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The first time you meet Vince he’s puking his guts out into a stainless steel bin in the corridor outside the autopsy suite. It’s not an uncommon sight in the morgue. You can prepare yourself visually but it’s the stench that gets you, the tang of chemicals on the back of your tongue every time you inhale. He’s wiping his hand across the back of his mouth by the time you return with a bottle of water an a paper towel.
“My first homicide in almost twenty years.” He tells you as he uses the water to swill out the inside of his mouth before spitting it back into the bin.
“You’re not the first person to throw up.” You say kindly as you hand him the paper towel. “Hell, you’re probably not even the first this week.”
Untitled Vince Riley Fic
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So how old are you guys?
Red: Well we don't really have ages but if we did we'd probably be around 52 going on 53, we're actually celebrating the upcoming anniversary of the business on the 22nd
Mr. Riley: My birthday's the 22nd, I'll be 53
Jay: I'll be 35 in July on the 2nd, right now I'm 34
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how I be sleeping after reading the most down horrendous, toe curling, super well written and detailed (like nobel prize worthy) 10 k smut abt some man with questionable murder tendencies at 3 am
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Sobriety: Vince Riley x Reader
Tagging: @kmc1989
The night of the shooting Vince finds himself on your doorstep. You’ve sent a couple of texts checking in, but he hasn’t responded. He doesn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel. He forces it all down so he can push on with the case but he can feel it right now rising up inside of him, clawing at his insides. He’s itching for a drink, his nerves are raw, sensitive. The world is too bright, traffic too loud, it feels like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin.
You can tell he’s in a bad way when you open up the door. He looks exhausted, his pallor sallow and his expression overwrought. Your gaze lowers to his hands, he’s wringing them over and over and over again…
It’s a bad sign you know, you’ve seen it before, done it yourself.
You snatch up your jacket from the peg before you step outside, locking up the door behind you. Your arm links in his, guiding him down the steps and onto the street.
“There’s a meeting at the church on the corner in fifteen minutes.” You tell him as he tucks his trembling hands into his pockets. “You’re not losing four years of sobriety because some prick tried to shoot you.”
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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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Like fuck he is just so hot
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I would give up so many things for hot men. You need my family to go. Thank god, I’ve always wanted to get rid of them. You need my friends to go. Can I keep my one. I only really want them. You need me to stay home and cook and clean. Alright do you mind if I take naps. Need me to wait on you hand and foot. Do you mind if I’m slow sometimes.
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Vincent Riley Reference sheet
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