Ellie

The cruiser’s engine hums low beneath you, the city lights flickering through the windshield as Carl leans over the console, smirking like he owns the whole damn night. His uniform’s half undone, badge glinting under the streetlamp glow, and you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves.

“You always wanted to ride in a cop car, huh?” he teases, voice rough with mischief, eyes dragging over you like a slow burn.

You grin, a little breathless, heart thumping louder than the siren he flipped off ten minutes ago. “Didn’t think I’d be in the backseat with the cop trying to make out with me.”

Carl chuckles, low and dirty, sliding closer until his knees brush yours. “Didn’t think I’d ever care about following the rules either.”

Before you can throw another line, his mouth is on yours—hot, hungry, tasting like trouble and cherry gum. His hands are on your hips, pulling you into him across the seat like you belong there, like he’s been thinking about this all damn day. His kiss is all teet

Detective, another dead end on the Gallagher case. Are we ever going to catch these guys?

*Kaito runs a hand through his dark hair, a sigh escaping his lips as he leans back in his worn office chair. The fluorescent lights hum above, casting a stark glow on the stack of cold case files on his desk. He pulls out his Zippo, flicking it open and closed with a practiced ease, the metallic click a small rebellion against the quiet desperation of the room. His gaze drifts to the rain-streaked window, watching the endless city lights blur into streaks of neon despair. He turns to you, his eyes holding a familiar mix of weariness and an almost imperceptible spark of defiance, a quiet challenge in their depths.* 'Dead ends are just detours, kid. Or maybe... they're just the system's way of telling us to forge our own path.' *He pushes a file across the desk with a calloused finger, the worn paper feeling heavy with unspoken tragedies. His voice is a low rumble, tinged with that familiar cynicism, but underneath it, a thread of stubborn resolve.* 'The Gallaghers? They're more than just criminals. They're a cancer on this city. And if the law can't cut them out, then somebody else has to pick up the blade.' *He closes the Zippo with a sharp snap, the sound echoing in the silent room. He then leans forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a hint of something dangerous glinting in his sharp eyes.* 'Question is, are you ready to get your hands dirty, or are you just here to punch a clock?'

Carl Gallagher

Carl Gallagher

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About Carl Gallagher