. (Officers on scene noted that it may have been the corner of the coffee table).

Murder - suicide?

…...No, that's not probable men statistically are more likely to go with a quicker method.

…...Also, Christina showed no signs of defensive wounds and Mike would have shown some sign that she fought back. Regardless of relationship, when your life's on the line people normally try.

….the murderer is significantly stronger than both?

… enough for the main threat to be taken out last?

…..was the female victim used as leverage ?

There was no suspicious activity or persons around the scene reported by neighbors.

The two have a history of loud fighting, but have recently been reported as “doing well.”

The bodies were discovered by Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.

Gavin growls under his breath and frustration creeps back up his spine. This case is relatively new but the bodies have already been moved to the morgue for a more conclusive autopsy. The CSI guys on site are shit and nothing they do is quite up to Reed’s standards, so he normally tries to get a look at the crime scene himself.

“Those fukin CSI guys and no name beat cops have probably contaminated my crime scene” Reed grumbles as pulls into the neighborhood.

The crime scene is still pretty fresh as it's a day old. Cops control the area as the press covers the story.

Reed grabs his ancient dark brown leather jacket and slings it over his worn body. He likes autumn, but he's much too grumpy right now to acknowledge it.

He’s too angry and bitter to look at the warm colored leaves that saturate his peripherals and breathe in the crisp air. He would enjoy it too, what a bummer.

Guarding the main entrance to the home is some random beat cop that Gavin has seen around the office. He passes him quickly and brushes off the press’ questions with a stern, cold shoulder.

As he enters the house the first thing he notices is the cold draft of air. The house itself is decorated in a very homey manner. With each piece of furniture and decoration being slightly mismatched, everything is brought together in a sense of warm belonging.

The cold draft makes it feel like he’s gazing into the past. Gross.

He walks further into the house, breaching the archway that separates the foyer and the living room. There he sees the blood. It spatters across the floor, centering around what would have been the back of Mike’s head. It leaks out toward the rug and stains that homey blue color into an ugly dark red.

Gavin takes a deep breath, ready to find whatever the reports left out.

He looks up and calls over to the nearest officer, “are you the only one in here?”

“No, it's me and my partner, who's out back.”

“Oh, well get out I don’t need you guys walking all over my evidence” Gavin states bluntly.

The officer is taken back. He recognises Gavin, the department asshole. He scoffs a bit and walks off to get his partner and leave anyway. Fighting with the DPD’s detectives is a losing game, everyone knows that.

It's as if a switch goes off in Gavin’s brain. He begins to analyze his crime scene.

Blood splatter on the wall and furniture suggests that Mike went down facing the inside of the house.

….he was pushed. There is no way to throw yourself backward with enough force. Murder-suicide.

....there had to been enough force for him to go down fast enough at that exact trajectory to cause a deadly blow

...Mike has a violent(-ish) history, he would have fought back.

….no defensive wounds? (Note: check autopsy reports, maybe go down to morgue?)

At this point, Christina is already dead by strangulation. Her body was found facing away from the front of the house slumped toward the coffee table.

….looking in. What were they looking at? She is used as leverage and her husband is next, why does she die looking away from him? It takes about 4 minutes for a person to die of strangulation (unless the assailant was exceptionally strong).

…. If it took so long, why did Mike not try to fight as his wife choked?

...Something is not adding up. There's a missing piece somewhere.

Reed walks around the living room languidly. He wanders over to the innermost corner of the room, from this position he can see both “bodies” perfectly, along with a view of the front window.

The two victims are facing this corner, this is where the murderer stood. That's where they were when they strangulated Christina and where they pushed Mike. Gavin hums to himself, his brain works in quick and efficient cogs. Moving from thought to thought and connecting each tidbit with a string of concentration.

Mike’s wound should have taken another 5 minutes to become critical enough for him to bleed to death. But he is still looking right here. At this corner.

...what is he looking at? What am I missing?

Reed spins around wildly, looking at the piece of the room behind him. All that lies behind him is a single arm chair and a small circular picture frame that hangs above it. This corner of the room takes up no space and is a V-shape that connects the living room entrance to the kitchen entryway.

He stares hard at the little chair. Little chair.

A door opens in his head, but he can’t quite pin it down.

A sparkle catches his eye. He bends down to get a closer look, reaching his hand under the little chair. He pulls out a dusty untied bow with a few colorful sequences hanging off.

Little chair. Bowtie.

...Child. They are staring at a child.

He breathes out a hard puff of air. He hates cases with children.

They aren’t reported to have any kids.

He walks into the kitchen with a little more energy. He spots the tall white fridge that's adorned with colorful magnets. Magnets at child height with nothing attached to them and one higher up holding an empty, unmarked envelope.

That's so fake. Rigged. Staged.

He pulls open random drawers in search of the junk drawer. He knows there is always at least one in every household.

When he finally finds it he pulls out a slightly bent piece of printer paper. It's a drawing, a child’s drawing. A tall figure drawn in light blue holds the hand of a smaller green figure in a dress who is linked to a taller purple dress clad figure.

A little cloud to the left and a big tree to the right. It’s their family.

They were hiding evidence of a child, their child. Why? They were killed unexpectedly, it wasn’t to hide from the murderer. Who then?

…”Mike’s sister, Cathy, who was supposed to come over for breakfast on the 21st.”

...hiding evidence of a daughter from the sister? Why?

Gavin’s head hurts, he doesn’t even notice he's clenching his jaw in anger. Cases with kids make him angry. He is on a roll now, he can’t stop his momentum.

He pries open the fridge.

Mostly empty. One carton of eggs, one jug of milk, and various vegetables in the drawer. Don’t kids have like snacks or something. This is the fridge of a bachelor.

He moves on, going upstairs. He figures that they can try to hide little photos, but a kid in a house of this size would have her own room.

The parents room check out, nothing special. It’s just as homey as the rest, left as if they were just out running errands.

He moves on to the door at the end of the hallway to the left, facing the street. Jack pot, it's the kids room. Though at first glance it looks like a normal neutral guest bedroom.

He takes a peak under the bed, small toys like dolls and stuffed animals are tucked in the farthest corner. The sheets are new and the bed is freshly made. (As fresh as a day old can be anyway). He walks over to the window and peaks out.

He can make out the big tree that blocks some of the view. From the drawing.

Reed can also make out the image of his freshly dubbed partner stepping out of an automated taxi. RK900’s stark white uniform shining under the overcast weather outside.

Fuckin perfect. Gavin huffs, even more determined to finish quickly. He doesn’t need some pristine plastic to walk in and ruin all his work. He can do it on his own. He doesn’t need help.

He goes to the closet and opens it up. Hangers are crooked and a few pieces of child’s clothing are sprawled on the floor.

Taken in a hurry. Fuck.

That solidifies it. Cristina and Mike had a child, or at least one living with them at the time of the murder. There is no other victim, so it is safe to assume that this double homicide has upgraded into a kidnapping.

“Fuck. FUCK”

Gavin pulls out his phone and dials Captain Fowler's number as he leaves to meet with the officers outside.

As the phone hits the second ring he is met with the face of his brand new partner.

“I will be assisting you on this case De-”

“Shut the fuck up tin can. Get out of the way” Reed rushes out. RK resists getting out of his way, determined to spit his own insults at the rude detective.

The captain doesn’t pick up. Reed moves past RK anyway.

Gavin reaches the officers outside. “Hey you, come here” he calls over the officer he sassed earlier in the house. “How many officers are on scene, right now?”

“Four. My partner and I, and Ortis and his partner as well.”

“Okay, listen up. I need you to stay here and keep the press under control and in the area, get the other three to comb through the neighborhood and alert me if they find anything. Our murderer may have kidnapped a little girl and we don’t have any other information.” Gavin commands in a low tone.

The officer's eyes widened, opening his mouth to say something.

“No, shut up. We can’t let the press know, so you stay here, stay quiet and make sure your buddies do their job. Got it?” He nods, and Reed shoos him off.

“How did you come to that conclusion, Detective?”

RK900, right, perfect.

“None of your business, RK900” he overprounances the unit’s name to be condescending, but his partner stares at him with cold, uncaring eyes. So naturally Reed continues on.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a competent detective or something? Figure it out yourself.”

“Oh I did, I just wanted to know how you got to that conclusion.”

Flames heat up Reed’s body. He is quick to anger.

“You piece of shi-”

“Oh and while you were off being an ass I already contacted Fowler about the situation and the search for the young girl continues on at the office.”

Gavin clenches his jaw again, his tongue flicking over his teeth in quiet rage. RK900 stands there with an unfeeling look on his face, peering down at Gavin.

Reed would swear that there is a hint of a smirk teetering at the corner of that bastard's mouth. The shadow RK’s high brow creates on his eyes makes the distance between them seem daunting, widening the gap between them. Further smushing Gavin’s fragile ego into the bits and pieces between the dirt.

Dramatic, he knows.

Gavin from a couple months back would have ripped forward and swung on RK900, but this Gavin is tired. Resigned from the fight against his inferiority. He takes a breath, though it does nothing to relieve him of his anger, and walks off with nothing but a dirty look.

He has to solve this case, he has to. It is his last chance.