#THE COP FALLS FOR A GANGSTER

[madeinchinataiwanhk-blbambeyond]

MCF: MADE IN TAIWAN

CHRIS WU

JAKE HSU

[schwarzeneggr]

I FEEL LIKE DYING

[lo1k-diamonds]

Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 1

“What is worth an innocent’s life? You decide.”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Yoongi has been in the police force for long enough to know that the system isn’t perfect, so when an injustice is about to put his protégé in jail, he has no other choice but to go to you. You’re the devil, but you’re hard to resist, and he needs to decide between falling into temptation or showing you that two can play the game.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: corruption, power dynamics, blackmail, threats w/ a knife, slight degradation, sexual favors, oral (f rec)

A.N. I'm soooo excited, this fic is 🔥 Infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for working through my crazy and being incredible! Enjoy 🔥🔥

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad | Next Chapter >

Yoongi huffed and threw his eyeglasses onto the keyboard, rubbing his eyes so roughly he saw lights. It was no use; no matter how much he went over the evidence, again and again, he couldn’t change it.

“Hyung.”

He uncovered his eyes, only to be met with Taehyung’s sadness. His shoulders sagged from the sleepless nights ever since Jimin had gotten arrested, with dark circles bringing even more desolation to his otherwise heavenly features. He knew it wasn’t Taehyung’s intention, but the sight only unnerved Yoongi even more.

“Go home, get some sleep.”

Taehyung flinched, “But—”

“That’s an order, Officer.”

Taehyung stiffened and instantly bowed and showed his respects to his Superintendent before turning and leaving. Only then did Yoongi heave a deep breath and observe around him. It was weird seeing his department at the police station empty, without the officers at their desks taking calls or doing paperwork while on one of their 24-hour shifts. But they had all been shaken up, and so he had sent them home.

He was proud of his Division, and as their Chief, he couldn’t be more certain of everyone’s conduct and character. This included Jimin’s, and it was the reason why he was losing his mind over this case.

No matter how much he reviewed the footage and evidence, there was no mistake — Officer Jimin had seemingly shot his partner dead during an arrest gone wrong. This was a natural conclusion, judging by the body camera of the now deceased cop, Officer Junghee, that had captured Jimin nearing him with a fuming pistol in his hand. One that matched the ballistics report on Yoongi’s desk.

This was why the prosecution wanted to charge him with manslaughter at the very least, but Yoongi could not be convinced. The body camera also captured the panic in Officer Jimin’s voice and expression as he tried to save his downed partner. Yoongi didn’t care if that was Jimin’s gun or if it was fuming in his hand — he didn’t believe it.

“It wasn’t me!” The words Jimin shouted as he was arrested conveyed an absolute world of hurt and combined with the shock in Jimin’s eyes was seared into Yoongi’s retinas, causing him to dig the heel of his hands into his eyes again. But no matter how much he attempted to change the image, it wouldn’t. Jimin, his protégé, was still being handcuffed and taken away while begging, “I didn’t, you have to believe me! He put it in my hands! Hyung!”

Yoongi nudged his eyeglasses off the keyboard, locked his computer, and grabbed his coat. On long nights like these, he didn’t bother staying in uniform, only wearing black pants with a white shirt and his badge and holster belt. He made his way outside and got into his car, acknowledging whoever he met along the way. Temperatures were freezing, and his car didn’t start immediately. He reached for his nicotine gum while he waited for the car to warm up. When it finally started, so did the 3 AM news on the radio right as he left the parking lot.

“In a shocking revelation, an officer from the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency shot his partner dead after pulling up to a suspicious vehicle in Dongjak District. The mounting evidence is undeniable, and the prosecution is discussing the potential penalty in such a case, with the spokesperson revealing in a press conference that while mistakes happen, justice needs to be served.”

Yoongi kept chewing and driving as the prosecutor’s voice echoed through the speakers. On the outside, Yoongi was the picture of calm, cool, and collected, but inside, he was fuming. He had spoken with the prosecutor many times, who preferred a clean-cut arrest to build his case to run for whatever political role he was after rather than fight for justice, as he claimed. Yoongi had always known that multiple interests abound in the justice system, but now he was starting to get pissed.

When he parked the car, he looked outside through the windshield, observing quietly as the people moved in and out of the Aether. The bouncers kept drunks at bay, and despite the booming music and the flashy lights, everything looked normal for a nightclub.

He removed his belt and badge, shoving them in the glove compartment so hard that something fell out. He reached to grab it from the floor, his frown instantly turning into a scowl. It was a photo of him hugging a woman, laughing, taken many years ago when they were still happy. When they were not even married yet, let alone divorced.

He got out of the car and ripped the photo into as many tiny pieces as possible, dropping the scraps in a trashcan along with his gum. Then he stopped in front of the bouncers with his hands in his pockets, saying six little special words.

“I want to see the boss.”

The first bouncer just scoffed a laugh and shook his head, but the second one eyed him from head to toe, “If you’re here to inspect, then you have to identify yourself first.”

“Not an inspection,” Yoongi said nonchalantly, glancing around. “It’s not an official visit.”

The smirking bouncer kept the flow of the people going in and out while the serious one, resembling the first almost to a T, pressed his earpiece further into his ear, waiting for orders. Yoongi had noticed the cameras already while he was walking up, and he wondered how long it would take for them to know exactly who he was and why he was there.

The serious bouncer moved closer to him, “Are you armed?”

“No.”

“I have to make sure.”

Yoongi glanced at him, then nodded, raising his hands as he let the man make sure he was unarmed. When the tall man rose from his knees after checking Yoongi’s ankles, he lowered his arms and waited for the goon to catch his breath.

“Alright, you can go in.”

He moved past the bouncers and into the entryway, but he hadn’t even made it to the coat check when someone approached him. Just by the light clothing, styled hair, and badge hanging on his belt, Yoongi could immediately tell that the man worked there.

“Follow me.”

Yoongi wasn’t there to sightsee, but he could appreciate the columns and marble structures and statues. Along with the paintings, velvet curtains, and carpets, it made the Aether look like a temple or divine abode of the Gods. The aesthetic intensified as they went up the stairs, but he didn’t have time to register much. In a second, he was walking into what appeared like an ordinary office — a pleasant space with a large desk at the center in front of huge dark windows that showed the lights flashing from the dance floor. He ignored the liquor table, the cabinets with files, and the black velvet sofas to the side. What his eyes were immediately drawn to was you — you who had pushed the large computer screen to the side so you could watch him come in. Your chin rested graciously on your intertwined fingers, with your elbows on the desk, eyes flickering with amusement, watching him through dark curled lashes. He hadn’t even noticed he had walked to your desk or that the door had closed behind him, but then you stood up, letting your delicate arms fall alongside your tight black dress. Your black, straight hair slid over your shoulders, framing the plunging cleavage of your dress, and when you smiled, he felt hot—molten hot.

“Welcome, Superintendent,” you smiled with a glint of amusement, your perfect teeth shining in the overhead light, and he clenched his fists behind his back. “Or should I say Yoongi? I was told you weren’t here in an official capacity, but…” You eyed him from head to toe, and he did his best to stay poised and calm. “You don’t look like you’re here to club.”

Yoongi was already sweating, not out of nervousness but because of you. Because you always eyed him like you owned him, always had a hint of mischief to every smile, and were always as elusive as a ghost. One he couldn’t catch and had grown tired of running after.

Still, hearing his name in your mouth for the first time… made him pull on the collar of his shirt, “Not here to party; I’m here on business.”

Your eyebrow twitched, and he looked at you seriously; you were a cunning fox of the worst kind. Worse than a weed, than a pest, than the bloody smoke still hanging in the air and making his fingers twitch. He had a simple goal, and he had to stay focused.

“Not an official visit, but you’re here on business…” you mused out loud then shrugged. “Soon, it will be four in the morning,” you revealed with a hint of disdain as you neared the table that held liquor in crystal decanters. “Surely, if you wanted to do something official, you’d wait at least three more hours?” You chuckled as you poured a finger of whiskey into a glass. “Want some?” He shook his head, and you shrugged again. You made your way back to your desk, but instead of going around it, you perched on the side of it, close enough for him to see your dress parting, giving hints of your upper thighs, “What can I do for you, Chief?”

Yoongi had nerves of steel; he ignored the lush skin of your thighs, the cleavage, the numbing sound reverberating through the walls, the dimmed lights, and the way your eyes seemed to challenge him with every blink.

He focused, “I want your help.”

Your eyes widened comically, the image of innocence and confusion, “Mine? What could such a powerful person need from me?”

Thankfully, your coy attitude irritated him and helped him concentrate. “I know the suspicious car they were chasing was one of yours.”

Your eyes widened even more, but this time, you brought your glass to your lips to hide a smile, “My, my, Officer. I know I have many cars, but to say I was a fugitive—”

“You know what I mean,” his jaw clenched, and you licked your lips.

“I don’t,” you could only smile, and he clenched his fists again. There it was. It pissed the fuck out of him. “Are you going to arrest me, Chief? Make good use of those deduction skills of yours and put pretty handcuffs around my wrists?”

He hated that his heart jumped in his chest as you whispered salaciously and leaned into him, shortening the distance between you. He hated how tempting you looked, and he hated the way your eyes fixed on his, as if you were ready to follow suit with your provocation. You were probably a tease like that with everyone all the time. It pissed him off even more.

He only blinked, ever the master of showing a relaxed demeanor, “I have no evidence to arrest you, nor am I here in that capacity.” 

It instantly hit him, as you straightened your back and finished the drink in your hand, that he was going to have to ask for your help. Not outsmart you, not convince you, not squabble with half facts and hunches — he needed your help and that meant he had to come down off his pedestal.

“My— An officer from my team will be sentenced for something he didn’t do. I’m out of options; I’ve hit a dead-end.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you put down the empty glass, “Don’t tell me — the system he holds and protects with his life won’t even try to prove his innocence.”

His jaw clenched; he hated that you weren’t completely wrong. “I’m trying to prove his innocence.”

The corners of your mouth twitched in a smile. “What makes you think I can help?”

He kept his mouth closed for a thoughtful moment. There was no use in accusing you again. Your smile wasn’t sly, so he decided to go for it. “You’re one of the biggest players.”

“Me?” You acted surprised, “I just own a few businesses here and there…”

“They say you’re the one to contact for information.” You tilted your head, and he insisted, “Even if that wasn’t your car, you’d know about it because it was on your turf. You’re you. I just know you know something that can help us solve this.”

That answer seemed to satisfy you because your lips and eyes revealed a small yet genuine smile that caught his breath. It made him realize he was leaning towards you now, exposing himself like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. Not when you looked at him like that, feeding into his hope.

“Say I do,” you started, eyes fixed on his. “Say I have evidence that could exonerate Officer Park.” He snapped straight; he had never told you the name of the Officer, and the media didn’t know it either. Yet what got him were your words, “Why would I help you?”

He clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth clicked. He just about growled with the way irritation mixed with his desperation, making him reel.

“Come on, Chief. Talk to me,” you pressed, wanting him to push through both the shock and the stick up his ass. “You must be desperate enough if you’re asking for my help, and I’m not denying it. I’m saying I might have what you need. What would you do to save an innocent from prison for life or worse?”

He didn’t think, “You have it? Something that could undeniably prove his innocence?”

He knew before he was done asking that it was impossible and that he was acting crazy. Yet, you leaned into him, meeting him halfway, your breath hitting his chin, “In those exact words? I do.” You sat back and let your words sink in, not knowing they gave him a full-body shudder. He always knew you were powerful and had your ways, but holy shit— “What do you have that I want?”

He opened his mouth but instantly closed it. Objectively, he had nothing. But maybe there was something he could do. First, though, he needed to know it was real. “What evidence do you have? Show it to me—”

“Hmmm, no,” you pressed your lips and twisted your nose, displeased. “That’s not how this works. This is based on trust. Besides, you don’t seem to have anything to offer.”

For a split second, he wondered if you were bullshitting him, but he honestly didn’t care. He had to do something. “You want something concrete for a maybe?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” your tone hardened as your expression lost humor.

“Alright, name it. Tell me what is worth your help.”

His tone was soft, and it worked to soothe you. His dark eyes helped; there was so much willingness in them, and you liked that. The man there asking for your help to correct an injustice was the kind of man you were looking for.

“Since you asked,” you cheekily started, pulling your hair behind your shoulders. “I want three things.” He didn’t even blink, so you continued, “The first is a favor. Of my choice and at my discretion whenever I shall need it. The second is for you to get on your knees. And the third is for you to eat.”

He blinked, “What?” He looked down to follow your hands over your thighs, and you spread your legs for him, though the black dress covered between them. He shook his head in bewilderment, “You’re crazy!”

“Crazy?” You chuckled, “I think I’m being quite reasonable.”

“You— Do you hear what you’re asking?”

He sounded breathless and could feel the heat on his cheeks, which was not ideal. He almost managed to step back, but a quirk of your eyebrow kept him still — he needed that evidence.

“Oh my, Chief Min. Are you getting heated at the thought of a couple of favors?” He scoffed, and you continued your tease, “Or is it the knees? Too proud to beg?”

“No, not too proud,” he mumbled between teeth. He was ready to kneel on the floor and beg, and the heat rising in his neck told him the rest wasn’t a problem either. And that was the problem. “The favor—” He cleared his throat, scratching it, “What is the favor?”

“I don’t know yet,” you shrugged, and it seemed to him like it didn’t matter. He knew that couldn’t be true, that had to be what you were really after — something specific from the Superintendent of the Seoul Metropolitan Police. And yet your eyes were shining in such a way that he almost forgot who you were. Almost.

“Something illegal, no doubt.”

You sighed and he took the moment to let the anger cool him — you were a criminal about to use his good intentions to surely accomplish something even worse. Instead of cooling him, irritation made him snap his knuckles and shift on his feet.

“I don’t know what it is, but it shouldn’t matter,” you said more coldly, squinting your eyes. “What is worth an innocent’s life? You decide.”

There was a hint of impatience in your tone that only riled him up more. He turned to you, “What’s stopping me from just—”

“You’re not that stupid,” you interrupted, raising your chin. His eyes noticed the surveillance cameras and you smirked, “They’re not who you should be concerned about.”

Your smile was predatory but he scoffed. You didn’t need to threaten him, and he didn’t like the coercion. He refused to look at you for a moment, giving you the impression that he was weighing his options. In reality, he was figuring out what angered him more — the fact that he was about to make a deal with a devil like you, or that he was that turned on from it.

You huffed and got off the desk, your heels clicking on the floor like a timer had just gone off. “Never mind—”

He grabbed your arm to keep you from walking away, and in a second, something sharp was poking his lower stomach. You both froze in place, your gaze angry and fixed on his, while his heart raced inside his chest. He didn’t let go of your arm, and you didn’t lower your knife.

“I never heard a yes from those pretty lips, so…” you spoke quietly, then pressed the blade harder. “Hands off.”

He knew you could put your money where your mouth was, and that if you wanted to kill him and get rid of him, you would. Yet, his grip didn’t lessen as he observed you. He was still trying to figure things out — not what to do, but you. He hated you objectively; you represented everything wrong with the world. Jimin was innocent; you shouldn’t be bargaining for his life, you should do the right thing. But you weren’t, you wanted to play with fire. Maybe even to get burned.

“What is it…” he started quietly, still eying your angry eyes. “Is it the risk? The humiliation? The footage for blackmailing me later? The power over a figure of authority?”

You scoffed, leaning in to answer just as quietly, “No risk, Chief. The footage might be insurance, but you’re a man of your word. No power over you because you’ll be doing it willingly. And no humiliation,” you chuckled. “It’s a privilege to eat at this table. Although…” You looked down, then smirked. “I can play if that’s what you like.”

He looked away from your eyes for the first time and almost flinched; his pants had a tent. He couldn’t even think; why was his body betraying him like this? He tried pulling away and letting you go, but you pressed the tip of your knife harder.

“Nuh-uh,” you whispered, taking a deep breath a little closer to his neck. “I heard the missus left cause you couldn’t get it up, but won’t you look at that—” Your tone was sly, and he gripped your arm harder in retaliation. You laughed, “I guess she just didn’t know how to play. Or maybe you like this,” your voice lowered wantonly, and a shiver ran up his spine as though he was starting to attune to it. “Like not having a choice, to be in danger, to be forced to do something reprehensible.”

He had to lick his lips because for a second he thought he was drooling, “I have a choice.”

You smiled and his cock twitched, “Then choose.”

He eyed your smile and leaned into you, but you chuckled and playfully pressed the tip of the knife to impose distance, ignoring the red droplets tainting the fabric.

“On your knees, Chief.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and he pulled you by the arm, disregarding the blade, so you’d walk back until the back of your thighs hit the desk. Then, he gripped your hips and helped you on the desk, fisting your dress in the same movement to get it out of the way as he kneeled between your legs. Your knife had slipped from your hand as you rested them on the desk for support, and you didn’t think to pick it back up. You wanted him to eat you and mean it, but he was going above and beyond — nuzzling your thighs and inhaling your scent, frantically fighting with your dress, and trying to pry your legs further apart so he could have access.

When his nose poked your clit, you jumped in place, and his fingers dug into your hips, even through the fabric of the dress. Just looking at the way he was fighting to get his mouth on you was positively melting you, but you wanted it to actually happen.

“Slide them down,” you breathed after he nuzzled and licked your core through your panties enough times to cover you with goosebumps.

He immediately obliged, and you shimmied to help him get rid of them. He threw them on the floor, then gripped your legs apart before giving you a look that seared you in place. You didn’t know what it was, but you were living for it, and the excitement burned your gut. The Superintendent looked like a piece of forbidden heaven between your thighs; who knew he’d have you melting like this just at the hint of doing what you asked?

A smirk spread on your lips as he kept struggling with your dress, until suddenly — rip. He bunched the fabric and pulled it, causing the slit that revealed your thigh to rip, and you chuckled. You liked that energy, that hunger; the way he was willing to destroy to have his way. Instantly, he had free leeway to uncover your core and press his mouth, rolling his tongue all over your slick folds.

You jolted with a sigh, gripping his hair at the back of his head. The more he laved his tongue over your slit to taste you, the more you had the urge to move, but you stayed still. With your eyes closed, you enjoyed every second of his discovery, from his licks to his tasting and humming. You heaved the breath you were holding when he nibbled your heat right before finding your clit to suckle, and your voice finally came out. You could almost laugh at how easily he had found his way, but your mind wasn’t there. While he found his rhythm, you guided him with expressive sighs, grazing your acrylic nails over his scalp without ever forcing him. You wouldn’t; his hunger was part of the power trip. Chief Min would eat you, give you what you wanted, and service you because you had that much power. You could bring someone like him to his knees. He liked it.

You suddenly pulled on his hair so he’d look up at you, and he did, not even bothering with a quizzical look. You bit your lip to stop a smile and relented your grip, and he looked down for a second. It was all it took for him to get back to it, and you let your head fall back with a sigh — case in point.

“The things you do for duty, Chief…”

His tongue kept laving over you as if you were desert, focused, regardless of your taunt. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten where he was or why because his hands started gently exploring your spread thighs. His fingers pressed to your curves and didn’t stop even when he felt the garter that held the knife you had used on him. Instead, he pulled on it, making it snap against your thigh, ripping a stronger moan from you. 

It was then he realized you needed something stronger, so he pressed his face harder against your cunt, latched onto your clit, and started rutting into you. You were surprised but instantly melted, and your fingers curved around his hair. The grind of his lips pressing into you while his mouth held the suction was already maddening, but the thrumming of his tongue on your clit was the cherry on top. You didn’t have time to make it a challenge, or maybe you didn’t want to; his rhythm was perfect against your heat, and you moaned when it intensified. The strumming was precise and maddening, each tap firm and steady, giving you enough time to despair for the next one and moan when it came, leaving you to anticipate what would come next. 

Your hips started moving on their own, and that was when you knew you had let go. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t doing it just like you wanted, or that you weren’t rolling into his face to feel him harder, forcing him to dig his long fingers into the flesh of your hips as he drank the slick melting out of you. The very sounds of his humming and licking drove the blood to your cheeks and emboldened your hips, messily humping against his mouth. You could feel the edge right before you, and every time you ground on his mouth, you thought that would be it.

“Fuck,” you groaned between teeth, looking down to find burning brown eyes drinking you more greedily than his hot mouth. He wasn’t stopping you or holding you back, he was letting you fuck his mouth however you wanted, and it popped you. 

You let your head fall back and pressed his face to your cunt, your moans pitching higher when he sucked harder, as if to pull all the pleasure out of you like it was venom. He rode your climax with you, gripping your trembling legs around him as though he wished you’d smother him, and finally, you looked down. Your walls were still throbbing in the aftershocks when he dragged his tongue across you slowly, and you groaned through a smirk, then pulled him away by the hair.

“Easy there,” you smiled and let your legs down.

You quickly pulled your dress down to cover you again while your other hand raked through your long hair, putting it in place. He rose slowly to his feet with his eyes on you, and you didn’t even try hiding your heaving chest; he could see it well with such an observant gaze. His eyes were so intense that you shuddered and bit your lip, but avoiding them only landed your own on his evident arousal, and you smirked.

Looking up, for a moment, your taunt got caught in your throat. Min Yoongi looked the absolute best covered in your cum from nose to chin — deliciously ravenous.

You licked your lips, raising your hand to his face but stopping before you touched him. He mimicked you, his pink tongue collecting your slick over his lips while he focused on yours. Still, when your hand moved down, so did his eyes. You smirked, dodging his erection at the last second to hide your hand under your dress.

You hummed, closing your eyes as your fingers collected your wetness mixed with his saliva, and then brought them straight to your mouth. You licked them first, tasting what he did before putting them in your mouth and sucking. 

You clenched, knitting your eyebrows as you realized how turned on you were. You were throbbing and craving something to push into you and fuck you senseless, and opening your eyes, you saw the same urge staring right back at you.

Your fingers left your mouth with a pop, and then you smiled, shaking your head, “Should have asked for a good fuck too.”

His dark eyes stayed on yours for a moment, and even when he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, they remained on yours. It was almost a taunt, and you grinned; you loved a good challenge, and even more the kind of fucking that lustful gaze promised. But you knew the worth of asking, and you were not going to come out losing.

“Maybe next time.”

[justmeinadaze]

Little Girl Gone Part 6 (Steddie X You)

A/N: Ok, I forgoed the heavy cliffhanger I wanted to end it on but still have one none the less so don't get too cocky! Lol <3.

Warnings: Dom Officer Harrington/Gangster Munson & Sub Doctor Fem Reader, no smut today, lads!

Lots of angst! Eddie was arrested and Y/N gets interrogated. Mentions of deaths involving gunshots, child abuse from Eddie's father mentioned, Eddie hurt pretty bad in this (black eye, bruises, and burns) but not mentioned in in-depth detail. Reader is attacked by someone in her apartment but is rescued.

Word Count: 4271

Series here/ Donate to my Ko-Fi

Falling out the side building, Steve looked around jumping to the ground and reached up for you to do the same. Taking your hand, you both ran to your car and he opened the door for you ushering you in. 

After speeding away, he paused on the side of the road to catch his bearings and check his phone. 

“Shit. They called me like 10 times. FUCK!”, he growls as he slams his hands on the steering wheel. “I could have warned him. I could’ve—”

“Steve, this isn’t your fault; it’s Gabe’s.”, you try to soothe as you rub his back. 

“I need to see what they know and where they are putting him for the time being. Just go home and wait there, ok?”

“What if the cops come?”

The officer sighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“If they do, just remember what we taught you.” As you nod, he hastily leans down and kisses your lips. “Everything will be ok, honey.”

***

Two hours later, the cops did come for you insisting it was just to talk; not even putting handcuffs on you as you rode in the police cruiser to the station. Leading you to an integration room, you waited another thirty minutes before Steve and the detective you had seen him with before open the door. 

“Hey Y/N. It’s good to see you again. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m—”

“Detective Hopper…and this is Officer Harrington. I remember you two.”

“Good. Very good.”, he grins warmly. “Is there anything you need before we begin?”

“Begin what exactly? I was told I’m not under arrest so what AM I here for?”

“Huh. So you haven’t heard Eddie Munson was arrested this morning?”

“What? No, I hadn’t. You people woke me up to come here! Why did you arrest him?! He hasn’t done anything wrong!” Your eyes narrowed as you faked shock. 

“Calm down, Miss Y/L/N. We’re just asking questions, ok?”, Steve sighed your way with annoyance laced in his tone. “You are dating a gangster.”

“I’m dating a businessman. He’s not the monster you people make him out to be. And it’s DOCTOR Y/L/N, asshole.”

“Well, if I may doctor, do you know this man here?”

Detective Hopper slides an image of your ex across the table towards you. 

“Yeah, I mean that’s my ex from college Gabriel Wiley but I haven’t seen him sense he went in almost three years ago. Why and what does this have to do with Eddie?”

“It seems he had some information in regard to your boyfriend that could put him away for a long time.”

“I hope you didn’t take him seriously because Gabe was a notorious liar.”

“Hm, well unfortunately we’ll never find that out from him or anything else he wanted to tell us.” 

While waiting for him to continue your eyes flick towards Steve whose features seem to paint more than just worry along his face. He knows something but he hasn’t been able to tell you or Eddie yet. Sliding another picture your way, your eyes widen as you gasp. 

“He was murdered sometime last night.”

A commotion suddenly erupts outside with officers shouting for backup. The door to your room flies open as the gangster quickly slides to your side and grabs your hand. 

“Listen to me, Y/N. Don’t listen to a thing they say, alright? I didn’t kill him. I swear on my mother, sweetheart. I’d never hurt you like that!” As Eddie’s pleas tumble out, policemen tackle him and force the cuffs onto him again as they begin to drag him back out into the lobby. “I didn’t kill him, Y/N! Please! Believe me! I didn’t do this!”

Glancing towards Steve again, you notice he’s wearing that sarcastic smirk you had seen many times but it didn’t match the frightened look that reflected back in his own eyes. It was taking everything in him to be calm and appear unphased as his world fell apart. 

“Don’t tell me you really think he killed Gabe?  Edward Munson isn’t capable of murder.”, you growled. “Plus, we were together last night.”

“Doing what?”

“Take a guess.”, you spit.

“Control your tone, little girl.”, Steve sasses making the other officer roll his eyes. 

“Harrington, calm down. Miss—Dr. Y/L/N—we’re still doing an autopsy to find out when Mr. Wiley was murdered but at this time we have to ask, you don’t think he’d kill him out of jealousy? I mean this is your ex threatening to expose him. Of course, he’d—”

“Of course…because he comes from a crime ridden family my boyfriend would HAVE to have it in him to hurt someone like that, right? Eddie isn’t like his father. Plus, something like this doesn’t reflect a crime of passion.”

“What do you mean?”

Again, your eyes shift towards Steve who now genuinely seems to be interested in your theory. 

“Gabe was shot in the head from what I see here. It’s too clean…as if someone wanted to just do this job quick and get it over with. If this WAS jealousy there would be more signs of trauma or he would have used a weapon more personal like a knife.”

“So, who else would want Mr. Wiley dead then?”

“You said he was going to sell out Eddie and you believe Eddie took over his father’s empire…” Steve stands up straighter at your implicated as the detective seems more confused making you huff. “Jesus and you’re a detective? It has to be someone who was trying to protect Allen.”

“Someone in his gang you think?”

“Well…only officers knew Gabe was going to make a statement right?”

Hopper’s eyes darken as he glares in your equally angry irises.

“That’s a big leap you’re making, Y/N.”

“Is it, Jim?”, you ask sarcastically squaring your shoulders. “I want Eddie out of here now.”

“Once we can confirm your alibi for him with the time of death and we finish searching his building he’s all yours. You may leave now.”

Gathering your things, you fume as you stomp out of the interrogation room and head for your car. Purposely leaving something behind, you wait in your vehicle until Steve finally runs out with your phone in his hand. 

“You did so fucking good, honey. Are you ok? I’m sorry. They just told me about Gabe before we walked into the room.”

“I know. I know. I trust you. We need to get Eddie out of there, Steve. He’s not safe.”

“I’m doing everything I can to hurry these results. Thankfully, he was able to get a message to Jeff and the guys were able to hide all the supplies so they haven’t found anything nor will they.”

“Do you have any idea who would kill Gabe to silence him?”

“No and I feel like a fucking idiot for not thinking of that. I can’t be the only dirty cop right?”

“Sweetheart, you protect him and me, not every criminal in Hawkins.”, you try to sooth as you lightly touch his hand that was resting on your car. 

“I’m going to focus on getting him out. Go back to your apartment and hopefully the next time I see you…he’ll be with me.”

##############

18 hours. 

18 long arduous hours past and you still hadn’t heard anything. You called into work siting illness and left one of your nurses in charge. You barely sat down for a moment, refusing to sleep as you paced. 

When someone knocked on your door, you didn’t even hesitate as you ran to open it. 

“Oh. Hi. Um, can I help you?”, you asked to the stranger in front of you. 

“Yes, are you Y/N? Steve said I should wait here.”

“May I ask who you are?”

“I’m Wayne, Eddie’s uncle.”, he announced as he walked past you and took a seat on your sofa. “Fucking Allen. I tried to go to the police station to raise hell but they wouldn’t let my nephew go. I went to the prison to try and talk to him but his father spoke to me instead. Said that Eddie was ‘indisposed’.” At his words, your eyes widened in fear as you ran towards your phone. “Steve said the results came in so he’s bringing him here soon.”

“O-Ok.”, you stutter as you sit beside him before immediately rising to your feet again. “W-Would you like anything? Any coffee or?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m fine. Thank you. It’s nice to finally meet you. He talks about you and Steve all the time. He calls you two his Paladin and his Princess.”, he chuckles making you smile. “I’m glad he’s happy. After everything that boy has been through he deserves it.”

Your front door abruptly opens with Jeff and Steve carrying an unconscious Eddie over each of their shoulders with Gareth trailing behind. Your doctor mode promptly kicked in as they placed him on your bed and you checked him over. 

“He passed out in the car. I’m surprised he was able to even fucking walk out of the station.”, the officer relayed with a shake in his tone. “I don’t know what they did to him but…”

“I imagine it was Allen. If your theory about an officer is correct, that same officer could have told him that he hadn’t followed through with killing the ex. This would be punishment.”, Wayne responded as he watched you work. 

“It’s Eddie’s gang. He can do what he wants.”, Garth growled. 

“Not to Allen, son.”

“Eddie, baby. Can you open your eyes and look at me?”, you asked in a stern but comforting voice as you caressed his cheek. He was littered in bruises especially along his stomach and face. His eye was beginning to swell and his nose had dried blood underneath it staining his skin. What killed you the most where what looked like cigarette burns on his arms. “Jeff, in my kitchen under the cabinet I have a first aid kit with some burn cream and bandages meant for burns. Can you bring that to me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I brought this from my apartment. I didn’t know if…” Steve hands you the medicine you prescribed him for his own bruises making you smile up at him as you kiss his hand. 

“I don’t think anything’s broken but—”

“Can you boys go back to his building and assess what the police did? If anything is out of place or missing let Steve or myself know. Please be careful. If this is a cops doing…” Both men nod as they run off to do what Wayne commanded. Pulling the officer aside, they whisper to each other as you focus. “What did you find out?”

“Gabe reached out to the station from a hotel outside of town. One officer answered and two others went to pick him up. They were the ones who reported his body. Eddie’s guy dropped him off at 1am, he texted her at 3am… his time of death was estimated between 3 and 3:30.” As he said his last sentence, Steve’s eyes locked with your own. 

You ex most likely texted you believing that someone was there to protect him before being murdered. You were the last person to hear from him. At the time they knew you wouldn’t but Eddie had offered to drive you to where he was. If for some reason you said you wanted to be with Gabe instead of them, you would most likely be dead to.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

You nod as you turn away and place an ice pack on the gangsters abs. 

“I’m going to do some research on those cops. When did they report the ex’s body?”

“Around 5. They left the station around 4.”

“Ok…I’ll still do a check but…I’ll be back. Keep me updated, Steven.”

The officer nodded after him as Wayne left the apartment and grabbed one of your dining room chairs so he could sit near you both but not be in the way. 

“What does he do; Eddie’s uncle?”, you mumble. 

“He used to be a manager at one of the plants over here. Did that till Ed graduated. After, he got into private eye work helping families reconnect and shit like that. He’s actually really good at it.”, he smirks as his sad eyes watch you finish taping his partner’s arm. “Is he gonna be ok?”

“I think so. It seems like his dad…wanted to torture him…more than kill him.” As you begin to sob, Steve collects you in his arms and places you on his lap. “I don’t understand how a parent could do something like this.”

“Because Allen isn’t a parent; never fucking was. The Munson’s in those early years were extremely ruthless and vindictive. He killed for pleasure and ran his side of town like a fucking dictator. He was the same way with Eddie. From what he told me anyway. Abandoning him with Wayne was the best thing that asshole ever did for him.”

While Steve passed out beside him holding the gangster’s hand, you stayed awake constantly checking on his progress and making sure he was still breathing. Not being able to keep your eyes open any longer, you fell asleep in the chair beside him with your head against the mattress. 

***

Waking up with a start, you gasped before calming yourself when you realized everything was alright, it had just begun to lightly rain outside. Steve was gone but left a note by your hand saying he left to go meet Wayne and get some more details but he’d be back in a few hours. 

After quickly checking over Eddie, you headed down your hall towards your kitchen to get some water but as soon as you crossed the threshold of the hallway something hard collided with your face. Falling to the floor, you try to collect yourself but whoever hit you was faster, pinning you to the ground and wrapping their hands around your neck.

You tried to scream but you couldn’t breathe as you slowly began losing air. The world around you began to go dark and you knew soon you’d be gone. 

The person above you abruptly howled in pain, falling to his side as you rolled over and coughed trying to collect as much oxygen as you could. You heard the struggle behind you before silence suddenly fell over the room. When a bloody hand touched your hip, you begin to limply fight back.

“It’s me. It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me. Are you ok?”, Eddie asked as crawled closer to you. 

A broken cry escaped you as you circled your arms around his neck and he clung you tightly to his chest. The door to your apartment quietly opened but as the officer came around the corner he was anything but.

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck happened? Are you two alright?!”, Steve asked as he skidded to his knees and Wayne turned on the lights. 

When he tried to touch you to check on you, you didn’t even look his way as you held on to the gangster tighter and buried your face in the nook of his neck. Eddie could feel your hands and body still shaking and it killed him. 

“It looks like we were right, Steven.”, Eddie’s uncle sighs as he pulls his nephew’s knife out of the other officer’s back. “Officer Douglas…I guess he came here to finish Gabe’s job. He’s still alive. Was there anything else you wanted to get out of him or can we do this quickly and cleanly?”

“Leave him there.”, Eddie answered for him flatly as he placed his palm against the back of your head, petting your hair tenderly.”

“Edward, this is a cop. Are you sure you want to—”

“LEAVE HIM THERE!” Steve jumped at his loud growl, never hearing this particular tone before from the man he loved.

Giving him a final nod, Wayne patted the other man’s shoulder comfortingly before heading out the door and leaving you three alone. Unsure of what to do next, Steve kicked into the only other gear he knew, grabbing another one of your chairs from the dining room and dragging the knocked-out officer to it before tying his hands behind his back.

“Look at me, baby. Let me see you.”, Eddie cooed as his hands cupped your face and tilted your head back. You had a cut above your eye that was beginning to swell and purple bruises were starting to form around your neck from where the man had choked you. “Do you think can stand so we can sit on the couch?”, he whispered.

Without waiting for an answer, Steve bent down and lifted you into his arms, placing you on the sofa before coming back to take Eddie’s hand and guiding him to sit beside you. You both listened as he headed towards your room and came back with the first aid materials he saw you use on his partner. 

While you watched the officer fumble with getting everything together, the gangster kept his eyes you, taking note of your silent but seemingly calm demeanor. Sitting on your coffee table, Steve cleaned your wound carefully trying not to cause you anymore pain. As he started tearing open the bandage, you reached out to stop him, lightly tapping his hand and pointing towards the gauze squares. 

When he finishes his task, he glances over at Eddie, silently asking if he needs any first aid but the man shakes his head. 

“I’ll keep an eye on him. You two go lay down.”

After rising to your feet, you took the gangster’s hand and slung his arm behind your neck as you guided him back your bedroom. As you curled up in his side, his fingers absently played with your hair as he glared up at the ceiling. Not being able to control it, you began to cry again as he held you tighter to his body. 

“Whenever my dad would scream and yell at men in our house, my mom used to hold me by her side just like this.  After she died, he started screaming at me.  I could never do anything right and he accused me constantly of being weak like her.” 

You didn’t move or acknowledge you were listening but he knew you were, turning his head till his check rested on your forehead.

“That last year was the worst… he needed to get through to me, he said. He hired some of his goons to jump me when I was walking home from school to beat the shit out of me. When I was 12, Wayne said he wouldn’t tolerate this anymore. ‘Give me Eddie and I’ll take care of him.’ My dad dropped me off three hours later… I told myself when I took over that I would never treat any of my men the way he treated me and I don’t. He still has people though that are loyal to the ‘original true Munson’. They helped him carry out this particular punishment.”

As he murmured his last couple of words, you pushed up on your elbow to look at his face and his sad, heavy eyes met yours. 

“I think it’s my turn to punish Allen… starting with that fucker out there…”

There was a darkness that clouded his eyes then. Something you had never seen before, rattling you slightly as you blinked and laid your head back down against his chest. 

###############

That morning when you woke up, you were alone but you could hear their voices as they spoke in your living room. 

“How many more cops work for Allen?”, Steve asked angerly to the man tied to the chair. 

“You know, Harrington, I never would have taken you for dirty. You could have been making way more money if you picked the right Munson.”

Ringed fingers grabbed the other officer’s throat violently as Eddie pressed his nose to his own. 

“You attacked and almost killed someone important to us. No matter what you aren’t going to leave this building alive but you’re the one that gets to choose if it’s quick or a slow, agonizing, painful death. Be lucky you’re getting the fucking option.”, he spat he let the man go and punched him hard in the stomach. 

“What does it…matter…freak?”, Officer Douglas coughed. “Your father has allies everywhere. That bitch was marked for death and it will happen. Wait until he finds out you’re fucking a cop to. He’ll probably follow through with finally killing your ass!”

“Did you kill Gabe?”, you asked as all heads shift your way.

“Fuck you.”, he cursed causing Steve to punch his face, spraying blood on the floor.

“She asked you something. Fucking answer.”

The other man chuckled as he threw his head back to glare your way. 

“Yeah, I killed him. I’d like to tell you he went out like a man but little shit cried begging, fucking BEGGING, for us to spare you. ‘Please! Please! She’s a good woman! Leave her be! Wa-wa.’”

You have no idea what came over you but you flew towards him, swiftly taking Eddie’s knife in your hand, and pointing it at the man’s throat. 

“You won’t do it, little girl.”

“Oh yeah? You killed someone I cared about, tried to kill me, and then you and your little fake gang of nostalgic assholes hurt one of the men I love. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re weak. Just. Like. Them.”, he grumbled sassily.

Who you were and you were becoming began fighting within your brain as the knife began to quiver in your grasp. You wanted nothing more than to hurt this man like he had you but you were scared. A steady breath warmed the back of your neck as Eddie’s palm slid down your arm and he wrapped his own hand around yours holding the weapon. 

“Don’t think about it. If you think about it, you’ll talk yourself out of it.”, he whispered. 

“Eddie—”

“Shut the fuck up Steve.”, the gangster growled as his other arm wrapped around your stomach and pressed your back against him. “You can do it, pretty girl. You aren’t weak are you?”

“No.”

“Louder.”

“No, sir. I’m NOT weak.”

“Then do it, princess. Do you think he was going to show you any mercy when he had his hands around your throat? No. He was going to fucking kill you. Return the favor.”

Before you could do anything, a loud bang from Steve’s gun filled your ears as they began to ring and Eddie lightly pushed you away from him, taking his knife from your grasp. 

“I know you’re hurting and these last few days have been rough but that does not give you license to play with her like that.”, Steve sneered in anger towards his partner. “If she wants to kill someone, that’s up to her. If she wanted to kill him, I would have let her but what you just did…trying to force her…”

“I wasn’t forcing her. I was encouraging.”

“Bullshit.”

“She needs to become stronger for what’s in store, Steven. More people are going to come after her until it gets through to Allen that I’M in charge. I know the line has been blurred because of our relationship but let me remind me of something, babe. I’m the gangster and I run a business. Jason was smart enough to back away but my father isn’t and it’s my turn to teach him a lesson. ANYONE who is loyal to that man will be put down. I’m done playing nice guy.”

“Edward Munson—”

“What, Steven Harrington? Are you going to throw me in jail and turn yourself in? Yeah, now we know what your police force does with people like that so give it a go.” The officer cocks his gun again and points the barrel towards his boyfriend’s head. “What are you going to do, sweetheart, huh? You’re gonna kill me?”

Tears stung Steve’s eyes as his hand began to shake.

“Please, honey, don’t do this. If you do, I’m going to lose you anyway because Allen will kill you.”

Standing up straighter, Eddie, pressed his forehead further into the weapon as if to challenge him. 

“So be it.”

Another gun cocking echoed through the apartment as you held it up towards the officer in front of you.

“Drop it, Steve.”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.”

“Now, Steven, or I swear to God…”

Feeling defeated, the officer lowered his weapon and tucked it back into his holster as you turned your own on the gangster himself.

“I understand why you feel like you need to this and I’m not going to try to stop you but you need to heal and you need to be smart about this.”

“I don’t need to be anything, little girl. I already told you that neither of you have a say in what I do and this will not stand.”

Growling low in your throat, you place the gun on the counter.

“And I already told you that I’m involved whether you like it or not. Someone just tried to kill me again but this time they almost succeeded. Now, you will get back in bed and rest while Steve cleans up the mess here. Do I make myself clear, little boy?”

Steve’s eyebrow quirks as Eddie’s eyes darken further.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.” Matching his stance, your chest comes level with his as your glare up at him. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

###############

@5tud10-54r4h @munsonzgf @eddiesguitarskills @supraveng

@lilaclazer @ima1986 @micheledawn1975 @foreverminliv @corkadymu

@lemme-slytherin-that-dick @joannamuns9n @dashingdeb16 @sashaphantomhive @corrodedcoffincumslut @aactuaaltraash @nailbatanddungeon 

[brokenpieces-72]

Going Dark

COD Gangster AU

Navigation

Kate had met with her friend, Charlotte at the gathering. Her hope was to exchange what information she could with her while having another ear close by.

When Makarov gave his speech she’d gotten a text from Price.

“141 going Dark.”

Kate didn’t have time to try and help Farah, and there was too much risk in doing so. At least Alex had tried. Her main priority was you and getting you to safety. As soon as Charly noticed the text she left to get the car.

You sat in the backseat furiously texting Kyle and Johnny, praying for a response. You keep trying to refresh the messages, seeing how long it’s been since sending them.

“Ya alright back there love?” Charlotte asks from the front seat. Laswell is staring out the window, lost in thought in between text messages. You look up from your phone, and meet Charlotte’s eyes in the rear view mirror. You nod.

“Y-yeah. Fine.” You say, finally setting your phone screen down. Then you pick it up again and text Graves.

“What happened?! What did you do?!”

He texts back right away.

“Exactly as you told me to. We got em kid.”

You try to ask him what he means but your text won’t go through. He’s blocked your number.

Charlotte pulled into a parking lot and exits the vehicle with Laswell. While Laswell made her way to the old hotel building Charlotte opened the door for you, offering a hand. After everything you welcome the comfort of physical touch. Charlotte escorts you inside and you make your way up a few flights until you reach the honeymoon suite. Laswell knocks on the door.

“Watcher-1.” Laswell says, and the door opens. You go in with them and looks around eyes wide.

Alejandro is pacing, bruises blotting his face and arms. Simon is helping Rudy who is laying on ratty couch, getting makeshift stitches. Kyle and Soap are bandaging themselves, with a nasty wound on Soap’s arm and Kyle’s arm caked in blood. Price closes the door behind you.

“You said Graves would help.” He comments before anyone can say anything else. You go very very quiet. Price is staring you down. His face is blank but one word will change that. You don’t know what to say to him. Graves had fucked them over but surely something else was going on.

“I dont know what happened.” You say quickly.

Price shakes his head and steps further into the room while all you can do is stand there, frozen in place. You shouldn’t have told Graves, you shouldn’t have tried to help. Price doesn’t say anything and yet it feels like he’s saying everything. You just want it out.

“I don’t know what happened!” You repeat turning to look at Price.

“You told Graves. That’s what happened! Graves is not your father, he can’t do what he did!” Price tells you. Laswell tries stepping in and he raises a finger to stop her.

“No. Don’t defend them. They messed up, they take the fall.”

“I was trying to help!” You argue. “That’s all I’ve been doing!”

“You took a risk that was never your decision.”

“I got the cops involved so that something could actually be done, people could be put behind bars!”

“You’re not your father!” Price shouts. The entire room goes silent. You don’t have anything to say to that. The others don’t say anything either. No one defends you. No one argues with Price.

Then you notice red and blue lights. Your eyes widen. How could this get any worse? Graves was about to show you. Price looks at Kate and Charlotte who leave the room. The last thing Price wants is for the two of them to get into shit and lose their positions as high as they are. Alejandro curses in Spanish seeing the place is surrounded. There was no way out, but the cops weren’t looking for Charlotte and Laswell.

“Go with them.” Price orders you.

“I’m staying.” You say. You look at Soap and Gaz who look away to finish up their bandages. You know you’ve screwed up. Time to pay the price. Except you pay for it in a whole new way.

Graves opens the door and sees you. He looks relieved.

“Officer l/n. Well done.” He says approvingly. “You’re all under arrest.”

“Graves what the fuck?!” Soap barks, getting to his feet. You see more cops shuffling in behind Graves. You get between Graves and Soap.

“Soap leave it!” You tell him.

“You have some nerve Graves.” Price says.

Alejandro says something in Spanish again, as an officer approaches each one of your friends. Simon doesn’t put up a fight. He knows there’s risk in fighting back when they’re all injured, and while they had weapons, there didn’t need to be more blood shed.

“You did really good kid. Your dad would be proud.” Graves said patting you on the shoulder, raising his voice a little so everyone in the room can hear.

“What?” You ask.

“Seriously I don’t think even your dad could pull an undercover case like so well. Impressive.” Graves continues.

Soap looks at you with a look of anger and betrayal.

“You little shit.” Johnny says, looking you dead in the eyes. No. There was no way. What the fuck. You don’t know what to say. Before Johnny can do anything, he’s pinned to the closest wall and put in handcuffs. Kyle raises his hands, and Rudolfo is helped up. Alejandro is ignoring the Miranda rights and continuing to tell them off in Spanish. All you can do is stand there with Graves gently nudging you around so everyone can be escorted out. You stare at the ground unable to face anyone. You don’t know how to feel. You’re upset your friends are being arrested, you’re worried about what will happen to them, you’re pissed at Graves for what ever shit he was pulling, and… you were scared. Once everyone is outside, it’s just you and Graves.

He shuts the door instructing his officers to wait downstairs.

“What the fuck.” You say turning and facing him. Graves looks back at you with a stern expression.

“You did it kid good job.” He says.

“I didn’t do shit! You! This was all you!” You shout.

“Listen to m-“

“No! I’m done. I resigned! I left the force because I finally found something worth doing and the one second I trust you, you turn around a pull this shit!”

“I am trying to hel-“

“No! No you didn’t. If anything you’ve done the exact opposite of what I wanted. I’m not a cop, and I’m not my father! You fucked up and now you’ve pinned it on me.” You say and you leave the room slamming the door closed.

Once you get outside you catch sight of Price before the door is closed on him. It’s a look that haunts you, and is unreadable. A couple of officers come over to congratulate you on an excellent con. You shove past them and leave the scene. You don’t want to be there anymore. You just want to go home. Except you can’t go home. Your home just got piled into cars and taken to the police station.

So you return to your old apartment. You sit on the couch after getting yourself a beer. You don’t know what to do now. You’re pissed off and afraid. But you know there isn’t much you can do.

“You’re not your father.” Those words sting all night.

Graves returns to the police station where he sees a pleased Makarov. He gives a smug look to Makarov striding over to stand next to him.

“Officer Graves. Well done.” Makarov says with praise.

“Wish I could take the glory, but not me.” Graves says watching the 141 be taken to the holding cells. Makarov glances at Graves.

“Unfortunately we lost a few good officers thanks to undercover work… but I don’t think I need to tell you that.” Graves says giving Makarov a friendly nudge, before checking his watch.

“I better get going. I haven’t eaten anything all night, need to run a couple errands.”

“Who is responsible for bringing them in?” Makarov asks.

“Heh, believe it or not, the officer who resigned. Kid can do a long con.” Graves says, before leaving the station. Makarov looks toward the holding cells. A bit of time and it would hardly be an issue. This kid would certainly be an issue, but something to worry about later.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @tai-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666

[howtofightwrite]

Followup: Oragnized Crime Recruitment

The Godfather book and the Mafia games, specifically the first Mafia game, are the closest examples of what the Original Asker wants for his game. Goodfellas is another potential example to base the process of one's recruitment into the criminal underworld. In general, recruitment in fiction is generally based on doing jobs and earning a reputation as to one's success at doing jobs. In Goodfellas, Henry Hill started off doing simple, legal-ish errands for the local mafia before the gangsters saw his potential and entrusted him with more illegal jobs. Original Asker's character could therefore be someone who is affiliated with a mobster, but not part of the inner circle until the character pulls off jobs which makes them someone worth recruiting to the organization. Or one could go the Tommy Angelo route and save a mobster's life. -ironwoodatl01

So, it's worth remembering that Goodfellas is (in broad strokes) non-fiction. Henry Hill was a real person. (1943-2012) He was an associate of the Lucchese family. There are some historical, “inaccuracies,” with the film. Though, his arrest in 1980 for narcotics, and turning state's witness is historically accurate, though the film skims over the part where he was ejected from the witness protection program in 1987. Goodfellas was adapted from Nicholas Pileggi's non-fiction book, Wiseguy. I haven't read the book, but it's plausible that some of the historical discrepancies may have come from the book.

In this case, the OP specifically wanted to avoid a background where someone grew up in the neighborhood. Which, I mean, that is their choice, but it is a very popular recruitment method, in part because it's very effective at screening out potential cops, or even recruiting potential tame cops down the line.

Ironically, thinking back now, Mafia, the original Saints Row, and Franklin's arc from GTA5 are all potential reference points for what the OP wanted, and thinking back on it now, they were asking for input on a game, rather than prose, so I should have factored that in with the original ask. The tricky thing about each of those examples is that they're dependent on a lot of very specific moving parts in their respective stories. (Though, to be fair, I barely remember the original Mafia.) None of them are strictly realistic, but they're all internally plausible, when you start factoring in the various character motivations at work.

For some reason, I'm reminded of the Thieves Guild recruitment in Skyrim, which is one of the goofiest criminal recruitments I've seen in a non-parody. Brynjolf grabs some random psychopath wandering through and says, “ah, yes, you must be a master of pickpocketing and interested in a life of crime.” Does it make any sense? Nope. Does it go a long way towards explaining why the Thieves Guild is falling apart? Yeah, kinda, when you think about it. Does the introduction work? For some players, yes.

If the player wants to get into a questline, the justification can be pretty flimsy and still work for that player. Usually we talk about suspension of disbelief like it's a universal constant, but it's individual per member of your audience. Normally, you want to do whatever you can to ensure the suspension of disbelief is as strong as possible. However, in a game, the player's own emotional investment can help shore up weak points.

I'm going to take a quote out of context (a little), but I'm reminded of a quote from Richard K. Morgan about Halo, “[it] is full of these bullshit archetypal characters and there's no real emotional effect.” And, while he was certainly dragged for that quote (and, really the entire interview, it was a mess), he wasn't wrong. The writing in Halo isn't what does the heavy lifting, a large part of that is the player's effort to get through the story. And, in basically any other medium, this would be an exceptionally bad thing.

You won't make your novel better by forcing your audience to complete reflex tests before they start each chapter.

But, with video games, the gameplay interludes, can actually build emotional investment for the player. Even on very flimsy premises.

I've often written about how writing in different mediums requires different approaches and has different strengths. If you want gorgeous combat, then live action or animation are the best forms for you story. If you want visually striking images that linger, comics might be the right choice. If you really want to get into a character's head and live there, prose will let you do that with a level of fine control that is difficult to replicate. (And, note, there's a lot of different pros and cons, so this isn't an exclusive list.) The funny thing is, if you want your audience to do the heavy lifting for suspension of disbelief, that's one of the places where video game writing really shines.

And so we loop back to the Skyrim example. Brynjolf's approach to finding new talent is absolute clown shoes, but it's something you might not notice if this is why you wandered into Riften. It only becomes a problem when you're just there to snuff Grelod the Kind, or are looking for someplace to unload all this garbage you picked up while delving into a Dwemer ruin up in the mountains.

This doesn't mean you should abandon the idea of good writing, but if your player is on the same page as you, you won't need to worry about having something completely believable. For example, the plot-line of Mafia, or (the original) Saints Row.

-Starke

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[p1ut0mars]

pines family trip to gravity falls

Yall can we get alex hirsch to create a short story where dipper, mabel, and their parents go to gravity falls on winter break. I mean it would be hilarious! Dipper and Mabel just walk around town and strangers casually giving them hugs and high fives. Then this crazy old man invites them to his mansion and his parents are like “why is this crazy hobo inviting our children into a mansion? Why is this fat guy taking us into his weird tourist trap?” Please i would pay so much to watch this Edit: thank you to my friend that brought up these points but also the parents would be like "why are these cops talking to my children? why is mabel going into a bar and talking to a bunch of gangsters like they know her? and why are these snobby rich people thanking our kids?! what is going on?!?!?!"

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @thesingularityseries thank you <3

so I've started working on the British Gangster AU for Rory and TF141, very much in the vein of Guy Ritchie/Quentin Tarantino - told in a weird timeline format, lots of hopping between character POVs, etc.

snippet gets kind of long (sorry) and is still VERY rough. Also, the MI5 officers are absolutely written to basically be Statham and Vinnie Jones... so yeah...

warning for mentions of violence and criminal activities

Thames House, MI5 Headquarters, London, UK

It's not the first time Rory Sinclair has found herself inside an interrogation room, it's certainly the first time she's been the one to be questioned however…

Hazel eyes roam around the room. It’s the same sterile grey they always are, a mirror on the wall she knows the camera is set up on the other side of recording her, cheap mic on the table picking up audio, the uncomfortable metal chairs the authorities will keep a person chained to as if they lost all rights the moment they walked through the door. 

And before her are two carbon copied hardboiled officers: matching ill-fitting suits, close-cropped shaved heads, five o’clock shadows, and appearing as though they’ve both broken and have had their noses broken several times over. 

Manicured nails tap against the table top, french tips clicking against fake wood laminate. One leg crossed over the other as her foot bounces in time to a tune on replay in her head to keep herself occupied. One way or another... Fixing the way her coat sits to keep out the cool air from the AC they've clearly turned up to make her less comfortable and therefore more willing to talk. Focus lazily swinging from one officer to the other like a pendulum. 

Uninterested. 

Apathetic. 

She yawns as a set of files is tossed in front of her, skidding across the table, covers falling open, and before her sits the faces of four men.

The two officers sitting across from her put on their best good cop, bad cop performance as they give her the stare down - except one of them forgot to play soft.  Arms crossed, sullen faces, tight jaws. 

Real hardasses. 

“Miss Sinclair, it's in your best interest to realize that your choice of career puts you in direct contact with some less than savoury individuals,” the first officer husks. “These four especially, been keeping tabs on them for some time now. Drugs, weapons, illegal gambling, murder – all in a day's work for the 141, eh?”

She offers no reaction at all, there wasn’t a rap sheet in the world that could surprise her anymore. Her career was built on representing individuals with longer lists of crimes than that. Her stoneface response clearly isn’t the reaction the authorities were hoping for with the way they lean in towards her, cutting into her personal space, black tea on their breath permeating the air.  

“Ever heard of ‘em, love?”

Rory leans back in her seat, hands sliding into her lap as her heel continues its monotonous motion. “Can't say that I have, no.” 

“Then permit us to inform you, miss.” 

The larger brute of an officer thrusts his finger towards the first picture, a ragged, roughly bitten nail pointing to a stocky man with a steely gaze, mutton chops, and a neck tattoo. “This ‘ere's the leader. Goes by ‘The Captain’ – Jonathan Price.” 

Price

“Been at this since the age of sixteen…” 

The warehouse sits quiet, still, and dark. Water-stained windows, milky and clouded, creak and rattle with the ocean air from the nearby harbour. The giant factory doors open with a squeal, and the silhouetted forms of four inky figures stand there in the night as a body hung from the rafters by chains swings to and fro, murmuring from behind a strip of duct tape. The night is foggy, and the wisps of vapour crawl into the abandoned building. Shafts of light that beam in through the holes in the corrugated metal roofing cut shadows across the faces of the visitors in tailored suits, long overcoats, and leather shoes. 

Silent surroundings are broken by the tapping of soles on concrete and the rasp of a match being lit as it’s held up to the recently snipped end of a Villa Clara cigar, sparking it to life with a burning orange glow. A heavy plume of smoke is blown out, swirling and thick as it trails up towards the worn openings above – the only thing allowed to escape the oppressive stare of sharp blue eyes. 

Tape is ripped from the mouth of the man swinging idly from the chains that bind him, mouth left raw and red as adhesive is torn away from skin and stubble.  

“Where did you think you were, York?” he whispers hoarsely around the stub of his cigar as he stands before the hanged man, arms crossed over his chest. There’s no need to raise his voice – his figure, his name, is intimidating enough. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, Price.” The hanged man huffs out a nervous laugh, pleading with someone who he knows off reputation alone is merciless. “Don’t know how the bastards in London handle things, but Liverpool – this is my city, yeah?” “Course it is, innit.” 

If York had hands available to hold up in surrender he would. Waving the white flag in the presence of the head of England’s most powerful gang in a heartbeat. It was rare for a person to be given the opportunity to meet with Price in person and it usually wasn’t for good reason. He had people to handle these sorts of things, and more important matters to attend to. But, sometimes, a person needed reminding of just who sat at the top and how much power he wields. Power that he ruthlessly holds onto. Whether it's the Irish, the Russians, or the cartels who try to step into his territory, he offers no leeway, never an inch spared. This is his territory, a hunting ground he worked his way up to the top to attain and he won’t let that slip through his fingers for love nor money.

He says nothing more on the matter as cold, unreadable eyes look up at his prey from under a heavy brow. John doesn’t see the point in wasting his words or his breath when it's no longer necessary. His point has been made well known, and the body – when it’s found – will take care of the rest.

With another puff of smoke released, he slinks back into the shadows, Gaz at his right hand, leaving his two guard dogs to handle the rest. He can trust them to handle matters properly with little oversight. His Lieutenant, Riley, has no trouble keeping MacTavish on a leash.

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@writeforfandoms

[white-poppie]

𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐋♡𝐕𝐄 — H.Shuji x reader

Synopsis: You are a small novelist, struggling for inspiration and ideas until you come across a charming gangster, called Hanma Shuji, who turns out to be your muse. Months later when your novel is published with him as the ML, the obsession only grows.

Pairing: Hanma Shuji x gn!author!reader Genre: YANDERE!, MAFIA! AU TW: crying, drinking, smoking, reader and Hanma both being twisted in the head, gore, Hanma being the sadist he is, hanma calls reader 'pretty' and 'doe', WC: 1.7K +

NOTE: I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT PROMOTE THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOUR. It is impractical scary and even gross. Violation of someone’s personal space/ life is not being romanticized in this post. Rather it is JUST A FICTIONAL TROUPE WITH FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.

A/N: Don't worry, its SFW!

Your grip is shaky, and tender as you gulp the bitter liquid down, it burns your throat in an ambrosial haze. It's as if your brain is barren with not a seed of creativity getting planted to fertilize into a bigger idea. You breathe a sob-sigh and sniffle, downing yourself in the liquid confidence.

You bury your face in your palms, and your elbows shake as you lean on the wooden counter. The music is loud and chaotic; it isn't a place for someone like you who spends most of her time, copped up in her mind, creating realms of her own as she writes.

You can't write. You can't write. You can't write. There have been no ideas, no inspirations, no random snippets of intense plotting and character-building...what will you do?

The neon lights dance on the yellowish-coloured tonic in your glass.

You hear the seat beside you being dragged. Your eyes fall towards the source of the sound, eyes meeting slender veiny hands, bejewelled with tattoos on their backs. A thick vein runs down his right hand to his elbow.

Your eyes gently trail upwards. His black long-sleeved turtleneck is rolled up to his elbows, his highlighted hair is neatly combed to one side, and then you look up at his long, chiselled face, sharp nose and dragon eyes...you realise he is already gazing at you with his lips turned into a soft smirk. You feel a sudden heat suffusing your cheeks. You try to avert your gaze, but his eyes have already captured yours and neither of you seem willing to let go. He continues to look into your eyes, and you feel yourself slipping away. You can savour the intensity of the moment, and it's almost electric. He tilts his head and asks, "What's a pretty angel like you doing crying in a place like this ?"

You breathe sharply and look away, averting your gaze from the handsome stranger, "just...going through things." You say.

He looks at you and nods, but he clearly isn't used to taking no for an answer. "Why spend your youth wallowing on the side, when you..." He raises his glass and points at the group of people huddled on the dance floor, "could be enjoying it on the stage instead."

You look at him in wonder...stage. William Shakespeare used it before: "The world is a stage and all men and women are players."

You blink and answer, "Why be the player when you can be the narrator?" You say softly, steering your eyes from the dance floor, back to him.

His eyebrows raised in delight at your words. He was used to people being scared of his appearance, his stature, his voice and tattoos. He just screamed 'danger' wherever he was. People talked to him for only a few reasons: for money, for partnership, for mercy or for him to warm their bed in such a way that he would ruin any other partners for them.

"Why be the player when you can be the narrator?" he says excitedly, "--when you can control the play from the sidelines." He says, adding his own twisted ideology to your personality-introducing a statement to him. It wasn't what you meant, but you didn't correct him. "You are an interesting one, you know?" he says and fetches a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, "you are one of the only people I've met who can keep a conversation dynamic." He grins with a wicked smirk, and you swear your heart hammers for him in a way that it has for no one.

"I didn't catch your name," you say softly.

"Hanma Shuji," he says with a proud smirk, "what's your name, pretty?" He asks.

"Y/N L/N," you say and ask again, curious about the man in front of you. You are never one for small talk, but there is just something so magnetic about him that you have to ask, "What do you do for a living, Hanma-san?"

"Just Hanma is okay," he corrects and sighs, a mischievous grin on his face, "I am a mob boss, have a big gang wrapped around my finger like fools." He studies your expression, "Did I scare ya? It's okay if you wanna leave, not gonna hold it against you or send my 'scary men' after you." He says exaggeratedly.

You blink blankly at him, studying his face. “I had my suspicions…got that vibe from you.” You say and pause, “But for some reason I am not scared.”

Hanma dissects your reply, drawing closer to you as he says quietly, his words heavy and menacing but like a siren's song, “You should be.”

“I should be,” you nod your head softly, “but I am not…"

Hanma studies your face with an unmoving stare. His breath trickles down your face, a gentle blend of cigarettes and mint. He looks at you as if he is remembering the exact proportions of your face.

"You intrigue me," he says and chuckles, "you still haven't told me why you were crying in a bar." He says and softly wipes the remaining tears from the corners of your eyes. For some reason, you don't feel revolted by this stranger's touch.

You shake your head and reply, "A writer loses all sense of the world when their mind is barren of inspiration. I was just looking for a push, I guess. But I was only met with a bottle of whiskey and more questions than answers. I can't help but feel like I'm in a never-ending cycle, blindly searching for an answer that I may never find. I'm stuck in my own head, unable to break free. I can't seem to find my way out. "

As Hanma hums, "So you're a writer, huh? Should have known by how eloquent you are." He's silent for a minute and then says, "Never was a book guy, sitting in one place just reading... it's too monotonous for an adrenaline junkie like me. In my teen years, I loved those twisted romances and thriller mangas." He chuckles in a way that makes you shiver.

You raise your eyebrow at him, "Dark romances, huh? Did they inspire you into becoming a mob boss?"

Hanma hisses with a faint smile on his face. "Not so loud, sweetheart." You chuckle and apologize.

"What do mob bosses do?" you ask curiously.

He crosses his arms and leans back. "What don't we do?" he replies. "Money laundering, smuggling, extortion, you know, the usual." He smiles, and you can see a hint of mischief in his eyes.

You can't help but smile at how nonchalant he is about it. You sense a darkish longing from both ends, like two poles of the magnet so close, just waiting for the right distance to be pulled close. It's like a course of warm ideas is injected into your brain. You can't help but feel drawn to him like he's the natural ending to your story.

It is interrupted by Hanma receiving a call. He picks up the phone and his expression immediately darkens. "I'll be there." He says and cuts the call and looks at you with longing and apology. He stands up, takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I'll keep an eye on you." He takes one last look at you before turning to leave.

"I found my muse..." you mutter to yourself as you see him leave.

[1 year later]

And he meant that. He meant when he said 'I'll keep an eye on you.' He was a mob boss, so it was easy for him to find your whereabouts and know everything about you. It almost seemed like he didn't want to hide his presence from you. However, you for some odd reason didn't mind this man spying on your life; it made you excited.

By this time you had completely researched his life, persona, crimes, and remembered them like a textbook. Multiple articles of his gang's works were pasted on your apartment walls along with letters in front of your apartment. These letters had no sender or address, but the cologne smell was him. You pinned the letters to your walls, sighing and reading them multiple times a day, knowing he was watching you all the time.

You smiled softly, signing your book 'Ghastly Love' in the author convention. Having been acclaimed as one of the bestselling dark romances on booktok and bookstagram, you were elated to have met Hanma Shuji that night...the man who inspired you to write a book. You had never met him for a year. However, you felt his presence, his gaze and the imaginary version of him you created in your head.

Another happy fan comes and you sign the book for them. Multiple people praise your writing, but it feels so empty. The convention ends and everyone leaves. Everyone is wrapping up when one last fan comes.

I'm sorry I can't do anything. My train got late." He says, drawing your attention as the security guards push him away and all the other writers stare at him.

"Come on I just want Y/N L/N's sign. I've travelled far for this, I'll leave in 5 minutes." He says and you chuckle.

"Let him in," you say and smile, impressed by this fan's dedication. He walks confidently towards you

You look up and smile at another person, he is taller than the rest, your hands are ready to sign the book when you spot the familiar tattoo on his hand...Hanma.

A shocked gasp escapes your throat as you look up at him, your eyes watering. He lowers his mask and smirks. "Hey doe." He says, calling you the name your ML called your FL in the novel. "You've become quite famous over the past few months, yeah? But let me tell you, the guy you wrote about in your novel is nothing. This right here, in front of you is the real deal." He smirks.

You sob and hug him tightly. You had him now...and you wouldn't let him go. He was your muse, after all. Suddenly, he pulls away and looks deeply into your eyes. He whispers, "So freaking proud of ya'." He says and kisses you.

'Dedicated to the handsome stranger I found in the bar that night. Thank you for being my muse; I highly anticipate meeting you again, and this time I won't let you go."

DID YALL KNOW IVE WRITTEN A BOOK LIKE Y/N TOO?!?! Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!! I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future.

Also Check out: L'appel du vide (✔️) (Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! With no memories of what transpired two days before his death, you team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband? )

© white-poppie 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

— TOKYO REVENGERS - Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp, @rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi, @buttercupspotify

PPL WHO ASKED TO BE TAGGED IN THIS FIC (temp tags, lemme know if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist): @shujivenus, @soulhasshattered

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[ryukoishida]

Wind Breaker Week 2024 | Day 3: In which Sakura is flustered (again) and Nirei has a decision to make.

Title: hush hush Fandom: Wind Breaker Characters/Ships: SuoSaku, Nirei, Hiiragi Rating: PG Summary: In which cop!Sakura and gangster!Suo meet, fight, and fall in love (probably). A/N: Took me an extra couple of days but here's day three~

Written for @windbreakerweek

Also on AO3~

Day 3: Firsts

“Y-You’re fucking insane!”

After managing to reign in the coughing, his gold and grey eyes watery from almost choking to his death — for the second time that week, no less — Sakura cursed, wiping the dripping tea off his chin roughly with the back of his hand while glaring up at Suo accusingly.

“I wouldn’t say that’s an apt description of myself,” Suo chuckled while offering the other man a paper napkin, which Sakura snatched from his hand without so much as acknowledging the fact that their fingers just skimmed against each other, and the heat that spread from the one small touch was enough to make Sakura blushed a deeper red.

‘Get your shit together,’ Sakura scolded himself.

Amused by the officer’s adorable reaction, Suo continued, “but people have said that about me a few times in passing.”

“I bet nothing good came out of that, huh?”

”Well, they aren’t you, Sakura-kun,” Suo gave him another quiet, little smile that was definitely doing something to Sakura’s chest, if his heart beating painfully against his ribs was any indication.

With that vague sentiment hanging in the air between them like something tangible and delicate, Suo left him to his own thoughts.

Sakura swore the man was even humming to himself, like he was proud he’d made a mess out of him.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been confessed to (‘Did that even count as a confession?’ Sakura wondered, his brows knitted together in bewilderment.) but what he had experienced as most people would consider sweet, memorable moments only brought him bitterness and pain. He didn’t like to be reminded of those handful of times when someone had told him they liked him, because despite everything — despite all the lies he’d been told, all the tricks he’d fallen for, all the promises broken so effortlessly — despite all that, he still wanted to believe that someone out there in this world could love him.

All of him: jagged fragments, barely held together, bruised and full of blemishes.

He did believe them, and his heart was torn to shreds because of his own foolishness.

Never again, he promised himself.

-

“Hey, Nirei, is Sakura okay?”

“Hiiragi-san, sir!” Nirei scrambled to give his superior the mandatory salute, but the lieutenant of their team simply waved the greeting off.

His frown was etched deeper than usual on his forehead, and he could feel his stomach cramping up at the sight of their usually energetic junior officer, who could be found either tapping away at his laptop enthusiastically researching for a case or bothering one of the senior officers to train with him, sitting so still at his desk that if it wasn’t for his occasional blinking and muttering to himself, he could be passed off as a statue.

“Sakura-san is… uh…” Nirei scratched his head with his pen, hesitating to fill Hiiragi in on what had happened at Windchimes last week.

Sakura had told him with a terrifying stern expression that they needed to keep their meeting with Suo a secret from the rest of the team. Knowing Hiiragi, the lieutenant would probably want to put a stop to whatever shenanigans the duo was planning after their identities had been discovered.

There was no point in closing in on Suo as undercovers anymore, so they needed another plan. When Nirei asked his coworker to clarify, Sakura’s eyes were gleaming with such ambition and determination that part of him kind of regretted asking.

Did he really want to take part in whatever craziness Sakura had cooked up in his desperation to capture Suo Hayato?

They’d been partners since they were fresh out of the police academy. During their training days, both Sakura and Nirei had been popular targets for bullying: Sakura for his strange hair and eyes, and Nirei for his weak physique. Through fate or just the fact that Sakura couldn’t leave a poor kid who couldn’t — or wouldn’t — defend himself alone, he saved Nirei from a particularly serious bout of beating.

The situation had been so grave that it’d escalated to the point where the higher-ups had to be called in for a series of meetings.

The trainee who’d started it all and acted as the leader of the group was expelled at once; he would be blacklisted in any line of work related to the disciplinary services.

The rest of the group had been given dire warnings and punishment in the form of various hard labour, physical tasks in the training facility, as well as handwritten letters of repentance, articulating their wrongdoings and ways they should improve themselves.

Sakura was close to getting kicked out, too, since he’d injured some of the boys so badly that a few of them had their bones broken, and one individual even suffered a concussion and remained in a coma for a while.

It was Nirei who pleaded with the instructors to spare Sakura. He told them all that had happened: how he and Sakura had been consistently taunted and abused while the staff’s backs were turned, how they’d never once raise a fist in self-defence, until the group had taken it way too far.

Since then, Nirei and Sakura had been inseparable.

Sakura personally taught him self-defence techniques, and trained with him at the gun range until closing everyday; in return, Nirei’s personable and bubbly, happy-go-lucky attitude gradually softened up some of the sharp, harsh edges that initially made Sakura unapproachable to most people.

They were good influences to each other, and Nirei would always be thankful that Sakura had taken that step to give him a helping hand when he needed it most in his life.

And that was also why it was incredibly difficult for him at this very moment in time: on one side was his best friend and most trustworthy ally in the force, asking him to keep their encounter with Suo a secret, and on the other side was his respectable lieutenant whom he knew cared deeply for his men, showing concern for a fellow officer and wanting to know how he could help.

“I think this may be the first time I’ve ever seen the brat being so quiet and calm since he transferred to this department,” Hiiragi mused, shaking his head. “I’m worried. Should I be worried? Is there something going on with Sakura that he’s not telling me?”

He directed that question at Nirei, whom he knew was a close buddy of Sakura’s in the workplace. He was loyal and dependable where it counted, and Hiiragi was certain that if he phrased the question in a way that made the junior officer consider this more as a matter of his partner’s wellbeing, he was definitely going to get some useful intel from the blond.

Nirei glanced at Sakura’s side profile, biting his lower lip in worry.

Ever since he’d returned from his one-on-one visit with Suo at Windchimes that morning, Sakura had been acting so unlike himself that it was almost unnerving. He didn’t seek out Nirei either, so he could only assume that, whatever Sakura and Suo had discussed, his companion wanted to keep it between just the two of them.

He couldn’t stand seeing Sakura suffer silently by himself like this, so he made a decision, praying to whatever deities there were that Sakura would forgive him after this.

“See, Hiiragi-san, the thing is—”

And Nirei told him everything.

[popculturebuffet]

Batmarch: The Secret Origin of Batman's Trophys (Comission for WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Batmarch, or celebrations of all things that go bump in the dark knight

Today we've got a special treat... and i'm not just talking the nice art Kev had comissioned! Looks really good and I really appcirated it. Thank you KEv and thank you Alan Patreon. It was a nice suprise gift.

As for what this is about, this was a fantastic idea Kev cooked up: the batcave is one of the coolest hero bases in all of fiction. The layout is never 100% consitant across media but your usually guaranteed a batmobile, a big ass computer at the center, water falls, and over time a display for various costumes from past sidekicks, alternate outfits etc.

What really spruces the place up are three distinct decorations that we almost always see in the comics and ocasionally in other media, if not live action since these bitches would be expensive to make: A giant dinosaur, a big ole penny, and a giant playing card of a joker. These three are staples of the bat cave, to the point when the original was caved in during the earthquakes that ravaged gotham in the build up to no man's land, Bruce made a point of fishing them out for the new cave he built after that traumatic year.

Yet most of us.... have no idea where he got these wonderful toys. Even I didn't. The Joker Card comes from an obvious grinning source, but what CASE did it come from? Where did he get that dinosaur? What was someone using that giant Penny for? It's a question i've asked once or twice but never looked into. Kevin did though, and while the through and lovely DC wiki helped him find each one, he went the extra mile, asking for a review. And I was entirely on board with this comission as I just.. never had those answers and I doubt i'm the only one whose wondered what the context for these things were. So today we're looking at three disntinct golden age batman stories, at a time when goofy nonsense reigned supreme, logic was optional, and weird shit like this was just another day in the batcave. IN other words, this is going to be a LOT of fun so join me under the cut as we look at gambling themed death traps, penny obessed gangsters and batman being hunted by the most dangerous game: mechanical dinosaurs.

The Giant Joker Playing Card:

(from Batman #44)

I love these old titles, such flair and cheese. It's incredible.

Anyways this one starts because Joker decides to hit an off the books casnio after his win. Luckily for them, he just wants to play which feels entirely like a joker move: instead of robbing an easy target that can't call the cops and that the mafia presumibly running it would be stupid to retaliate on, he decides "fuck it let's try this whole gambling thing men, sounds like a hoot and a half".

And sure enough.. it goes really well. He spends what's implied to be the whole night just winning and winning until he cleans house. This being the joker this gambling bug can only end one way

I just.. love everything about this. Joker just had fun at a casnio and turned it into a death trap. It's such a brilliant setup.. and one that while nicely goofy, is also well done: it fits the joker's unpredictablity to just go a gamblin and it fits him just as much to turn a new hobby into a death trap. I also love Lewis' reaction calling it SUPERGAMBLING., like he's some gambling expert and most dangerous game shit is a type of gambling.. which given we're in the dc universe, you probably DO need a name for this kind of thing in the crime world.

So he set shte perfect trap: he has a random balding middle aged man tell the two he has info on a recent raidum theft, raidum a hospital badly needs. To save the presumed orphans about to die without eating their radium, Batman and Robin go to a sketchy island with one house perched on a hill

The World's Greatest Detective.. sees NOTHING wrong with this and goes ahead and gets caught in the most devious trap imaginable.

Several head injuries later, our heroes wake and joker reveals the radium theives, who he captured for this scheme but have kept the radium's location to themselves. This is by deisgn: the joker wants the two and their "radium screts" as the ante here, along with Robin to make sure Batman does this. Batman repedately states "I don't gamble' as if logic suddenly works on the clown man who set up a gambling death trap, so Joker reveals if Batman won't play his three supergambling games, he'll just kill the hostages. Batman reluctantly agrees,

Game 1 is super pinball.

But when Batman proves to be an expert at the snes Joker goes with plan b.. his giant pinball table of death. Sorry his giant SUPER pinball table of death.

As you can see the same joker face from the card is here and you see it all over his lable. it seemed to be Joker's logo back the. I love this whole setup and mostly show it not only because it' sdope but because those pins must've been what bumpers were. I also had no idea PInball used to be a gambling thing. Makes sense, it's just fun to find out.

The game goes well mostly though one of the guys nearly slams into a pin. Thankfully Robin is an expert gymnist and batman smartly saved laucnhing robin till the last minute and Dick's able to save the goon.

Game two is super rolling some dice, which apparently used to land on numbers. This yugioh style death game involves our bait being tied to polls on three of the numbers. If Batman guesses wrong, someone dies. Or maybe not since the board is pretty damn big. Not every death trap can be super murder pinball. Batman spots some mud on the dice though and correctly guesses they'll pivot. This is the weakest of the death traps here, a bit convolunted, not really guranteed to be as deadly. I know the chance of nothing happening is part of it.. but with pinball there's really almost no chance you won't hit the bumpers. Here it feels like pure luck or simple cheating that both dice flew at the joker.

Next game and the one that introduces our prop, though the dice apparently are also in the cave sometimes which I love. The game is a game of cards.. batman has to correctly guess which face matches the door Robin and the hostage goons are in or they'll choke to death on the deadly gas released inside.. and naturally he figures out it's the Joker card. It's too joker not to work.

Turns out though, naturally the joker isn't playing fair both having a final one on one game ofr him and Batman and having his goon go to get robin behind the joker card door... and Robin dispatches him hilaroiusly and awesomely

With that the hostages are free and the final death game begins. A giant super roulette wheel with both batman and joker getting in a slot. looser gets crushed alive. It's an awesome finale, and it fits joker to put himself at risk: after all he risks his life all the time why wouldn't he for such a fun gag?

Batman's able to get the wheel to turn fairly and then escape it, leading to a chase. THe Radium Theives agree to give themselves and the radium up but there's still the matter of the joker and we get a short but neat final chase as Joker uses the dice against the heroes then jumps off a cliff, gambling his life one last time.. and rightfully batman isn't betting on the joker having died.

Gamble With Doom is an excellent story. While the trophy we get out of it is only in it briefly the story itself is pure fun. It has some fun dated elements like Bruce's opinon gambling is EVILLLL and the old fashioned designs on the traps, but it's pure fun. The traps are clever, the tension palpable and the climax great. The gambling motif's really fit the joker and it adds up to an all time great joker story with a suprise impact. The Trophy Itslef. is barely in it but Robin DID break a guy's face with it so i'll say it was still cave worthy.

(From World's Finest #30)

The Penny Plunderer is a name I had heard but had no real context for. I assumed he was some goofy silver age villian with pennies for eyes who drove around chucking pennies at everyone.

I am an artiste.

Instead it's just a guy in a suit. He has the backstory of any good golden or silver age villian to justify his gimmick

I love.. everything about this backstory. It reads like if a writer was given the thought exercise "Make the pettiest batman villian origin you can find.". I mean other villians gimmicks make sense: Poison Ivy was a botonist, Mr Freeze had a horrible accident, the penguin was born looking like a penguin with a lot of money, the Joker fell into a vat of chemicals and came out a clwon, the riddler liked puzzles.

Here Joe just... got screwed over by pennies a lot. Even funnier is that the last one has nothing to do with pennies. Like.. even if it'd had nickels he'd still be arrested.

So Joe vows since pennies runied his life, he'l lbecome the penny! Sadly this does not mean him dressing up like a giant penny with a cane and top hat.. nad now I can't show you it that last drawing put me too far behind and... oh fuck it.

Instead he just wears a suit but makes his gimmick pennies. Commit to the bit man. I do get it as some golden age villians were just guy in a suit, even Joker and Penguin technically counts but one is a clown and the other is a rich penguin man. They have mor ethan just "suit and a vendetta against pennies that somehowturns into stockholm syndrome.

So the penny plunderer begins his reign of terror, setting up a penny arcade as a front, and cashing in a roll of pennies in the most diabolical scheme ever devised by man.

A true criminal mastermind.

Batman picks up on this pattern because it's what he does and finds his next case, a coin and stamp exibiton with a rare one cent stamp. It's here we meet the reason we're here: the giant penny!

Yeah to my shock the penny had NOTHING to do with the penny plunderer other than being at the site of one of his robberies. He prefered just.. chucking pennies at people.. which is awesome and a truly great tactic only topped by Batman's use of said giant penny

I adore the fact that this iconic artifact is there not because it was seized from the villians or a police options.. but because, presumibly, Bruce thought this penny he found was kick ass and bought it off it's actual owner.

Most of the theives escape but they find one willing to squeal. Unfortunatley he dies for his hubris

Yup bet you weren't expecting the penny guy to kill someone and to see his corpse weren't you but here you are. Also batman is apparently a cop now. George Lopez tried to warn us...

But we didn't listen! We didn't listen!

A fight breaks out at the gambling parlour and we get two of the best moments in batman history that much like the blue beetle film, ar ehighly underated.

I just.. I get the sense that is how batman ALWAYS plays pinball. Just judo kicks it every time even as bruce wayne. Both bruce wayne and batman have been banned from so many arcades.. often the same ones. Perks of having a secret identity. We then get coyne once again THROWING pennies at someone and it working. I don't know why he hasn't been brought back with the telkeentic ability to contorl pennies. Give him a copper helmet and a proper costume and oh dammit..

Then Joe knocks batman out iwth his one weakness: a roll of pennies. He's trapped them in the parlor for your standard batman death trap, having removed their belts and ripped out the phone lines as usual. He then throws them a few pennies when then prove to be a mistake as it's time for SCIENCE WITH DR. BATMAN, who uses one old penny, copper, and one new penny, zinc to make a battery. Good thing jimmy didn't wish it away THIS week.

The cops arrive to free one of hteir own and batman finds a clue once the parlor is cleared of gas. Turns out Coyne was catering a penny slot party for a rich billinoare's houseboat, and naturally their filled with gas. I swear it's always gas with these golden age villians. Get another knockout device fellas.

With that our final chase enses as Batman and robin chase Coyne and while he nearly bests them with a good game of 1940's donkey kong

He's foiled by his own gimmick: he has only pennies but the pay telephone.. dosen't.. take 5 seperate pennies for some reason? the hell? I get payphones not taking pennies once they went up to a quarter but come the fuck on 1940's payed telephones. he's foiled.. and sentenced to death.

Yes folks that's the cannoical till some lucky fellow brings him back fate of the penny plunderer: PUT TO DEATH.

This story is as you can tell nonsense that's only gotten more hilarious with the passage of time and I loved every page on it and on getting the panels for this review, I only found MORE hilaroius nonsense to laugh at. We have a story where a guy with a penny gimmick smacks batman with a roll of pennies, trips robin with more, kills a man without pennies, is foiled by pennies yet somehow dosen't actually use the giant penny that's the only reason people know he exists. It's beautiful bollocks and worth your time.

(From Batman #35)

As I hope you are, this issue had me hooked from the first panel: Batman vs dinosaurs being forced to fashion a bow and arrow for some reason. Yes... fuck. Yes. Also nice of bruce to eat Ollie's lunch.

Okay so this story starts, as many real life stories do, with a billionare having a zany idea; Mr. Hart is a man who puts on shows: ice follies, aqua carnival, 40's razzle dazzle type stuff. For his latest idea though he's going above and beyond: a DINOSAUR ISLAND. With mechancail dinosaurs and cavemen who throw giant sponges at you. Thankfully spongebob wasn't born yet but his great great grandpappys quarepants did the honors. Honorable old fool.

To ramp up the insanity, Mr Hart is inviting a club of big game hunters to eat mammoth steak with batman.

If that weren't enough, and in any other golden age story it might be... our heroes get CHALLENGED at dinner by one of the rich assholes. Yeah turns out rich assholes who hunt innocent animals for sport and eat reheated mammoth aren't the most stable indviduals and Mr. Breech scoofs at the fact Mr. Hart says Man is the most dangerous game. He's hunted man, they went down like cowards. COWARDS. He feels Batman couldn't hut a dinosaur without his gadgets, and certainly not his bare hands... even though as this issue with prove and has already shown early man had tools.

To prove his point he challenges batman to a fucking challenge: survive on Dinosaur Island: no utility belt, no vehicles. If the dinosaurs touch him he looses. Mr Breech will man the controls. Honestly i'm convinced Breech knew hart well enough to know he'd both agree to this for the publiclity and why he'd invite batman and robin and just wants to play iwth giant mechanical dinosaurs and also batman. Which granted if I were invited to this sort of thing i'd also want to chase batman with mechanical dinosaurs for fun, who wouldn't, so I totally get it and respect the game.

Hart is on board, offering 5000 to the winner's charity and Batman is like "Why the bat-fuck not. Let's go".

Now you might suspect Breech's real motive is trying to kill batman. I mean you have a setup where batman will be without his weapons, the plausable deniablity of a machine malfunction and a secluded island with 24 hours to kill the batman. And you'd shockingly be wrong. Breech really just wants to prove dinosaurs are the most dangerous game so when that Jurassic Park he's working on opens no one will object to him hunting them for sport.

But his plans are foiled by Chase, anothe rich knob who wants to kill batman and robin to, as he says later form a "crime combine". So he wants a bunch of middle aged guys drinking beers to yell at him for not training the joker on tackling well enough. I see.. well played.

So the game is afoot and our heroes take a bit to catch up, first brushing off a real rock among the sponge rocks as a mistake. Theis ends when a Triceratops to trismash them into a tree. Batman calls for a war council on a nearbye island but naturally THAT'S NO ISLAND

Batman fought a mechanical fucking seamonster. That.. that's cannon. To almost every batman timeline. God bless you Golden Age, god, bless, youuuu. Also i'd be stupid if I didn't say that Tally Ho, Batman! is one of the greatest phrases in batman history up there with "I Am the night" , "I'm batman" and "Something something joker's boner".

So now the games for their lives, Batman and Robin don't have to play fair and start fashioning bows, arrows and knives out of mechanical dinosaur bones. You know.. sometimes this job can be draining: 2-3 reviews a week, many a plan having to be delayed due to a review taking longer than expected.. but then you get a review where Batman and robin have to outrun a manical billinoare who hyjacked dinosaurs from a diffrnet billionare who was having a charity dinosaur hunt with batman and robin using a third billionare's dinosaur, while fashoining weapons from mechanical dinosaur corpses and fashion a kite from a mechanical ptreadon and remember why you love reviewing stuff so mucH: sharinng a good story with the world and finding a good one or two yourself while your at it. And thanks to Kev i've found three truly wonderful, truly bonkers batman stories, with this one being the easy winner. It's both a decent enough concept for the time and hilariously insane.

And I ddin't make up the kite thing: when, after a night of survivial, Robin brings up the batplane, Batman has an idea: since the flying dinosaurs are on a programmed pattren rather than directly controled, they can use them to make themselves a kite yor style.

So to win the day Batman has a plan: he uses himself as bait since Robin's the more agile of the two, and has robin CATAPULT HIMSELF into the air after chase, who is riding on t-rex back with an army of dinosaurs.. and how does he defeat chase' smighty dino army?

It's both genuinely clever and wonderfully bonkers: Robin defeats an evil billionare RIDING a mechanical t-rex.. with water balloons.

Also props to this story: in the previous two the trophy was impressive.. but it was taken from what felt like a minor point in the story: the card flip game was fun as was batman slammin ga door on a guy, but it's sandwitched between far more elaborate death traps, while the penny, again awesome, wasn't even something the penny plunderer used. Batman just bought it off some offscreen character to relive fond memoreies of crushign some crimianls alive with it. Here the main villian ROAD IN on the thing. Granted he still had to likely buy it off his actual owner, but this time at least a criminal actually used it as a murder weapon. I can see Batman wanting this thing for his cave.

Batman chases chase over the now still dinosaurs and punches the guy out. With this Batman's saved the day AND won the bet. 5000 for batmobiles for kids, donate your batmobile today!

As for chase...

With that our story and this trilogy comes to an end.. and as I said, it's great. check out all three of these issues their a lot of fun. Next time dc puts some up for sale I may have to get some 40's batman, this stuff is golden.

Thanks for reading

To conclude batman month: Wait'll you get a load of this

[cantsayidont]

May-June 1948. One of the most brutal Golden Age Batman stories is this bleak entry from WORLD'S FINEST COMICS #34, an atypically dark tale by Edmond Hamilton and Dick Sprang, about the rise and fall of a ruthless hired killer. Unusually, the story begins by revealing that the killer is already dead, an unidentified body on a slab in the morgue, and flashes back to his earlier life:

Even if you're willing to allow that Durfee's love of guns "should have been normal and healthy," the sadism and sociopathy on display here doesn't speak highly of the parenting skills of Jim's father. Yikes.

If you watch a lot of older film noir, this flashback sequence might seem somewhat familiar. I'm reasonably certain that it was inspired by a 1940 MacKinlay Kantor short story called "Gun Crazy," originally published in THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. About a year and a half after this story was published, Kantor and screenwriter Dalton Trumbo adapted "Gun Crazy" into the screenplay for a movie of the same title, directed by Joseph H. Lewis and released by United Artists in early 1950. "Gun Crazy" is also the story of a young man (called Nelson Tare in the original story) whose love of guns eventually leads to his destruction, although both the story and the film present their protagonist in a more sympathetic light than Hamilton does. As we soon see, Durfee is a monster:

Durfee decides to offer his services as a hired killer to gangster Pete Goro, being careful not to let Goro know his real name or even what he looks like. After completing several jobs for this new client, Durfee accepts a thousand dollars from another gangster to kill Goro, although to maintain his reputation, he still carries out his last commission for Goro: killing Gotham district attorney Tim Logan. Meanwhile, Batman, who has learned how Durfee's potential clients contact him, but nothing that would identify the killer, attempts to lure Durfee into the open by anonymously hiring him to kill Bruce Wayne!

Batman and Robin are unsuccessful in capturing the wily assassin, but when Durfee realizes that he's failed to kill Bruce Wayne, his pride leads him to try again on the grounds of the newly opened county fair. Batman manages to decoy him with a Bruce Wayne dummy, but Durfee knocks Batman momentarily senseless with the wooden stock of his gun and loses himself in the crowd. Then:

So, Durfee is finally shot dead by a random cop who has no idea who he is, for a crime he hasn't actually committed. He then ends up buried in an anonymous grave, and even Batman never knows his real name. A very grim drama indeed, and a story that seems more suited to the gritty crime comics of the period, like CRIME DOES NOT PAY or Simon & Kirby's JUSTICE TRAPS THE GUILTY for Prize, than the relatively sedate WORLD'S FINEST. The cover of this issue, incidentally, sports this light-hearted Win Mortimer illustration of Batman, Robin, and Superman having fun:

(The other stories in this anthology issue aren't especially dark or violent, but it's still a little jarring!)

[lo1k-diamonds]

Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 5

“Intimacy was about power, worth, and gain, and I thought that was all there was to it, but… I don’t… feel that way with you.”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Falling down the rabbit hole has its perks and consequences.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: angst, scars and mentions of abuse, unprotected sex, handcuffs, blood, implied violence, arguing and misunderstandings

A.N. I can't have a fic without Yoongi suffering with my OCs... Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for helping me around the clock and being incredible betas! Enjoy 🔥🔥

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You woke up feeling particularly snuggly, tucked with heavy blankets around you. Normally, that would have made you shake your arms and legs to get free, but this time you didn’t feel compelled to. In your daze, you realized it smelled good, and you didn’t want to leave that cozy cocoon. But then you figured out that your pillow was an arm, and your hand darted under your dress to your knife.

The blade was to his throat before you could even make out who he was. Then, your gears slowly turned as a few strands of his hair shifted across his forehead to his eyes as he languidly woke up.

Yoongi was naked behind you, with one arm under your head and the pillow, and the other wrapped around your middle. You doubted he felt your blade to his windpipe because his perfect skin didn’t have one single wrinkle of worry, not even when he opened his eyes a bit and saw you. Quite the opposite; he stretched without letting go of you as if waking up like that was just another Saturday, and you chuckled.

“I fell asleep,” you admitted, more to yourself than him, as you put the knife away. You didn’t do that; that was not your thing.

“Good. How do you feel?”

His raspy voice gave you goosebumps, and you turned your face the other way, giving him your back again. You shouldn’t feel this safe and relaxed, there was no such thing. But he was a cop, so if not with him, then with who?

You sighed. He was a goody two shoes; of course, he’d ask you about your well-being.

“Better than ever, ready for another one.”

He hummed and adjusted his head on his pillow, not coming closer, and you pouted and pretended to stretch so you could fall back into him.

You grinned, “And so are you, it seems.”

You rubbed your ass against his crotch shamelessly, smiling as you expected him to push you off and tell you to leave. 

But he sighed, “It’s okay, it will go away.”

Your lips pursed instantly. You didn’t want his hard-on to fizzle out, you wanted him hard and crazy to have you. You wanted him to fight the urge to have you and pretend to be all lawful when in reality, he was dying to stick it in a mob boss like you.

You spoke quietly, “I don’t want it to.”

He didn’t move behind you, and you wondered if he had heard you as you hadn’t admitted it too loud. When you thought to turn your head to check and show your pout, his arm around you moved. Your protest was on the tip of your tongue, but you held it back because he didn’t move away. Instead, his hand landed on your hip softly, resting between the cover and your dress for a moment as if to allow you to slap it away.

You didn’t, and he continued slowly. He palmed down your leg where he could reach before returning, feeling your stomach and side almost respectfully. It made you wiggle in his arms, a little restless, but as your head fell back, you felt him. He was right behind you, instantly nuzzling you through your hair, taking you in. It was the most intimate moment you had ever lived — a singular palm on your lower stomach keeping you close, while he breathed in the sweet scent of your hair. You probably still had some concussion-related dizziness, but you doubted it was just that. Your body was melting, captivated by his gentle nature in a way you didn’t know could entice you.

But it did because the moment he moved to touch the skin of your neck, you let him. You sighed with the flutters his fingertips left behind and pressed yourself more to him when he reached your collarbones. At that moment, you completely surrendered to his touch, hoping he wouldn’t stop. Hoping he would see the barriers you always held up and ignore them, finally reaching you. 

His fingers were gentle, almost shy when tracing the sleeve of your dress, but a longing sigh of yours was enough. His pointer pulled it the slightest, letting it loose over your shoulder, and you pulled the same shoulder back into him, telling him to go on. 

You didn’t hide how eager you were for his touch; when the sleeve got stuck on your arm, you bent forward so he could access the dress zipper, and helped him get both sleeves off.

Only then did your breath get caught as he traced the marks down your arms. Usually, you covered them with make-up or clothes, and otherwise, you didn’t let anyone see them. The slightest discomfort prickled you, confronted with the scars and memories of things you didn’t want to relive, but then Yoongi moved on. He moved over the cigarette burn scars your father gave you as if they weren’t worth his time, and it brought tears to your eyes.

Instead, he traced every inch of your skin down your sides and to your front, touching your chest when you eagerly got rid of your bra too. His lips met your shoulder, and you knew he could see your naked body as you trembled under his touch, but it didn’t bother you. He was gentle, admiring you, but grazing his nails and pinching your hard nipples too.

You jolted into him, arching your back, and it felt like the dress was smothering, preventing you from chasing everything fully. So you pulled it down your legs and sighed when his heated skin glued to your back and ass, spooning you in his embrace.

His lips brushed the skin under your ear, then nibbled and licked your ear, and you squirmed into him. He wasn’t in a hurry, as if taking his sweet time was the full experience, but you were impatient by nature. 

You called for him eagerly, “Yoongi…”

And in arching your back to make yourself as accessible as possible, he got your message loud and clear. He grabbed the flesh of your outer thigh to lift it, then aligned himself with you and imposed a rhythm on your hips. You groaned, your head falling back as you let him completely maneuver you on his dick. It was even better than if it had been you, much slower, too. It was as if he wanted you to take every detail of him connecting with you, forcing your warm heat to take him while his other arm held you to his chest.

It felt like nothing ever had, and you couldn’t wrap your derailing train of thought around it. His embrace kept you tucked in, flush to his firm chest, while his hand made you wail with every slap of his hips to your ass by supporting your hip. You didn’t know you liked it up close and personal like this; hell, you didn’t even think you’d like to relent control over yourself like this. But the more he made your hips sway so you’d fall perfectly against him, the more you conceded that you liked it—a lot.

Every time his big hand pulled you back, you anticipated the feeling of his thick cock pushing through your walls, and even more when he reached deep. Surely, he did it on purpose because suddenly, every time he filled you, you could feel the kiss of his tip to your cervix, making you keen. Yet even if you writhed, he didn’t let you get away, making you fall into him even harder, and nibbling on your neck for good measure.

You were so hot, your brain was overheating. Strands of your hair glued to your forehead while your hands tried to hold on to anything between the sheets, pillows, and his arms, both wanting him to fuck you so much harder and so much slower before the fire starting in your core had time to catch up with you.

He must have realized your desperation, because he groaned and suckled the skin behind your ear, between sticky strands of hair, right before his hand abandoned your hip to disappear between your legs.

You jolted when his fingers began tracing circles on your eager clit, and for a moment, you lost track of reality. You squirmed in his arms, waves of hot pleasure making it hard to breathe and comprehend what was happening. The pressure on your clit made you throb around him, but it wasn’t enough. His hips had slowed, not reaching as deep without his guiding hand, and you were left in limbo.

“Come on,” he whispered into your ear, and you couldn’t decide if it was sweet or a taunt.

Regardless, you started fucking yourself on his cock, whimpering with how his fingers complemented your feverish movements. You couldn’t see how hungrily he was looking at your whole body trembling, searching for pleasure in his arms, but you could feel the way you were melting down his dick, making his fingers slide easily while he breathed heavily near your ear.  You couldn’t breathe, afraid that something as simple could stop your looming climax. Still, passionate whimpers left your lips every time you sank down, desperately needing his cock so deep inside you.

Yoongi was normally quiet, so feeling his heavy breathing on your neck was enough for you. Still, when he spoke, it electrified you, “Squeeze them— Let me see—”

His raspy voice made you clench hard, the thought of playing with your tits for him to see pushing you the extra mile. You didn’t let go of that new current and instantly let go of the sheets to grab your tits and squeeze them.

Your moan pitched to a wail and he pushed himself deeper inside you, “Fuck—”

His low voice made you shiver from head to toe and you came with a strangled moan, arching your back when he restarted fucking into you harder, even as he rubbed your clit to make your orgasm last.

He probably loved the way you were throbbing and crying, and you adored the desperate way he was sheathing himself into you until he popped, twitching in a perfect kiss to your cervix that made you scream.

Yoongi drove the late streets of Seoul with a sense of ease. He wasn’t much for sentimentalities, but he did think that was an easy road to remember if it ever came to that.

He supported his head on his hand while he waited for the light to turn. He wasn’t upset with you, just worried. Waking up next to you the day before was a pleasant surprise in many ways; maybe it was the same for you. You had been clearly startled, but the way you let go and let him touch and see you for the first time was incredible.

In the afterglow of your bodies trembling together, you let him hug you and touch you to his heart’s content, and as it turned out, it wasn’t easily content. He traced your sweaty body from head to toe, starting with his nose buried in your hair and ending up massaging your toes sometime later. He especially saw the scars on your arms but didn’t mention them. As a cop, he had seen marks of violence often, and those in particular evoked parental abuse. He didn’t know much about you, but he could guess your childhood hadn’t been easy.

You asked him about showering and he pointed to the ensuite bathroom, but then you raised your arms, waiting to be carried. He had heaved a deep breath but he wasn’t as annoyed as he thought he’d be. Instead, he picked you up and carried you into the walk-in shower, staying with you in a wordless embrace while the water poured down on you both.

He could admit he got carried away, too relaxed in your presence to think about what you two were doing. Even when you kissed slowly with the splash of water falling over your shoulders, when he pushed you gently to the wall, or when he grabbed your hair to keep you close, you didn’t protest for a second. You grabbed his waist, kissed him back, and accompanied him through every sensation.

Then, you smiled and said you were thirsty, and when he suggested getting you something, you said you’d do it yourself. He knew then you’d be gone once he got out of the shower, but he stayed quiet. He’d never insist that you stay; you didn’t know each other, and it didn’t make sense.

But he couldn’t help his worry, his vagrant thoughts, and a deep, hidden urge to check if you were alright. So there he was, stopped in front of the gate of your house, facing the camera while he waited for whoever worked for you to decide if he could get in. Even though he had your number and knew you were looked after by attentive staff. Even if it was none of his business.

“I’m opening it,” said a dry male voice through the speaker, and Yoongi only held onto the steering wheel, looking ahead.

He didn’t know what to tell you. He stopped the car in front of your garage, got out, and mindlessly walked to the open front door. In the back of his mind, he was getting worked up. What would he tell you? You’d ask what he wanted, but he had nothing to ask. You’d tease him for looking for you, for not getting enough, and he couldn’t deny it without lying to your face, so what the hell could he say?

Your butler guided him upstairs, someplace he had never been but couldn’t really pay any mind to. Not until a big mahogany door opened suddenly and all he saw was a large king-size bed in the back before being grabbed by your hand and pulled in.

You didn’t speak; just kissed him and touched him like you were starving, and fucked him like it too. He felt the sting from scratches you left on his shoulders the whole day, shuddering at the memories of the moans they came with.

He thought that was a one-time thing; you had casually told him you were fine and had work to do, and he didn’t raise objections. He got dressed, left, and kept his thoughts to himself, glad you were feeling better and didn’t ask anything more.

But the next day, you showed up at his place sometime before midnight. He was startled, seeing you on his couch when just minutes before it was empty. He was about to ask you how it was that you got inside his house so easily in the few minutes it took him to take a leak, but you were not in a sharing mood. You reached to unbutton his pants and not a lot of talking was involved in what followed.

It never was; you two didn’t really talk, but you did other things. You saw each other every day, taking turns going to the other’s house, and there was a lot of moaning and sweating, but not a lot of words exchanged 

Every day, he wondered if that would be the day you wouldn’t be home, or if you wouldn’t visit. But as the days became weeks, it became a routine he got used to way too easily. He gave you the benefit of being consistent, always showing up at 10 PM so you had the rest of the night to work on your endeavors. Unfortunately, you didn’t give him the same grace, but you had other perks — like always having a drink with him, a tease, or simply a goodnight kiss that always left him bittersweet about parting ways.

He refused to think about any of it too deeply. Who you were, what you did; how whatever you two were doing would be perceived. How a few enemies would love to learn about you, and vice versa. Not to mention he wanted your moments together to last, not to just turn his back and walk away. 

But as time went on, all those thoughts became sidenotes. There had been no rumors or talk about a possible affiliation between the two of you, your work hadn’t intersected, and he now had good whiskey and gin at his place so he could offer you a drink whenever you visited him, too.

It all turned on its head when you didn’t show up one night. Of course, you were never consistent — sometimes you showed up right after dinner, sometimes in the early hours of the morning. Still, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t ask about you directly, so he activated his radio and kept an ear on the police transmissions while drinking one glass after another in his office, just waiting.

The first rays of dawn were kissing the sky when you opened the door to his office. You found him on his chair, staring at the ceiling with the broadcast still on, wearing his coat as if he was ready to storm out. The dark circles under his eyes and a half-drunk bottle of liquor on the desk made you smile and lean on the door frame.

“I chose the right night to be late. You’re still working?”

Yoongi didn’t answer you; he didn’t even comment on your long, red dress. The cocktail party you attended had lasted beyond your wishes, making it hard to call it a night. You thought it would be worth it in the end because at least Yoongi would see you in that dress and tell you how beautiful you looked, as usual. But he was quiet, and you pouted.

He took the glass in his hand to his lips to finish the last traces of liquor before brushing his lips absentmindedly, and you stepped toward him without hiding your pout.

“Am I interrupting?” You perched yourself on the desk in front of him so he’d give you all his attention instead. “You knew I—”

He got up suddenly, slamming the glass on the desktop next to you before pulling your legs around him in a smooth motion, “You’re late.”

You opened your mouth, confused by his annoyance when you were the one entitled to being annoyed, but his mouth on yours shut you up. The way he kissed you was hungry, eager, not letting you settle for one second, not even to breathe. You moaned into his mouth, loving those deep, tongue-tied battles you always had, especially with the smoky whiskey taste coming from him.

The more he pressed you to him and ravished your mouth, the more you wanted to laugh euphorically and tease him endlessly. You thought he’d be too busy to be with you, but he seemed just as eager as you to call it a night and forget about the world.

He moved to kiss your neck, and you managed to smirk, but your words died on your tongue. His fingers went under your dress, searching your core while he got himself free of his pants. You shuddered and kept him close, listening attentively to his groan when he found out you didn’t have panties on.

“Took them off in the car,” you whispered in his ear, nuzzling him. “Don’t need them here.”

You knew he agreed because in seconds he was pushing himself through your entrance, invading your warmth as he had done so many times. You whimpered and he held onto you more firmly, pulling you flush to him so his cock filled you to the brim.

Your chin dropped, as did your eyelids, the pleasure relaxing you instantly to build a familiar lull of pleasure. He moved between your legs, and you helped him, grabbing onto his shoulders, and piercing your nails through his coat when he started speeding up his thrusts.

“Is this what I get for being late?” You said, with the tension making your tone harsh. “Might just start doing it more often just to get you to fuck me like this.”

His hand on the back of your neck instantly shifted to grab your hair by the roots, making you look him dead in the eyes. His harsh gaze was enough for you to know he didn’t want that, and your lips twitched in a small smile before they had to contort to moan from the pleasure rippling through you. You also preferred to be on time, especially to be with him.

It was hard to rebut he had grown attached to you. He knew what it looked like but it wasn’t that; he was genuinely worried about you and at ease whenever he saw you.

Still, he wasn’t delusional — he didn’t expect anything from you and had to remind himself that you were a free woman. If the day came when you didn’t show up or kicked him out, he could do nothing but accept it.

However, he found himself deeper in your life with every passing day. He had fucked you all over your house; hell, even on the stairs, despite the people that could see you if they passed nearby. Your office was your favorite, so it wasn’t strange to find you there.

Still, your frown was, and also that you didn’t stop to welcome him with a sly smile. On the contrary, you gripped your hair after noticing him, then threw a look at the cabinet holding the liquor before turning back to your paperwork.

“You’re tense,” he commented as he poured you both drinks.

“No kidding,” you bit out, before sighing into your chair.

He neared you with the drinks and placed both down, deciding to massage your shoulders first.

You opened your mouth in surprise before a low groan escaped your lips. His slender fingers pushing at the flesh under your neck was fucking divine.

You kept sighing and occasionally whimpering under his ministrations and he never asked what was wrong. You liked that but thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring it up.

“One of my clients detected a gap in his numbers,” you started quietly. “He’s accusing me of fucking up, and I was ready to tell him to fuck off, but he’s right.” You sighed with pleasure tinged with anxiety. “Something is up between my numbers and his, and I’m stuck. I can’t risk getting on his bad side, not after… playing it risky a few months back.”

You didn’t face Yoongi as you spoke, but he could tell none of your uneasiness was from talking to him. Quite the contrary, you weren’t as agitated because it was him. Because he had his hands on you. He found it endearing, even if he knew what you were talking about surely involved the money laundering he secretly knew you had going on.

“If we’re talking numbers, then maybe it’s something you can get to the bottom of,” he started quietly, with a low, steady voice. “Those things leave paper or digital trails and you know who the intermediary is.”

You frowned slightly, “I trust them.”

“Then maybe your client is trying to fuck you over.”

You spun your chair to look at him as if you just had a thought, then you got up and grabbed your phone. “Sit.”

He knew that to question you was a waste of time, so he sat on the office chair and you sat on his lap. You proceeded to have an extensive conversation on the phone, the content of which was lost on him. If not because the details eluded him, then because you kept rubbing your ass on his crotch and it was distracting. 

He knew you felt his boner, but making him crazy was only an afterthought; a kick while you took care of things. The conversation must have been going well because you didn’t take long to slide your underwear down your legs, staying with your ass up over the desk, waiting for him to get his dick out.

As soon as you heard his zipper, you sat back, counting on him to aim his cock where it needed to go. You were so warm and tight, that he almost groaned, but it was your silence that got to him. He didn’t care if you were on the phone, you were never silent when you took his dick.

He brushed your long hair aside and bit the back of your neck in retaliation before letting it go. You slid up and down his shaft at your leisure, coating him handsomely, even if your voice was steady on the phone. At that point, he couldn’t care less; he had all the evidence he needed that you were feeling good, maybe even better than usual. Maybe you liked holding a conversation while pretending you weren’t riding his thick cock. He was tempted to challenge you, but you were stressed already; he’d rather give you a good time.

The moment you put the phone down, your motions changed, riding him fast, pressing yourself down his cock so hard he could feel his tip hitting your cervix the moment you came. You were breathless with tiny moans, the electrical discharge through your body making you tremble on his lap. He knew all the signs already, so he knew that orgasm was tainted by your stress and didn’t leave you fully satisfied.

He didn’t oppose you getting up and checking your phone. He stayed put, looking down at his creamed hard cock, stiff in the air, knowing he just had to be patient.

And indeed, a moment later you grinned and threw your phone on the desk like you were done. You grabbed the drink he had prepared earlier, handing him his own with a crooked smile, “Aren’t you the juiciest throne I’ve ever seen.”

He took the glass to his lips, unable to hide the twitch of his shaft at your comment. 

You chuckled, “Is that an invitation? Cause I’ll gladly take it.” He finished his glass, ready, and you smirked, “Come along, then. Because of your advice, I’m done with work for now, and I’m in the mood to keep riding you in my bed.”

He got up, fumbling with his clothes, and you rolled your eyes.

“You can have a smoke after, I don’t want to wait.”

He was trying to hide his dick, even if he knew it was fine, but now he was worried. He felt all his pockets, then groaned, “Fuck, I forgot them.”

You raised your eyebrows; that was a first. “Don’t worry, I’ll ask Sooyong to get some.”

You left the room and all he thought was that you were the perfect woman, right before shaking his head and chastising himself. One addiction was enabling the other, that was all.

It didn’t take long to find himself naked on your bed, loving every second of you edging him and enjoying yourself on his lap. He didn’t know if it was to celebrate you finding a way to deal with your problem, his help, or just a normal Tuesday night, but it mattered little when you were on top of him like that.

He realized later it did matter when you put your clothes back on, walked out, and came back in with your phone, a pack of his favorite cigarettes, and a huge smile when you threw yourself next to him.

“You were right. My client doesn’t know I have people on his team, and guess what? He asked someone to make it look like shit was missing,” you smirked, then threw your phone on the nightstand and opened the pack. “Now I have proof that he fucked it, so I can keep him in line.” You put a cigarette between his lips and lit it up yourself. “There you go…” Your voice was tender, but your smile was cunning. “Gotta keep you around for the next time I need advice.”

That was the start of the two of you talking. Yoongi didn’t think it would go anywhere — a criminal and a cop; what was there to talk about?

But as it turned out, there was a lot. Both were careful to keep sensitive information and names out of the equation, but it was surprisingly easy talking to each other about work. If Yoongi complained about a case, you were aware of it. If you were frustrated with some politician being stupid, he knew exactly what you meant. You stayed away from each other’s turfs, but you started talking more and more, to the point that a part of your rendezvous was dedicated to sharing the latest developments and venting frustrations.

Going to your place at 10 PM was the norm, and you not being there was not necessarily something to be worried about. Especially, because he could hear the shower going in your ensuite bathroom when he got to your room, so he got comfortable. 

He was getting rid of his tie and coat on a nearby sofa when he saw clothes fallen to the floor beside it and picked them up. Instantly, his fingers touched something wet but tacky, and the ferrous smell hit him before he saw the blood. He didn’t have to think twice; the clothes were yours and he had to make sure you were safe.

He dropped the clothes on the floor, pulled his pistol from the holster of his belt, and stepped silently to your bathroom, but you came out in time, wrapped in a towel and smiling widely when you saw him.

“Hi! I was just freshening up,” you got close and laced your arms around his neck, completely dismissing the gun in his hand. 

He eyed behind you quickly before cupping your cheek to make sure you were truly relaxed and safe. Then he put his pistol safely back in the holster and pulled you closer by the waist.

“What do you want to drink tonight?”

Yoongi hummed, but he couldn’t focus on your question. “Who was it?”

His voice was quiet as he motioned the clothes with his chin. Not because he couldn’t ask; after months of sharing your life, bed, and thoughts daily, he could. But because there were lines, and one of them was you being in danger.

“It’s not mine,” you smiled, but it fell when you realized that wouldn’t be enough for him to drop the issue. “Just…” You started and your split second of silence told him something was up. “Some guy causing a ruckus in the city… Saw it on TV and thought I should intervene. Law-abiding citizen and all,” you grinned mischievously before spreading your hands over his shoulders and chest in a familiar gesture.

He blinked; TV news channels had started reporting on a case of his department recently. Notably, of a politician dragging Yoongi’s work through the mud.

“You mean Myung Seojun?”

“Well,” you pursed your lips, tracing his collarbones attentively for a second. “He might have been involved,” you said, raising your eyes with a hint of uneasiness, but mostly with challenge. The latter won completely because you raised your hands to his neck, “Nobody messes with what is mine.”

He saw something in your eyes that only made him hold onto you harder. It was in moments like those, he trusted you infinitely more, not just to keep his secrets and have his back, but to feel for him something close to what he felt.

Not that you ever spoke about that. You could as easily fuck all night or day long, or talk about the problems rooted deeply in the governmental system, but what you two were effectively doing was never a topic of conversation.

Still, there was that one time you told him you had never been with anyone like this. “All my life… I’ve seen it as a transaction.”

Your voice was quiet as you rested on his chest, still hot and sweaty from the long hours you’d been together. He was smoking a cigarette from the pack you had in your room just for him, and you were in a contemplative mood.

“Intimacy was about power, worth, and gain, and I thought that was all there was to it, but… I don’t… feel that way with you.”

You said it quietly, almost shyly, nuzzling his chest, and he put his cigarette down on a tray by your bedside table, holding you closely while making sure you faced him.

“It doesn’t have to be like that. I don’t want that,” he rasped, brushing your cheek in a caress. He wasn’t even nervous, despite this moment being one of the most vulnerable you two had ever shared. Still, because you were giving him something from deep within, he thought he should do the same. “I never thought I’d be intimate with someone like this. Not after my ex,” he said dryly, and seeing the glint in your eyes, he added, “Not until I met you.” His finger brushed a few strands of hair out of your eyes looking up at him, “I thought I didn’t want it. Our marriage was a disaster, and it was true I didn’t get it up. I just… didn’t want to.” He heaved a sigh, “She couldn’t understand what I do, or what I worry about. The way the work consumes our lives.”

You hummed, ���Or maybe she wasn’t dangerous enough.”

He chuckled, “Maybe. Maybe I got myself the perfect storm now: dangerous, beautiful, smart, and knowledgeable about what matters to me. About what I need.”

Your eyes stayed big and glistening on his, and he didn’t push for an answer. He kissed your nose and forehead and leaned back down, wondering quietly if you had understood what he was trying to say.

He thought you might have because things were different at his place the next night. You never let him forget he worked for the right side of the law, constantly teasing him about his handcuffs. He had let you use them on him before, so that night when you asked for the same, it wasn’t out of the ordinary.

But the way you asked him more questions as you had him cuffed to his bed was different, “Aren’t you scared of what I might do? I could do anything to you. Things you don’t like, ruin your life, fuck— take it, I could kill you.”

He nodded, “I trust you.”

Your eyes were glistening differently, but you started kissing him and didn’t stop until you were both exhausted, winded, and spent over his sheets. You released him and slept next to him, hiding in his embrace while he smoked, and wondered if there was more he could do to make you feel safe.

He didn’t expect to wake up the next morning to you asking him to put the handcuffs on you.

You looked scared, with wide eyes and trembling fingers, and he shook his head, “You don’t have to, it’s okay.”

“But I want to,” you insisted, grabbing his hands despite your nervousness. “Because I trust you too. I want to know what it feels like.”

He was hesitant, but at the same time felt responsible. He didn’t trust anyone else to be with you and respect and care for you like he did, so he agreed.

He asked questions, explained how you would do it safely, and tried to tell you his plan, but you stopped him, “I don’t want to know. I trust you to do this.”

Despite your watery eyes, your smile moved the foundations of his heart in unspeakable ways. You presented your wrists so that he’d cuff them, and he did. Then, he took you in his arms and kissed you with all the passion lodged inside his heart.

He, too, could do anything to you, but there was only the desire to do good. To treat you with tenderness and show you how deeply he felt for you.

The possibility of it being a mistake never crossed his mind. He couldn’t stop kissing you, adoring you with every touch, immediately immersed in his need to show you something he couldn’t normally do. Something he couldn’t explain in words or ask you about. He could show you, though. Show you what happened when someone’s heart was in it like his was.

He laid you down, glued to every inch of you, between your legs, then slipped your cuffed hands over his head to rest on his neck so you’d have support. Then, he entered you and, staying close like that the whole time, made love to you while you breathed in each other’s grunts and moans.

“I’m here,” he rasped, so close to your skin, it was muffled. He couldn’t stop showing you his heart, whether with his hips or words, “You have me. You’re mine.”

He could see in the way you were keening, face scrunched with everything happening, that you were as deep in it as he was. You kissed him back, moved with him, sighed with every reassurance, gripped his hair, and came with him so intensely that he thought you would pass out. But then you kissed him deeply, and his heart settled right there with you.

You two never spoke about it, but you didn’t need to. As long as everything stayed perfect like that, Yoongi would never be the one to push you. Just like it had happened so far, you’d come to him when you were ready.

He had completely forgotten about the case he was building on you until you said something that reminded him.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

You were having snacks on his bed since you were feeling particularly hungry tonight, while he sat on an armchair just resting after a hard day.

He nodded, “I do, but I bet you don’t.”

You grinned, “Wasn’t it when your boss was trying to get a warrant to search the Aether? Only to come in person to tell me my name had been forged into some incriminating documents, so he apologized for chasing me?”

He blinked, “I’m surprised you remember me. I was just an officer then.”

You nodded and hummed with sour candy stuffing your mouth. “You were quiet but had this look. Like you could see right through me.” 

You mused, reminiscing, and he kept observing you. He was young and naive, but there was something about you that put everything into perspective. Beautiful women really could be dangerous. 

“And then you went on to build a case on me of your own,” you laughed unabashedly. “I’m flattered.”

His stomach fell at that moment, barely hearing you when you went on to say you were happy he didn’t pursue you too hard. It allowed you to grow this big, and you much preferred him now, a seasoned chief.

“It’s just funny to think our paths intertwined so long ago… I never thought we’d end up here.”

Your tone had a hint of tension, but he was inside his head, so he just nodded. This wasn’t right. He had long since come to terms with who you were and what you did. What he had on you… he had to get rid of it before someone got wind of it.

Suddenly, you scrunched your nose and got up, “I need to use the bathroom.”

He nodded again absentmindedly but didn’t waste any time. He went straight to his office and searched all the drawers and files until he found the one with your name. Then, he emptied a metal trash can on the floor and set your file on fire with a lighter, dropping it in to be safe.

The door creaked, and his eyes snapped up. You looked a bit pale but otherwise carefree with a long white shirt of his covering your naked body. You did it frequently when you wanted to be comfy, even if sex wasn’t involved.

“What is it?”

You neared him, eying the fire curiously, and he wrapped an arm around you, “Nothing, just getting rid of something.”

He pressed his lips to your head while you both watched it burn quietly, and you held onto him. It was better this way.

“Want something to drink?” You smiled, knowing your way around his cabinet like it was yours.

He nodded, then noticed you only poured one glass, “And you?”

You grimaced a little before passing him the drink, “My stomach is a bit upset.” He took the drink with a hum, and you sat down on his chair. “The commissioner general is retiring.”

Yoongi nodded, then leaned on the desk behind him. The faint burning scent matched the whiskey he was drinking. “Yeah, people are moving. I think I’ll stay in the same position.”

You nodded, “And the new commissioner?”

“Nothing official yet.”

You pursed your lips, annoyed that he wasn’t taking the bait to talk about it, but his mind was elsewhere, figuring if there was a digital trail he needed to get rid of quickly to keep you safe.

He visited you the next day and went straight to your office, as told by your butler, only to find documents on your desk about Jimin.

He was instantly reeling, puzzling it all together and getting infuriated as a result. You must have been the one to frame him; the dates on the files were from back at the start. Why else would you have a file on him? What the hell were you planning? He could forgive many selfish things you had done, but if you touched any of his officers, that would be too far.

You showed up at your door wiping your mouth with a faint smile, “Sorry, I had to rush—”

“What is this?” 

He didn’t let you finish and pointed at your desk, and your features tensed. He couldn’t even notice you were the color of your white shirt; he was getting rattled by the silence.

“It’s a file.”

“On Officer Jimin,” he pointed out.

“On many different people.”

“Why would you have this?”

“Because he’s a part of it.”

“Yeah, we both know what he was a part of!” He almost stepped toward you but refrained, closing his fists. “Did you do it?”

You frowned, “Do what?”

“Frame him? Was it you all along?”

“No,” your features were neutral as you stepped closer to him to reach the files.

But he grabbed your wrist, “Tell me the truth.”

“I am,” you faced him, emotionless, while he attempted not to erupt like a volcano. “He was a byproduct of something bigger. He’s a small file amongst everything else.”

You spread the files on your desk to prove your point, and he let go of your wrist. There were codes and names, but a few photos stood out: Jimin, Junghee, and someone he never thought would be mixed up in there.

He pulled that photo out, “What the hell?”

You grinned bitterly, “Jae Seong Seok.” Your voice had no amusement, “Our up-and-coming commissioner.”

Yoongi gritted his teeth, quickly backtracking. He couldn’t confirm because he had burned his file on you the day before, but he remembered that one name from your log.

“What the hell is going on?”

Your expression retained a sourness, “He’s a tricky client, so I keep a record of everything he does. He wasn’t happy when he found out I had a hand in exonerating Officer Park, and now that he’s becoming the new commissioner, I kind of need to cover my ass.”

You sat on your chair with an unfriendly expression, massaging your stomach while he connected the dots. “Why do you need to? If he’s your client, you have things on him too. And what the hell did he do that involved Jimin? And Junghee?”

He was confused and you sighed, “People like him can get to anyone, even me. Even if he had to resign due to a scandal, he wouldn’t spend his life in jail, trust me. Between the national embarrassment of him going to jail or just me taking the brunt of it, trust me, your beloved system would bend backward to keep him clean.”

His heart was thrumming in his chest as he eyed your hardened features. You were right about that much at least, but he needed to understand. “Just tell me what this has to do with Jimin and Junghee.”

You heaved a deep breath and hesitated to tell him. There was a reason you never did, it would only complicate things. But you could see in his face that he was suspecting you instead, and it pissed you off.

“There’s a reason I didn’t tell you, and it’s not because I’m the one who did it.” 

Your gaze was ice-cold from the need to protect yourself from the impending hurt while your stomach was twisting inside you, leaving you exhausted. You’d been sick for a while, and now was the worst time to do this. 

“So just tell me now,” he asked, and you noticed at least his fists were gone.

You took a deep breath, “Officer Junghee was a dirty cop. Not by working with people like me, mind you, but with Jae Seong Seok. Whatever he needed to be done, Junghee would make it happen, as far as I understood.”

“That’s a lie.”

Yoongi’s instinct to protect his officers didn’t surprise you, “Funny how after almost two decades of service, he never moved up the ranks? Even funnier how he bought an apartment in Yeouido. Did you know? Left his widow and children very well set for a lowly cop with a shitty wage.”

Yoongi frowned, “He must have… You don’t know what other ways he—”

“Ah, that’s the thing about my line of work,” you interrupted blatantly, leaning in to speak almost venomously. “It’s my fucking job to know.” The bitterness of your stomach reached your mouth, but you continued, “The fucker went on expensive vacations yearly, you’d think he’d at least not parade his wealth, but that’s the thing about people that gain wealth and don’t know how to handle it — they get used to a certain lifestyle that’s hard to accommodate.”

This time, he stayed quiet. He could remember Junghee going on vacations, smiling at how his kids were entering good universities. Heck, the whole department celebrated when he bought a house, though he never said it was in Yeouido.

“Enter our beloved Jae Seong Seok, who wanted to get rid of him. My guess is that Junghee was demanding payment to keep his mouth shut, and that won’t do. Upcoming election and all.”

Your tone was so cynical, he could taste your bitterness in his mouth.

“I heard about the word to eliminate Office Junghee. Jimin was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Yoongi swallowed, then gripped his hair for a moment before facing you again, “They were chasing a car. That night, the two of them. One of your cars.”

You rolled your eyes, “My cars aren’t always mine. Did I know Ray? Sure, the fucker is a weasel. But he wasn’t working for me when he did that.”

“Ray? You knew who did this?!”

He raised his voice again, and you sighed, “What does it matter? Your boy was exonerated.”

“But the real culprit is on the loose! I don’t care if Junghee was dirty, his killer can’t be allowed to roam free!”

You leaned forward to pull a file from the messy pile to the top, “Read it.”

He leaned in and skimmed over the content, noticing quickly he was deceased, dating not long after Junghee died. The cause of death was drowning, but there was no more information than that. It was likely you knew by word of mouth otherwise there would be more. The photo matched the figure seen in the video that helped Jimin, so he didn’t have questions.

He heaved a deep breath, “Okay, but how can you be sure of the connection between Junghee and Jae Seong Seok?”

You dragged your chair forward, typed a password, and then an encrypted code on your search bar. It opened footage of a parking lot surveillance camera, and Yoongi almost choked. Junghee was in uniform escorting Jae Seong Seok to his car. The two spoke closely before an envelope passed hands. Yoongi kept his eyes on the screen until the Chief Superintendent General got inside the car and left, and Junghee counted the money in plain sight before leaving as well.

Then Yoongi groaned and rubbed his eyes, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“Again, your Officer was just collateral damage. Jae Seong Seok would have let him rot in jail as long as no more questions were raised, but you and I didn’t let that happen. The case is still open since Ray's body was never found, though we know it’s over. To Jae Seong Seok, you and I are the only loose ends. But we're a necessary evil. For now.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me about this?”

You huffed and looked away, “I knew you’d react this way. You think everyone is bad except your precious officers, but everyone can be corrupted. No one’s hands are clean. Heck, not even yours.” 

You glanced at his hands, then raked your hair back. It was true, but maybe you shouldn’t have said it like that.

He kneeled in front of you so you’d be forced to meet his eyes, “That’s not what I mean. If you and I are at risk, I should know about it.”

You looked away, but he grabbed your hands to keep you with him. You shrugged, “I have it under control.”

He observed you for a moment, but there was nothing in his expression telling you he didn’t believe you. At least he wasn’t angry anymore. It brought tears to your eyes that you disgruntledly wiped away.

“This is the price for helping me… Why did you?”

Your lips trembled, and you pressed them before admitting, “You moved me… You knew it wasn’t true, and you were willing to go to hell to prove it. Even if you didn’t actually know,” you scoffed, then smiled, observing his dark glistening eyes. “I… also couldn’t resist seeing how far you’d go. With the chance to get inside your pants, landing on my lap like that? I can’t be blamed for succumbing to your charms.”

He scoffed, and his lips curved, “What charms?”

You smirked and shook your head, “You’re right. Best if you keep ignoring them. That way, I’m the only one who has the pleasure of—”

His lips were on yours before he could stop himself, gently kissing you while his fingers brushed and held your cheeks. He wasn’t one for confrontations but was happy he had asked immediately and clarified everything. He’d do some internal investigation for himself, but he believed you. If your safety was in jeopardy, he had to set up a safety net for you both.

He liked your soft expression when he pulled away, enjoying his thumbs brushing your cheeks. You felt hot to the touch and looked tired, with dark circles under your eyes. Yet before he addressed that, he said, “You can tell me things like this. You know that.”

You sighed and tried to look away, “Maybe.”

He pressed his lips but didn’t insist. He wished there were no secrets between you, but he’d wait for you to make that decision. Giving you the time and space to come to him was still the best he could do.

“Do you want to drink something?” He asked, letting go of you gently. “Maybe a gin and tonic will put color back in your cheeks.”

You looked down and shook your head, “I don’t feel like it.”

He thought everything was well after that, but one week later, he knew it wasn’t. Something had changed, and it was like being forced to watch a chain-reaction car accident happen — there was nothing he could do to stop it, and the damage just kept piling up.

He had noticed you weren’t drinking for a few weeks, but it was starting to irk him now. Sometimes, you were nauseated, and at other times, you were starving. Sometimes, you just wanted to cuddle and sleep, but at other times, you wanted him to stay away because it was too hot and overwhelming if he touched you. You always had a strong personality, which he loved, but now you were unrestrained. Irritable didn’t begin to cover it; something was always wrong. You had fought every day for the past week and always over trivial things that he never even thought of before. 

Since when did you care that he still used the same shampoo his ex-wife used to buy? It was out of habit, absolutely meaningless, but you had taken it so personally that you had squeezed all bottles empty and thrown them at him when he tried to stop you. You never cared that he smoked; on the contrary, you had his favorites at your place just for him. Now? You had almost gagged from him smoking after you two were together, even though he did it for months without an issue. And intimately? He didn’t know what was happening, but you were acting differently. You wouldn’t let him see you fully naked, and the few times you let him touch you, you almost started crying.

He must have been doing something very wrong, but mentioning it only resulted in you fighting or running away. Your routine was kept the next day, but every time, it chipped away at his patience, and surely, it tired you, too.

He blamed his ill temper for the way he ended up snapping at you.

“I don’t feel like it,” you voiced after he offered you a drink. “Maybe I should keep this one short. I need to go back to the Aether.”

He put down the glass inside his office liquor cabinet, not bothering to fill it, and huffed the growing annoyance. You had smiled and kissed him when you arrived, kindling his hope, only to snuff it so easily.

“Then why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

He turned to you, “Why are you here if you’re just going to leave?”

You scoffed, “You mean I shouldn’t have come?”

You looked instantly bitter, and he shook his head, “You should have, and you should stay. Have a drink with me, rest, and fucking talk to me.”

You laughed humorlessly, “You have to be kidding. Again with the drink bullshit?”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“It’s just a drink,” you underlined dryly.

“It’s what it means!”

You rolled your eyes, “And what does it mean?”

“That something changed!”

He slammed the liquor cabinet door closed, and you crossed your arms over your chest, “Just because I don’t want your stupid whiskey?”

The way you withdrew from him made him feel like a pet about to be abandoned. He shook his head, pale, “It’s not the whiskey. You don’t want anything! You’re always annoyed, irritated, and in a rush to leave. You don’t let me touch you or—”

“Stop, just—” You were blushing furiously, with closed fists now trembling at your sides. “You’re being ridiculous!”

“I’m calling it as I see it!”

He regretted raising his voice at you, especially when he noticed the way you were trembling. He wasn’t shouting, but still, it only made things worse. He could see it in your glistening eyes, though your whole body posture told him he fucked up.

But he didn’t understand what he did that led to this, and he wouldn’t just watch it fall apart. He did with his ex-wife. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to do something about it. But fuck— with you, he cared. He cared more than he had ever been able to tell you or show you, and he couldn’t just watch it happen without doing something.

“I’m leaving.”

You reached to grab your purse over the couch, and it all happened so fast. His heart convulsed, his eyes watered, but most of all, his desperation pushed him to grab your arm to stop you.

You spun around, and your instinct was to pull your trusty knife on him. You were angry, hurt, and shaking, but saw the tears reflecting in his eyes. Your blade was poking his stomach, but you didn’t want to hurt him. You just couldn’t think clearly; you needed to get away.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fucking stab me if you want,” his voice wavered as his hold tightened but your eyes hardened.

“I don’t need to.”

You pulled your arm loose, and he let you go. How could he not? Even though he wanted to beg you to stay and was desperate to fix things and get everything back to what it was. But he couldn’t go against your will. This was what he had always feared finally coming to fruition, and it hurt.

He stood still while he heard you tapping your heels away, praying you would turn around and give him a chance. But then the front door slammed, and he roared and saw red. He kicked and punched everything in the vicinity, ignoring the glass shards and the wood splinters flying around. 

Not much survived in his office by the time he was done, and not even the pain in his knuckles and arms phased him. He fell to his knees with a plea masked as a grunt, but even then it didn’t hurt. Only his heart, beating in agony, did.

All he wanted was you, and he lost you.

[inkymoon16]

Dusk Till Dawn Preface

Preface to my new Marauders AU fic that's up on AO3! Same title, same username :) **For the full fic, please go to ao3

Summary

The Start -

They never warn you about falling in love. Feeling yourself tumble through the air, hoping someone is there to catch you at the bottom. They never bother to mention all the dangers that come with it. The heartbreak. The sacrifices. The fights. All the tears that have flowed. The way one so willingly tears themself apart in order to patch together the other person. I know all these dangers because I lived them. 

I fell in love. Hard. Probably with the wrong man at the wrong time. But isn’t that what being young and alive is all about? It was the 70s, I was in my 20s, of course I was in love. I was in love with rock and roll, drugs, money. I was love with him. 

If asked to do it all over again would I? Without a doubt. If it meant I got the man I loved, then yes, I would have lived this life a thousand times over. And this life was certainly not an easy one. 

This is a story of love and heartbreak. Of a time in New York’s history where gangsters ruled the streets more than cops. A safe area? Never heard of it. 

This is about love prevailing through the hardest of times and coming out the other end breathless, but somehow still alive. Love is not without scars, of course. I learned that love is about showing those scars to your lover and instead of turning away, they kiss them better. 

Yet there must be a balance to everything. There cannot be love without loss. There cannot be good without evil. Loss teaches you more about love than Cupid ever could. 

[pulpman2]

Ellen’s New Acquaintance

The bald man was filled with a homicidal fury. He had already flung Ellen Harvey, PI, against the wall of the dingy apartment to where she had tracked him as she cautiously entered the room. Ellen, no shrinking violet and an expert in jiu-jitsu, was nonetheless completely unprepared for the ferocity of the burly man’s attack. As she felt blood begin to flow from the slight cut on her forehead, Kane followed up his surprise assault and seized Ellen by the neck and forced her entire body against the wall. Desperately, the brunette clawed at her attacker’s muscular arm with her right hand, grabbing his wrist but nothing could restrain the strength of the enraged man’s fury. Through the corner of her eye the alarmed woman could see Kane also had a lethal-looking screwdriver clutched in his fist, aimed directly at Ellen’s face. “Who sent you, b***h?” the fugitive gangster demanded.

Ellen began a choking reply. Kane frowned, the red hatred of his anger seeming to dissipate slightly and he loosened his grip a little on the woman’s neck. “No one sent me,” she gasped, “I came to warn you…” Kane’s frown deepened. “Warn me?” he repeated. “A dame wants to warn me? Warn me about what?” Ellen gazed appealingly at the man, her green/brown eyes shining, “Mr Kane,” she told him huskily, “you are in danger…” Suddenly the grip on her neck tightened again. “Stop playing games!” he yelled at her. “Danger from who? Big Louie? Those crooked downtown cops? Who?” Ellen, smiling weakly replied faintly: “Not who, but what…” Kane’s brows furrowed dimly.

At that moment Ellen’s nyloned right knee shot out and connected as hard as the female detective could manage with Kane’s groin. The man doubled up immediately with a grunt, the screwdriver falling from his hand allowing Ellen to follow up with a hard punch to her assailant’s nose. He collapsed to the ground, choking in shock and pain. Ellen, breathing hard, stepped over the gangster’s writhing form, strode to his wardrobe and pulled out a shirt which she began to tear into strips. “I was trying to warn you you would be in danger of never being able to have children again if you didn’t let go of me pronto.” she told him matter-of-factly. “Why don’t men ever listen?” Then Ellen knelt next to the stricken man and pulled his arms behind his back in order to tie him up. “Ellen Harvey, private investigator and honorary police detective with the Chicago PD, Mr Kane,” she said as she bound the still gasping man, “pleased to make your acquaintance.”

My interpretation of the story behind the cover to The Dame Dies Twice by Robert Leslie Bellem, Speed Detective #2 (February 1943)

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 32

Third POV

After Jeff left, Eboni kicked everyone out - stating that she had a long weekend and deserves some rest in her own bed. Iris and Luna didn't complain and left, wishing Eboni the best. But Taylor did. She clearly didn't like the power Jeff has over Eboni. The teen knows this as well. It was written all over Taylor's face. Does she care? Not at all. She belongs to Jeff, and nothing about that fact will change. The sooner Taylor accepts that, the better.

It's Monday. Tiffany has called Eboni to check in on her. The teen is a bit surprised that she didn't receive any text or phone calls from the woman over the weekend. Maybe she thought Eboni was out living her best life and didn't want to get in the way of that. Either way, it worked out since Eboni was stuck at that mansion.

Eboni can't take her rollerblades this time, so her only option of transportation is her bike. Her hand has gotten better as well as the bruise on the side of her ribs.

Once at the school, she chains up her bike and tightens her cast before walking through the school doors. While walking to her locker, the teen notices most of the students staring at her - whispering words to their friends or giving her a look of acknowledgment. The atmosphere of their stares doesn't seem negative in any way.

"Has to be about the Red Riders ga-"

As Eboni is opening her locker to grab her books for first period, a strong force knocks her straight into her locker, making it slame close on her injured hand. She holds back her cry, glaring at the person responsible for it.

Trisha glares down at Eboni, grabbing the girl's hair. The teen whences, glaring daggers at Trisha. This girl can never catch a break. Beth stands there, grinning like some mad woman. These two have been aching to get their hands on Eboni.

"Patience really is a virtue, huh? We tried to get Taylor to Spill on where you live, but that bitch wouldn't fess up."

"We know you got something to do with the murders of our members. Spill the beans, and we might spare you an ass kicking!" Trisha shouts in Eboni's face.

Eboni grins, spitting in Trisha's face, which earns her head slamming into the lockers and a kick to her injured ankle from Beth. Eboni falls to the ground, still refusing to release any sounds of pain. She looks at her hand, blood bleeding through the bandages.

"What's up with the busted hand and fucked up ankle huh? Get that shit while out on your killing sprees? Fess up already!" Beth demands, kicking the girl in her stomach and Trisha socks her clean in her jaw.

Eboni lands on the ground with a hard 'thud'. She slowly sits up, grinning from ear to ear. "And if I was involved...the cops has nothing on me - you wanna be gangsters bitches!"

At this point, Trisha and Beth lose their temper and begin jumping Eboni - punching and kicking her at any place their hits would land. The other students just watch, most recording and not one bothering to find a teacher.

"EBONI!!" Taylor yells, pushing the students out of her way with Iris close behind saying 'excuse me' to every person Taylor shoves.

"Don't even think about stepping in, you useless low grade!" Beth orders.

Eboni pants, blood flowing from her nose and her lip busted once again. She looks at Taylor, begging the girl to do something. What's the worst that can happen? All she wants is a break. Taylor, however, stares in anger and remorse, causing Eboni to sigh. Maybe this is one of the gangs rules- low grades have no choice but to listen to the higher ups, even if their friend is getting beaten to the ground.

She won't hold this against her, but that doesn't mean she isn't pissed off. The question is, why isn't Eboni fighting back? Well, she doesn't want to be suspended again. It seems like every time the teen fights back, she's the one to always get into trouble - it's unfair, but Eboni will hold out until a teacher shows up.

That is until Iris surprisingly steps forward. She puts on her best threatening expression, clenching her fist. Eboni's eyes widen, knowing Iris can't even bring herself to hurt a fly - what can she do against two gang members?

"L-L-L....Leave h-her alone!" Iris forces out through her trembling lips.

Trisha laughs, stepping forward. She grins down at the five foot two teen, placing her hands on her hips. "Oh yeah? And if I don't? What is a stuttering bitch like you gonna do?"

Iris is trembling as if the temperature within the halls dropped below zero. Eboni feels touched. Iris, knowing how terrifying it is, still put herself in the middle of this crossfire just to possibly save Eboni. Unfortunately, the poor trembling girl stands still - paralyzed.

"Nothing. That's what I thought." Trisha laughs before punching the girl clean in her jaw, and Iris falls to the ground.

"Iris!" Taylor calls out, rushing to the girl's side. She quickly helps her out, glaring at Trisha. "Ya' sorry son of a-"

"Finish that sentence, and I will tell the head - everything." Trisha warns, raising a brow.

Taylor's mouth slames shut as she helps Iris off the floor, not having the courage to look Eboni's way. Beth laughs, shaking her head. "Well shit. You really do have some crappy, weak friends - huh? You mur-"

Eboni is already on her feet, grabbing Beth by her hair and knees her in the nose before slamming her head against the locker. She looks boldy at Trisha, wiping the blood from her nose and spitting blood on the ground from her lip.

"Nice to see one of my friends has a set of balls." She grins, looking at Iris, who smiles back with shaky lips.

"Beth! You piece of sh-"

Trisha moves to punch Eboni in her face, but she girl dodges easily. Swing after swing - Trisha can't land a single hit. Eboni's mind is elsewhere at this point. She assumes fighting a few high-class serial killers taught her a thing or two - one lesson being speed.

"Stand. STILL!" Trisha shouts in frustration.

"Fuck - this is boring." She said, dropping down into a split which surprises everyone watching.

Eboni moves her leg, tripping Trisha to the ground. The teen quickly jumps in top of her, giving punch after brutal punch to the girl's face. At this point, Trisha is already knocked out cold, but that doesn't stop Eboni in the slightest - until she feels something smack her upside the head.

Eboni groans, ringing filling her ears. She looks up, giving Beth a sly grin. "Aw, was a few knocks to the locker not enough to keep your pathetic ass down? I hope you're more entertaining than she was." Eboni taunts while standing off of Trisha, kicking the girl in her rib for good measure.

The action angers Beth, the girl swinging her bat in Eboni's direction. She smiles wickedly, a crazed look taking over her features. Beth moves to swing the bat at her head again, but Eboni catches it in her grasp, yanking the weapon from Beth. She tosses the bat into the crowd, laughing loudly.

"A girl in a cast can still move faster than you! Come oooon, I'm sure you've had plenty of street fights! Show me what them hands can do!" Eboni said, standing with her hands on her hips.

Beth accepts her challenge, her movements being rather swift, which surprises Eboni in a delightful way. But after some time, Beth movements slow down due to her lack of stamina. It seems like the leader lacks it since her minions always get their hands dirty.

"You really are a disappointment." Eboni scoffs, punching the girl square in her nose.

She gives no time for Beth to recover, kicking the girl to the ground but grabs her hair to keep her upright. Eboni brings her fist to her face over and over again, her laughter growing louder and more maniacal. When she notices Beth slipping unconscious, Eboni leans down to whisper something into her ear.

"I have nothing to do with your petty gang's death. Buuuut I know the man that does - each one of those fuckers didn't stand a chance against him, Especially Emily." She mocks, giving the girl one last blow knocking her out cold.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Principle Webb shouts, pushing his way through the crowd with other teachers following behind him.

Eboni cracks her neck and knuckles, looking at Principle Webb with a widen smile. "Oh hey, nothing really. Just beat these bitches up for thinking they can jump me." Eboni points at the cameras in the corner of the halls. "Look at those cameras. They even punched Iris for trying to defend me."

"I-Its true..." Iris said, pulling away from Taylor.

Taylor, of course, grabs Iris and shakes her head, silently begging her to shut up. Eboni rolls her eyes, chuckling darkly. Sometimes, she really wants to kick Taylor's ass. Whatever the reason may be, Eboni knows she's trying to save her own ass. She knows these girls have some type of blackmail on her. How hippocyrtical of Taylor to still keep secrets that only Iris knows about.

"You! To my office, now!" Principle Webb orders.

Eboni rolls her eyes, walking towards his office - sparing Taylor a side eye. Once there principle Webb goes through the security cameras, watching intensely. When he sees Eboni telling the truth, he sighs, pitching the bridge of his nose.

"Suspended for the rest of the week. I will inform your parents."

"What the hell!? I didn't start it!"

"But you caused more damage! You look like you were enjoying yourself!"

"And if I was? They fucking deserved it.", Eboni said through her teeth a smile stretching her face.

Principle Webb stares at the teen in horror, getting a sense of strange deja vu. "G-Get out! My decision is final! Leave school grounds, or I will have you escorted out!" He warns.

Eboni sighs, standing from her seat and leaves his office - walking straight out of the school doors. She walks to her bike, hopping on after unchaining it and rides back home- awaiting a phone call from Tiffany.

When home, Eboni slumps in her bed, body sore from the beating she took. Eboni's phone begins to ring, Tiffany on the other end. The woman lectures her, Eboni not saying a word since she's too tired to care. After awhile of bickering, Eboni hangs up the phone mid sentence, then turns her phone on silent. A break. The girl just wants a break from everything. Letting exhaustion take over, Eboni drifts off into a light nap.

• • • •

Meanwhile, at the Slenderman mansion, BEN is scrolling through Instagram on his phone - the phone is bugged so nothing can be traced back. During his scrolling, he comes across a video that looks like a school fight. Rolling his eyes, he keeps scrolling until he comes across the same video but at a different angle. He scrolls again, but the same thing occurs. Giving up, he watches the video, his eyes widening at who's partaking in the fight.

"Holy shit is that Eboni?" BEN ask outloud, gaining Eyeless Jack's attention.

"What are you watching?" He asks, leaning over to take a look while BEN turns up the volume.

"Is she always kicking someone's a- Oh shit that was a nasty hit!"

"Play it from the beginning. See her hand? It's bleeding through her bandages."

BEN starts the video over, both of them cringing at the beating Eboni takes so willingly. "...is this what Jeff is talking about?"

"The one thing that pisses him off about Eboni? Yeah, now I understand. So why did Eboni - "

"Why did Eboni what?" Jeff questions, looming over them from behind the couch - taking a sip of his Jack Daniel's.

"Your girl got into another smack down." BEN sighs.

"Her hand looks pretty bad." EJ comments, a look of concern taking his features.

Jeff quickly snatches the phone from BEN, watching the fight from beginning to end. He's pissed, no doubt about it, but he's angry for three different reasons. One, Eboni allows them to beat her. Two, her quiet - weak friend tries to step in and fails miserably while Taylor does absolutely nothing. And Three, that was the tipping point for Eboni to fight back - to defend her friend, not herself.

Jeff tosses the phone back to BEN, frowning. "EJ, get your medical shit and follow me."

Eyeless Jack doesn't bother to argue since he wants to check on Eboni as well. He goes into his private infirmary and grabs his first aid kit, making his way back down the stairs.

"BEN, use your powers and send us there. Too tired to walk." He grumbles, dark bags clearly under his eyes - the killer didn't get much sleep last night.

BEN nods, placing his hands on their shoulders and zaps out of the mansion and zips through the forest - making it to the edge of the forest and Eboni's home. Jeff looks around, nodding his head forward once the cost is clear.

Jeff, EJ, and BEN all climb up to her window, Jeff opening the window quietly and swiftly - the three of them stepping inside. EJ and BEN are taken aback by Eboni's pink infested room, but Jeff is used to it by now. He walks over to her bed, noticing she's asleep.

The smiling killer reaches over, using his index finger to rub against her cheek. "Wake up, princess. We gotta talk."

Eboni stirs, opening her eyes. She yawns, sitting up as she rubs them. "Daddy?"

BEN zaps her lights on, waving awkwardly. "We're here too. Just needed you to know." The demon did not want to witness nor hear anything that can be avoided.

"Uh..ok?? Why are you all here anyway? Besides Da-...Jeff."

Jeff moves to sit beside her, grabbing her hand, and begins to unwrap it. He notices her busted lip and the bruises on her arms and legs. He clicks his tongue, wiping blood from her nose that begins to bleed again. He looks at her hand, shaking his head.

"EJ get started."

EJ steps forward, making Eboni flinch back. "Wait- hold on I'm -"

"Shut. Up. Just sit there and let him work. I won't tell you again." The smiling killer warns, clearly not in the best mood.

Eboni pouts, sulking against her headboard as EJ begins looking over her hand- changing the stitching and cleaning the wound. The teen looks at Jeff, noticing the dark bags under his eyes. She tilts her head but looks at BEN.

"Are you going to explain why you guys suddenly showed up?"

"You're going viral." BEN smirks, "that fight of yours is blowing up."

Eboni's eyes widen, reaching for her phone and taking it off of silent. She notices the many missed calls from Tiffany and a few messages from Iris and...A LOT from Taylor. She gets onto Instagram, noticing her fight is all over her feed. She checks her account, noticing how many followers she gained.

"....whoa-" she whispers, quickly replying to Iris to let her know she's alright but leaves Taylor on open - rolling her eyes and scoffing at her half ass apologies.

Jeff takes the phone, reading Taylor's message. His eye twitched, throwing her phone to the couch. "Man! I hate that bitch!" He shouts.

Eboni's taken aback, "Why? She didn't do anything to you -"

"But she's doing shit to you! Fuck Eboni when are you going to start defending yourself? When are you gonna start giving a shit about yourself?! Your SAFETY!? Fuck those bitches and start putting your ass first!"

The teen stares at him, a bit confused as to why he's snapping at her like this. "Where's this coming fr -"

The killer pulls away from her, standing and starts pacing her room. He pitches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his temper under control. Yes, he's angry, but he's trying not to direct it all at Eboni even though half of his anger is because of her. He doesn't mind Iris and Luna. Though they don't agree with their...connection, they know not to overstep - not to get in the way.

But not Taylor. He refuses to believe that such a girl has Eboni's best interest at heart. He senses jealously - Envy. The way she looks at his girl is contradictoring to her words on how she cares for Eboni. Taylor's so selfish and has her head so far up her ass. No wonder she's with Masky. The two are too much alike. That's a recipe for a toxic bomb. Taylor is only looking out for herself, no matter who to hurt, to get what she wants. How she got girls like Iris and Luna to care for her is beyond Jeff's comprehension.

"She doesn't give a shit about you. Something about that bitch rubs me the wrong way. How is it that the one that looks like she'll cry at any kind of comfortation helps you - but not the one who can throw hands!?" He shouts.

"What the hell - she does care! They're blackmailing her! They have something on her head!" Eboni said defensively. These are the first friends she's ever made. Sure, Taylor has her flaws, but she will defend her. She doesn't want to lose the first and only friends she has.

Jeff laughs, shaking his head. "You think I give a shit Eboni? I'm never wrong about this shit! She's going to screw you over! That hoe is a damn narcissist!"

EJ reaches to try and place a thin bandage over Eboni's lip, but their consistent arguing is preventing it. The teen laughs, rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest. "It takes one to know one asshole!"

No one can stop it. No one sees it coming. Before EJ & BEN can take action, Jeff forces Eboni against her headboard by her throat. His grip tightens as he stares at the girl with unblinking eyes - his grin stretching from ear to ear.

"You're right princess I'm the biggest fucking narcissist out here! But you like that - you love that shit about me. It's what draws you in, makes you crave more. So don't sit here and act like you're more sane than me. You're just as fucked up as me and if you want a bitch like that to fuck you up some more - be my fucking guest!" He shouts in her face before BEN yanks him away.

Eboni coughs, hand on her throat as she tries to regulate her breathing. EJ quickly places a patch over her lip before taking a look at her neck. It'll bruise, only slightly, though. He places a reassuring hand on Eboni's shoulder before looking at Jeff - his expression in dismay.

"Tch. Fuck this. Let's go." He said, not sparing another look at Eboni.

EJ and BEN share an apologetic look towards Eboni before jumping out of the window, leaving her in a state of shock. Maybe Taylor is right, out of all the psycho killers to let fuck her - why did it have to be Jeff The Killer?