#Gary's fine where he is

[storyshark2005]

FIC - (Carraville, WIP) - Chapter 3

[the gap between crack and thunder]

📖 Read Chapter 3 here

Hangover / Spa day / 'Acts of Service' / 'Howay the Lads!'

[kohakhearts]

the b-side to the satoshi-kun compilation video...except, "gou-kun" didn't get a rise out of him, so to establish dominance gary just pretended to forget his name instead - until he couldn't seem to STOP saying his name, anyway

[vanweezer]

in my mind jonathan davis is nu metal gerard way. and because of this i am waiting for the mcr x vans footwear collab a la korn x adidas that also cost $600 for some pants and shoes

[s0dium]

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑!!!

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d find out that your crush, Geto Suguru, was just like you: a murderer. Not only that but you share the same passion; killing criminals and pedophiles! (Happy Kinktober) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT, gore, mutilation, murder, mentions of pedophiles (y/n kills them), serial killing, unprotected sex, breeding, choking, teasing, knife play, whipped Suguru 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k 𝐀/𝐧: This is based HEAVILY on the novel Butcher and Blackbird by Brynne Weaver. The original idea is credited to Brynne Weaver ONLY. This work is fan fiction and is not intended for commercial purposes or to infringe on the intellectual property rights of the original author.

Being a serial killer who kills other killers, pedophiles, and rapists is a great hobby.

Until you find yourself locked in a cage.

For three days.

No AC.

With a body you carved up.

You glare at the fly-riddled corpse whose legs are kneeling opposite of you in the locked cage you were both trapped in. The air is thick with the putrid stench of decay, a relentless assault on your senses. The body's skin is pallid, marred by the writhing mass of white maggots that feast mercilessly. Where eyes once held gaze, now only hollow sockets remain, tediously scooped out and vacant. The ears too have been sheared off, leaving clean edges that blend into the mottled, blood-stained flesh. Its chest has been cracked open; ribs pried apart in a macabre mimicry of an unhinged broken cocoon, revealing the dark, empty cavity where a heart once beat.

Then, of course, the piste de resistance of your work, the removed eyes, ears, and heart rest in the corpse's upturned palms—placed with ceremonial care amidst the chaos of mutilation.

So now, if anyone were to walk down the steps of Gary Green House's basement, they would not only find his mutilated body, but the person who did it, trapped in a cage together.

"Fuck." You curse at yourself for the millionth time since you've been trapped here for the last three days. The cold realization that you've fallen into Gary’s final trap gnaws at your mind as relentlessly as the maggots at the corpse across from you. The cage, a cruel relic of Gary’s twisted pleasures, had seemed the perfect place for your ritual—turning the hunter into the hunted in his own den of horrors. But in your fervor to see him pay, you overlooked one crucial detail: the cage's sinister design, which sealed shut the moment its door swung closed.

The remote control, now a mocking symbol of freedom, lies just beyond the bars, on a small, grimy table. You remember the sickening click of the lock, the finality of it echoing in the cramped space as you turned back from the grisly task of dismembering Gary—his last, silent victory.

Even the idiot police could deduce that this was all your doing, seeing as all your bloody tools were still with you in your backpack. With fingerprints. It was just a matter of time before they opened the basement door.

You could practically hear Gary’s voice from beyond the grave: "Hah! Serves you right, you stupid bitch! That's what you get for killing me!" The taunt echoes in your head like a song over and over again and you're seriously contemplating banging your head against the iron bars.

"FUCK FINE!" You yell into the darkness. "I renounce my wicked ways!"

"That's a shame. I bet I would like your wicked ways."

You jump at the sound of a man's deep, smooth voice, the cadence of slight raspiness warming every note. Your curses cut the humid air from the startlement of the man's presence. How the hell did he even get in here? You didn't hear the basement door open. You scurry out of reach of the man who saunters into the thin thread of light from the narrow window, the glass opaque with fly shit.

"You seem to be in a predicament." He says stepping into view. The thin light from the window partially illuminates him, allowing you to make out his face. Oh rather, what is on his face.

Holy shit.

A ghost mask stares back at you, its hollow eyes and elongated mouth frozen in a chilling scream. The stark white of the mask contrasts sharply with the surrounding shadows, and you watch with wide eyes as he tilts his head.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

In any other situation, you might be fan-girling. You know exactly who you're staring at: the infamous Crucifer, a killer, like you, but notorious for his crucifixion of criminals in rather, flamboyant displays. The few eyewitness accounts of the Crucifer all mention the ghost mask, leaving no doubt in your mind about his identity.

While your hunting grounds have been Osaka, his have typically been Tokyo, but despite the geographical difference, his reputation precedes him. In all honesty, you shouldn’t be surprised he’s here. Your victim, Gary Greenwich, is notorious even among the authorities. Despite his crimes, the lack of solid evidence has always allowed him to slip through the cracks of the justice system, leaving him free to continue his heinous activities. He was high on your kill list, and it’s no surprise he was high on Crucifers as well.

He takes a few steps closer toward the cage to stare down at the corpse, bending to take a closer look.

"Well what happened here?" He chuckles.

You are on day three of no food. No water. The gnawing hunger in your stomach feels like a relentless beast, clawing at your insides with increasing ferocity. You wonder if your body has started to eat its own organs at this point.

You can't deal with this shit.

"Self defense." You say.

The man chuckles. "I doubt that, you're not his type." Despite his mask you can feel his eyes shift from the corpse to linger on you.

"And how would you know that?"

"Well disregarding the state in which you "self defense" left him, you're not a 6 year old boy. And," he steps closer so now he is inches away from the bars and his whole body is illuminated. "I make it my business to know."

You don't answer. Instead you watch as he crouches down to meet your gaze. You try to hide behind your tangled hair and folded limbs, giving him only your eyes.

And of course, just your luck, he is stunning

Black hair flows behind his mask and down his shoulder. He's wearing a black compression shirt that hugs every muscle of his biceps and forearms, accentuating his athletic build. His broad shoulders enhance his imposing presence, giving him the aura of a seasoned athlete. Black cargo pants complete his ensemble, practical and intimidating, with a hunting knife sticking out of his pocket, probably what he would've used on Gary if you hadn't got to him first.

Something about him looks familiar, something you can't put your finger on.

"I guess you made it your business to know too." He pauses before moving even closer so his mask is practically pressed against the iron bars. "Hey, you look pretty familiar."

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. Instinctively, you brush a tangled lock of hair from your face, wincing as it catches on your dry lips. The man's shoulders tense as if he has been electrocuted.

"Y/n?" His voice cuts through the thick silence like a knife.

Oh, what the hell.

You jerk your head up from your hunched posture, eyes wide in shock, meeting the unsettling, hollow eyes of the ghost mask. Your heart races, pounding loudly in your chest.

"Wha-"

"Oh my god, it is you!" He exclaims, his loud deep voice echoing through the basement.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you stammer, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach.

"It's me," he interrupts, and with a swift motion, he takes off his mask. The sight of his familiar face makes your breath catch in your throat. "Suguru Geto."

Suguru Geto. The name alone sent ripples through your thoughts, dragging along memories and emotions you had long buried. Suguru wasn’t just any ordinary guy; he was a micro-celebrity in Tokyo, renowned for his breathtaking tattoo artistry. His ink adorned the bodies of celebrities, flaunted in TikToks and Instagram posts that garnered thousands of likes. His reputation was impeccable, his designs sought after by the elite.

You had crossed paths with Suguru a few times at various parties, your social circles occasionally overlapping due to mutual friends. Each encounter left an indelible mark on you. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just his talent that made him irresistible; it was everything about him. Those hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, the perfect curve of his lips that could shift from a smirk to a genuine smile in an instant, and those dimples that appeared whenever he graced you with that smile—each feature was a weapon, effortlessly disarming.

You, like many other girls, harbored a secret crush on Suguru Geto. It was impossible not to. That face alone could kill, and his charisma was the final blow.

And now, here he was, standing right in front of you, unmasked and undeniably real. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and a little overwhelmed.

Suguru clears his throat, a small smirk playing on his lips from how obviously you are gawking at him.

"Shot in the dark here but are you the Mute Collector?"

You part your lips to say something but you can't seem to form the right words.

"I-"

Suguru's grin widens and a sharp laugh escapes his perfect mouth. "Oh my god. I knew it. I fucking knew they had it wrong about you with that bull shit profile they built. What was it, they said you were a 30 year old white man?" Suguru throws his head back and smiles at the ceiling. "And the Mute Collector? You? That's just awesome. I'm such a huge fan."

"Yeah..." You clear your throat and push your hair completely out of your face. He grins at you, as though awe struck, and if you weren't wearing 100 layers of grime on your skin you are sure he'd be able to see the blush flaming in your cheeks for a second.

"And you?" You nod toward the mask. "You are?" You don't know why you are feigning ignorance but something about humbling him seems tastier than actual food right now.

"Oh come on." Suguru's tone flattens and he brings the mask up next to his face.

"The Crucifer?"

You shake your head.

"The cross maker?"

You shake your head again. Lying through your teeth is fun.

"The Tokyo Butcher?" When you shake your head he sighs and stands up. "Well," he glances to Gary whose maggots have made their way to the empty eye sockets. "What do you say? We ditch this lousy scene and get something to eat. Maybe when you get food in your stomach you will remember some of my little nicknames."

Your eyes widen and your stomach growls loudly, reminding you of how long it's been since you last ate. You glance up at your Suguru, a mix of hope and suspicion in your gaze.

"Are you serious?" you ask, your voice hoarse from dehydration.

"Yeah, after we get you a shower, some clothes and burn the house down."

You gulp and stand to your feet. "Could we get burgers?"

Suguru grins before grabbing the remote and pointing it at the cage.

"Fine by me."

~

The Mute Collector.

Geto Suguru is sitting across from the fucking Mute Collector.

And god you are beautiful.

Not that he just realized it now. Like many others, he has always known how attractive you are; he just pushed it to the back of his mind. But now, knowing who you really are and what you do in your free time, your body has practically been encompassed in bright warm light and your head adorned with a halo. He watches as you down your 6th cup of water with a sigh and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

The two of you sit in a cozy booth at a restaurant, the warm, smoky aroma filling the air. Suguru leans back with a beer in hand, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution. The waitress approaches, placing a large plate with a double cheeseburger and fries in front of you. Your eyes light up, and without wasting a second, you pick up the cheeseburger with your fingers and take a big bite, savoring the flavors.

Suguru chuckles, raising his beer in a mock toast. "You look like you've just found the Holy Grail."

He doesn't miss the way you stifle back a laugh, trying to speak through a mouthful of burger. "If the Holy Grail were covered in cheese and ketchup, then yeah, maybe."

He takes a sip of his beer, grinning. "I’ve never seen someone so excited about food. Maybe you should give up your little hobby and do food reviews."

"Well, that's what being trapped in a cage with the rotting corpse of a pedophile does to you I guess." You grumble, setting down the burger and taking another drink of water.

Suguru's eyes stay on you, and he takes the opportunity to really assess you. Your hair is damp, and the wetness seeps into the white Mickey Mouse shirt you're wearing, causing it to cling slightly to your skin and reveal the elegant lines of your collarbone. He bought that shirt and the shorts for you at a thrift store, and despite the fact that such clothes should look bad on anyone, you are rocking them effortlessly.

He can't help but notice that you didn't buy a bra, a fact that makes him smile to himself.

No bra.

"So tell me." Suguru sets his beer back on the table and leans in.

"The whole ears, eyes and heart thing." He waves his left hand in the air. "The police say it's satanic ritual stuff but I don't buy it."

You pause, a hint of a smile playing at your lips as you meet his gaze. "It's simple, really. Hear no evil, see no evil, fear no evil."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "You have a way of making the macabre sound poetic."

You're about to reach for a fry, but he snatches it before your fingers could reach it.

"Why not the tongue?" He says. "You know, speak no evil."

You roll your eyes and snatch the fry out of his fingers. "Tongues are hard to cut, too slippery and make a mess."

He nods thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. "You know, most people would be horrified to hear you talk like that."

"Good thing you’re not most people," you reply with a smirk.

"Touché."

He watches as your lips wrap around the thick fry and your teeth rip off half of it into your mouth.

No bra.

"What about you Suguru?" You lock eyes with him. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?"

"You heard me. You swoop in all superman-like, save me from the dipshit’s pedo dungeon and take me out for a double cheeseburger. Why are you here?"

Suguru shrugs and averts his gaze from your unyielding stare. Shit, your piercing eyes are almost making him sweat.

"Same thing you already did. I was going to skin him alive and and display the fucking monkey Jesus style infront of his house. At least, something like that."

"Yeah but why him? I thought your hunting grounds were in Tokyo?"

Your eyes widen slightly as the words hang in the air, the weight of your mistake sinking in immediately. You feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, a telltale sign of your embarrassment. Your lips part as if to take back the words, but it's too late; they've already been spoken.

A sly smile spreads across Sugurus face as he watches your face fall.

"Oh you totally know who I am Y/n."

"Fucking hell."

"You do! You know that I like to hunt near my home, how long have you been a part of my fan club?"

You roll your eyes and fall back into your seat. You blink rapidly, trying to maintain your composure, but the subtle tension in your jaw and the furrowing of your brow betray your embarrassment.

"So which one was your favorite? The monkey I strung up next to the police station? Or the one I flayed inside the Tokyo Union Church?"

"Oh my god I can already tell you are going to be insufferable." You grumble, the heat of embarrassment slowly dissipating as you take a deep breath. Suguru leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he swirls the beer in his hand, watching you with an almost predatory curiosity. As seconds pass, Suguru assesses your face, following how your eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route, and Suguru’s playful expression falters for a split second. He realizes with a sudden jolt that you're trying to leave. He can't have that. He needs to see you again.

"Hey speaking of suffering," Suguru clears his throat. "Have you heard about the women killings in Kyoto?"

Your eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I've heard. Pretty gruesome stuff. Why do you ask?"

A playful smile tugs at his lips. "How about a friendly competition? The killer's already taken six lives so far."

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to decipher his intentions. "What do you mean by a competition?"

Suguru leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's exactly what it sounds like. Who can hunt him down first?"

For a moment, you're taken aback, your eyes widening as you process his proposal. A mix of surprise and intrigue flickers across your face. "Are you serious?"

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. "As sin."

"And what do we get if we win?"

Suguru's eyes gleam with amusement and something else—admiration. "Bragging rights, of course. And maybe... another dinner like this one."

You throw your head back and let out a laugh. "Oh yeah? Who says I'll need you to get me another dinner?"

"Can't let you go hungry again. What do you say?”

~

You sit at your desk, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow on your face as you scroll through articles about the woman killer from Kyoto. The room is quiet, save for the occasional click of your mouse and the hum of the laptop. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see Shoko’s name. With a smile, you answer the call.

"Hey Shoko, how’s your night shift?" you greet her with a teasing tone.

Shoko’s laugh crackles through the speaker. "Busy as always. Just patched up a guy who thought he could outsmart a bulletproof vest with sheer willpower. Spoiler: he couldn’t."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Sounds like my type of guy."

By day, Shoko is your best friend and a dedicated med student, excelling in her studies with a, albeit, half hearted, passion for helping others. But when the sun sets, she transforms into the notorious Dr. Reverse, the underground doctor every criminal and lowlife turns to in their time of need. Using her medical expertise, she serves those who cannot seek help through legal means, operating in the shadows and patching up criminals who live by a different set of rules. In addition to her medical skills, she also deals in poisons, further cementing her reputation in the underworld.

You first met Shoko in a moment of desperation. After cornering a serial rapist, you were attacked with a machete, almost severing your arm. With nowhere else to turn, you sought out Dr. Reverse. Shoko skillfully sewed you up and, in the process, deduced that you were the infamous Mute Collector. To your surprise, she didn't seem to care about your identity, and you, in turn, didn't question her underground business or her dealings with poison. This mutual understanding and acceptance laid the foundation for a strong bond, and you've been best friends ever since. 

Shoko laughed, a sound that always manages to lift your spirits. "Right? Anyway, what's up? I saw your SOS text."

You hesitate, glancing at the photo of Geto Suguru on your screen on a separate tab. His annoyingly white teeth glare back at you, and you try to resist staring at his six pack in an instagram photo someone took of him at a pool party.  His dark eyes seemed to stare right through you, as if mocking your indecision. "It's about Geto."

There was a brief pause before Shoko's voice came back, tinged with curiosity. "Geto? What about him?"

You take a deep breath, your fingers drumming nervously on the desk. "He's the Crucifier."

Shoko's reaction was immediate and loud. "Geto is what?" she practically yelled through the phone, causing you to wince.

"The Crucifier. I know." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all. "Can you believe it?"

Shoko let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, he always seemed like a guy with secrets, but I never pegged him for a serial killer, I mean, someone like you."

"Yeah, well, here we are," You mutter, rubbing your temples. You focus your attention back on your computer screen. Suguru is squeaky clean, not even a bad review on his website. There was only his questionable taste in best friends: Gojo Satoru—the biggest playboy and the infamous heir to the Gojo Company, Japan's largest and most influential corporation. Gojo's notoriety was legendary, his exploits plastered across tabloids and whispered in gossip circles. You’ve met, and been hit on by the man a few times, and not once did you fall for any of his slimy cheap antics. No, Geto Suguru is who your eyes fell on. 

 "And now he’s proposed some sort of competition."

"A competition?" Shoko's voice was practically dripping with amusement. "Like a hunting competition?”

You let out a snort of air through your nose. “Basically.”

Are you gonna do it?"

"I don't know," You admit, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand. "I said I would, but I don't know. I barely know the guy. Well, I thought I did."

"Well, you should," Shoko said, her tone shifting to one of gentle teasing. "Besides, isn't this your chance to get closer to your crush?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Shoko, seriously? Come on, that was ages ago."

"Hey, I'm just saying," she replies, laughter bubbling up again. "This could be your big break."

"You're impossible," you grumble, though you can't help but smile. "How's the side business, by the way?"

"Thriving," she says and you can practically see her small smile through the phone.. "You'd be amazed at how many people need a little untraceable something for their enemies."

"I don't doubt it," you say, shaking your head. "Just stay safe, okay?"

"You too, Mute Collector," Shoko says, her voice softening slightly. "And remember, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Always," you reply, your smile growing wider. "Thanks, Shoko. Talk to you soon."

"Later," she says, and the line goes dead.

You lean back in your chair again, your thoughts drifting back to Geto Suguru and the strange, dangerous world you both inhabit. As much as you hate to admit it, Shoko is right. This is your chance, not just to catch some sick killer, but to uncover the secrets that lie hidden beneath Suguru’s enigmatic exterior.

With a sigh, you close your laptop and stand up, determination settling in your chest. The competition awaits, and you have a feeling it's going to be a game changer.

~

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the white hair man’s mocking tone and continues to stare at his phone. It's been 10 minutes. How long does it take for someone to respond to a text. Suguru lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone. Across the room, Gojo was bustling about in the kitchen, the sound of utensils clinking and food sizzling filling the air.

"Is this about Y/n? The Mute Collector or whatever?" Gojo asked, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Suguru didn't respond, his gaze unwavering from the screen. He could feel Gojo's eyes on him, the scrutiny almost tangible.

"I don't think I've seen you put this much effort into a woman since, like... ever," Gojo continued, his tone teasing. He turned back to his cooking, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Suguru's jaw tightened, but he kept his silence. Gojo, undeterred, pressed on. "Besides the fact that she's the Mute Collector, what do you even see in Y/n? Well, I guess she does have other assets," he chuckled.

"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth, you prick," Suguru snapped, his voice low and menacing.

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping his lips. "Alright, alright, no need to get all territorial."

Suguru continued to stare at his phone, his fingers hovering over the keys. "How long does it take for someone to respond to a fucking text" he mutters under his breath.

Gojo leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Maybe she's busy. Or maybe she's just messing with you. You know, playing hard to get."

Suguru finally looks up, his eyes narrowing. "She doesn't play games. And she's not hard to get—she's hard to keep."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by Suguru's reaction. “Touchy, touchy,” he mutters, returning to his culinary task.

Just then, Suguru's phone pings. His heart skips a beat as he sees your name flash on the screen. He quickly opens the message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads your response.

Y/n: Fine, I'll do it. But what are the details?

Suguru: Oh, I'm thrilled

Y/n: Shut up.

Suguru: The rules are simple: whoever deduces the monkey’s identity first and guts the bastard wins.

Y/n: And how do I know you don’t already have a head start?

Suguru: I guess you'll just have to trust me. 

Y/n: Trust you? That’s rich coming from someone who literally stabs people in the back.

Suguru lets out a snort of air from your comment catching Gojo’s attention. “Ah, there it is. The smile of a man who's finally gotten what he wants.”

Suguru doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he focuses on your message, feeling a grin grow on his lips.

Suguru: You wound me, truly. But where’s the fun without a little challenge? Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you

Y/n: Easy, huh? I suppose you think you’re quite the genius, then?

Suguru: Only compared to the average monkey. You, on the other hand, might actually make this interesting.

Y/n: Is that a compliment or are you just trying to butter me up?

Suguru: Can’t it be both? 

Y/n: Oh, don't worry. You’re not the only one who enjoys a good chase. But don’t cry when I beat you at your own game.

Suguru: Cry? Please. I’ll be too busy admiring you in action. It’s a win-win for me.

Y/n: Flattery will get you nowhere, Suguru.

Suguru: Really?

Suguru: Not even a little bit princess 🥺?

Y/n: *One attachment*

You send an image of your hand flipping him off. Your middle finger nail is painted black and he assumes so are all your other fingers. His heart thuds against his chest. God, how he would love to have those nails dragging down his back. His dick twitches just thinking about it. 

Gojo snickers as if he can read Suguru’s thoughts and Suguru considers throwing his phone at the smug white hair man when Gojo’s phone rings. Any humor falls off Gojo’s features like snow from a shaken tree branch. He glances at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing, and picks up the phone with a serious tone.

“This is Gojo.” He says. His voice is gruff as he responds to the caller with clipped “yes” and “no” answers, his timbre low. “I'll be there in 30 minutes.” 

When he sets down the phone, Suguru meets his blue eyes, Gojo’s brief smile is grim.

“Trouble?” Suguru asks.

“Trouble.” Gojo repeats.

On the exterior Gojo is Japan's most infamous playboy and philanthropist. But by night he is the devil's tool, the country's most lethal assassin for anyone from politicians to presidents.  What Suguru and you do for a hobby, Gojo Satoru does for his job.

Gojo dumps his hot food in a container, grabs his hunting knife coat and bag and heads for the door. Before he exits, he turns around to lock eyes with Suguru.

“Be safe. A woman killer is a deadly combo.” He says.

Suguru chuckles, and for a second he doesn't know if Gojo’s talking about you or the guy in Kyoto. “You to ass hat.”  

~

You can't believe you are doing this. 

You can't believe that you took up Suguru’s competition, spent 120 dollars on a train and hotel room at Kyoto and an extra 20 on room service. Moreover you can't believe that you are here, hiding in a forest of bamboo shoots at the dead of night, watching some man who may or may not be the Kyoto women killer.

It’s a warm summer night, and every time the wind blows, the bamboo shoots rustle against each other, creating a haunting melody that sets your nerves on edge. The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuates the silence. You’re crouched low, your body tense, watching a man named Noaya Zenin who you followed out here. He seems to be wandering aimlessly, but you know better than to underestimate him. The Zenin clan's reach is long and shadowy, and their involvement in the Kyoto women killings is a tangled web you’ve been unraveling. All key witnesses were either paid off by the Zenin clan or had lawyers representing them from the Zenin clan. The pattern was too precise to be a coincidence.

Your heart thuds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The thrill of the chase, the hunt, makes your senses sharper, every movement and sound more pronounced. You can feel the need creeping up on you, slowly reaching your brain until your skin itches with anticipation. 

Each minute feels like an eternity as you scrutinize Noaya’s every move. He stops occasionally, looking around as if sensing he’s being watched, and you hold your breath, pressing yourself closer to the ground. The moonlight filters through the dense bamboo, casting eerie shadows that dance with the wind. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of evidence and suspicion. If Noaya Zenin is indeed the killer, catching him here could be the breakthrough you need.

“Hiya.”

A scream almost rips through you when you feel someone's breath against your ear, but you quickly cover your mouth and whip around. Of course, you’re met face to face with the man you least wanted to see right now. Familiar hazel eyes gaze back at you, glinting with mischief and amusement. Suguru is crouched right next to you, his nose mere inches from yours, a sly smirk on his face. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“Suguru, what the fuck?” you hiss, keeping your voice low. Your first instinct is to grab your knife out of your pocket and press it against his throat but he holds both his hands up as if surrendering, stopping you.

“Woah woah princess, let's cool our engines.” He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Your pulse is still racing, but you force yourself to calm down. “You could have given me a heart attack. How did you even find me?” You seethe.

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically, his smirk widening. “Besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I? So,” his eyes flicker to Noaya, who still seems to be staring at his phone. “Who are we looking at?”

“We?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Are you kidding me? There is no we. This is a competition, remember? Go do your own research.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, come on. You know you love my company.”

Before you can retort, Noaya picks up his phone. You both strain to listen, and you catch his words clearly.

“Yeah, I’m at the bamboo forest. See you soon, babe.” He then hangs up the phone with a click and puts it back in his backpack. But just when you're about to turn back to Suguru and rip into the man, Noaya pulls something else out too. A hunting knife. A large one at that with serrated ends and a pointed tip that glints in the moon light. Just like the one used on the victims. And as if things couldn't get any more apparent, you watch as a wicked grin spreads across his face when he draws the blade diagonally through the air.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, eyes wide. “That’s definitely him. That’s like some comically evil villain shit right there.”

“Dibs,” Suguru whispers back, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he puts on his ghost mask. “I call fucking dibs.” He stands up, the crunch of leaves making Noaya whip around and stare right at the area you both hid in.

For a solid 5 seconds your two flabbergasted to even form words, you can only watch as Suguru steps out from the bamboo shoots and onto the trail, slowly walking toward Noaya like a lion cornering a gazelle. 

Or course, Noaya turns, screams like a little girl, and makes a hard right straight into the forest of bamboos.

“Oh hell no,” you mutter, leaping up and chasing after him. You sprint through the forest, the warm summer air thick and humid around you. Each footfall is muffled by the dense undergrowth, but the occasional snap of a twig or crunch of leaves marks your frenzied pace. Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly shadows that dance along the forest floor, creating an ever-shifting maze of light and dark.

Your breath comes in quick, controlled bursts, each inhale filling your lungs with the earthy scent of the forest. Adrenaline surges through your veins, sharpening your senses. The rhythmic pounding of your heart in your chest matches the rapid beat of your footsteps. Ahead, you can just make out the faint silhouette of Noaya, his panicked movements betraying his desperation.

Branches claw at your clothes and face, but you push through, eyes locked on your target. The thrill of the chase ignites every nerve, propelling you forward with a singular focus. Suguru’s presence is a constant just behind you, his footsteps a steady reminder of the competition driving you both. You can hear his breaths, steady and calculated, mirroring your own.

The path twists and turns, the bamboo growing thicker, creating a claustrophobic tunnel. You duck and weave, dodging low-hanging branches and vaulting over fallen logs. The forest floor is uneven, riddled with roots and hidden pitfalls, but your reflexes are sharp, your movements instinctual.

The thrill, the excitement, the danger—it all converges in this moment. You are a predator in your element, and your prey is within reach. The bamboo forest seems to blur around you, time stretching and contracting with each heartbeat. This is what you live for, the ultimate test of skill and nerve, the ultimate game of life and death.

Just as you’re about to close the distance, your fingertips brushing the fabric of Noaya’s shirt, he whirls around with surprising speed. The moonlight catches the gleam of his hunting knife as it arcs through the air. Instinct takes over, and you try to dodge, but the blade slices across your palm, leaving a hot, stinging line of red in its wake.

For a split second, time seems to slow. You see the wild desperation in Noaya’s eyes, the way his chest heaves with exertion and fear. But there’s no pain, only a white-hot fury that floods your veins, fueling your next move.

Your grip tightens around the hilt of your own knife, slick with blood but steady. The cut on your palm feels like a mere scratch compared to the surge of adrenaline that courses through you. With a fierce snarl, you lunge forward, using the momentum to drive Noaya back a step.

He stumbles, his confidence faltering as he realizes the severity of his mistake. You don’t give him a chance to recover. You move with a predatory grace, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. The forest around you fades into a blur of green and shadow, all your focus locked on the man in front of you.

Noaya swings wildly, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. You sidestep his attacks with practiced ease, your fury giving you a sharp, clear edge. The scent of blood mingles with the earthy aroma of the forest, and your pulse pounds in your ears like a war drum.

You close the distance again, this time with a calculated precision. Your free hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife clatters to the ground. Noaya yelps in pain, his eyes widening in terror. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

Your injured hand, still bleeding, clamps down on his shoulder with a vice-like grip. You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “Nice try,” you hiss, the fury in your voice making him shudder. “But it’s over.”

With a swift, brutal motion, you plunge your knife into his chest. The blade sinks into flesh with a sickening thud, and Noaya's eyes widen in shock and agony. Blood spurts from the wound, hot and sticky, spraying across your face in a macabre mist. The initial strike is met with a gasp, a desperate, choking sound that fuels the savage fire within you.

A wicked grin spreads across your face, the thrill of dominance electrifying your senses. You pull the knife out, feeling the resistance of tissue and bone, and then plunge it in again, and again. Each thrust is accompanied by a wet, squelching sound, a symphony of carnage that drowns out the world around you. Blood flows freely, pooling at your feet and soaking into the earth.

Noaya’s body jerks and spasms with each stab, his strength fading with every violent assault. His once panicked eyes grow dull, the life draining from them as you continue your relentless attack. The coppery tang of blood fills the air, mingling with the scent of the forest, creating a heady mixture that makes your pulse race even faster.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the violence, the way your muscles strain and flex with each plunge of the knife. Blood splatters across your face and clothes, warm and viscous, painting you in the evidence of your victory. Your grin widens, a feral expression of triumph and fury.

Amidst your frenzied stabbings, Suguru places a hand on your shoulder. "I think—" he begins, but when you turn around to face him he immediately shuts up.

Your eyes are wide, pupils contracted like a deranged predator. Your hair flows wildly in the wind as you grab Suguru's throat with your bloody hand, smearing the crimson on his skin and pressing him against a tree. 

"This woman-killer fucker is mine." You seethe.

His dick strains against his cargo pants waistband. You look divine.

“ Of course, All yours baby.” He coos.

~

Geto Suguru would be lying if he said that watching you tear apart that woman-killer wasn't the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

To Suguru, you looked divine. The moonlight accentuated the sharp angles of your face, casting shadows that danced across your blood-splattered skin. Your eyes, wild with the remnants of fury, glowed with an unearthly intensity. The contrast of crimson against your complexion made you seem otherworldly, a dark goddess of vengeance. Suguru couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the raw, primal beauty you exuded in that moment.

The walk back to your hotel was silent, but not because you were soaked in blood or because he felt awkward. More like it was because the only think he could think to say is “You are so fucking hot.”

Now here he is, twiddling his thumbs as he stands outside of your hotel door, trying to think of the right thing to say to you because god he needs to see your face one last time before he goes to bed.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open. You stand there, your hair wet and smelling faintly of vanilla. You’ve clearly just come out of the shower. A tank top clings to your damp skin, and sports shorts hug your thighs. His eyes widen slightly, and he gulps, struggling to keep his composure. 

No bra.

The sight makes his mouth go dry.

"Just checking to see if everything is good," he says, nodding toward your bandaged hand.

You feel yourself fidget in your place and you try to flash a small smile but your emotions betray you. What if you freaked him out? What he saw back there, what you did back there, that was you, the raw you. Behind all the layers of kind smiles and pleasantries, in many ways, you were no different than an animal, consumed by your predatory instincts. You wouldn't blame him if he never contacted you again after this. Shit, did you just fuck up everything?

 His presence fills the doorway, and you’re acutely aware of the tension between you two.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks for asking.”

His eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. “How’s the hand?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You hold it up and wiggle your fingers slightly. “It’ll heal. No big deal.”

Silence fills the void between you two and you clear your throat, searching for something to say to break the awkward silence, but he beats you to it.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Or are you planning to keep all the fun out here in the hallway?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, come in. But I warn you, it’s a mess.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he quips, stepping inside. His eyes scan the room, taking in the organized chaos. Bandages and clothes are scattered around the floor and he doesn't miss the splatter of blood on the white sheets of the hotel bed. After a moment, Suguru turns around and takes a step closer to you, like he’s examining you. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting a smirk play on your lips. "So, now that I’ve won the bet, what do I get?"

He chuckles, the sound low and smooth, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I was wondering when you’d bring that up." 

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. "Well? I’m waiting. What’s my prize?"

Suguru stops just inches from you. "I don’t know," he quips, "What do you want?"

You let out a short laugh, though it’s clear you’re testing him now. "That’s a big question."

Suguru's eyes darken slightly, his playful demeanor shifting into something more serious, more intense. He leans in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. "Try me."

The tension between you two is palpable, electric. You’re the first to break the silence, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I want," you pause, averting your gaze from Suguru’s hawkish one. “I want to know if I scared you.” The question slips out before you can stop it, your bravado faltering as doubt creeps in.

Suguru blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Scare me?" He repeats, as if the idea itself is laughable. He steps even closer, forcing you to take a step back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. "Scare me?” He repeats again. “You didn’t scare me," he continues, his voice low and sincere. "You… captivated me. I have never, and I mean never, seen something so magnificent as what you did. And that's saying a lot because I've done a shit ton of magnificent things.”

You sit down on the bed, more out of necessity than choice, as he looms over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a mix of emotions—relief, curiosity, and something much more dangerous.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in place.

He smiles, a slow, almost wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. "Well, I thought I might kiss you now, you know, after telling you how magnificent you are.” He tilts his head. “Is that a bad idea?"

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of his words sinks in. You forget to breathe.

You finally find your voice, though it’s a bit shakier than you’d like. "That depends…"

"On?" He asks, his face inching closer to yours, his gaze locked onto your lips.

"On how good you are at it," you murmur.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Suguru closes the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s as intense as it is tender. It’s a slow, deliberate connection, his hands moving to cradle your face as if you’re something precious, something worth savoring.

The kiss deepens, and all the tension that had been building between you two finally snaps, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. You respond in kind, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, and the world seems to have shrunk down to just the two of you in this moment. Suguru’s forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, a real, genuine smile that you can feel in your bones.

"So," he says, his voice husky and low. "How was that?"

You laugh softly, still trying to catch your breath. "Not bad," you admit, your fingers running through his black hair. "Not bad at all."

"Good," he replies, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss. "Because I plan on doing it again."

Suguru’s lips are on yours again before you can even catch your breath, this time more insistent, more demanding. He’s not asking for permission anymore; he’s claiming what he wants, and it makes your head spin. The kiss deepens as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can taste him—warm, intoxicating—and you find yourself leaning into his lips, craving more.

His hand, warm and firm, slides down your side, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest between your thighs. The touch is electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through you, and you gasp against his mouth, your heart pounding in your chest.

But it’s too much, too fast. Your mind races, and you instinctively pull back, breaking the kiss. “Wait,” you murmur, your voice breathless, “I dont know if we should….” You avert your gaze and turn your head toward the wall but Suguru grabs your chin, forcing you to look right into his hazel eyes. Then, he dips his head to whisper in your ear.

“Aw come one Y/n” He grazes your earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been on my best behavior, a good boy,” Suguru pauses to deliver a soft kiss to your temple. “I've been waiting, waiting ever since I met you in that cage to do this. Don't I deserve a reward for my patience?” 

You thickly gulp as he rubs the sides of your neck with his lips.

“I’ve been-” He kisses your jaw. “Such a-” he kisses his way up to your mouth. “Good boy.”

You cave. 

As his words sink in, you feel your resolve crumbling, the weight of his desire pressing down on you in the most intoxicating way. Before you can even process what’s happening, Suguru's strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the bed with effortless ease. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he's afraid of breaking you, and you can't help but let out a soft gasp as he lifts you off the bed and up so your head rests on the plush hotel pillow. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, and you feel your breath hitch as the world narrows down to just the two of you. The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling with the quiet rustle of sheets as he leans over you.

“I know you have been thinking about this too.” He coos. Suguru’s hands move with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your tank top, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to lift it. The cool air hits your skin as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, exposing you to his hungry gaze. But before you can feel self-conscious, his lips are on your newly exposed skin, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “Just so gorgeous.”

His hands are on your shorts next, tugging them down your hips with the same careful slowness, as if he’s unwrapping the most precious gift. As the fabric slips down your legs, he trails kisses along the newly exposed skin, his lips brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves, until the shorts are discarded on the floor.

Now you’re lying before him in just your underwear, and the way he looks at you makes your heart pound. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your entire body flush with heat. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Just so damn gorgeous.”

Suguru straightens up slightly, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing his bare chest. The sight of him makes your breath catch—his body is lean and athletic, muscles defined and sculpted from years of discipline and training. Tattoos cover his skin in an elaborate tapestry. He’s handsome, impossibly so, and the sight of him like this, just inches away, makes your pulse quicken.

He doesn’t stop there. His fingers move to the waistband of his sweatpants, and he slides them down, revealing more of his skin, his strong legs, until he’s kneeling before you in just his boxers. The fabric clings to him in a way that leaves little to the imagination, and you can’t help but stare, mesmerized by the sheer physicality of him.

Suguru catches your gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Something catches your eye princess?”

You nod, “Yes. You. All of you.” Your eyes tracing every line and curve of his body. He’s more than just handsome—he’s breathtaking, a perfect combination of strength and beauty that leaves you feeling weak in the best way possible.

He leans down again, his body hovering over yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Good, wouldn't want you to be disappointed.”

With that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands trailing down your sides, touching, feeling, exploring. 

You are too lost in the kiss not to notice his hands slipping under your underwear and making their way to your dripping cunt, and when they do, you jump at the feeling of his index finger tracing your slit.

"Gotta get you ready baby.?" Suguru hums and you shake you head vigorously.

"No please Sugu~, I can take it."

You don't have to tell him twice.

In one fluid motion Suguru tears off your underwear, lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs.

"Been waiting to do this for so long," he murmurs as he pulls down his boxers and whips out his dick. You thickly gulp at the sight, you could've guessed he was big not this big, could he even fit in you? A white bead of precum dribbled from his pretty pink tip and down his length and he uses the liquid to stroke himself in a few fluid motions.

You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Suguru please~" You whine and nearly miss the way his ears go bright red at your words

"I know baby, I know. Don't worry, lift your hips for me love?”

You oblige and immediately when you do so you're struck with the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, you're cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Suguru let out a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“F-fuck I can feel you doing it to me,” he said hoarsely.

His fingers gently press into the skin of your hip, guiding and steadying you as he pulls back and thrusts into you. The sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocks the wind out of your lungs. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Suguru thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up.

Simultaneously, his other hand sought yours, finding it with a purposeful tenderness. His fingers intertwined with yours, locking them together in a grip that was both a clasp and a caress.

You dont even realize that your eyes are closed until Suguru whispers into your ear.

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes, look at me.”

You do as he says and when you do you feel your heart thud in your chest. Suguru’s eyes were fixated completely on you, how you were reacting, as his hips were continuously slamming into your body as if it were clockwork. The sight alone had your walls clamping down on him, earning a groan from the base of his chest. 

Suddenly, the hand that had been intertwined with yours released its grip and began to rummage through Suguru’s discarded pants. Your breath hitched, eyes glazed over as you watched him retrieve a knife from his pocket, unsheathing it effortlessly with a flick of his finger. The sharp glint of the blade caught your attention from beneath Suguru’s body, even as he continued thrusting into you, not missing a beat.

Your body reacted instinctively, clenching at the sight, drawing a low, dark chuckle from Suguru.

“Hah, I knew it,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he brought the cold steel to the base of your throat. “You’re just a slut for knives, aren’t you?”

A moan escaped your lips, the sound betraying any chance of denial. Suguru took it as an admission, pressing the blade firmly against the skin of your throat as he angled his hips to hit even deeper inside you. The cool metal at your throat was electrifying, but it was his other hand, strong and unyielding, that sent a euphoric thrill coursing through you. His fingers flexed, tightening around your neck, the pressure intensifying.

It wasn’t just the air being cut off—it was the dizzying, intoxicating pleasure that came with it. The way his grip constricted, pushing you to the edge of control, ignited something raw inside. Every squeeze of his hand made your body burn hotter, a perfect balance between pain and pleasure, leaving you gasping for more.

What a primal dirty sight you where, being choked with a blade against your throat while fucked brutaly. Even the devil would clutch his rosaries.  

"Were we doing it like this in your head baby?" Suguru grunts, his Adam apple bobs as he groans from the pleasure of how fucking heavenly your pussy feels. “Because we were doing it like this in mine.” Good? Try euphoric, how could he ever think his fist could substitute the wet squeeze of your cunt?

You can't even open your mouth to respond. The friction of his dick against your walls and the adrenaline from the knife is just too good and as his pace intensified, a dizzying warmth spread through you, filling every corner of your being with a euphoric haze. The sensation of being completely enveloped, utterly connected, sent electric flesh arrows of pleasure through your body, making your eyes flutter and roll back slightly in sheer bliss. Every motion Suguru makes, every time his fat tip collides with your cervix, leaves behind a trail of sparkling heat that seems to light you from within.

"Come on eyes on me when I fuck you baby~" Suguru releases his hold from your neck and snakes his fingers between your body , finding your clit and pressing down on the pearl back and forth with the pad of index finger. "Tell me how good you feel, tell me how badly you want to cum.

He doesn’t slow the ministrations on your clit for a second as he snaps his hips into you with primal vigor, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

"So good Sugu!" You sob. You cant even open your eyes from the colors you're seeing behind your lids. Every time your pussy squeezes around him not only do bolts of pleasure shoot up your body but a ring of milky white cum forms around the base of his cock.

Suguru’s eyes are locked on how good you're taking him - the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He lets out a sharp moan at how wet you are on the inside.

"S-shit baby wanna feel you cum on me, been waiting so long." Suguru is not a whining man but here he is practically stumbling over his words. Fuck, he wants to keep himself inside you forever. He wants your kisses, your skin, your touch, your blood, your lips, to be his to claim until you die together. No one has seen, truly seen him, before you. You are what he thinks about when he wakes up, when he is eating, when he is plunging his knife into some worthless monkey. You are his goddess. 

The world beyond this intimate cocoon of warmth and breath seemed distant, irrelevant. His gaze was locked with yours, deep and unwavering, a silent communication that tethered you through the mind numbing ecstasy.

Then, he reels his hips back and slams into you in a new angle that has your body jerking.

“Found it didn't I?” He breathes through a smile and pummels into you with vigor. And your about to disagree with him, insist that the feeling is too new and foreign to feel good when all of a sudden your body begins to shake and your head starts to feel fuzzy

And suddenly—you feel it. What you’ve been craving for and what you have seen in porn.

Its like all your body's energy centers are activating at once and your left utterly helpless to the feeling of tingling ecstasy wrapping your brain and stomach.

You dont know how to tell him that something is happening, not when the pleasure is too immense your barely breathing full breaths. But he understands once again the words you tried desperately to communicate.

“Do it baby. Cum. I’ll fill you up, and if it spills I'll fuck it back into you"

So you do.

Release washed over you in an all-encompassing wave, radiating out from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It swept through you like a storm, leaving a trail of starbursts in its wake. Your body arched instinctively, clinging to Suguru as the wave crested, then gently, slowly, began to ebb.

“Ah, princess, please,” he moaned. “Be a good girl and take it all, yeah?” 

Your fingers trailed up his shoulder, only to drag them back down his spine, nails biting into his skin as he buried himself deep inside you, releasing with a powerful shudder. His movements grew erratic, hips pressing yours firmly into the mattress as his hot breath skimmed across your neck, ragged and heavy.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, lost in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the feel of his touch to guide you.

The warmth of his cum spreads through your body with a shiver, and you can feel the liquid expanding against your walls while he kept you plugged and full of him. As you both floated back down from the heights of bliss, your breaths came easier, softer, the lingering aftershocks of pleasure pulsing gently through you.

"You're mine ok?" Suguru coos, and all you can do is dumbly nod.

"I'll die for you, I'll kill a thousand monkeys for you, i'll hold them down so you can cut our their eyes. Just stay by my side."

[oaksgrove]

hello!

i’m wondering if you would be able to make some blurbs or something where the tf141 boys react to the reader having a fear or driving/ wanting to be a passenger princess? i’m terrified of driving and think this would be a cute idea

Passenger Princess

pairing: John Price x Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader, Gary “Roach” Sanderson x Reader

synopsis: You hate driving. Absolutely loathe it. The mere thought of merging into traffic or hearing tires screech makes your heart race—and not in a good way. Luckily for you, the men of 141 are more than willing to take the wheel. Whether it’s quiet reassurance, ridiculous chauffeur antics, or a glove box full of snacks, each of them makes sure you’re safe, calm, and treated like royalty… their own personal Passenger Princess.

warnings: Mentions of anxiety related to driving, comfort after stress, fluff, soft!141, affectionate teasing, some light kissing

word count: 1690

John Price:

John had long since accepted that he was your personal chauffeur. No questions asked, no complaints made. If you needed to go somewhere, he was already jingling the car keys in his hand, tilting his head toward the door like Come on, sweetheart.

It had started early in your relationship—how you hesitated when he handed you the keys once, how your fingers curled into your palm, how you laughed it off and said, "You drive." He noticed how you tensed up in the passenger seat sometimes, how you sucked in a breath when cars got too close, how your grip on the door handle tightened ever so slightly when the traffic got heavy.

So he drove. Always.

John made sure it was comfortable for you. The car was always stocked with your favorite snacks in the glove compartment, a soft blanket folded neatly in the back seat for cold days, and a bottle of water tucked into the cup holder on your side. If the sun was in your eyes, he’d hand you his sunglasses without a word. If you were tired, he’d keep the ride quiet, just the hum of the engine and the occasional "You alright, love?"

Tonight, the sky was dark, the roads slick with rain, and John was driving you home from dinner. You had been fine at first, chatting softly as the streetlights cast golden streaks across his face. But then, the rain picked up, heavy droplets smacking against the windshield, the rhythmic swish of the wipers barely keeping up. The roads were glossy, reflecting the glare of headlights, and you had gone quiet.

John noticed instantly.

His fingers tapped the steering wheel before he reached over, resting a warm, calloused hand on your knee. He gave it a firm squeeze, his thumb brushing slow, reassuring circles over the fabric of your jeans.

"Easy, love. I’ve got you."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. His voice was so steady, so certain, like there was no other option but for you to be safe with him. You turned your head, watching the way he kept his focus on the road, his jaw set, his hands steady.

John knew you trusted him. But he also knew your fear wasn’t about him—it was about everything else. The what-ifs, the unpredictability, the feeling of being out of control. So he made sure he was the one thing you could always rely on.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into your driveway, put the car in park, and turned to look at you.

"You alright?" he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, a little sheepish, but John just leaned over and kissed your forehead.

"Come on, princess," he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smile. "Let’s get you inside."

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Simon never made a big deal out of it. He never asked why you didn’t drive, never pushed, never made a comment when you hesitated at the sight of car keys.

But he noticed.

He noticed the way you tensed when traffic got heavy, how your fingers curled against your thigh when the car in front of you braked too suddenly, how your breath hitched just slightly at sharp turns. He noticed how you always hesitated before getting into someone else’s car, scanning the driver with barely concealed apprehension.

So Simon took it upon himself.

If you needed to go somewhere, he drove. That was that.

He made sure his driving was always steady—never reckless, never too fast. His hands were sure on the wheel, his movements deliberate, calculated. No sudden stops, no sharp turns. Just smooth, controlled driving, the kind that made you feel safe.

One evening, as he drove you home from town, the streets were busier than usual. Cars zipped past, headlights casting brief flashes of light across Simon’s face. You were staring out the window, but he could tell—your shoulders were stiff, your fingers twitching slightly in your lap.

Then a car in front of him braked abruptly. Simon had already been keeping his distance, so he stopped with ease, but you still flinched. It was small, barely noticeable. But he caught it.

His hand left the wheel for just a second, reaching over to brush the back of your hand with his fingers before settling back.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice low, calm.

You nodded quickly, but Simon knew better.

His grip on the wheel tightened for a moment before he spoke again, softer this time.

"You’re safe, yeah? I won’t let anything happen to you."

And the thing about Simon was—when he said something, he meant it.

So you let out a slow breath, nodded again, and this time, it felt easier.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Kyle loved it.

The first time he realized you had absolutely no intention of ever driving, he had grinned at you like you’d just handed him the best news of his life.

"So what you’re saying is," he had teased, leaning against the hood of his car, "you just wanna sit there, look pretty, and let me do all the work?"

You had rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, but you didn’t deny it. And Kyle? He loved it.

He made it a whole thing.

Every time you had to go somewhere, he’d hold open the passenger door with a ridiculous flourish, bowing slightly.

"Your ride awaits, madam," he’d say, his voice exaggeratedly posh, like some over-the-top chauffeur.

He always let you pick the music, too, handing over his phone without a second thought. If a song came on that he knew you loved, he’d crank up the volume, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he stole quick glances at you singing along.

And if the roads got a little busy, if you started to fidget or press your lips together, he’d reach over, resting a warm hand on your knee for just a second. A silent reminder: I got you.

One evening, after a long day, he pulled up to your place and, as usual, jogged around the car to open your door.

You raised an eyebrow. "You really don’t have to do that every time, you know."

Kyle smirked, holding out a hand to help you out like some old-fashioned gentleman.

"Nah," he said, giving you a wink. "You’re my passenger princess. Gotta treat you like royalty, yeah?"

And, honestly? You weren’t going to argue with that.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:

Johnny was obsessed with the fact that you refused to drive.

From the moment he realized you had no interest in being behind the wheel, he had latched onto it like a golden opportunity—an excuse to dote on you in every ridiculous way possible.

Every car ride with Johnny was an experience.

He had to open the door for you. Every single time. It didn’t matter if you rolled your eyes, if you told him you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself—he’d still jog around to the passenger side, pulling it open with an exaggerated flourish.

"Your carriage awaits, my lady," he’d say in his best attempt at a posh accent, barely holding back a grin.

If it was cold, he’d fuss over you like a mother hen, adjusting your seat and tucking your coat around you before you even had a chance to buckle up.

"Cannae have my bonnie lass uncomfortable, now can I?" he’d tease, making a show of patting the coat into place before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

And then there was the mid-drive hospitality.

It started as a joke. One time, during a long drive, he had reached over, handed you a bag of crisps, and said, "Would ye care for a wee snack, miss?" in a perfect impression of a flight attendant.

You had laughed so hard you nearly choked, and from that moment on, he had fully committed to the bit.

Now, every time you were in his car, he’d offer you snacks like you were on some high-end airline.

"MacTavish Air prides itself on its exceptional service," he’d say, keeping one hand on the wheel while dramatically gesturing to the glove compartment. "Mid-drive refreshments are included in the price of admission."

"And what’s the price?" you’d ask, already knowing the answer.

He’d smirk, tapping his cheek. "One wee kiss, lass. Non-negotiable."

And of course, you always paid up.

Gary "Roach" Sanderson 

Roach didn’t just understand your aversion to driving—he accepted it without question.

No teasing, no prying, no “But don’t you wanna learn?” Just a nod, a “Got it,” and then he made it his job to drive you anywhere you needed to go.

And he was a good driver. Smooth, careful—never reckless. He made sure you felt safe, always keeping one hand steady on the wheel and the other available to reach over and squeeze yours if he ever caught you tensing up at a sudden stop or a sharp turn.

If he ever noticed you getting too anxious, he had a strategy.

Distraction.

"Hey," he’d say casually, casting a quick glance at you before focusing back on the road. "If we get into a car chase, you’ll have to be my co-pilot. Think you can toss banana peels at the enemy?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

"Or red shells, if you’re feeling aggressive," he continued, completely deadpan. "Mario Kart rules. We gotta defend ourselves."

You snorted, shaking your head. “I think I’d be a terrible co-pilot.”

"Nah, you’d be great," he said confidently. "I’ll drive, you just focus on sabotage."

It was stupid. Absolutely ridiculous. But it worked.

No matter how uneasy you felt, Roach always knew how to make you laugh—knew how to pull your mind away from the creeping anxiety and make you focus on something light, something silly.

And the best part? He never minded being your permanent chauffeur.

"I don’t care if I gotta drive you everywhere for the rest of my life," he had said once, completely serious as he pulled up to your place. "Just as long as you’re comfortable."

And honestly? With Roach behind the wheel, you always were.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear

[leeloooonfire]

based on this post about Steve's internalized bi-phobia:

Steve has known for years.

And how could he not when Tommy's freckles come back tenfold each spring like a flower peaking it's head through the last layer of snow? Or when Matthew Carver's hair have a reddish brown tone that turns blond after they spent the last days before summer break practising outside and remind Steve of liquid gold? Or when he watches Star Wars and Harrison Ford, rugged and witty, comes into view and twists his stomach in knots? How could he not know?!

Steve knows he finds guys as attractive as girls, known for many, many years. But.

But he can't. Not when Tommy sneers at that boy in their literature class who likes flamboyant clothes and wants to be an actor on Broadway. Not when the people they meet in Indi who are like Robin and Eddie 'fully queer' and talk about people like Steve as if they're traitors and scams. Not when he reads the newspaper and is assaulted by Reagan and his folk preaching about the 'fag pandemic' or how his father nods in approval and mutters 'another sinner gone for good' when the news play on TV and they occasionally mention the crisis that kills people like Robin and Eddie and him.

Like him....

It doesn't matter how much he loves sleeping with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone or that he thinks he'd like to kiss Eddie and hold his hands and wake up beside him until they're old and wrinkly and complain about bad knees.

He is, but he cannot be a queer, half a fairy '50% like me, 50% like Eddie' as Robin jokes.

He will not be a bisexual, he can keep it inside, keep it hidden, buried deep inside him no matter how much it pains him. He can be the straight friend who goes to pride and bakes rainbow cakes and marries a woman even though his heart screams in an ear ringing cacophony, 'Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie!'

This is how his 20s go: loud and hurting and yearning and hiding and more noticeably being disgusted and ashamed of himself for simply being able to love men the way he can love women.

He's 29 when his wife, Becky, leaves him. It's not just Eddie and this shameful secret that weights heavy on their relationship, but the scars and all the other secrets he is unable to explain to her that drive Becky finally away - back to Boston. She leaves him alone in that tiny house they bought three years ago with their Saint Bernard puppy they lovingly named Bernadette.

He's 30 when he goes to a coffee meeting of the bisexual group meeting in Chicago, nearly turning the car multiple times, hands and knees sweaty with fear that they won't want him there. They do want him there, welcome him with open arms, and talk about things Steve knows all too well: 'When I fell in love with the first girl, I ran. I like men just fine, so I hid my crush. It's just easier, when your parents hate gays, when the world is shaming our community, when we're dying.' He finds a second home there, and learns - learns about queerness and bisexuality, about trans and gender non conforming people and physical attraction versus emotional attraction. He learns about his past and present and about his future, about their history and where they want to go, how they want to mold their world to fit people like them into it without the pain and the hiding.

Steve is 33 when he finally comes out to everyone dear to him. To the kids who aren't kids anymore and to Joyce and Hopper, and then his parents. this does not go well, but Steve doesn't want, doesn't need their validation anymore. He has his family, his friends, his support system who love him not regardless of his sexuality but because of it, love him because it's part of him. He comes out to Becky, too and that goes much better. they want to be friends, in the future. She's also met Gary who works the the NY Times and wants her to follow him into the big city. So Steve is looking forward how that goes, their tentative friendship.

He is 34 when Eddie comes back from his latest world tour and wants to take a break to rekindle with his uncle, to write new songs, to take a breather. It's only natural that Eddie moves into Steve's guest room and takes over his space on the couch where he cuddles Bernadette while Steve is in the kitchen and makes them grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

Its even more natural when their feet meet while watching a movie and they lean into each other in the kitchen, dawn barely there, while they wait for the coffee maker to finish.

Steve's 35 when Eddie finally kisses him and he kisses back. No hurt, no shame, no guilt gnawing on him, Steve finally allows himself to be with the person he truly wants - regardless of their gender.

[dcxdpdabbles]

ok but office supplier is even funnier if jason hasn't been declared legally alive again and danny starts dating him thus allowing him to both be and not be part of the wayne family

"I have a date," Danny says one random morning as he refills the office snack bar. Danny, in his own words, is one of the highest-paid employees. He has chosen to create a snack center for all Wayne employees. He has one on every three floors, filling it with fruits, chips, chocolate, pudding, and drinks.

And a cabinet with free samples of stationery supplies he thought more people should know about. Next to the supplies, he wrote the name of the product, where to buy, and even recommendations of

Everyone felt really touched by this and started bringing snacks and drinks to help him. Half the time, Danny only refilled the stationary since everyone was happy to have a community snack bar.

"A what!?" Jack from accounting gasped. Danny didn't pay him any mind; he was too busy picking between the flower and moon mini-planners.

Both were pocket-sized, but one had a workout addition, while the other had a section to track books for readers. He felt like there were more readers than gym goers, but he didn't want either to miss out if he picked one over the other.

"A date," he responded after placing both options inside the basket. He'll have to wait to introduce the amazing erasable pens he found, but he could make it up next month.

"With who?" Demanded Sara. She worked in PR and had been attempting to have him attend at least three parties with the Waynes in the past month alone.

"Peter. I met him a week ago at a street fair. One of the personal pen makers I follow would have a booth, and I was dying to see them." Danny pulls a box from his pocket, showcasing the fancy navy blue pen. "This is the George Washington Battle of Princeton edition. It has the painting of the battle wrapped around it, with careful silver-golden details on the cap to resemble the colonial era and a golden-edged nib; this is one fine fountain pen. It cost me five thousand and nine hundred dollars."

"Danny, please focus- five thousand? You spent five thousand on a pen!?"

Danny puffs out his chest, smiling broadly. "It was worth every penny!"

"That's-never mind. Are you sure Peter is a good person?" Jack pressed, "Because I know a great man. Mr. Drake-Wayne! Wouldn't you rather go on a date with him?"

"But Peter bought me easrsers that were shaped like fried chicken. They came in bucket. See." He ramages through his bag until he pulsl out a palm-szed bucket with chicken shaped earses inside. "Isn't it cool?"

"I'll admit that's pretty cool," Sara conceded but shared a quick glance with her coworkers. Danny wonders why they all look so worried. This wasn't that expensive. Peter only used ten dollars for it. "Do you like Peter?"

"I don't know. It's just a first date." He shrugs. "I don't usually have those. Not many people are willing to listen to me ramble about stationary."

"You know who would love to listen to you?" Jack throws an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Mr. Drake-Wayne!"

"Mr. Grasyon-Wayne!"

"Mis Wayne!"

"Mr. Wayne!" Everyone turns to stare at Gary, who flushes, "Bruce Wayne, not Damian!"

That caused some head nods and a few scattered comments about how the age gap was still alarmingly large, but if both were consenting adults, who were they to oppose it? Danny stared back as everyone debated whether Danny and Mr.Wayne should date.

He glances down at his heart-shaped notepads and figures they are right. It's not like he has any feelings about this date. He just agreed to get the passers.

Taking out his phone, he sends Peter a message to cancel their date. He should go out with someone because he likes them, not because they may allow him to discuss his interests.

Jason despairs somewhere on the other side of town as he reads the text for his second persona- a living citizen Peter Todd- from the guy who he saw at the street market going gaga over pens. The guy was so cute, too.

[lazysoulwriter]

Too hot to handle. - Jake Peralta.

I can hardly ever find anything good to read about him, so HERE IS A TRY! Hope y’all like it!

The first time you stepped into the precinct, Jake Peralta had made some stupid joke about hazing new detectives. You had immediately shot back with something just as ridiculous, and it was like watching a cartoon character glitch out. He blinked at you, stunned, and then grinned so widely it looked painful.

Since then, it had been a running joke that you were the only person who could truly keep up with his humor. Which, of course, meant that he was obsessed with trying to outwit you. The two of you were constantly paired together on cases because of how well you worked in the field. Or, as Rosa had put it, “because nobody else wants to deal with you two idiots for longer than five minutes.”

But it was also complicated. Jake never wanted to admit how well you clicked. He made everything a competition, which was fine, because so did you. But anytime things started getting even remotely real—like the time you had patched up a nasty scrape on his shoulder after a foot chase, or when you had fallen asleep on his couch after a movie night—he immediately reverted back to making jokes.

Tonight’s mission was supposed to be easy. Surveillance. You and Jake were supposed to sit in an unmarked car, watching the entrance of a shady bar where a known arms dealer was meeting with a potential buyer. There was no need for any heroics, no need for either of you to go undercover. Just watch, take notes, and report back.

Naturally, that meant you and Jake were going to be stuck in close quarters, which had never been a problem before. Except that lately, there had been a shift in the way he looked at you. A flicker of something behind the humor, something bordering on dangerous.

Jake was lounging in the driver’s seat, fiddling with the radio as he spoke. “Alright, so how long do you think we’ll be here before something exciting happens? Because I give it fifteen minutes before we start making hand puppets with the flashlights again.”

You snorted, settling back in your seat. “Let’s be real. You’ll start doing the puppets, and I’ll be the audience that pretends to be unimpressed.”

Jake gasped dramatically. “You love my puppet shows! You said Gary the Giraffe had ‘real emotional depth’—”

“That was sarcasm, Peralta.”

“Yeah, well, sarcasm is just love in disguise.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you rolled your eyes.

The street outside was quiet. The bar was bustling, but none of the people going in and out matched the photos of the suspects. It was going to be a long night.

You stretched, arching your back slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jake go very still.

Interesting.

You decided to test the waters. “Man, I hate these stakeouts. It’s always the same. Sitting around, waiting for something that never happens.”

Jake cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, you say that now, but last time we got free tacos out of it.”

“That guy was bribing us to leave.”

“A bribe’s just a gift with extra steps.”

You turned to him, catching the way his eyes flicked to your face before darting away. He was fidgeting more than usual, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Alright, spill. What’s up with you?”

“W-what? Nothing. I am completely normal. A hundred percent Jake, baby!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You just called yourself ‘Jake, baby.’”

“I did?” He winced. “Cool, cool, cool, no doubt, no doubt.”

It was painfully obvious now. He was nervous. You tilted your head. “Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Incorrect. I am always weird.”

“Weirder than usual.”

He hesitated, then let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You got me. It’s just—look, I’m a detective, okay? My job is to observe. And I have observed that you’re, like...annoyingly hot.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jake groaned, running a hand down his face. “Ugh, I knew this would be embarrassing, but I didn’t think it would be this embarrassing. Look, I’m just saying, it’s very distracting. You exist, and it’s ruining my life.”

You bit back a smile. “Wow. That’s a lot of feelings you just dumped on me in a surveillance van.”

Jake pointed at you. “Don’t deflect. I know you feel it too.”

You stared at him for a long moment, weighing your options.

And then, because you never backed down from a challenge, you grabbed his jacket and kissed him.

Jake made a startled sound before immediately melting into it. His hand slid up to cup your face, and holy shit, he was good at this. His lips were soft, but the way he kissed you was anything but gentle—like he had been holding back for a long time.

When you finally pulled away, he was breathless. “Okay. Okay. That happened. Cool. Just gonna—” He pressed his palms against the steering wheel and exhaled. “Gonna need a second to reboot my brain.”

You smirked. “Reboot faster. The target just arrived.”

Jake snapped back to reality, sitting up straight. “Oh. Right. Crime.” He glanced at you again, grinning. “We should probably talk about this later.”

“Probably.”

“Like, after we finish this case.”

“Mhm.”

“But just for the record,” he added, “you are absolutely too hot for me to handle.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “And yet, here we are.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. Here we are.”

[allthingsfangirl101]

A Little Over Protective – Gary Johnson

The second I got into my car, tears erupted from my throat. I covered my face and sobbed into my hands. After letting it out, I slowly pulled my hands away from my face. That's when I saw the bruises. As I remembered how I got them, the tears came back.

I jumped, letting out an involuntary shriek when my phone started ringing. I forced myself to calm down before answering my best friend's call.

"Hey."

"Hey, you," Gary said sweetly into the phone. "I wrapped up a case and need to celebrate. Dinner?"

"You want to celebrate with your best friend?" I asked, trying to sound normal.

"What's wrong?"

Damn it.

"Nothing," I lied.

"Y/N," he elongated my name. "I know you. I know your voice. So, I know when something is wrong."

"It's nothing," I tried to lie again. "Just a rough day. That's all."

"Did something happen?" Gary instantly panicked. "Y/N, what happened at work?"

"It's nothing, really," I said, trying to sound like I was okay. "It was just a long day. I was stuck in meetings all day and my boss yelled at us photographers for like forty-five minutes."

After a slight pause, he asked, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, G," I tried to reassure him. "What time did you want to go to dinner?"

"I don't know," he said, sounding like he didn't believe me. "What time works for you?"

"Give me an hour?" I shrugged. "I'm still at work. I want to go home and change into something nicer than my leggings."

"Okay," he said, sounding strange. "See you then."

It took me a few more minutes to calm down enough that it was safe to drive. When I got home, I unlocked my front door and closed it behind me. I leaned against it and took a shaky breath. I kicked off my shoes and hung my keys by the door.

I walked into my living room and leaned against the back of the couch. I took a shaky breath and ran my fingers through my hair as I struggled to stop the tears again. 

"Are you going to tell me what's really going on with you?"

I gasped at the sudden voice. I jumped up and turned around to see Gary sitting in the armchair.

"What are you. . . I thought we were meeting in an hour," I stuttered.

"I was already outside your place when I called you. In fact, I called you when I realized you weren't home," he explained as he walked over to me. "Y/N, I've been here for forty-five minutes. Your work is only ten minutes from here. Where have you been?"

"I had to run a few errands," I instantly lied.

"Come on, Y/N," Gary sighed. "I have known you since we were kids. I can tell by the sound of your voice that something is wrong."

He grabbed my wrists but I gasped in pain. I quickly tore my hands out of his, hoping he didn't catch on.

He did.

Gary closed the gap between us and gently grabbed my hands. When I tried to pull them back, he tightened his grip.

"Y/N," he whispered. "Show me."

"I'm fine," I said a little too quickly.

"You gasped in pain when I grabbed your wrists," he said, slowly getting more frustrated. "What happened, Y/N?"

"It's. . ."

"Don't tell me it's nothing," he snapped, letting go of my hands and starting to pace. "Y/N, my job is to protect people and you're telling me I didn't protect the most important person in my life?!"

"Gary, please," I stuttered.

"You sounded weird on the phone," he noted as he continued to pace. "You've done nothing but lie to me about it. Did someone try to grab you? I swear, if someone grabbed my best friend, I am going to go down to your office and beat them so badly they won't be able. . ."

"Gary, stop," I said stepping in front of him, making him stop pacing. His eyes softened when he looked at me, shaking in front of him.

"I'm only going to ask this one more time, Y/N," he said, his voice soft but firm. "What happened to your wrists?"

"Peter, our new temp, won't leave me alone," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What?!" Gary yelled through gritted teeth. His eyes softened when he saw me flinch. He gently grabbed my arms, rubbing them up and down. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone softening. "Who is he?"

"He started working in my office about a month ago," I stuttered. "Today, he found me in the break room and asked me out. I said no and tried to walk away but. . ."

"He grabbed you," Gary seethed, struggling to remain calm. "I am going to kill him."

"Gary," I gasped when he tried to leave. "Please don't do anything."

"Fine," he nodded. "I will completely forget all about this if you tell me it was a one-time thing."

I opened and closed my mouth, unable to tell him the truth.

"Y/N," he said slowly. "How many times has he bugged you?"

"I don't know," I stuttered. "I mean. . . He asks me if I need help like every day. I always tell him no, G. I swear! But he won't. . . He never. . ."

"He's a stalker," Gary said, moments away from bursting.

"Gary," I whispered. "Please don't. . ."

"How could you not tell me?!" He yelled. "Y/N, you have a stalker. You know what I do for a living! I interfere in these kinds of cases. How could you not tell your best friend that some creep won't leave you alone?!"

"You don't actually kill anyone, Gary."

The look in his eyes changed as soon as that sentence left my lips. "But for you?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as he stepped forward and closed the gap between us. "I'd do anything for you."

"You don't mean that, G," I whispered. "You'd never kill anyone for me."

"I would if he hurt you."

Before I could respond to that, Gary leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. My thoughts went everywhere as my best friend kissed me. I threw my arms around him and started kissing him back. The minute I kissed him back, he pulled me closer.

I gasped when he laid us down on the couch, instantly hovering over me. He broke the kiss and looked deeply into my eyes.

"No one touches my girl," he said, his voice dark. "If they do, I'll end them."

Part 2

[butterbabyflapjack]

just a scene from wild animals where you and Brian have a pedophile strapped to your kill table.

From where he’s sidled up beside you to steady your waist, Brian smiles. “Sorry to distract,” he says. “Just wanted a better view. This is much more interesting than I’d anticipated.”

Gary doesn’t seem as delightfully interested in whatever’s going on here–what he still hasn’t wrapped his thick skull around.

“What the fuck is this?!” he shrilly demands from where he’s naked and bound, fat body wriggling atop the cabin’s table; his attempts to tear through rolls and rolls of plastic heightened tenfold. “What are you–What–Wh-Who are you people–?!”

Brian raises a brow down at where he’s strapped Gary solidly in place. Soft lips casually pursing, though he says not a thing. And when he glances instead at you, it’s as if he’s waiting for you to speak; for you to address your prey, or perhaps to object if he himself does. And when you don’t say a thing, the anxiety of this situation unforgivingly crashing into you, he slips quite easily into orchestrating things on your behalf.

“Well,” he says to Gary at last, with his arm still snuggly ‘round your waist. Good-natured, in what seems his exposition. “This is Ava’s aunt, as you’ve already been introduced.” He flashes a handsome grin; one shared in the politeness of greeting. “And I’m the guy who’s going to watch her kill you.”

There’s a second which hangs in time, in which language and time itself no longer make sense, no longer drag forward, with you all caught inside its sluggish web. And then those halted seconds all catch up at once, speeding forth and crashing into you, into Gary, until his eyes are nearly bulging from his head, a fat vein on his sweating brow skipping.

“You…” he struggles to say. Like he can scarcely comprehend what it is Brian’s saying. “You… You… what…?! You… You can’t…” He trails off. Can’t seem to bear repeating what was said. Yet Brian waits, patiently silent, as though unspokenly demanding this from him.

And eventually, with no other options…

“You can’t… You can’t kill me–!”

“Oh, I’m afraid we can,” Brian returns, quite simply. “And we’re going to. Just as soon as your lovely executioner’s finished preluding your end.”

Gary’s a broken record; plastic twisting with his every failed attempt to somehow free himself.

“Y-you can’t–!”

“Yes, you said that already,” rumbles Brian; dark eyes shining. “Might I recommend you try a different angle from all those potentially leading out of this? Perhaps a remorseful prayer? Or you could try tearfully begging...?” Gentle lines crease beneath his eyes as he smiles, oh-so-helpful. “I’m not sure either would work, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

You can practically hear Gary’s heart slamming against his ribs, the tape strapped across his brow sheening as he tries again and again to shift his head, to move it even a single inch to either side of where he’s cocooned.

“I–I–”

“Words, Gary,” Brian chastises from above him, “I’m not a mind reader.”

“I… F-fine,” Gary stammers at last. Horror wide in his gaze; imploring, “I… I have a p-problem, okay? I can’t…”

“You do have a problem,” Brian mildly agrees, though it seems he isn’t thinking of quite the same problem Gary is.

Gary tries to shake himself. To keep his head on straight. You can see it in the wildness of his blinking. “I couldn’t.. help it,” he says, soon desperately babbling. “I-I-I… I couldn’t h-elp myself, b-but… but I’m going to get help! I’m… I’m going to…!”

Brian purses his sculpted lips again. Glancing thoughtfully, for a moment, about this abandoned little cabin in the woods, before his eyes return to those of the man strapped to its table.

“I don’t think anyone here’s going to help you, Gary,” he smoothly says. “Not in any way you’ll immediately appreciate, in any case. Though you’ll certainly be abstaining from all those things you just can’t seem to help yourself with for a while, so…” His slow-formed smile’s all cheek. “You’re welcome~”

[d3adbr3inc3lls]

Multiple | Celebrating your birthday | HCs

Includes: Spinel, Onyx, Amethio, Kieran, Alain, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Vladimir Makarov.

Spinel

For your birthday, Spinel orders you everything you want- it's your special day afterall, and he wants you to remember it,

He'll probably put on your favourite movie and order something from your favourite place so the two of you can relax the whole day.

Onyx

Onyx is a simple guy, he'll get you a cake and get you something he's been eyeing for a while.

He'll ask for a day off so that the rest of the day would be pretty simple, you'd be dragging him around to different places, and he wouldn't even mind it. He knows that it's your birthday, your special day, so he'll agree to almost anything.

Amethio

Despite not understanding the hype for birthdays, Amethio tries his best to make it feel special for you.

Amethio will buy something that you've constantly hinted at wanting and will spend the whole day with you. Since he got fired, he doesn't need to ask Gibeon and Hamber for permission (or blatantly state that he's not going to be available).

Kieran

Kieran would RUN to your dorm with your favourite snacks, a gift and a cake if it fits in his hands.

POUNDS on your door until you open it, or, -if you gave him a keycard- he unlocks it himself and places everything down on the counter so you wake up and see Kieran setting everything up.

If your birthday falls onto a school day, he makes a mini party for you at Lunch where he brings a cake, a birthday balloon and some party hats.

The rest of the day, he follows you around with a skip in his step, ready to do what you want. Don't even bother paying for something, he's going to pay for something. Champion rank has given him a lot of money to spend,,

AIain

Alain makes sure to bake the cake the night before your birthday. If he doesn't succeed in baking a cake, he'll just start prep for breakfast so he can spend the valuable time by your side instead of prepping.

When you wake up, Alain would've either made you breakfast or is currently making you breakfast so you don't need to worry about it when you get up.

The rest of the day will be pretty chill, Alain will take you anywhere you want to go on his Charizard, and if you make a plan the day before he'll make sure that you two get to do everything on it.

Roach

You and Roach share a barrack -a luxury that neither of you take for granted- so you wake up to him peppering kisses onto your face with a giddy smile.

He'd make sure that the two of you have the day off, he already went through the long process of requesting a day off. Did he have to sit down and find someone on YouTube or reels talking about the process? Maybe. Did he manage to get the two of you a day off? Yeah.

He'll make sure the two of you have a lazy morning filled with a lot of cuddling before he brings you some breakfast, urging you to stay in bed and not follow him to the kitchen.

Roach brings you your favourite breakfast. He ordered it earlier in the morning from the restaurant you love. If it's something simple, he'll try to make it in the barracks.

The rest of the day, he'll be at your side incase you need anything, if you want a break from him- he's going to be relatively fine with that.

Makarov

Makarov would take you to a fancy breakfast spot- he likes to spoil you afterall- and the rest of the day he'll take you to places you've always loved.

When you get home, be prepared to see one of those large, beautiful, Russian cakes after you finish eating dinner.

He'd reschedule all his meetings to be on different dates so he can spend time with you, even if you just want to stay home with him.

The whole day would just involve him spoiling you. He'll get you whatever you want, it's your special day afterall!

A/N: Silly little idea I wanted to do since it's my birthday today sisjs,, added Makarov and Roach since I want to start kinda writing for COD,, but I only have a grasp on those two characters,, (tbf I just know Makarov-like people irl,,)

--Image credits

The cake one - Medium

[tactical-jellyfish]

The Mistakes That Have Been Made

Part Four <3 This is where shit will get GNARLY, lovelies, so mind the gap (between Reader and their three awful boyfriends [not counting Gary, obv])

Warnings!: Angst, angst, and more angst. Reader will be MAD sad for most of this. Poorly-practiced, unhealthy polyamory. Reader will experience a LOT of gender and body dysphoria over the course of this (though I will do my best to keep it gender-neutral throughout, bear with me), but there WILL be comfort over that.

You're comfortable there, in that bathroom.

Gary, even after he's wiped you down, treats you gentle. Sits you up in your own little corner and has you sip on some water as he showers in one of the stalls.

It felt nice, just letting yourself cool back off, but not really being on your own.

Gary was very kind with you.

Should bring him food, some part of your lizard brain supplies, he looked like he was struggling a little his last set.

With the new mission in mind (and a spare* hoodie that Gary keeps in his gym bag), you knock on the shower wall to alert him that you're leaving, and shove your phone from your own bag into your pocket without even taking a glance at it.

The calmer, almost content feeling abandons you as soon as you open the door and spot Gaz walking into the gym room.

Of course, his hazel eyes catch onto you, and of course (because you really can't catch a fucking break), he trots over.

He doesn't greet you as he typically does, not with a sweet endearment and a firm hug. Instead, you're met with an appraising, almost judgy glance–knowing Gaz, he probably is judging you–and a cocked brow.

"Didn't pick up your phone before you showered?"

The question rings out to you, but you know he's not all that in your answer. It's not a warning, but a reminder that Gaz has never been the most patient. He's never liked to wait.

"Haven't checked it in a couple days, actually."

You impart in kind, crossing your arms over your chest for your own sake. You really don't want to have any face-downs today. You'd been feeling so good before.

He looks you up and down once more. It feels like his eyes peel your skin back, taking in the appearance of the ugly, squishy bits inside you before he clicks his tongue and steps back a bit.

"Right then. Just so you know, Johnny's right miffed with you. Told me you were being a prick last night. You know why?"

You hate this. You hate this so much. You would have never signed up for this if you knew It would be so draining.

Soap who couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to treat you like a partner, Gaz who seemed to want to cut your head off every time tension arose, and Ghost. The romantic equivalent of an absent father you only see on Christmas or birthdays.

Maybe you're letting the anxiety of the last few days talk. Maybe it's rash (no, it's definitely rash), but you can't handle a second more of this.

"Yeah, I was, sorry." You pause, before just coming out with the rest of it: "I'm thinking about cutting off this... thing. Thought you should know."

Ooh. Spoken with tact. Good job. Your own thoughts mock, but the very worst part of this is that Gaz seems to finally snap out of whatever haze he was caught in. His face twists, and your stomach twists with it as you watch his brows pinch and hear his voice quiet.

"...What? Love, you can't-"

You've pushed him to the back foot now, and it feels horrendous. So, you try to harness the grossness you always feel when he touches you, the aching emptiness of your room when you hear Soap on top of Gaz.

Or the knowledge that Soap and Ghost stay with him longer than they ever have you.

You were too green, too new to the team and too stupid to remember that of course the others wouldn't offer too much. But something between waking up from emergency surgery alone and making friends with the guy who dragged you away from death's door made you open your eyes to it.

"It's fine. Not your fault, just my mistake."

"Mistake, what do you even mean mistake? We were supposed to be partners. You're supposed to be my partner, luv, can you not see that-"

"You're not missing out on much, don't worry. I can't fuck anybody for at least another week anyway."

"What the bloody fuck are you talking about?"

The door to the bathroom opens behind you at maybe the worst moment in history, revealing Gary, still a little damp-haired from the shower. His boots squeak against the floor as he pauses in his step, watching the conversation confusedly.

Gaz's eyes widen, and before you can stop him, he's giving you the nastiest glare you've got in your life, spitting words like venom.

"Oh, so that's why you've been so distant, huh?"

Words choke and tangle in your throat as you look forward at him, watch the resentment in his eyes undoubtedly grow into a bruning hatred.

"It's not-" You try to start, but you never get to finish.

"No no, I get it. Must be real hard hiding how much of a slag you are from the team, yeah?"

You're not sure if you want to punch him or cry out of anger. You end up doing neither, clenching your hands into fists to avoid dishing out pain.

Gary looks confused, and you lack the control to hold any amount of civility anymore. He didn't need to be involved with this.

You didn't want Gary to think you were some sort of slut. Not him.

"I had an appendectomy, you stupid prick! Days ago, if you really wanna know"

You've never been one to raise your voice. It feels rude, but when Gaz quiets, there's nothing to be done but go in for the kill.

"You didn't pick up. I could have died in a bathroom stall because you were so busy that you couldn't check your phone and help me."

Gary puts his hand on your shoulder as you step forward, silently talking you back from wailing on Gaz in the middle of the gym.

When you look back, he signs to you.

There's time for that later.

You grit your teeth, but nod, offering a simple affirmative sign in return before turning back to Gaz with venom on your tongue.

"Fuck you. If I see your face before the end of my break, I'll make sure no one ever calls you pretty again, hear me?"

He could beat the shit out of you. But he doesn't. Gaz looks... upset. You can't muster sympathy right now.

"Break?"

Gaz questions, quiet-voiced and not quite looking you in the eyes.

"Yeah, the brass gives you breaks after fuckin' surgery, numb-nuts. Might as well take it if I've got it, right?"

You're verbally shoving his face into the curb, grinding your boots down on his throat. It feels better than you thought it would, finally just letting it all out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Gary packed an extra hoodie because you seemed to like them. He's a little sad you didn't get to enjoy it too much. He has a feeling he might have more work to do for you to feel that comfortable again. (P.s. really just need to get it out of my drafts at this point, looking at it makes me sick now. So, enjoy what you can. Take it, my children.)

[cod-dump]

Trouble (teen!Ghost au)

___

They weren't bad kids but they were easily influenced.

"Don't your dads drink?" Alejandro pressed, Rudy rolling his eyes when he continued on the matter.

"Ale, don't be a bad influence."

"I'm not a bad influence! But come on- No parents in the house and we're just to behave?"

Simon never felt the need to impress Alejandro. They became friends a few weeks after Alejandro first moved here and went to their school. How? He's not sure but he considers himself stuck with the boy. It didn't matter if he wasn't 'cool' like Alejandro.

But Kyle? He was confident, but he was a bit shy around Rudy. Alex being there in the mix didn't help.

"I mean- Dad has a bottle of whisky downstairs in the basement. For when work gets a bit difficult."

"Oh, whisky?"

Alejandro perked up and Rudy showed interest, it was too late for Simon to stop Kyle.

"No- That's Dad's. He'll know if we go down there! Besides, I'm not drinking with Gary in the house!"

Gary was currently downstairs in the living room with Farah, both deciding to binge watch a bunch of Disney movies until bedtime. Alejandro just snorted.

"We'll be up here, away from the bichito."

Alex decided to join in, not helping the situation despite clearly trying to, "Doesn't Nik drink? Could grab from his stash since he's much more laid back."

This encouraged Kyle who silenced Simon before he could speak, "He has this special vodka he gets imported from Russia! But we don't know where he hides it, he doesn't even like sharing it with Dad."

Alejandro sighs, "Special vodka sounds killer..."

Rudy wasn't much involved in the conversation, just silently judging his boyfriend. Simon was mostly stunned by this rebellious nature Kyle was showing. Drinking? He was sixteen!

"Bro-"

Kyle stood up just then, "Then I'll go grab the whisky."

Simon immediately grabbed Kyle's sleeve and dragged him back to the floor.

"No! Are you crazy!?"

"C'mon, Si. Just a sip."

"No no-"

Simon couldn't stop Kyle. He was already out the room, jumping over Riley and narrowly dodging a very confused Smokey. Alejandro was laughing, mostly from disbelief. Kyle Price was a good child, where was this coming from?

Simon was going to kill him if their father didn't.

"Wow-"

"Ale I'm killing you later."

"Not my fault! You know I tease!"

Simon groans and gets off the floor. He had to get Kyle before he broke something or successfully stole their dad's whisky. He couldn't even imagine the old man's heartbreak at the discovery of not just his baby boy growing up but also adopting a rebellious phase. It would certainly kill him.

Simon was in the hall when Riley started barking excitedly. He ran past him whining and went straight down the stairs. Then Alex called out worriedly.

"There's a car in the driveway- I THINK IT'S YOUR DAD OH GOD-"

Alejandro cusses and jumps up, "Oh Kyle is so dead."

Simon, without thinking, grabs his phone and goes to call Kyle, Thankfully the nerd was never without his phone.

"Si, I'm already down here you can't stop me-"

"Dad's home early!"

Kyle was quiet before he spoke in a hushed tone, "Can you distract him?"

"Kyle-"

"Simon I am rethinking every decision I ever made right now please distract him."

Simon cusses, "Fine! I mean, you're only in trouble if you get caught."

Simon rushes downstairs while Alex, Alejandro, and Rudy stay where they are, probably waiting to see how this ends without getting caught in the crossfire. Right there in the living room was John, petting Riley while Farah and Gary sat on the couch, curled up in blankets with pillows and snacks.

"Back already?"

"For a moment, date night is still on just need to drop this file off."

In his office. Downstairs. Where Kyle is.

Simon ran into the living room and jumped at his father, the man wheezing at the sudden embrace from his son.

"What's with the hug? And when did you get so big?" John said with a light chuckle in his voice, arm around Simon's shoulders and a hand in his hair.

Simon didn't respond to the question, just squeezed onto John's middle, Riley whining at their feet. Farah immediately caught on that something was going on. John also caught on but immediately leaning into something had upset Simon and the teen didn't want to talk about it.

"Si... is everything okay?"

Simon wasn't sure if playing into him being upset was even safe. Running to his father the moment he walked in the door when his friends were staying over? Simon didn't want to risk John assuming they did something.

"Just... missed my old man. You could die any minute so I need to appreciate you whenever I can."

Farah's jaw dropped, dumbfounded, while Gary was absorbed in Finding Nemo and couldn't care less. John cared, the statement of course was alarming.

"Uh, do we need to talk? Nik will survive if we cancel date night."

Simon remained still, eyes wide. Was stirring the pot that was Simon's mental state worth preventing his father from catching his brother trying to steal a bottle of whisky?

I fucking suck at distracting people.

"I... Just love my dad."

Oh that didn't help.

"That settles it. I'm putting this paperwork away and you and me are gonna have a little talk."

FUCK FUCK FUCK-

"I can put it away," enter Nik. Simon certainly didn't have enough arm strength to hold bother men.

"UH- THE BASEMENT IS HAUNTED."

Farah blinked before she made a conclusion in her head. She calmly stood up, taking her blanket and tucking Gary in to the couch before she fast walked into the hall, out of sight but certainly not out of mind.

"... what are you kids up to?"

"Not even going to entertain the haunted bit?" honestly Simon was disappointed by that. Not even Nik took a bite at that.

"I'm not scared of ghosts, малыш."

Nik walked past them, taking the paperwork that laid on the end table as he went. Simon tried to pull away from John with the intention of jumping Nik, but his father kept a firm hold on him.

Gary was no longer watching the TV and instead was staring at Simon and John. Great, now he was more entertaining than Finding Nemo. This was a shit distraction.

"Simon. What's going on? Be honest."

Simon didn't get a chance to get a word out before Nik returned. With Kyle. Kyle was staring at the floor in shame when Nik held up John's whisky. As predicted, John was heartbroken.

"Kyle? No-"

"I... was curious..."

"You-"

John squeezed Simon and Simon feared his father's sanity.

"You were helping him?" Oh he sounded truly betrayed.

"I tried stopping him!"

"Oh you did an excellent job," Nik said with a laugh. He shut up when John looked at him with fire in his eyes.

"... I said I would buy you a nice liquor cabinet but no, you didn't want to be perceived as that kind of father."

"You-"

"-could've avoided this."

John scoffed and Simon clocked Nik trying to defuse the situation by turning the attention onto him. He had released Kyle who backed behind him.

"Simon. Go take Gary and Kyle to your room. I need to have a word with Nikolai.

Nik, for his credit, didn't flinch at the use of his full name. Simon parted from his father and grabbed Gary, who thankfully didn't fight him and just went along with him. He slipped past Nik and Kyle followed without word.

They darted upstairs and after a minute Riley followed. They didn't hear yelling, John and Nik weren't the types to yell. Simon predicted they would focus on the liquor cabinet comment before actually talking about what Kyle did or attempted to do. Either way things would be fine in the morning just awkward.

When they slipped into Simon's room Alex and Farah were there, Farah sitting on the bed while Alex was still on the beanbag.

"Uh, where is Ale and Rudy?"

"Oh they climbed out your window not long after you ran downstairs. They didn't want to be involved in Kyle's punishment."

Oh those assholes.

"Smart for Ale. His dad would murder him if Dad called him about picking him up."

"Didn't he drive here?"

"Ale's dad has towed his car before to ground him."

Alex thought Simon was joking and laughed. Simon wasn't joking.

Kyle couldn't find any humor in the situation and walked over to Alex, slumping onto the beanbag and shoving Alex to the floor.

"Oh why did I do that..."

Farah, having been filled in by Alex, rolls her eyes, "You're a boy, a natural idiot. Seriously, if you guys wanted a drink you should've had Ale go buy you something."

Silence.

Then Kyle sat up, "I'm going to kill Alejandro."

___

Why Johnny or Hong-Jin weren't there? Johnny went to Scotland to his material grandmother and Hong-Jin? Hong-Jin has a gaming tournament. Couldn't figure out how to fit these facts into the drabble but didn't want them to remain unknown lol

[mayflora-18]

Incorrect CoD Quotes #14

[This takes place in the 2009 CoD universe.] Roach, from the air vents: LUKE- Soap, reflexively: I AM YOUR FATHER. Ghost, holding his phone up: 😱 Roach: Soap: Roach: I can explai- Soap: Did you just- Roach: No- Soap: Did you just record me saying I'm you father? -------- Soap: I just electrocuted myself. Ghost: How shocking. Sherlock: How do you feel currently? Soap: I feel kinda amped. Gaz: Watt I can't hear you?? Roach: He said it hertz a lot. Kate: Are they okay? Nikolai: This is normal, they are fine. Kate: But he was jus- Price: He's fine. I'd be more concerned if he wasn't making puns. -------- Alejandro, to the Vaqueros: Ok, listen here you little shits! Alejandro: Not you, Rudy. You're an angel. We love you. -------- Roach: I picked up a chick today. Soap: Nice. What's her name? Roach: Soap: Roach: Roach, ignoring the soft clucking coming from his backpack: Fluff Monster. -------- Kate: What's your blood type? Price, bleeding out: How would I know? Kate: How would you not? Price: Who am I, Karl Landsteiner, discoverer of blood groups? Kate: You don't know your own blood type but you know who discovered them?!?! -------- Roach: *walks into the kitchen, ignoring everybody* Price: Hey Roach, how was your day? Roach: *picks up an onion and bites into it staring at Price* Hell. Gaz, watching this unfold: *whispers* Who hurt you? -------- Roach: Can I be frank with you guys? Ghost: Sure, but I don't see how changing your name is going to help. Soap: Can I still be Soap? Gaz: Shh let Frank speak. -------- Gaz: Captain? Price: Yeah, Gaz? Gaz: I'm... I'm bah- bise- bahsex- Price: Take your time. Gaz: *points at Sherlock and Roach* Gaz: Both. -------- Price: Is that a hickey? Gaz: No, it's just a mosquito bite. Roach: *enters room* Roach: Hey guys. Price: hI MoSQuiTo. -------- Price: How was the camping trip? Roach, panting and visibly distraught: HE TRIED TO KILL ME. Ghost: HE SAID THE BUGS WERE BOTHERING HIM SO I SPRAYED HIM WITH BUG SPRAY. Roach: A S S A U L T. -------- Graves: *tries to flirt with Sherlock* Roach: *stares at them silently* Soap: You're really quiet today, Gary. Roach: *still staring* Nobody plans a murder out loud. -------- Random mugger: Give me your money. Sherlock: *holds up a reverse UNO card* Bitch, give me your money. Random mugger: The fuck! Sherlock: *runs away* [Later] Sherlock: And that's how I avoided getting mugged. Nikolai: From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck Sherlock. -------- Ghost: I scare people lots because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms so when they turn around I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me. Price: How did you get in my house? Ghost: Exactly. -------- Gaz: Why are you lying on the floor? Roach: I have depression. Roach: Also, I was stabbed six or seven times, could you get Sherlock? -------- Sherlock, at the 141's base for the 1st time: Can you tell me where I can find Captain Price? Ghost: Yeah, for sure. You go down there, you turn left, you look for a broken down, stressed-out middle-aged man looking like he's functioning on two hours of sleep and one working brain cell, and you follow him. Sherlock: And he'll take me to Captain Price? Ghost: That is Captain Price.

[alotofpockets]

Christmas plans | Katie McCabe

Pairing: Katie McCabe x Arsenal!Reader

Prompts: "Is that a hickey?"

Warnings: Mention of reader not having a good relationship with their family, small mention of anxiety.

A/n: Despite the prompt and the warnings, this is overall just a very fluffy fic!

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 2.8k

All around you your teammates were sharing their Christmas plans. You were stretching before training, and the conversation about winter break came up, and everyone was excitedly sharing their plans to visit their families. You dreaded the moment you would be asked about your plans, because opposed to all their excited plans with family, you had no plans of your own. The reason you weren’t going to visit your family during the holidays is because you don’t have a good relationship with them. Since you were still rather new at Arsenal, not many of your teammates knew about this part of your life, though.

Inevitably the question was thrown your way by Lia. Your long time Ireland teammate, and best friend, noticed the panicked look in your eyes, and answered before you had the chance to. “Y/n, is joining me for Christmas. We’re going to stay with my family for a couple days.” You were grateful that the conversation continued after Katie’s response. You had known Katie for years, having met at the U17 team, she had been there for you almost every time that something surrounding your parents had happened.

After training you’re the last one in the dressing room with Katie, the perfect moment to thank Katie for her cover up. “Of course, anytime. You should actually come though.” With a furrowed brow you look back at her. “Oh no, it’s fine. I can just stay home. It’s a family holiday, I don’t want to intrude.” Katie packs the last of her stuff into her backpack, “I think you've spent enough time at the house to be considered family.” It's true, you had spent a lot of nights staying at the McCabe's when things got bad with your parents. “Mom loves you more than she loves me anyways, I know she would love for you to join us. Plus, I think it would be really nice.” So, like that it was settled, you were joining the McCabe’s for Christmas.

Gary was there to pick you up from Dublin Airport. You greeted him with a quick hug, before putting both your own and Katie’s suitcase in the trunk, letting Katie have a moment with her dad. The drive to their place wasn't long, so in no time you were hugged by the rest of the McCabe family that was currently home. “It's so good to see you, Y/n! I'm glad you could join us for Christmas.” Katie's mom excitedly shares, making you feel welcome instantly. “I wasn't sure where you preferred to sleep, I can make up the couch, Gary can set up an air mattress, or I can ask one of the kids that won't come home until Christmas eve if you can take their room for the time being? I'm afraid that the guest room is currently occupied by quite a mess, as we've been renovating a bit.” Katie goes in to hug her mom as well. “Don't be silly, mom, we can just share my room.” She looks your way to see if you're okay with that too. “Yeah, I'm fine sharing with Katie. What have you been renovating?” You knew that Gary loved showing off what he was working on. Like you expected he excitedly asked you to follow him, as he was pointing to everything he was planning on fixing. You listened full of interest, always having loved listening to people talk about what they are passionate about.

Meanwhile in the living room Katie gets questioned by her sisters. “So, does Y/n joining us for Christmas mean you guys are finally together?” Ella starts. “Y/n's here because she's my best friend. Also, what do you mean finally?” Her brow furrows slightly. “Come on, you can't tell me you don't like her more than that.” Lauryn continues, clearly sharing the same thoughts about the two of you as Ella. In response Katie just rolls her eyes and walks away, joining her mom in the kitchen. Leaving a smirking Ella and Lauryn behind, “She didn't deny it.” The two of them share a look, “So, we're definitely going to try to get them together before Christmas right?” 

“Already done with your sisters? You only just got here.” Sharon jokes with her daughter. “They're meddlers, I did not come here for that.” Katie jokes back, as she sits down with her mom. “Not to meddle but-” Sharon laughs at the warning look Katie sends her way, “I always thought the two of you would make a lovely couple. I want you to find your own way, though, and of course I just want to see you happy.” Not a minute later you walk back into the room, deep in conversation with Gary. Katie takes the moment to pull you away, bringing your suitcases up to her room, and settling in.

It was already late, so you and Katie decided to call it a night, getting some well deserved rest after a busy few months. The next day you planned to go shopping with Katie, insisting on getting her family members presents of your own and not just sharing the ones that she had ordered to her parent’s home over the past couple of weeks. 

You weren’t the biggest fan of shopping when a holiday as big as Christmas was coming up, with all the busyness that came with it but you wanted to get them something nice since they were opening up their home for you. Katie noticed the slightly panicked look in your eyes as you entered the mall, and reached for your hand. You squeeze it appreciatively, before intertwining your fingers with hers. She guides you around the mall, entering all the stores you want to check out. Having Katie close by helped a lot with your anxiety, Katie always knew how to be there for you in any situation. 

When you got all the presents you wanted to get, the two of you settled in a little cafe. You were sipping on your hot chocolates, and watching the Christmas decorations around the mall, when two young girls walked up to you, accompanied by their mother. “Hi, we’re so sorry to interrupt but we were wondering if maybe my daughter's could take a picture with the both of you, they're big fans.”  Katie stood up and greeted them, “Yeah, of course you can.” She beamed. You stood up as well, giving each of the little girls a hug. The mom got ready to take the picture, as the girls moved to stand in between the two of you. Their wide smiles didn't falter when they stepped away. You took a moment to talk with the girls, before they went on their way again. The mom thanked you for making her girl's Christmases. Both you and Katie love meeting fans, the young ones especially, as it showed you that what you were doing was inspiring young children. 

On the way back Katie told you about one of the Christmas traditions her family had. “So, each year mum buys everyone a pair of Christmas pajamas, and we spend the evening watching Christmas movies.” You thought it was an adorable tradition. So much so that when you got back you had to fight to keep in your tears when Sharon let you know that she had placed pajamas for both you and Katie on Katie’s bed. You thanked Sharon before Katie pulled you towards her room, knowing how much you hated crying in front of people. Once in her room, you fall down on the bed. Katie sits down next to you, and you instantly reach for her touch by laying your head down in her lap. You let your tears flow freely, while she gently strokes your hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” Katie asks softly. “Just that your family is so loving, and they’re including me in all of it. I’m not used to that, and the difference is a lot. It’s really nice though, they’re making me feel very loved.” You lift yourself up from Katie’s lap, “Anyways, we should head down.” Katie shakes her head, pulls you into her side, and falls down onto her back, pulling you along with her. “They can wait for a little bit.” You try to protest but when Katie doesn’t give in, you relax into her. Your head now on her chest, as she continues to play with your hair. 

Once you feel ready to head downstairs, your eyes finally land on the pajamas that Sharon picked out. A pair of matching red flannel pants, along with two simple black t-shirts. You both change into the outfits quickly, before joining the festivities downstairs. The family pilled down in the living room, the table filled with snacks, and the first Christmas movie started playing on the TV. It doesn’t take long for you to snuggle into Katie, who instantly wraps her arm around you. The moment not going unnoticed by Ella and Lauryn, who share a knowing look.

The next morning you head downstairs in your matching Christmas pajamas for family breakfast. Today the family had plans to go to a nearby Christmas market, play some board games, and in the evening you and Katie were planning on going on a Christmas light walk. You had seen an ad for the event in the mall, and were very excited to go.

Right as you walk through the door post, Lauryn says, “Katie, what's that above you?” Katie looks up and you follow her gaze. You didn't see the warning look that Katie sent her sister's way. “Why is there a mistletoe?” Both Lauryn and Ella try to hide their giggles, while Ella says, “It's a Christmas tradition to kiss someone under the mistletoe, so I assume it is to spread the holiday joy.” with a slightly teasing tone. Katie looks back over to you, searching your face for what she should do. “We don't have to, if you don't want to.” You lock your eyes on Katie's, “I mean it's bad luck if we don't, right?” You joke back, sending her a smile and a nod, letting Katie know you're okay with it. Katie leans in and pecks your lips. “So, breakfast?” Katie says as she quickly turns around again, hiding her flushed cheeks from you.

Your morning and afternoon were jam-packed with family activities, and while you loved every part of it, your mind kept going back to Katie’s lips on yours. How soft they were, and how badly you wanted to kiss her again. Though, you had convinced yourself that for Katie the kiss was probably just for the tradition of it. You couldn't have been more wrong though, Katie badly wanted to talk to you about the kiss, but she hadn't been able to get you alone for a single moment today. 

The first moment the two of you were alone that day, was on the way to the Christmas light event. The car ride itself was quiet besides the radio softly playing in the background, both of your minds running at full speed. Katie parks the car, and right from the parking lot you could already see lights all around you. While you were slowly turning to take in all of the beautiful lights, Katie’s eyes were fixed on you. “What?” You say while a blush rushes to your cheeks, when you notice Katie’s eyes on you. The usual confidence of the girl in front of you, replaced by nervousness. “Nothing, it’s stupid.” She says trying to turn away but you grab her arm and pull her back around. “If you’re thinking about it, it’s not stupid.” You seemingly convinced her as she took a deep breath. “Would you have kissed me if we weren’t standing under a mistletoe?” The question takes you by surprise, as you had convinced yourself that it was just you lingering on the moment you had shared this morning. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.” Katie turns on her heels again, thinking she had her answer by the lack of your response. The action makes you jump into action, once again reaching for her arm. This time you don’t just use the pull to turn her around, you also use it to bring her closer to you. You lean in and connect your lips, smiling into the kiss, as you feel Katie kiss back. The feeling of her soft lips moving in sync with yours sent shivers down your body, while simultaneously making you feel warm inside. 

After you pull away from the kiss, you look at Katie and see the Christmas lights reflect in her eyes. “In case that didn’t answer your question properly, that meant yes.” You joke, making her laugh. She playfully pushes you away, before stepping besides you again to intertwine your hands. You spend the evening walking around the lit up city center, enjoying every moment together. 

You arrive back at Katie’s childhood home way past midnight, so the house is already quiet. She pulls you into the warmth of the home by your hand, only feeling you resist when you walk through the doorway to the living room. She follows your eyes up to the mistletoe under which you shared your first kiss. Katie takes a step back to stand in front of you, and wastes no time to connect your lips. The kiss started out soft and sweet, but quickly turned more passionate. Katie pulls away from the kiss breathlessly, “To be continued.” She says as she takes your hand once more and guides you to her room.

The next morning you wake up in Katie’s arms, a feeling you would like to never forget. “Good morning, beautiful.” Katie whispers as she places a kiss on your forehead. A wide smile forms on your face, “Good morning.” After sharing a few soft kisses, you get ready for family breakfast. The food each morning had been amazing, you were so excited for what Christmas would bring. 

Lauryn asked if both of you wanted to join her on the pitch that afternoon, which of course you agreed to. It might be winter break, but football was a passion you would always take a moment for. You had been on the pitch for about an hour, when Katie decided to take her jacket off. "Is that a hickey?" Lauryn said loud enough for the whole town to hear. Katie sends a panicked look your way, you shrug your shoulders, knowing there isn’t anything you can do now besides mouthing a sorry her way. Lauryn followed the interaction, her smile growing wider. “Oh my god, it so is! I gotta tell Ella that her mistletoe idea worked.” Katie chases after her youngest sister, tackling her to the ground before she could reach her phone. “You and Ella are a pair of meddlers.” She said, shaking her head, as she helped Lauryn up. “It worked didn’t it? Mum’s gonna love this.” You watched the interaction with a smile on your face, realizing that her whole family was rooting for the two of you together. 

On Christmas Eve the rest of the McCabe siblings, along with their partners and children joined you at the McCabe’s, and it wasn’t long before they all knew about you and Katie. You were nervous at first, not wanting the dynamic to change, but quite the opposite happened. They were happy for the both of you, and continued to treat you as family, like they had done the past couple of days. 

All in all it was a wonderful Christmas with her whole family, lots of presents, amazing food, and company from the loving family. Katie was watching you interact with her cousins with adoration in her eyes, she couldn’t wait to continue creating memories together. The family got together for a series of group pictures. You took a couple of the McCabe siblings, and some of them all together with their parents, as well as Sharon taking individual ones of each of her children with their partners, and kids if they had them. 

Katie later posted a collection with her favorite ones, along with the caption ‘Family time❤️🎄’. She added the picture Sharon took of the two of you, where you have your arms around her waist, as she places a kiss on your cheek. You posted the ones you were on to your own Instagram with the caption, ‘Thank you for the best Christmas ever❤️’. 

It didn’t take long for the Arsenal group chat to explode upon seeing your posts. You were laying in bed with Katie, scrolling through the loving messages your teammates were sending your way after Katie confirmed that the pictures indeed meant that you were her girlfriend. That night you went to bed feeling happier than you had ever felt. Truly a high to end the year on.

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[loves-alibi]

skyglow - chapter 1

futuristic au pairing: ex-partner!simon riley x detective!reader summary: Someone's trying to get ahold of you. wordcount: 4.4k warnings: reader is a recovering addict (of a fake drug), reader is described as "out of shape" (in terms of having lost muscle. nothing else is described, nor will it ever be included), mentions of past short-term memory loss (fake drug side effect), descriptions of past drug use, mention of past withdrawals, past family death, mention of drinking

prologue series masterlist

January 3, 2180

An angry buzz fills your apartment, followed by a sweet, robotic voice.

“Good morning,” it says, “Front doorbell rang.”

“Dismiss,” you grunt, swinging your legs over the side of your bed. “What time is it?”

“Five thirty-two am,” says Alice, your household virtual assistant. “I could tell the visitor that you’re unavailable?”

“No,” you rub your eyes, making your way to the front door. “I’m already up…”

You tap the display screen next to the door and up pops the live feed to the electronic peep-hole. There’s a man at your door, young-ish and tired. He’s in a familiar uniform, a fact you realize with a curse.

You swing the door open and smile politely, though it probably looks more like a grimace. “Good morning, officer,” you greet, “What can I do for you?”

The officer straightens his posture like he hadn’t expected you to actually open the door. “Welfare check. An anonymous report was made.” Report, not call. You frown. “Said you weren’t answering your calls.”

“Come on in,” you don’t bother to watch whether the officer actually follows as you stride to the phone hanging next to the fridge. “Calls, you said?”

The officer grunts in confirmation, and you get to work scanning all the incoming calls from the last few weeks. The fluorescent light on the receiver pad burns your eyes, not yet used to being awake so early. Why couldn’t this run have been made later?

“Take a look,” you say, “All the calls I’ve missed have been robo-scams— that or I’ve called them back within a day.”

The cop shakes his head, “Thank you, ma’am—“ Ma’am? How old does this guy think you are? “But it’s watch calls that you’ve been missing.”

You laugh, but the cop doesn’t find it nearly as amusing as you do. “Watch calls?"

The Wristwatch Transceiver Device, an invention from Konni Industries, before they got into the android business, was intended to be used in factories where walkie talkies proved tedious and bulky. The WTD provided an easier alternative, lift your wrist and speak! However, as androids began to operate manufacturing centers, the WTD itself became tedious, with androids able to communicate wirelessly and instantaneously through their build in network. Konni Industries, not wanting to let go of a possible income stream, began selling the devices to law enforcement agencies, where it took like wildfire.

That was all, of course, over fifty years ago. And in the nearly eighty years since Konni industries first produced the WTD, it has never been used for communication outside of work.

You shake your head at the cop, flashing your watch-less wrists. "Sorry, but you have the wrong person.”

“No, lieutenant, I don’t think I do.”

You freeze at the honorific. Lieutenant. It makes your heart hurt and head spin. Nobody’s called you that in almost two years now. And anybody that would have called you that hasn’t heard your voice in a long time.

Someone’s been calling your watch, and that same someone put in a welfare check for you. There’s a very short list of names that come to mind. Gary, Johnny, John, Kyle, or—

No, not him. Seeing your face would be the last thing he wants. If he caught wind of it, he’d stop the wellness check before that officer could even hop in his patrol car.

Speaking of the devil… the officer is fixing you with an unimpressed look. You should sort him out so you can go back to bed.

“Listen,” you say, “I’m fine. You checked— I’m well. If I promise to check my watch, will you go?”

The officer furrows his brows. You’re familiar with welfare check protocols, and if you were him, you wouldn’t head out so fast. One look around your apartment shows just how "well" you’re doing. Old takeout boxes crowd the counter. Practically every surface that isn’t your couch or the spot on the coffee table where you kick your feet up is dusty. And despite living in it 24/7, even you can tell how stale the air smells.

Nevertheless, the officer nods. “But if you don’t respond to that watch, I’m coming back.”

Ushering him out, you groan like a petulant child, “I know. I know.” The door slams Shut behind him, and after a moment the hissing of its locks clicking into place fills the air.

Through the live feed, you watch the officer disappear down the hallway, his figure shrinking and shrinking until the only thing left for you to stress over is your old service watch and the fact that someone’s trying to contact you on it. You don’t know where the watch is. You don’t know if you even have it anymore.

Any thought of going back to bed is gone as you turn your apartment inside out. Eventually , the lighting turns from the neon blues, purples, and pinks of London’s evening skyline to the explosive orange and red of sunrise. It isn’t until the sun is high in the sky that you find the thing, fallen behind your junk drawer. So that’s why it hasn’t been closing.

Luckily the charger still works. So you swipe a pile of scraped-clean food containers and overdue bills onto the floor and set the charging watch down.

The minutes tick by slowly, as each one passes you wonder if the watch will finally light up.

That watch has sat untouched for a long time. After Price dismissed you, you tossed it aside and didn’t dare to look back. It was too painful to think about. Even now, the though of it lighting up is nauseating.

Once upon a time, you had been tethered to this thing. Every step you made, every breath you took was dependent on this watch.

Delicate fingers pick up the device, rotating it enough to get a good look at it, without disconnecting it from the charger. You had kept it in good shape while in the force, always managing to get lucky and not have to get a replacement. This one lasted you from the moment you joined to the moment you were dismissed by Price. And it even lasted until now, as you wait in your kitchen, slowly brightening as the sun peaks through London's countless skyrises.

Someone was trying to reach you. Someone who worked with you. And they're only doing it through your—

The watch face lights up. Then, a familiar ding! Another ding! And another ding! Three missed calls, each of them from Captain Price.

A shaking finger navigates the user interface. The muscle memory is there, albeit faded, and you eventually find the list of unread messages. The newest plays first.

"Price again," his familiar voice has your spine straightening. It's weird. You never thought you'd hear the old geezer again. "If you're screening these messages, I'd advise you to pick up. If not, then I'd advise you to take a listen. I'll see you this afternoon, lieutenant."

This afternoon? Confusion strikes you in a way you haven't felt in the months since getting straight. Except now your confusion isn't distracted by the euphoric rush of blink. No, you're just plain confused because you certainly did not plan a meeting with John Price.

You hit play on the next message. "Price. Noticed you haven't called back. How about we talk in person? Come to my office on Monday at 2pm."

The roll of your eyes is involuntary, and if memory serves you right… yup. According to the screensaver idling on your television, Monday is today. And 2pm is in five hours. Five hours to pull your shit together and sit yourself across from John Price, whose last words to you were, "I'm sorry, lieutenant. I'd have it any other way if I could."

Price's last remaining message, the first he sent, plays: "It's Price. Call me when you get a chance."

You chuckle at his initial simplicity, your amusement fading as another message catches your eyes. Your watch had only gone off three times when you turned it on, this one you had received before shutting it off for the last time. It's from Simon. 11:28pm, March 28, 2178. The day you were dismissed.

You don't think you could stomach hearing his voice just yet. It's unavoidable, you'd probably run into him on the way to Prices office, but for now you opt to read the transcript.

Hi. It's… it's me. Sorry to do this, but I know you've blocked my number.

There's more to the message, but those words alone are enough to have you dropping the watch like it burned you.

You'd have to take this all one step at a time. The first step is getting out of the damn door.

*****

A cup is placed delicately in front of you.

"Tea?"

John Price delicately opens a box. The design of it is familiar. It's a pastry box from the bakery down the road— the nice one with the chocolate biscuits you like. Lo and behold— John pulls out two of the biscuits, laying them delicately on a tissue, and sliding it down the table and in front of you.

Your right hand aches like it does during a rainstorm. Except it's clear skies and sunshine. You're just back in the precinct.

"Thought this might put you in a good mood," John throws you a close-lipped smile, his cheeks rounding in an almost cherubic shape.

"What is this, John?" You spit, though he just laughs. "Two years, and you just decide to call me in?"

John smirks at you over his own cup of tea. "Making amends is my New Year's Resolution."

He hasn't changed one bit since you last saw him. Sure, his clothes are newer and his frown lines have deepened, but that twinkle in his eye— the one that says you've fallen into his trap —is just the same. You've fought your way out of many spats with John. You just hope the last two years hasn't taken away your wits.

"Tea and a biscuit?" You grab the aforementioned items, the tea warming your right hand. It's a soothing feeling. "Well shoot, John, I'd consider amends made. Goodbye."

John is tsk-ing before you can even push yourself an inch of the chair. "No, no, no, lieutenant." Lieutenant, again. Everyone's just waving your old rank around, tauntingyou with what's been lost. "Amends are going to cost me a lot more than a snack."

"What would it cost, then?"

John's chair creaks as he leans forward. "Your old job," he says simply, emphasizing the words by popping a chocolate biscuit into his mouth. Apparently confusion is evident from the face you're making, because he clarifies, "I'm offering you your old job back."

Your old job. It's a ridiculous offer, one that you're unsure how John is able to make. He must know that you won't accept it. No risk, right?

There's a twinkle to his eyes, one you've seen so many times before in the interrogation room. It's the twinkle that comes exactly when John knows that he's about to win. It's unnerving to be at the receiving end of it, especially when you can't figure out why he seems to think you're his cornered prey.

"My old job," you repeat, "You're offering it to me." John nods. "Why?"

John chuckles, "Does it matter?" You level your face, which John takes as his opportunity to continue, "Lots of changes are happening with the new commissioner." Recognition crosses your mind. You remember Alice mentioning a new commissioner a few weeks ago during a morning news recap. The commissioner's name evades you. "I want to make sure the 141 stays on its feet."

Before you can protest, John adds, "And as a show of good faith, the department is willing to extend a signing bonus of eight thousand pounds."

It takes all of your willpower to keep a straight face. Eight thousand pounds. You're practically salivating at the thought. That's three months of rent. Three months. And John knows it, too. In your head, you run the numbers of your finances. Since leaving, you've relied on your grandmother's inheritance, a healthy sum of cash, but not healthy enough to last indefinitely. If your numbers are right, you've only got two more months of rent— and that's only if you play it smart.

Still, this doesn't feel right. It's been two years, more than that actually. You haven't spoken to John in just as long. Sure, Kyle, Johnny, and Gary reached out from time to time, but even that had really just been proof-of-life checks. And Simon… well, you blocked Simon's number before he could try to read out. However, John didn't reach out once, and certainly not about work.

"You never reached out to me."

John shrugs, as though he heard the silent "why" tacked onto the end of your statement. "Does it matter?"

"Considering that this smells like a whole load of fish— yes."

John watches you over the rim of his cup, taking a long, loud sip of his tea. "As your superior, I couldn't contact you after the… termination. That was in the dismissal papers you signed. Technically I broke that clause by reaching out to you now, but I trust that this can stay between us."

You gape at him. You don't remember that clause at all, and you feel your cheeks heat at the thought. Had blink done that much of a number on you? Shit, were you high the day you were terminated? You'd like to think not, that even at your lowest you never came to work with blink in your veins. Yet, the memory of the clause— hell, even the dismissal papers themselves —are murky. Still, it makes you feel a little better to know that your captain hadn't entirely abandoned you.

Still, there is just one more thing.

"I'm not working with Simon again.'

John smiles like he had expected you to say that. "It's a team."

"I'm well aware," you counter. "Which means that there are plenty of others for you to pair me with."

"As you wish." Something akin to mirth shines in John's eyes. You nod at John, and begin to push yourself out of the chair when he tsks. "You're not dismissed yet."

You freeze, lowering back into the chair. John is fidgeting in his own. It's unlike him. He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a plastic baggie with a blankly-labeled cup inside of it. Your heart clenches at the familiarity of the bag.

"If it was up to me, I wouldn't have you do this." There's genuine regret on John's face, the only reason why you haven't started cursing him out. "I trust you when you say that you're sober, but… It's protocol."

Your hands tentatively wrap around the test. Shame festers in your chest, rearing its ugly head when you thought you had been given the perfect opportunity to squash it. You shove the drug test in your pocket. It's too big, sticking out clumsily, but it would work.

"Thank you for this."

John smiles, this time without ulterior motives or trickery. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

*****

29 hours after peeing into a cup, your watch lights up with a call. This time, it's on your wrist, when the curt message comes through.

"It's Price. Tests came back. I'll see you tomorrow."

It'll be nice to have something to do. Over the last two years, you had spent so much of your day-to-day on autopilot. At best, you lived out unemployment like a zombie, simply miming the motions of being alive. At worst, you were strung out, too high on blink to remember where you were and how you got there. At least you were happy— felt happy —the blink made sure of that.

Christ, it had been so long. Bending over to strap on your thigh holster, you're reminded of just how out of shape you are. Even that little motion, something that had once been second nature, is foreign. You flex in the mirror, arms and shoulders revealed by your sleeveless turtleneck. Where once there were toned arms, now lacks definition. It's shocking to see. Sure, it makes sense, but you had never noticed how out of shape you had become.

"Alice?" You call into the emptiness of your apartment.

"Good morning. How may I be of assistance?"

"Remind me to go for a run tomorrow— six am."

"Certainly."

It's not much, but you need to start somewhere. The longer you show up to work like this— out of practice and out of shape —the longer the rest of the 141 will be reminded of what happened. Until then, though, you'd have to deal with your physicality, or lack thereof.

There's a thin layer of sweat above your upper lip, not at all unlike the sweat you had endured during withdrawals. It was an ugly experience, difficult to go through alone, though you don't think your pride could have allowed anybody to see you like that. So very vulnerable, you were. It had taken you so long to get sober for that very reason— why struggle through those symptoms when you could instead experience the euphoria of blink.

So many days you spent in clubs, high out of your mind on that pink stuff, dancing to whatever song was on with whoever dared to lay their hands on you. You felt beautiful on those dance floors. You probably were beautiful, until the next morning, when the blink wore off and you were left with hangovers and the consequences of those bad decisions. Your skin itches with in memory of that feeling— of the bliss of being without the burden of remembering. It's the very trap of blink. One line and your worries melt away. Nobody remembers the troubles of their daily lives, at least for a short while. It's what draws public servants to it— why the police department is always ready and eager to test. All it took was a just a little…

Best not to think about that, not when things are finally starting to look up. You vowed yourself to sobriety nine months ago today… or yesterday… or maybe tomorrow. Whatever. You never kept an exact count. It's been six months since you last used. That night wasn't your best moment. The anniversary of your grandmother's death. A reminder that you really are alone. Your family ends with you. No siblings. No cousins. No aunts or uncles. Just you.

The weight of that loneliness is a struggle. It's a privilege to be here when the rest of your family is long gone. Yet, what were you doing with that privilege? For the last two years you've either spent your days in a blink-induced haze or endlessly clicking through TV channels, trying to decide which corporately-produced slop to watch.

On that account, you can't say you're not excited to return. Work would finally give you something else to do. The thought of seeing the team and working with them again brings a sense of ease to your mind that you haven't had for a long time. Since before the Sterlings.

You shake that thought out of your head as a gentle ding brings you back. On your watch is a message from Price.

I'll see you in the office.

Then another message: Don't overthink this.

You smile at the message. And for the first time in a while, you're looking forward to what's to come.

*****

Lt. Simon Riley.

The door's shut, but that doesn't stop you from standing in front of it.

Lt. Simon Riley.

The door's right where it's always been, directly adjacent to yours.

Lt. Simon Riley.

The door's got a new addition, though.

Your fingers twitch at your side to tear that plaque off of the door. Since when is Simon a lieutenant. That's your rank. It has always been your rank as your untouched sign indicates. The Lt. on your plaque is still there, just as pronounced as the Lt. on his.

The screws look tight. A shame. You would have loved to get your fingers on them— untwist them and throw that damn plaque in the dumpster. Or, better yet, melt it down in a forge and shape it into a beautiful ring, so you may always remember your victory here today.

"Look what the cat dragged in."

You would have never guessed that you had missed the sound of a Scot, but it's when his accented voice is so lilted with joy.

"Johnny," you coo, head snapping over to where Johnny and Kyle lean against the door to your office.

"There she is," Kyle grins his award-winning grin, the one with all the teeth and mirth.

You don't launch yourself at them. More like, melt into them. Their strong arms wrap you in a nice, warm hug. You missed being hugged. The last real one must have been from when Nan was still alive. A bitter thought, that is. One that make tears prickle at your eyes. Or maybe that's just because of the way Johnny and Kyle positively wrap you up.

When you finally squirm out of their arms, each one places a hand on a shoulder, holding you steadily at arms' length.

"I missed you. Kyle—" You nod at him, eyes of rich mahogany twinkling at you. Then to those of crystal blue, "Johnny—" Another nod.

Even away from them, you feel energy buzzing underneath your skin, blood pulsing and warming you. Something about this just feels right. Yet beneath the feeling of warmth, churns something more sour. Regret, you dully realize, guilt, perhaps. Like this is all your fault. Well, it is your fault. Though, for the first time in a while the smile on your lips reaches your eyes.

Johnny nudges something with his food— a box. He kicks it your way, and you cringe at the sound of glasses bumping against each other."This is for you—" Kyle nudges Johnny, and he continues. "This is yours. We used—" Another nudge. "—borrowed it."

Hesitantly, you lower to the ground. Johnny and Kyle are watching you with unbridled excitement. "What is it?" You ask while pulling the flaps of the box open.

You peer into the box and gawk. Your crystal whiskey glasses— an antique, late 21st century set that your great-grandmother received as a wedding gift. You'd been looking for that for a while, when apparently it was here all along.

"They got good use, don't worry."

You hum, it's a removed, quiet sound to appease Johnny and Kyle as your mind races. So many celebrations must have happened while you were gone. And for how many of them had the team decided to use these glasses, a piece of yourself that you had allowed to be shared with the team. It's difficult to decide what you should feel. Care that something of you lived on in the 141 despite your absence? Hurt that you weren't there to feel it? Rage, knowing that Simon's lips had touched them?

There was a time when you wouldn't hesitate to shoot the shit with Simon over that crystal. After every case you two would share a glass or two of whiskey. It was more commiseration than anything, two exhausted detectives basking in the quiet, but Simon always said it was better to commiserate than wallow on your own. That was one thing he was right about, even if you conveniently forgot how right it was when you left the team.

Commiserating was how your relationship was born. You and Simon met at particularly depressing points in your respective lives. You having lost your grandmother a few months prior, and him having his own familial troubles. The two of you formed a bond quickly. A sort of trauma response, perhaps.

"Well," Johnny's voice draws your attention. "What are you waiting for?"

He pops open the door. With a pat on your shoulder, Kyle heads down the hall to his own office. Johnny follows him for a few feet before pausing. He's next to Simon's door. His fingers trace the metallic plaque on it. You watch his eyes trail down the hall after Kyle. He calls your name softly, a smile on his lips. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back."

You're left to the unchanged office. Every single thing is now coated with a thin layer of dust. Muscle memory carries you to the old leather desk chair. It creaks as your body lowers into it.

A picture frame lays face-down on the desk. Your fingers brush its back surface. They twitch, as though the picture begs to be set right. It feels a betrayal— making that picture remain unseen, but it took a betrayal to make it so.

Three gentle knocks disturb the stillness of your office. You whirl around and smile.

Gary Sanderson is leaning against your door frame, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips. "Welcome back," he signs.

"Gary," you breathed, unable to control the smile that pulled at your lips. You close the distance between you two in three short strides and pull Gary into a hug. He seems surprised by it at first, but as his body relaxes, two arms slowly wrap around your frame.

After a moment of embrace, Gary taps your shoulder twice, signaling you to pull away. "You look bad," he signs.

"Oh fuck off," you plop down in the desk chair, its old leather creaking at you in anger.

"Be nice," he scolds, "We have to work together after all." Gary throw himself in the chair on the other side of your desk and throws his legs up like he owns the place.

"So I've been told," the smile on your face betrays the playful flatness of your tone.

Gary procures from his suit jacket a crisp manila folder. He tosses it on the desk as a wave of warmth washes over you. "Are you ready to start?" He signs.

The words come out of you before you can even consider them, as though your body knows you're ready before your brain: "Let's get to work."

dividers found here