#so now he's just. Tired and mildly homicidal

[redroom-rainbowguts]

Baby boy, baby → that is an adult man with Problems

[byfulcrums]

Seeing people saying that Satoru doesn't actually care about Suguru and that the only reason Kenjaku caught him was bc he was surprised to see a person he killed alive is fucking wild, man

Like. Gojo's entire life revolves around Geto. The entire series happens because he loved Suguru too much to kill him, even though he knew he would have to do it eventually. The world literally went to shit because he wasn't over him

Geto Suguru's life would be completely unimportant to the story without Gojo Satoru, and Gojo Satoru's would be completely unimportant without Geto Suguru. They complement each other. They need each other

Two male betta fishes can't coexist. They will fight and one will die. They can't see each other — even if they're in different tanks, they won't be able to live. They'd eventually tire each other out, resulting in death. The only way for Satoru and Suguru's lives to be able to continue without the other would've been for them to never have met at all. And they can't be together. Not now, not ever again. Not while they're still alive. Not after everything that's happened

The entire story revolves around their relationship. Yuuji is a boy who ate a curse('s finger[s]), and Megumi is the prodigy who befriends him. Satoru is a prodigy, the strongest, and Suguru, the boy whose technique is eating curses, befriends him. The Jujutsu Kaisen story is all about parallels and they all connect to fucking Satosugu. It's all about them

The only reason Kenjaku's plan worked is because the body he used didn't belong to some random person Gojo killed, it worked because the body he used was Geto Suguru's, Gojo's one and only, his best friend. He must be thinking “Thank god they're gay” right now lmao

Gojo fucking hesitated. He hesitated multiple times when it came to Geto. He was supposed to kill him, yet he let him go. He has the Six Eyes, he could've easily tracked him down. He probably could tell if he was nearby (he can recognize Suguru from his scent) and just didn't go looking for him. And he could've so very easily escaped the trap that was set up for him, he was going to run away from it because we see him about to take that step but then Suguru's body shows up and says “Yo, Satoru!” with Suguru's voice and Satoru freezes and hesitates

They weren't able to let go of each other even after years of being separated (like a decade). When they meet, Suguru still greets Satoru warmly

Suguru is pretty much Satoru's moral code. He was the only person Satoru took at least mildly seriously pre-Toji (and we know Satoru just didn't do serious back then). He actually took his words to heart. He was kind, of course (especially from Suguru's PoV, since he's the person that knows him most), and not a bad person, but he wasn't nice. Suguru was always the ‘nice(r) one’, the one who actually had a moral code, while Satoru was more of an asshole to literally everyone and everything (some more, some less), thinking he and Suguru were above everyone else

When Suguru finally snaps (which, honestly. Fair) and goes genocidal (not so fair), Satoru slowly starts to be somewhat nicer and starts applying Suguru's old moral code to his own being — their roles weren't exactly reversed, but now they're not together anymore, so they might as well be. And Suguru was shown for having faith in the school and its system while it was Satoru the one who absolutely abhorred the higher-ups and all kinds of authority, but then it ended up with Suguru being the one to leave and become a cult leader with the blood of hundreds on his hands while Satoru was the one that stayed behind in the same place of the people he despises so much

(Imagine someone saying something like “Sometimes I doubt you even have a moral code” and Gojo answers with “Oh, my best friend my one and only is pretty much my moral code. He went homicidal a while back but it's okay haha” “...Actually, that explains a few things”)

Gojo doesn't have a god complex, but I wouldn't blame him if he did. I mean, he might as well be the closest thing to god human beings have ever seen. He used to put himself above everyone else, when he was a teenager. He thought that, the higher he was, the more he could do. And no one was better than him. But not Suguru. Back then, it wasn't “I'm the strongest” it was “We're the strongest and “We're the best” and “We're the ones that will beat you” and “We're the duo” and it was all about “us, us, us, us, us” instead of “me, me, me, me” like people thought it was — they were a pair. They still are

We know people thought and still think of Gojo as a weapon. As something that must be controlled, because on the moment he decides he doesn't want to be around them anymore, he could just straight up kill then without any effort (but getting rid of people in positions of power only gets other people in positions of power and it'll be a neverending story, and Gojo knows this so he's trying to do his best to fix it all through the younger generation, by letting them live). And we also know that Suguru is one of the very few people who did not believe that at all

Like their personalities and characters and stories and literally everything, their names complement each other. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru are such similar names, I get them mixed up all the time (the amount of times I've called them “Gojo Suguru” and “Geto Satoru” is embarassing. Also, “Saturu”. “Goto”. “Gejo”. Ugh). Both of their last names start with a G, end with an O and have 4 letters. Both of their given names start with an S, end with an U and have 6 letters. They complement each other. They need each other

The only times we've seen Gojo with an expression of actual pure, raw emotion is when it's about Geto. When he finds out about what Geto did, when he realizes how thin and wrong Geto looks, when he sees him again for what we assume to be the first time in years, when he dies, when a thing wearing his corpse and using his voice greets him (“Yo, Satoru!” oh my god)

Suguru was able to fight back when in Kenjaku's control after Satoru said his name. Kenjaku himself says that had never happened before

And you don't even have to see them as romantic. You don't have to ship them if you don't want to. But you can't deny that they care about each other more than they will ever care about anyone else

[hartigays]

big brain thot: wheezie being the one to get rafebarry together👀👀

“wheeze, you can’t just show up here like this.”

she hasn’t even gotten off her bicycle yet, helmet still in place and everything. she looks up at rafe with big eyes, rolling them as slowly and dramatically as humanly possible.

“i just did,” wheezie points out, unclipping her helmet and setting it in the front basket of her bike.

rafe eyes her warily, then relaxes a bit. his eyes flicker back towards the trailer. “how’d you even know i’d be here?”

“topper,” she tells him simply, shrugging.

“topper?”

another overly-dramatic eye roll. “yes, topper. he came by looking for sarah and i asked him if he knew where you were. i need help with something.”

“and topper told you i’d be here?” rafe asks, brows raised.

topper is a lot of things, but is he the type of person to send a kid to a coke dealer’s trailer? no, absolutely not.

“i encouraged him,” wheezie replies, a little too vague for rafe’s liking. he narrows his eyes and she sighs. “fine, i kicked him in the crotch until he gave it up. happy?”

rafe snorts at the mental image.

wheezie finally climbs off her bike, standing in front of rafe with her arms crossed. “so, are you going to help me or not?”

he really doesn’t want to say yes. but he’s sort of always had a soft spot for wheezie - she’s one of two people who don’t make him feel completely homicidal.

(the other is sitting back in the trailer, smoking a joint and watching some boxing match on his old as shit tv. the thing has antennas, for fuck’s sake.)

rafe glances back at the trailer again, then turns back to wheezie, scrubbing a hand over his face. “fine. but you can’t come inside, wheeze, i’m serious.”

“why, because of drugs?” wheezie snorts, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “please. i’m pretty sure you smoked weed in my room when i was like, five.”

“that’s not the point,” rafe huffs, his fuse shortening ever-so-slightly. “just tell me what you want.”

for the first time since her arrival, wheezie looks mildly uncomfortable. she bites her lip, looking towards the treeline.

“i want to learn how to fight,” she says, and her voice sounds so small that rafe sort of feels… bad.

which is like a new milestone or whatever, so this is sort of a big moment for him.

“why do you need to learn how to fight?”

wheezie doesn’t say anything for a long stretch. then, her cheeks get red, and the words burst out of her. “i’m getting picked on at school, alright? this girl keeps saying she’s going to beat me up after class and i can only hide from her for so long, you know?”

rafe is mildly taken aback, never figuring wheezie for the type to get bullied. she always seemed self-assured and well adjusted, with a sizable group of friends and an active social life. for a middle schooler, anyway.

“what’s her name?” rafe asks, indignant on his sister’s behalf.

if he had to choose a sister to be the target of bullying, it’d definitely be sarah. wheezie, on the other hand, is just a kid. and if someone is threatening to kick her ass, rafe sure as hell is going to find out who.

“i’m not telling you her name, rafe,” wheezie says. “i don’t want you going and knocking her door down to threaten her or whatever. i want you to teach me how to fight so i can hold my own.”

rafe would probably just kill the kid, not threaten her, whoever she is. but he doesn’t tell this to wheezie, biting his tongue for once.

he rocks back on his heels, then sighs, and beckons for wheezie to follow him into the trailer.

wheezie throws her arms up as if to say fucking finally, following rafe inside.

barry is still smoking on the couch, but when he sees wheezie trailing after rafe, he has the presence of mind to put the joint out with an awkward cough.

“you gonna tell me who your little friend is, country club?”

“i’m his sister, wheezie,” she says before rafe can speak, rolling her shoulders back and holding barry’s gaze steadily.

“wheezie?” barry repeats, then laughs, wagging his finger in her direction. “you funny, kid.”

wheezie gives rafe a look, clearly judging him for his choice of company.

“jury’s still out on you,” wheezie tells barry, eyeing him.

barry actually throws his head back when he laughs this time, and rafe can’t help but eye the line of his throat, his mouth going a little dry.

the worst part is, wheezie notices him staring. she raises a brow at rafe. he just coughs and looks away, regretting every decision he’s made in the last ten minutes.

“look, she wants to learn how to fight,” rafe tells barry. “i figured two heads would be better than one?”

“or you just a pussy and know you can’t beat nobody’s ass, rafe,” barry says, reclining back on the sofa, staring at him through heavily-lidded eyes.

“neither can you,” rafe reminds him.

always reminding him. where rafe has failed, barry has too. rather consistently, as a matter of fact.

“fair ‘nough,” barry says after a stretch, leaning forward again. “two heads, then.”

wheezie coughs, and they both turn to look at her. she gives them a bored look. “are you two done having a moment? or do you still need a minute? because i can step outside if- ”

“shut up, wheeze,” rafe groans, pushing her towards the couch.

they spend the next hour and a half discussing fighting techniques, and the cardinal rules of fighting. the ones rafe and barry abide by, anyway.

there aren’t many. they spend the majority of the time discussing technique.

when wheezie gets sick of listening to them yammer on about the different types of headlocks, she starts to get restless.

“oh my god, i didn’t come for the rules of fight club, alright? will one of you just show me how to punch this bitch in the face?”

both barry and rafe shut up immediately, barry’s mouth dropping open in mild surprise.

rafe just snorts, mumbling fair enough under his breath.

and that’s how rafe ends up watching barry do some sort of shadow boxing with wheezie in the living room. rafe re-lights the joint, watching the scene before him in amusement.

“no, kid, you ain’t gotta do all that fancy shit with your legs,” barry is saying at one point, then demonstrates some sort of kick for her.

rafe forgets sometimes that barry has military training, and despite the fact that he gets his ass beat on a regular basis, he’s a pretty damn good teacher.

the joint is long gone by the time wheezie looks at her watch, cursing.

“shit. rose is gonna kill me,” wheezie mutters, fumbling for her phone.

“just tell her you’re staying at a friend’s,” rafe suggests. “it’s too dark for you to bike back anyway.”

“you could always drive me, you know,” wheezie reminds him. then, her eyes flicker down to what’s left of the joint (basically, the filter) and backtracks. “well, he could.”

she’s pointing at barry, and barry shrugs.

rafe, however, finds himself wanting wheezie to stay. dare he say it, he might’ve actually missed his sister.

he’s pretty sure he’ll regret it later, but regardless he says, “we’ll get you something to eat and you can crash here if you’re too tired to go home after.”

something to eat ends up being freezer-burnt pizza rolls, but wheezie doesn’t complain. she eats her food while scrolling through her phone, glancing up at rafe and barry every now and then.

they’re conversing quietly about a drug deal they have set up later, a big one. rafe doesn’t think wheezie is listening, but he also doesn’t notice the way she keeps glancing up at them, her eyes flickering between them with an unreadable look on her face.

and then, out of nowhere, “are you guys dating?”

rafe looks at her sharply and he sees barry do the same out of the corner of his eye. barry’s mouth had shut so quickly that his teeth clacked together, and rafe can see him rubbing at his jaw.

“what the hell, wheeze?”

wheezie raises her hands in mock-surrender, but still rolls her eyes. “it’s just a question, geez. but thanks for the answer.”

“the fuck is she talkin’ about?” barry asks, his gaze flickering between rafe and wheezie.

“you two,” wheezie explains slowly, looking almost bored. again. rafe is starting to think he’s had a bad influence on her. “you’re dating, right? like that’s why you’re always here, right?”

the latter question is directed towards rafe, and he feels his stupid cheeks betray him, burning red.

“oh, right. you’re men, of course you haven’t talked about it,” wheezie sighs, then stands up and brushes invisible crumbs off her shorts. “well, i conveniently have to use the bathroom, so. use this time wisely, i guess?”

then wheezie disappears from the small kitchen, leaving rafe and barry sitting in thick, palpable silence.

“so… what the fuck just happened?” rafe asks when he can’t take the uncomfortable silence any longer, pointedly not looking at barry.

when barry shifts in his seat, rafe can feel it, and he realizes all at once just how close they’re sitting.

“she thinks… “ barry trails off, shifting in his seat again.

“that we’re dating,” rafe finishes, swallowing around the golf ball-sized lump that has mysteriously appeared in his throat.

rafe can feel barry looking at him. he can feel the heat of his gaze, and wow, wheezie is taking a really long time in the bathroom.

“that what we been doing, country club?” barry asks, and rafe looks over at him so quickly that his neck pops.

rafe searches barry’s face for any trace of humor, but comes up empty.

they’ve been practically living together for months, ever since rafe gave up trying to please ward and joined barry’s little side business. and if he really thinks about it, they have lapsed into something almost nauseatingly domestic.

it’s like. like rafe’s been in this weird, fucked up relationship this whole time, and he’s just now realizing it. and realizing, at the same time, that he doesn’t want it to end now that wheezie has gutted them both and laid everything out in the open, where neither of them can hide.

jesus fucking christ, is he in love with barry? barry the drug dealer?

well, rafe supposes that’s what he would call himself now, too, so. maybe it makes some sort of sense after all.

“i don’t think so, but i think we should now,” rafe finally says. he doesn’t know why he says that last bit, it just sort of slips out before he realizes what he’s saying.

but he doesn’t take it back either.

barry is too quiet next to him. the silence goes on for far too long, and rafe is starting to debate internally whether or not he should dump wheezie’s body in the swamp or somewhere off shore.

finally, barry speaks. “startin’ to think you may be onto somethin’, rafe cameron.”

“so is that a yes?” rafe huffs, already feeling exposed enough as it is. he doesn’t need barry speaking in shades of gray.

suddenly, there are fingers wrapping around his jaw, gentler than rafe would’ve anticipated, and then barry is turning rafe’s head and kissing him.

like, really kissing him. rafe feels like he’s being turned inside out, his insides shifting and adjusting, rearranging and adapting to make room for barry.

it’s not a particularly long kiss, but it’s sure as hell the best one rafe has experienced in his life.

“they teach you that in the army?” rafe asks when barry pulls away, aiming for nonchalant but failing due to the heavy rise and fall of his chest. and the fact that he can’t stop staring at barry’s mouth.

barry just smacks the back of rafe’s head, shoving him lightly. “get the fuck out my kitchen, country club.”

rafe is about to respond when the bathroom door opens, and wheezie pokes her head out.

“ugh, thank god you’re finally done. you should invest in a bathroom fan, you know,” wheezie tells barry, “i could literally hear everything.”

she shudders and gags, barry laughs, and rafe vaults himself out the nearest window.

well, he tries to. barry catches him by the waist easily, dragging him back into his seat. wheezie just rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“okay, well, since you’re done being a drama queen, i think i’d like that ride home now.”

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

SCARRED HANDS

Iwaizumi Hajime (Older) x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings:  Mafia AU related plot, including drugs. gun traffic and homicide. Violence. SERIOUS TALK ABOUT GAMBLING, ADDICTION, DEBT AND FAMILY ISSUES/FORGIVENESS. Hajime is older, about early forties while Reader is in her twenties, so: Age gap.  Slow-burn (I think?). Presence of an OC named Rei in a side-ship with Mattsun. In this first part there’s no smut.

Part One | Part Two (soon) Word count: 7.5k

Note: This is my second contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. Thank you so much Claudia, @thisisthehardestthing​​​, for beta-ing this and all your amazing comments who have made me scream so much i’m pretty sure my neighbors are wary for my sanity. There’s a side OC/Mattsun here that is my small gift to @mixedhell​​ for everything she has always done for me and for being such a great beta, friend and enabler. <3

I was trying to not break this in two parts, but as it seems my brain keeps hellbent on putting more plot in this, it has become unavoidable. Uh, enjoy? This is my excuse of a fic to just love Iwaizumi at any and all given opportunity! Second part in the works but with no release date yet. <3

Iwaizumi never wanted this life. 

He thinks about it while cleaning his bloody knuckles with a wet cloth, taking care to surround the parts where the skin had broken, scars over scars to the point that he practically did not know what was old and what was recent. The pain didn't bother him anymore, a constant in his life to the point that he barely registered the new injuries. That was the life of the second-in-command of the Seijoh Mafia.

He lived a poor childhood, violent teenage years. At the time, he didn’t have much choice in resorting to crime. It was easy, even; he was good with his hands, fast and built broad and strong since he was young. When his only and best friend told him he wanted to be the Boss, he’d almost laughed before seeing that familiar glint in his friend's eyes – that pure, fierce determination Oikawa had been practically born with– and, void of a dream for himself, he pledged himself to that of his only family.

“Take him to the back,” Hajime tells his trusted duo, who watched over him and the man they’ve been working for the past hour. Matsukawa nods shortly and puts out the cigarette he was smoking, still in half, on the nearest surface, before addressing the bloody man tied to a chair.

“What are you going to do now?” Hanamaki asks from the entrance threshold, not looking at him but rather to the night sky above them outside the deposit in the outskirts of the town. His joint is ending, sweet smoke blowing out and swirling up. 

“I’ll tell Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says like it was obvious. “He’s gonna have to be more careful with his companies.”

Hanamaki snorts while smiling. “Not that he’ll listen.”

Hajime shrugs, throwing the blood-stained rag back without a care for where it’ll land. “That’s his problem.” Then he sighs, looking up at the smoke from Hanamaki’s joint swirling around the wind. “The mole is ours.”

--

Iwaizumi has a special place, if he could call it that. 

He discovered the owner had died with consternation, when he went to the place at his usual time and found it, for what was probably the first time in more than a decade, closed. The diner operated until the ignoble hours of the night, which is why, since Iwaizumi was still a soldier, he used to spend the last hours of his day or the early hours of his mornings there, in what he’d call his little break in between work; his moment of calm even on the most eventful nights of his violent life.

Since he had risen the ranks rather quickly, the habit had given way to certain care with the frequency in which he visited the place, although the time had little variation and was always after two in the morning. 

It was the moment when the night calmed down, the clubs and parties booming, the restaurants that opened at early hours already closed; the brave few passers-by running to their safe places on empty streets while the cars running through the streets lessened by the minute. This was the time when night-shift policemen were already tired of both the events of their shift and the long worked hours, nodding off in their cars.

The diner was on a street just a few blocks away from the heaviest area of ​​the city, where clubs and parties continued until the bright hours of the morning; the drug traffic in these places had been feeding the old mafia veins for decades, since before Iwaizumi, and he was certain he would meet his end way before it did. 

The place was small, nothing much, two big windows beyond the door showing the old, almost vintage interior, careless by the owner who never paid much attention to the decorative aspect of the place. Twenty years ago, when Iwaizumi went from being a simple associate to a soldier, just beginning his life as a man, the place was busier, almost famous - and even then the nights were always the quietest shift, the time where degenerates inherited the city.

Iwaizumi didn't know exactly what had disappointed him so much when he found out that old Lou had gone for the better. Lou wasn't even the old man’s real name - he just adopted it once the name of the diner -- Lou’s Diner -- ended up merging with his in the daily life of being the business owner. Iwaizumi was a constant presence in the place enough to know that Lou, in fact, was the name of the old man's wife, who had died young.

In fact, Iwaizumi spent the days following the discovery of the man’s passing trying to figure out where the place would end - Lou had never said anything about family, but there was always the possibility that the business had been pledged in warrant of some debt and if not, there was the bank. The old man wasn’t exactly what you’d call an exemplary business manager.

A surprise came again when Iwaizumi drove past the place during the day and for the first time in three weeks, there was movement inside the diner - and his first thought is theft. 

It wouldn’t be surprising, considering both the neighborhood and the fact that with the place closed three weeks before, every thug in the street knows that everything is still there.

Iwa sighs, then makes a u-turn so he can park close to the alley on the diner’s corner. He’s surprised, but he realizes it is, in fact, not the case. Unless the young woman holding a broom and looking around as she rolls up the sleeves of a loose oversized T-shirt over normal jeans shorts were, somehow, a phenomenal smuggler.

Against his better judgment, Iwaizumi gets out of his BMW and steps carefully onto the sidewalk, checking his surroundings with practiced ease. The glass doors of the diner are wide open, sidewalk wet and leaking soapy water into the street. Iwa crosses through it with little care, pausing for a moment while the oblivious girl inside keeps brushing away.

“Hello,” Iwaizumi salutes from the wide open doors, perhaps to also let the place breathe some air after the days closed. You startle, the broom in your hand flying to the floor with a loud crash. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelp, turning around with both hands in front of your body. “Are you trying to kill me, dude?” 

Iwaizumi almost chuckles, the corners of his lips turning up. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He takes his hands out of his pockets, showing them in front of his body as a sign of peace. And it isn’t like he can’t easily kill you and anyone you may have inside with just them.

“Oh god. My heart,” you murmur, clenching your shirt over your chest while sucking in a few breaths. Your eyes finally come up to his. “Sorry, I think I was just too distracted.”

Hajime nods. He isn’t a man to say sorry twice. “I was just passing by and noticed the diner open. It’s been closed for some weeks, so I was just checking.”

“Oh, sure.” Your mouth opens in a small ‘o’, and Iwaizumi is surprised at how it got his attention. Pretty lips on an even prettier face. “Yeah… I’m reopening it this week. I just need to fix some things around here.”

Iwaizumi gives you a once over. Discreetly. He leans against the doorframe, curiosity winning him over.  “So, you bought it?”

“What?” you laugh, hand coming to wipe the sweat from your brow. “No. I inherited it."

Iwaizumi assumes that he was unable to hide his surprise by the way your lips move to form an amused smile.

“Ha, yes, most people have the same reaction as you.” You bend to grab the broom in the ground and Iwaizumi’s eyes tread for a second too long along the spanse of your body while you’re not looking. “Which is funny, and also tells a whole tale about the old man.”

“I suppose it does,” Iwaizumi nods once while speaking.

He looks over the place, sees the few changes being done; the paint cans on the ground, the boxes by the corner, the shelfs being replaced and the new color of the upholstered sofas. You in the middle of it all -- the new and the old. 

“I’ll leave you to your cleaning, then. It’s good to know the place isn’t closing.” 

Before you can say anything else, he’s already taking his leave. 

You turn around to thank him but Iwaizumi is already far down the sidewalk, not sparing a glance at you once his back is turned. Your head bends sideways almost involuntary, eyes threading the expanse of his broad back, clad in a beautiful light blue social shirt, rolled sleeves over bulging forearms, with black slacks and expensive looking shoes. While you hoped you didn’t stare before, now you are free to do so and wow, that is a beautiful male specimen if you ever saw one. 

Your first thought is that he didn’t belong in here -- the scenario of a beaten up street and a mildly abandoned diner, in the middle of the day on the foul part of the city. Then again, he looks rather at ease, familiarized, and it isn’t like you can know someone from just one look. 

If anything, a good looking man like that always comes with a catch.

“Hey,” your friend comes through the kitchen doors, looking pretty much like you, tired and sweaty after the morning deep cleaning. “What's going on here? I heard something but I was on the phone”

“Oh,” you say, then grin mischievously at her. “A hot piece of man just passed by asking about the diner.”

“No!” your friend almost cried, lips pressing together in a pout. “See! This is why I keep being single! I never get to see any hotties from the fucking kitchen.”

“Hey, not my fault you decided to be a cook.”

--

Iwaizumi tells himself he’s just checking on the place he likes.

It’s out of a weird misplaced sentimentality, he reasons. He’s been going there for years after all. He’s checking out the new owner, that’s it. The young woman who somehow inherited Lou’s bar. The pretty young woman who was redecorating and cleaning the place that probably didn’t get any love for the last fifteen years. And that’s what Iwaizumi is telling himself when he crosses the city at late hours of the night because the first thing he needs to know is if you’re stupid enough to actually open the place until the ungodly hours of mornings like the old man used to.

And, sure enough, you are. 

It’s past three in the morning when Iwaizumi parks on the other side of the street, but the regulars pour in like clockwork at the sight of the open diner -- old fellas, mostly, and some passersby who work at night. The whores, and the tired workers, all mingling the later it gets. Iwaizumi counts five clients, which is a busy night, and somehow he struggles to find security in your arrangement. 

It’s a weird feeling to have for someone -- worry -- and for all the constant preoccupation he has going on in his life with Oikawa, he’s sure he hasn't felt that particular brand of it in some time. 

For that same reason, Hajime turns around and leaves.

A week later and he’s back. 

This time it’s earlier in the night, just past midnight and the diner is empty save for three regulars he knows well enough. Iwaizumi hates to admit it, but he’s curious; Matsukawa told him that the place had been closing at four and reopening at eleven, with not exactly lots of clients, but with enough patrons to not be discouraged. 

But it was the fact that the man depicted the place as “nice” that got Iwaizumi interested.  Mattsun is not the kind to throw empty comments like those and there was a glint in this man's eyes that made him suspicious. If a small hint of jealousy sparks on Iwa’s chest, he says it’s for the place.

He signals for Makki to turn a curve so he can get off on the other side of the street and tells him to park somewhere out of sight. He doesn’t like to have the BMW close, working as a beacon; the fact Iwa already dares to have a routine place is trouble enough. 

“Bring me a coffee when you come back.” The strawberry blonde tells him while perching himself over the car window, driving off before Iwaizumi can give him a nasty stare. Iwa takes his time on the pavement directly across the diner, lighting a cigarette while moving to cross the street. 

The bell that rings when he crosses the door threshold surprises him for a moment, bringing the stares of everyone inside to him. Some of the old regulars nod his way, and Iwaizumi nods in return, a stiff greeting but one they grew used to in the years of sharing the space.

You look eager, eyebrows shooting up as if you’re not expecting to see him standing in the middle of the place like that. Then, your lips turn up into a smile and Iwaizumi almost misses the sentiment behind it. It’s been far too long since someone looks this pleased into seeing him anywhere. 

Well, with the exception of Oikawa. But that’s because he normally shows up to save the man’s stupid ass.

Iwaizumi walks over to his usual spot, in the back, by the window and sits on the newer looking red sofa. The scratched old table looks bright with new polishing. He notes the changes, appreciates them even: the cleaner looking designs despite the vintage diner ambience, the cream walls, the new smell of good food and well brewed coffee. 

The ground is clean for the first time in a few years, the glass windows and doors looking good and there’s an overall different air around the small place. It feels good. Iwaizumi isn’t used to it. You come close to him, no uniform but jeans and a loose white shirt with a black apron tied around your middle, a coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other.

“Hello there. Good night -- or day, depending on how your life works.” Your smile is disconcerting. You signal with your head to the coffee. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No worries.” You pour some for him and ask if he wants milk or cream, which he doesn’t. Iwaizumi likes his coffee black. “Can I bring the menu?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say no. But he’s curious about what you’re doing with the place, so he nods. Again, you smile while nodding and leaving, and Iwaizumi is baffled by your disposition to be nice at this hour. The old mas was more of a fuck-it kinda person, so it’s a small whishplash to have actual service in here.

Before you leave, however, you turn back and smile at him in what Hajime can only define as playfully. 

“Glad you finally decided to come in and give us a shot.” Your eyes are bright with mirth, proud of yourself for being so observant, and in the late hours of night he feels charged. “I promise you it’s not so bad.”

Oh, Hajime thinks as his face feels slightly warm, a twitch on his fingertips while he looks at your pretty face. This can’t be good.

You wait a bit. Seeing as the whole movement inside the diner changes with the small addition of one man at the corner table. You realise people haven’t sat on that table during the late nights, even when Iwaizumi had yet to even enter the place before.

So, you brace yourself with all the courage you’ve been mustering, and pretend to offer him a refill of coffee while walking over. You’ve been conjuring up theories for him since you saw him the first time, perched on the doors while you were cleaning, and it didn’t help that you kept seeing his car passing around the place for some time before he finally decided to come to the diner.

“Are you an old regular or something?” you ask while refilling his cup with hot, freshly brewed coffee. You’d lie if anyone asked if you did a whole new coffee pot just to find an opening to talk to him.

“Why do you ask?” His eyes are always so deep, the musky green color seemingly pulling you in, black irises eating you up. Your pulse quickens but you hold his eyes on yours even as your face grows warm.

“It’s just that you’re always here.” The words tumble out of your mouth quickly as you deposit the coffee pot on the table, looking at him almost eagerly. “Most of my regulars seem to know you and leave you alone. So I thought that maybe, you know, you may come here for the old times sake.”

He holds your eyes with his for a moment, then looks down to the cup of coffee while he brings it to his lips. 

“I guess you could say that.” 

It feels like a period. Like he isn’t much for small talk, so you pat the apron in front of you, pick up the coffee pot from the table and nod while looking back to the counter to mask your disappointment with such a short conversation.

“Hmm, got’cha.”

“So, the old man was your father?” His voice picks up a tone higher and you turn with big eyes to him. He looks quiet, observant while he looks up at you and somehow, without nothing to hold on, you decide you want to talk to him some more.

“No, I never knew my dad. The stupid man was my grandpa.” 

“Hm,” Iwaizumi nods, his eyes still on you. For some reason you can’t stand the silence, so you keep talking.

“He’d left the business for me and if I'm honest things were not going great where I was so,” you shrug. “I thought about giving this a shot.”

“And your mom?” His eyes on yours make you feel pressured and also lacking, your mouth working before your mind can really think. “She’s been dead since I was a kid.”

He blinks, surprised, and when he speaks he sounds so genuine you smile, “sorry to hear that.” 

“No problem. It’s life, right?” you ask rhetorically, an unwavering smile on your face and bright eyes despite the forlorn subject. Hajime’s chest does something weird at the sight, eyes moving down to the coffee mug by his hands.

Is it? Hajime doesn’t know. But he also hasn't had parents or any kind of family besides Oikawa and the trouble duo, so he nods, murmuring agreement. You leave him alone for the rest of the night, but not without getting his name and introducing yourself; and you do it mostly because you’re still unsure about the man. He’s quiet, mostly keeps to himself while drinking his coffee and sometimes ordering something he never finishes, but other than that, he doesn’t do much. Which, despite that, doesn’t change the fact he sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of the place. 

His clothes are expensive even if they’re simple; his watch and rings glints under the diner lights, catching attention; and his eyes are like two black gunbarrels pointed straight at you in a face with a jawline sharp enough to cut. 

He makes you feel slightly unnerved and a whole lot interested. 

 Hajime wonders, as he exits the dinner and walks the short distance to where Makki has parked the car, if he has enough reasons to be worried about you. He enters the back of the expensive black BMW, gives the annoying blonde his promised coffee and nods so he can start driving. Iwaizumi settles on the backseat and turns to look at Hanamaki, eyeing him through the rearview mirror.

“Makki.” 

“Yes, Boss.” The answer comes immediately.

“Is this place in anyone's rotation?” Makki’s eyes thread to the mirror to look Hajime back.

“Old Lou’s dinner?”

“Yes.”

Makki’s brows furrow in thought while he seems to think it over. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.” His eyes lock on Hajime’s figure through the rearview mirror and Iwa counts the seconds until he asks, since his curiosity always wins. ”Why?”

“Check it for me.”  It’s the end of conversation, and Makki knows. He nods.

“‘kay, Iwa.”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts are brewing, his brows furrowing deeply while he thinks over the whole exchange from earlier.

In a short conversation of a few minutes, you already unsuspectingly told him that you had no family left, no one to miss you if you’re gone. From that he can infer the easy things -- that you probably live alone, seeing as he’s never seen a boyfriend in the restaurant or calling you while you’re working the counter; that you must either live in your grandpa’s house or a small apartment if you’re trying to make more money by renting the old man’s place; that you probably leave alone after closing the dinner -- and he got all that by an easy small talk over coffee. 

Iwa’s lips turn sour while he turns to watch over the streets late at night, the dangerous things that lie in the dark. He ignores that he, himself, is one of them. 

Yes, maybe he should check on you.

--

Iwaizumi observes with a frown while Oikawa waltzes inside his penthouse with his new friend. The woman is, much like all of Oikawa’s partners, beautiful. Luxurious hair and curves, all wrapped in an equally expensive package the color of bright fucking red. Tonight things are less busy in the place, with Iwaizumi and the duo in the living room, while Kunimi keeps watch on the door from his position bended over the counter. Like with everything in his life, the man looks bored and done at the same time.

“I have to give it to him, he does have taste.” Hanamaki points it out unemotionally, his eyes threading along the lady of the moment hanging off Oikawa’s arm. Mattsun looks up from his phone in time to catch a look, his arched brow doing an appearance.

“Yeah, but that’s not new.”

“The idiot blows through women as you do with joints.” Iwaizumi scoffs, twirling his cup of whisky and enjoys the moment to sip his drink. “Which is stupid, both of you.”

“Couldn’t hear your criticism over the sound of you downing that whisky.” Hanamaki pipes in and Mattsun laughs but quickly retrieves himself back to his phone once Iwaizumi gives both of them a nasty glare. 

On the other side of the room, Oikawa parts ways with his company, probably telling the woman to go somewhere inside his apartment while he handles business. His companion’s normally don’t ask much about what he does -- the less they know, the less they lie.

While Iwaizumi does understand the appeal of having someone to warm his bed at night like that, it just seems ridiculous to parade them around as Oikawa does; as if they’re a walking vitrine of his power and money, clad in so many brilliants, Hajime wonders if Oikawa can even see them through the shine.

Iwaizumi sighs when Oikawa finally moves in their direction, crossing his leg over his thigh as he stretches his back against the chair backrest. He drinks the rest of the whisky in one go.

 “I see you already treated yourself to some beverage, Iwa-chan.”

The ridiculous nickname stuck, even after all these years, no matter how many glares and curses Hajime threw his way– and Oikawa has seen Hajime kill men before. Still, the brunette stays unwavering in his teasing -- and Iwa has made arrangements to make sure no one but him feels free to use that denomination.

“Good whisky ain’t making me nicer, shittykawa.” There’s also the fact Iwaizumi maintains his mockery with his friend, even as most of the Mob now call him Boss. He supposes it’s good to have few good childhood memories, if one can.

“At least it makes you less grumpy.” 

Iwaizumi wonders if people would believe him if he told them the Boss pokes his tongue out and flops on the sofa then again, Oikawa’s charm is in being unwavering himself. When Oikawa crosses his leg over his knee and blinks feral, focused eyes over Iwaizumi, it’s easy to see the beast that brought him into the position as the chief in command of the Seijoh Mafia. “So, what did you have to tell me that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“You’re being reckless,” Iwa starts, calm. “I’ve told you about being careful with your companion’s while I’m busy handling that subject.”

Oikawa pretends not to listen, falling back on his big chair without a care in the world. 

“She’s a friend!” His face turns smug, even while there’s a small whine in his voice. It’s a stark difference from the feral Oikawa Tooru that put fear in the hearts of every Mafia in the bordering neighborhoods where they acted and climbed the ranks so fast, he became the head of Seijoh mob while only closing in on his early thirties -- and that was ten years ago. Still, around Iwaizumi, Oikawa keeps being the same brat he ever was.

“You need to get laid, Iwa.” The brunette laughs a bit, pouring more whisky for both of them. “How long it’s been, huh? Two decades? That’s how long your frown has been etched onto your face.”

Makki and Mattsun try to hide their smiles, but it’s futile.

“Don’t worry about my love life.”

“Love life?” Now Oikawa laughs, hand smacking his knee in his amusement. “I’m talking fucking, Iwa. We don’t have time for love.”

“Another reason why you shouldn’t worry about what doesn’t pertain to you.”

“Ohh~” Iwaizumi hates that he saw the singsong coming, “such big words. Gosh, that must mean it’s been years without action down there.”

“Why the worry, Tooru?” Iwaizumi asks, voice turning deep, eyes threading over Oikawa’s face. That has happened -- and ended, but it didn’t mean the two men didn’t play around it sometimes.

“Is the sex you’ve been getting so bad, you’ve been worried about mine?” Iwa scoffs, drinks a full mouth of whisky and turns to look at Oikawa once again. 

“You look too old to be getting any action,” Oikawa mocks him, snickering behind his glass. “Look at those lines and wrinkles, oh gosh Iwa, we’re the same age, you’re making me look bad.”

“Shut up, trashykawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I’m just going to tell you this time: fucking behave. I’m looking into the mole, but you need to watch your back.”

“I thought that was your job, though.”

“Makes it a bit fucking hard when you bring home a diferent friend every night. Babysitting a toddler would be easier than you.” Iwaizumi grumbles and scoffs, finishing his drink in one go. “I’m doing my job. Now listen to me so that I can do it well.”

Iwaizumi slams his glass on the wooden coffee table and stands, the sound loud but not enough to disturb the rest of the men around the place. Maddog does look at Iwaizumi as if thinking what’s the cause for his distress, but the man has learned long ago that Oikawa rattles on everyone's nerves at some point -- Iwa just happens to be ticked more than the rest, a consequence of being friends with the man, he assumes.

Iwa pats his slacks, re-doing the button on his suit and walks away, moving a hand in the air as a way to say goodbye to Oikawa. “Your friend is waiting for you.” 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa are behind him before he stops in front of the elevator doors, Kunimi not even looking up as the three of them leave. “Try not to be dead by the morning.”

“I’ll do my best~” Oikawa singsongs back, a carefree smile on his face. 

Mattsun is driving tonight and that means Hanamaki is speaking the whole time, going on about how the Karasuno Mob is growing, potentially able to slip between Seijoh and Shiratorizawa’s territory if they’re not careful. Iwaizumi listens, but doesn’t really offer anything to the discussion; he’s too caught up in his head, wondering about what he’s going to do with Oikawa and how he can flush out the mole as fast as possible until something catches his ear, every thought in his mind freezing at the mention of the diner neighborhood.

“What did you say?”

“Huh?” Makki stops, looking back through the seat. “Oh, some of ours have been talking about seeing Shiratorizawa around downtown territory.” Makki turns serious, and it happens so rarely that the moment his demeanor shifts, Iwaizumi actually grasps his worries by the simple difference in the air surrounding the blonde. “Johzenji too.”

Now, that’s worrisome. While Seijoh and Shiratorizawa have some shared business in downtown and somewhat of a truce on those places, Johzenji is way too far from its limits, crossing borders they know they should not. Iwaizumi catches sight of how his frown actually caves lines on his forehead and Oikawa’s snickers pops in his mind as if the male was right there, he scoffs but his look is serious.

They can’t leave it that way.

Hajime tells himself that the fact that your face pops in his mind and the thought of a territorial war a few blocks away from the Diner makes his hands constrict into fists, has nothing to do with how fast he decided he must handle it. 

But it gets a little less believable as he orders Matsukawa to keep an eye out on your street, like if it wasn’t clear that by your street -- he meant you.

--

You notice the man staying around.

Actually, you doubt anyone hasn’t noticed the tall man who likes to linger just a bit too much around your diner as if he’s your hired security guard or something. He’s taller than most people, broad and built enough for you to see it in the way his clothes cling to his form, and has this fixation with metal, because both his ears are pierced and his knuckles are always adorned with thick rings. He looks bad, and has a cigarette pending from his lips to crown the look. Which, of course, prompts half the women population who enjoy your diner to look. It probably doesn’t help that despite his aloof behavior he can be quite the charmer.

And you’re suspecting your cook and friend is falling for it.

“If you light that cigarette right now after I’ve just told you to leave and smoke outside, I swear to god I’ll use the fire extinguisher on you, Matsukawa-san.” You always chastise him out of the Dinner once he starts smoking, since Issei has no respect for the very big, very red “no smoking” sign you had to purchase just because of him. He grins at you from his high seat on the counter and lifts his hands in a sign of rendition.

“Okay, honey. I’ll drop it.” 

You eye him very sharply until his fingers finally close around his cigar and he takes it out the clasp of his lips. You watch until he pockets it again in his metal case. Then, you finally blink and nod, turning to enter inside your kitchen. You’ve made the mistake of trusting him before, letting him out of your sight once he signaled defeat when you reprimanded him, just to come out and find him smoking anyway. So, now, you take the extra precautions with him, reason why you open the door without warning to check on him, finding him calmly studying the menu. 

He eyes you and blinks, a big grin splitting his face. 

“I’ll behave,” he crosses a finger over his heart like a scout. ”Promise.” 

You snort, but turn around and enter the kitchen space, yelling at your friend the newest orders, to which she just yells back a fine.

You grab the done plates– buttermilk pancakes and swiss omelette with orange juice and black coffee– and push the door outside with your hip, while calmly balancing everything on your tray. 

It’s a quiet late-morning, most of the regulars have already left for work and you’re dealing with the unusual clients, just three if you count Mattsun.

Once you’re back at the counter, Matsukawa is signaling with the menu for you to come over. 

“So, what’s your order, Matsukawa-san?”

“First, I’d like you to drop the san, it makes me feels fucking old.” 

You tease him just the bit by giving him a pointed look with a very arched eyebrow. 

“Stop it,” he hisses at you, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you fuckin-”

“You are old,” you tell him, pleased with yourself when he hisses as if burned, making you sport a big smile while on it. He’s glaring at you. “See, this is how I feel when I catch you smoking once I tell you not to.”

His lopsided grin is a panty-dropper; too bad you’re thinking about how it would be if someone else grinned at you like that. “Valid.” 

The seconds tick by while you wait for Matsukawa to say his order but he just stares at you as if you’re slowly losing your mind. You sigh, resist the urge to facepalm but do press two fingers into the middle of your forehead in an upwards motion to help with the stress, to look at him again and smile. 

“Your order, Matsukawa-san?”

“Again with the -san? Let me make a deal with you. You call me Issei and I’ll never smoke inside again.”

You eye him suspiciously but ultimately decide it’s a nice deal. 

“Deal,” you say, while jutting your lips out to hide a smile, still looking for hints he may be lying. “And if I catch you smoking inside again I’ll start calling you Jiji.”

Issei’s eyes go large, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline until he coughs and sputters, “you wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

The stare-down goes for a few seconds until you end it by saying, “I’ll get your regular,” and turning around to leave.

“This isn’t over!”

“Yeah, yeah, just behave.”

Once you’re in the kitchen, the clattering and noises are loud.

“You should chill a bit before you end up completely mutilating the pans, Rei. Half my money is in your kitchen.”

She throws you a nasty glare from across all the other way by her stove, doing God knows what but whatever it is smells heavenly.

“Do you believe the gall of this idiot outside?”

“Yep,” you chirp, but you eye her closely while she continues. You know her enough to know what’ll happen next.

“He had the fucking nerve to say my food was too salty.”

“Uh,” Escapes your lips, but you narrow your eyes at her, taking in the redness of her face, the way she looks overheated and the gesticulating arms while she walks around using too much strength while opening and closing the kitchen cabinets.

“SALTY!” She hollers to the emptiness of her kitchen, which pretty much makes it echo through the walls. You’re half certain you can hear Matsukawa chuckling outside. You wait for it, by now you know it’s coming. “I’ll show him what the fuck being too salty means.” She keeps going, cranky and beating the pans with that bit too much strength so that the clanks and tinkling sound loud even to you. You wait just a little bit more. “That handsome motherfucker, I’ll fucking deck him with my frying pan!”

And there it is.

You snicker just the tiniest bit, and put the order for his regular. She snatches it from your hand and points a paring knife at you.

“Don’t you dare say anything.” She does look fairly threatening, but the thing is that you’ve been on the other side of that knife one too many times to care now.

“Hey, if you like insufferable assholes, who am I to judge?”

“Fuck you.”

--

The movement is slow tonight, the cold weather with a drizzle makes your regulars stay home and the streets stay empty. It’s just a bit past midnight and you already know you’re closing early. Iwaizumi has been seated at his usual spot for a good twenty minutes already and, much like every other night, he’s just doing nothing -- looking over the street, reading the paper, sometimes a book or daring to look at his phone. Rei is still moving around in the kitchen and there’s only one other person in the diner -- an old man eating his soup calmly on the whole other side.

You feel restless; your eyes keep darting to him as if waiting to be caught, definitely not being the subtle person you hope to be, nothing catches your attention when Iwaizumi sits calmly by the window reading the paper and sipping on fresh coffee. Your eyes thread through his broad shoulders, poorly hidden under the fitted black social button up, rolled sleeves showing big, veiny forearms leading to strong, broad hands that seem even bigger when they engulf the coffee mug.

Hajime wears one ring, thick, black and a matching watch that probably costs as much as this whole place. You don’t need to see it to know his dark grey slacks are fitted; you’ve caught sight of it when he entered and you think there’ll be hell on earth before you forget how perfectly it hugs his frame, how delicious his ass is and how his waist is marked, beautifully, by the black belt. You thank the gods that he had already disposed of his suit jacket, or you’d be unable to survive so long.

 You’re probably drooling, so you tear your eyes from him to make yourself a hot cup of coffee and hope that you can pretend the flustered feeling in your insides is from the steaming caffeine quickening your heart. However, seeing as your eyes drag slowly back to him, you think that’s a lost battle. 

You drink a bit, breathe some more and decide to say fuck it. You’re not risking anything -- if he doesn’t want to talk, he can just say so. So you wash your hands, shed your apron and pick your coffee mug back up while walking to him. Before you even tread more than two steps, his deep, hard green eyes are already looking at you. They’re so impenetrable and focused, you wonder if he looks long enough, will he see your mind?

The thought makes your face heat up and you swallow the saliva pooling on your mouth before speaking,“mind if I sit?”

He nods no, but still answers, “go ahead.”

You slide on the seat in front of him, and for a second you regret your choice. Up close and with nowhere else to look, he’s even bigger -- his frame engulfs anything past his shoulders, his eyes demanding the sole focus of yours and you give it to him. But there’s a thought in your mind that helps you fight back the urge to let yourself slide and drown in the pool of deep green.

“So, I've been meaning to ask,” you tread carefully, knowing it’s a minefield ahead. You’ve been alone in this world with just your grandpa for a long time, and he was no saint. You’re no stranger to the fact that his diner has always been in mob-controlled territory. You’ve seen him bullied into paying back gambling loans too many times to not know how a bad man looks, and still, here you are, body warming and trembling just by the sight of what must be the baddest of them all.  “Were you friends with my grandpa or something?”

Iwaizumi looks at you, blinks and then hums a question, slightly furrowed brows his only sign of confusion. “Hm?”

“It’s just that I’ve noticed… that you seem like you’ve been taking care of this place… of me.” You speak while your eyes keep darting between his face and down, a warm feeling seeping from your eyes that makes his brain slow down, too caught up in watching you until he realizes he walked into a tricky question.

Fuck. Think fast, Hajime. 

“We weren’t exactly friends. But he was a mean card player and he got a lot of money out of me.” Iwaizumi speaks fondly, which is probably the only thing indicating that he isn’t here for some wicked king of payback. You nod while your brows slide up.

“I’m sure you also took a lot of money from him.”

“If I was lucky,” he pauses, “I don’t like to bet. But it was nice to play against him, even without betting.”

“I’m surprised he wanted to play without betting.”

“Rare occasions.” Iwa muses with a small smile in the corner of his lips.

Iwaizumi looks at you again, that deep stare as if he’s trying to catch your soul intent. “What I mean with that is… He never talked about you. Or having a family, for that matter.”

“Well… it’s like you put it. He was a gambler. And before he got good, he was bad. We struggled a lot with his debt while I was growing up. Once I left the house and I was working and got into college... he called me, asking for money.  He knew I had a college fund -- small, but you know, enough to get by for a few years. I gave some of it to him and I told him that if he was going to call me for money, it’d be better if he didn’t call at all, so… our relationship was pretty strained this last few years.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say. So he tests around something he hasn't used in a long time, “sorry.”

“It’s fine. I just couldn’t possibly deal with his debt on top of mine, you know. And it was his choice not to call me for other reasons, so.” You shrug your shoulders, eyes downcast for a moment. If Iwaizumi ever knew how to console someone, he’d forgotten it a long time ago, but he’ll swear on his gun and every god above that he wishes he was sensible enough now to offer any kind of words that can resemble solace. He doesn’t know what you find in his face that makes you do a funny face, nose wrinkling, while smiling.

“It’s ok, I don’t hate him, you know. I just... He’s dead and I can’t help but think these things are in the past. Which may be fucked up but I’ve made my choice not to go through life with these demons.”

Iwaizumi nods, solemn. He knows a thing or twelve about going through life with demons and he wishes that you didn’t have to bear this even for the smallest of seconds. It gnaws inside your being, and the places where their claws sink usually fester. But, he doesn’t even risk thinking about what it’d be like for him to live without them -- they’re the closest to penitence for a whole life of sin he’s ever gonna get.

Talking to Hajime makes hours fly by like minutes. 

He’s not very talkative himself, but he’s a great listener and he gives you fair, honest answers so you try to do the same. You ask him about the old man, what he’d been doing, and Hajime doesn’t even blink while saying that he kept gambling until his death; tells you how he’d been worried that the diner had been offered as collateral to some debt and would fall victim of your grandpa’s addiction even after his death. You tell him about life after college, how disheartening and anxious it was, how you’ve struggled without finding a job and hustled your way together with Rei. You tell him how you’ve felt good to win the Diner -- the new ideas and purpose, the excitement and how fun it was to think about life like this -- a business owner. 

The one thing Hajime doesn’t tell you about is his job, which you feel is answer enough; and when you ask him about the late nights at the Diner, his lips quirk up and your heart quickens, whole body warming at how he tells you the diner has a special place in his life and that he doesn’t likes to sleep, only crashing once the sun come out.

He stays with you as you bid Rei farewell and close the restaurant, walks you to his car and drives you to your house. His car doesn’t move until you make it safe inside and only when your face comes to the window, does it starts to move away.

-

[to be continued]

[xbunnybunz]

Weak Hero University (2/?) [Reader x Weak Hero]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 6/1/2021

A brief introduction of everyone later, you haul a suitcase into the room while Ben noisily and clumsily pulls on his shorts, after much persuading from his friends.

“You’re living… Here? In the boys dorms?” Eugene asks, tagging beside carrying your schoolbag. “Isn’t that against the campus policy?”

You park the suitcase beside by your room and sigh, popping your back briefly.

“I’m just as confused as you guys are, but the keys here seem to be for this room here.” You allow a single gold-hued key to dangle from your fingers on a cheap polyester lanyard, Eugene’s eyes follow the menacing stare of the school mascot printed on the side until you pull it out of his sight.

“Let’s see just how fucked up this school is when it comes to money extortion.” You put the key in the door and hear a tell-tale metallic ‘click.’

“Wow.” A voice says from the couches. “Pretty fucked up.”

You sigh, shoulder slumping forward. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Most of the items go into your room without much hassle at all. A suitcase full of cute PJs you and your nonexistent best gal roommates could rave over, a plastic box full of face masks you’d probably never be able to use without being made fun of, and a waterlogged ziplock baggie half-full with notes (and corn chips) from last semester.

What? A folder? What the fuck is a folder?

A boy with silver hair passes by and begins to say something to you, but seems to debate better options when he sees the plastic baggie on the floor.

Feeling slighted somehow, you ask Eugene who he is once he’s out of earshot.

Eugene laughs and begins to speak but an arm looping around his neck cuts him off.

A pair of shimmering emerald eyes meet your own, but it’s clouded with a shadow of mischief. “You haven’t heard? That’s the white mamba of E-quad. He’s fearlessly beaten bastards so bloody with belts that we have metal detectors installed at the dining hall entrances now!”

“Stop exaggerating, Alex.” Eugene chokes out, sounding mildly discontented while desperately trying to pry the arm from around his neck.

“Wait, that was because of him?”

Eugene and Alex both freeze, brows furrowed. “Wait, you weren’t kidding?” Eugene asked.

“I was.” Alex says.

They both fix their gazes on you, and you’re suddenly struck with the memories of needing to surrender your lockpicking kit in front of several dozen freshmen behind you, and the hot desire to bury that memory consumes you.

“Haha, me too.”

They don’t seem convinced.

Before the conversation about buckle-assisted homicide can continue, a large shadow descends upon your form and a great arm reaches out from the heavens above. “Here, I grabbed this from the kitchen in case you needed a snack.”

You look up and see Gerard, the tallest and blindest of the group. You accept his gift of a single (1) lunchables capri-sun with much adoration in your heart.

“Thanks Gerard.”

He gives you a smile to remind the audience that he is, simply put, cool as fuck.

“No problem.”

Well, one problem. You eye the last bit of your luggage sitting at the doorway like a heaping pile of hot flaming garbage. It’s an amalgamation of the extraneous bits of your personality you’ve collected over the course of the past semester at Weak Hero University and maybe a forgotten bagel. Despite your previous roommate’s pleads for you to throw some of it out, you’d be damned if you weren’t a treacherous little hoarder. Simply put, it was a huge box of insignificant trinkets that made for a very significant problem. You had gotten lucky to cross paths with a cute but gullible junior earlier, who you immediately marked as prey and flirted with before unceremoniously dumping your crap on him to carry across campus. But now you’d have to pick up the box of crap yourself, which would prove to be a challenge with how little you actually wanted to be responsible for your own items.

The three boys see you eying the box and you perk up immediately, eyes glimmering with the possibility of wooing the fine gentlemen into helping a oh-so-meek lass like yourself.

You twirl a piece of hair between your fingers and bat your eyelashes at nothing at all, pouting your lips and hoping they weren’t too crusty. “Oh, I’m so tired. How am I ever going to move that big and heavy box?”

You stare dismally into an off-corner and attempt to look forlorn, grimacing when you see a weird  construction of a human-sized dorito-chip statue made of empty dorito bags beside the television. This was the moment your main love interest would swoop in and offer his servitude to you, dewey roses blossoming on convenient parts of the screen. Here it was, your very own shoujo moment!

But there’s no offer. In fact, you stare so long at the doritos statue that you begin to get spots in your vision.

When you turn back, the boys are by the box in question, though they are not attempting to move it at all. Instead, they lament over the problem with you as opposed to offering a solution.

��Ah, that thing looks so heavy. Sucks to be you.” Alex laughs.

Euguene shakes his head. “Right? I wouldn’t even be able to get a corner off the ground.”

Gerard places a thoughtful hand on the back of his neck. “You should probably save the capri-sun for after moving everything.”

Ugh.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Ben meanders out of his room. This time, all his articles of clothing are intact.

“Hey, what are you guys staring at?”

Yes! This was your movie-moment after all!

“Oh Ben! Thank god you’re here.” You resume your maiden in distress pose. “I was just so tired from the trip, my feeble heart and body can’t bear to-“

Alex pokes his head up when he hears Ben approaching, waving him over. “Look at all this shit she has. She’s like those people on My Strange Addiction!”

Irritated that he’s cut you off, you try to continue. “I won’t ever be able to lift all that on my own-!”

“Aren’t you talking about Hoarding, Buried Alive?” Gerard asks, clearly already losing interest in the luggage.

“Actually, I think that would be Hoarders, the reality television show that aired a little before My Strange Addiction took flight! It’s actually really interesting how that all started out, if you want to hear about it.”

You scowl at the back of Eugene’s head and stop quickly when Ben shoots a grin at you.

He puffs out his chest in a stupid himbo way and thrusts his thumb into his chest. “I can move this for you! No sweat! Just tell me where you want it!”

Sweet! You were about to resort to desperate begging, but those plans are cancelled!

You clasp your hands together and sigh, envisioning a world where men with muticolored hair fall in love with you.

“Oh, anywhere in here is fine, thank you so much Ben!”

As he goes in to lift it, you can see his muscles straining against the well-fitting fabric of his shirt.

Oh yes, this is definitely worth the dorming fee.

“Ben, you’re so sweet for helping me with this!” He ambles past you while struggling to hold the lid of the box closed. A strained voice comes from beyond the green rim of the bin. “Yep, no problem at all.”

You follow him into your room, tailing him while rambling about how grateful you were.

“You know, there was a junior who I met by the campus square on my way here. He helped me move everything to this building, but he struggled with that box a lot longer than you! I’m actually not sure how you’re even getting it off the ground without a wedge and trolley, but boy am I glad!”

Ben stops at the foot of your bed, barely able to peek over the edge of the bin. “Erm. Is here okay?”

“Hey I mean, as strong as that guy was, you’re definitely cuter than him. I was almost sad to see him go, but that’s the life of a busy woman!”

“Pleasemyarmsareshaking-”

“As great as all this is, I’m actually really excited to make friends with everyone! Given these strange circumstances that usually only happen to indulge borderline psychotic fans, we should take advantage and-”

Ben drops the box on the floor and you screech, a pain shooting up your leg and pumping adrenaline into your veins.

“-FUCK! Shit!”

Ben freezes and realizes the absolutely fuckery he has just caused, but before he can react, you grab the corner of the box and throw it off your foot in a show of brute gorilla strength, crumpling to the floor in agony.

The boys have their heads poked into the doorway, curious after hearing two cuss words successively. They blanche when they realize the situation.

“Oh fuck. My bad?” Ben wants to comfort you but is frankly quite scared to after seeing your display of power.

“Did she just throw that thing with one hand?” Gerard asks.

Alex stares at the scene before him. “What the hell happened to her foot?”

Eugene titters about nervously, playing with his fingers “Do we have first aid?”

From the kitchen, a deadpan voice is heard. “Where’s my capri sun?”

[rjhpandapaws]

(Not) What I Want in a Second Chance

Ch 1: The Devil is in the Details

//Tw: Emotional manipulation. Death, grieving, alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation; anti-android sentiments, and anti-android language. CyberLife is an unsettling mix of FB, Amazon and Google. Be prepared

Hank had his fair share of regrets, it came with the amount of time he had been on the force. His family fell apart. There were lives he could have saved if he had only been faster. The consequences that came with hitting a patch of ice; just to name a few. There were days he debated putting in for retirement, but he knew where that would lead. One more added to a growing statistic. Another retired detective that chose to suck on a bullet; and that was assuming anyone cared enough to come check on him. So he drank instead. On the days he woke up in time, he went to work. On the days he didn’t he woke up only to start drinking again. Another hopeless, tired man on the fast track to a whiskey filled grave. He wasn’t as bothered by that as he probably should have been. He wasn’t bothered by much anymore. If he could think clearly that meant he needed a drink. There was one thing that always bothered him though, and that was androids. He found them creepy over all, they had no reason to look that human. Then one had killed Cole; or rather, stood there and did nothing while he died. That had been when Hank had drawn the line. In that moment they had gone from something mildly off putting to something he actively despised.

That was why he liked places like Jimmy’s. It was one of the few places left that wasn’t overrun by androids, and the other patrons left him alone. Everyone was nursing a different sorrow so conversation wasn’t a priority. He could treat his grief with whiskey until he was face down against the bar and no one would judge him for it. Tonight was shaping up to be one of the rougher ones. He couldn’t drown his regrets no matter how much he drank. The thoughts refused to blur. It wasn’t Cole tonight. For a change, he was thinking about someone else he had lost. Connor Paldeki was one of his earlier partners, and his favorite even still. He had belonged to the Deerborn Police Department originally and they had met on a particularly bad homicide case. They worked well enough that they were paired for joint cases pretty often after that. So when Connor was transferred to Detroit it only seemed natural that they were made partners since they had previous work history. Even as a rookie Connor had been bright. He could pick a scene a part and put it back together with ease and accuracy that was almost scary. Hank had been certain that he was on the fast track to making rank. Then the Red Ice bust had happened and Connor’s glowing career came to a sudden and bloody end. Hank had wound up promoted, but it felt hollow somehow. Like it was a consolation of sorts.

He felt like it was written in Connor’s blood. Hank had been told that he hadn’t felt it, that he had been dead before he hit the ground. They hadn’t seen him though with the fear of death frozen on his face. None of the them had the haloing pool of blood seared into their memory. For all the consolation they tried to give him, they hadn’t been so powerless as to see the life leave the eyes of a dear friend. The papers had praised the whole raiding group as heroes, painted the thing like it had been a success. In a way it had been; they’d gotten what they were after, but they had lost three officers in the process. Connor, and two officers he hadn’t known from the SWAT team that had accompanied them. No one talked about it, and Hank wanted to scream. He went through the motions; his mandatory grief counseling, being a pall bearer for Connor’s casket; and then he took some time off to try and process all of it. When he got back he took the small bonsai tree from Connor’s desk and pretended things were alright. He had to be. He was Lieutenant now, he couldn’t just break. He took care of the tree like Connor was coming back and would be upset to find it dead. He continued to try and love Ezra even though things were falling apart slowly, and he did his job. If he just kept going something would have to got right eventually. He hoped so anyway; because if it didn’t then what the fuck was all of this for. When Cole was born Hank had thought that was the start of his better days, and it had been for a while.

It was some level of pathetic that the most put together his life had ever seemed to be was when he was drinking himself into an early grave. He was pulled away from that train of thought by the feeling of being watched. That sense of awareness wasn’t something he could turn off even when he was drinking away what was left of his coherency. He looked up from the bar, and there was Connor, but something was off. Aside from the fact that he was dead, had been for over ten years at this point. He was here in the flesh, and Hank was almost willing to write it off as a drunken hallucination. There was just something about this Not-Connor that was bothering him. It took longer than it should of for his eyes to land on the blue LED at his temple. He’d had to tear his eyes away from the face that had haunted more than it’s fair share of his nightmares for the better part of a decade. CyberLife had accounted for every little detail. Down to that stupid curl that had always refused to stay put no matter how much gel Connor put in his hair. He could hazard a guess at how they had gotten that information. They had files on everyone it seemed, whether or not someone owned an android didn’t seem to matter. Or, since it had been over a decade they could have pulled it through FOI, but Hank sincerely doubted that.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” He - It asked. Hank couldn’t place it, but there was something wrong about the voice. It was almost exactly Connor’s, but there was something wrong about it. He was tempted not to respond, but he had the feeling this Not - Connor would wait there all night even if Hank ignored it. “Yeah,” He huffed, “What do you want?” “My name is Connor.” It started, and Hank wanted to scream, this was not his Connor. Not the right one, “I am the android sent by CyberLife. There has been a homicide and I was told to find you; which I was lucky enough to do after the fifth bar.” “Fuck off.” Hank groused. “My instructions were -” It started, but Hank cut it off. “I’ll show you where you can stick your instructions.” He muttered. That seemed to give it pause. Where is Connor would have laughed and made a remark of his own, this convincing fake just looked pathetically confused. Hank almost pitied the thing, but it wore the face of a dead friend and that wasn’t something he could forgive. “What if I buy you a drink?” It pressed, “Would you come with me then?” Hank gave an annoyed sigh of defeat and relented. The sooner he got this over with, the less time he would have to spend facing this walking lie, “Fine.”

In the most put upon way the thing that was not Connor flagged for another whiskey and even paid for it. As annoyed as he was, Hank had to admit he was almost impressed. The real Connor would have never set foot in a bar unless it was for a case. It made it easier to distance one from the other. He nursed his new whiskey for longer than was strictly necessary. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it his way. He drove to the scene with his music loud enough that talking would be a pain in the ass, and the thing had still tried to make conversation. Hank would have turned into oncoming traffic if he was certain this thing wouldn’t have tried to stop him. It certainly seemed to have a purpose other than torturing him. “Stay in the car.” He said firmly when they arrived at the scene. “Got it.” It said in a way not too unlike the actual Connor and it made Hank’s stomach twist in disgust. It didn’t actually stay in the car of course, and Hank hadn’t really expected it to. It had it’s orders after all, and so did Hank unfortunately.

Hank took a bitter sort of satisfaction in Ben’s obvious discomfort when he saw it. Whatever comment he had been about to make died and he let them by with a tense nod. Every person on scene that had known the real Connor looked distinctly troubled by the fake; and that had been before it had licked any evidence. Hank passively observed the scene, he wanted to see what this thing was made of.  Was his computer brain anything like how the real Connor’s had been? Better? As much as he hated the thing, he was curious how it would stack up against the real thing. The other android self destructed in the end, even with Not-Connor’s unsettling attempt at compassion. Or perhaps because of it. It was something Hank hoped he would never have to see again. By the time they were done for the night, Hank had one question that was weighing on him. “Why do you look this way?” He asked as he gathered his things. “To ensure your cooperation.” Came the flat reply. That was when Hank realized what was wrong; the voice held no emotion to it. The next thing it said was what chilled Hank to the bone, “They figured you wouldn’t want to the cause of your partner’s death for a second time, and it was too soon to use the image of your son.”

Hank wasn’t sure what hurt him more; the blatant manipulation, or that fact that if seeing his dead friend again didn’t hurt him enough CyberLife wouldn’t be above using his son against him. When he made it the parking lot he threw up in a near by trash been. He didn’t remember the drive home, but when he got to the house he made sure to feed Sumo before he grabbed the Black Lamb and his revolver. When darkness finally came for him he didn’t know if it was because he had drank himself into unconsciousness again, or if he had finally won at Russian Roulette. He just hoped he never came out of it. He couldn’t do this.

[danjo-ao3]

When Ashes Fall p.3

Pairing: Reaper/female Reader

Summary: You are a combat medic working for Overwatch, when a mission goes south and you cross paths with Talon mercenary Reaper. But will he kill you on the spot or is there more to this encounter?

Rating: 18+

Tags/Warnings: rape/non-con, violence, blood, emotional manipulation, blackmail, kidnapping

Word count: 52,215 (in 5 parts)

A/N: the warnings are clear on this one. Yes, there is going to be rape/non-con, and it’s going to get explicit. I strongly advise anyone who is not into that kind of story to turn back around, because this is going to get pretty heavy and will finally be the non-con story with Reaper that I had always wanted to write.

Part 3 / 5 (part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5)

***

You got ready for another day at the lab, trying to forget all about last night. Be a good little assistant to very important Dr. O’Deorain.

Casey was her cheerful self as she greeted you over the bagel she had snuck inside the lab while she cast around slightly nervous glances as the doctor had chided her once for bringing food into her lab.

“It’s silly, don’t you think? It’s not even touching anything. I’m always careful.” With a small roll of her eyes she popped the last bite into her mouth, then wiped her hands on her white coat. “So what’s up, how did that op go?”

You frowned at the mention of the mission.

“It uh, it was a success,” you offered, as you went to sit down at one of the tables with lab equipment.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.” She followed you to the workstation and sat down next to you, but only after pushing her chair a little closer to yours. Then she leaned in and lowered her voice. “I heard that you had to work with Reaper.”

Oh no.

You raised your gaze to hers, pleading with your eyes to not go there, but she just pushed her glasses up her nose and raised her eyebrows at you.

“Well, what is he like? I’ve heard so many different things about him, and I want to know which of it is true.” With a huff, she sat back in her chair, one finger at her chin and casting her eyes towards the ceiling in thought. “I only ever see him when he’s, you know—” She motioned towards the empty examination table in the middle of the room. “—when he’s knocked out.”

Your eyes followed to where she pointed. Unsure what to tell her you asked her to specify instead.

“Well, what have you heard?” Maybe she’d get that you didn’t feel like talking about it the more you got her to rant.

“That he,” She got closer again. “That he drains people.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

“They say that when you’re lucky, he’ll shoot you with those shotguns he carries around. But if not, he’ll leave you a husk.” By the end of her sentence she was almost whispering, like she was telling a ghost story by the campfire.

A husk. That was kind of what you’d felt like after that encounter.

Your gaze fell to the floor. “I actually didn’t see him in action, he went alone. I was simply...patching him back up after it was all done.”

Casey sat back, her curious expression turning to one of disappointment. “Oh well, what a shame. I bet he’s really scary in action.”

You couldn’t believe her. As if working alongside a homicidal murderer was anything but terrifying and to avoid at all cost. Scary wasn’t even beginning to cut it. Red shining orbs flitted through your memory and had you suppress a shiver.

“Yeah, I guess.” You answered meekly.

“Are you alright?” Casey cocked her head to the side, the messy bun on her head flipping along.

“Sure, I’m just tired.” It was true, you were still feeling drained from all the healing you’d had to do. You wouldn’t be up to your normal self for at least another day, that was for sure.

“How bad was it? I remember once when he was here—you should have seen it—he’d been barely able to hold shape, it had seemed like his entire left arm was missing.” She shook herself in abhorrence. “But, as usual, he made a full recovery. If you can call it that, I suppose.”

You winced. Surely, it couldn’t have been worse than what you’d seen the night before. The image of that dark mass, mist swirling around and shifting in and out of human shape, would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“It was pretty bad.” What an understatement. “But, aside from the worst of his wounds, he seemed to be able to heal himself pretty effectively. How exactly does he do that?” Now that you remembered, he had not called upon you for the first half hour or so, until the mist had finally decided on where to take form.

Casey blew out a frustrated breath. “I wouldn’t know. Dr. O’Deorain doesn’t tell me the details of her work on him. Only the necessary parts, to get him back into shape. But what is in the serum that I administer, I don’t know. She’s very secretive about that project of hers.”

Well, whatever was in it seemed to be responsible for the state he was in, you were sure of it. Wraith serum, your brain helpfully provided, and you suppressed a sarcastic laugh. Ridiculous!

The rest of your day was uneventful, thankfully. You worked alongside Casey in the lab to get some tests done on a few blood samples, put a couple of liquids in the centrifuge and took notes while Casey examined slides under the microscope. It was nice. Distraction.

Only when you went to bed that evening, new nightmares plagued you. They came every night now. Terrifying you in different ways. Sometimes your mind provided a visual manifestation of your fears, but mostly it was just this feeling of darkness creeping over you, consuming you in every possible way and stealing the air from your lungs. Replacing precious oxygen with black mist that made you feel like drowning.

Every early morning you woke with a start, sometimes with a hoarse shout, other times with your breath choking on a silent scream. Always with a frantically beating heart that would take a while to calm down. This was starting to adversely affect the amount of rest you got. You felt tired all the time, when you tried to concentrate it was almost impossible to focus for more than five minutes. All of that was giving you regular headaches now.

Today marked a week since your mission with Reaper. You wiped at moist eyes after this night’s terror. Sluggishly, you got to the bathroom and took a quick shower. Those always helped to calm you down, to get the adrenalin out of your bloodstream.

When you were ready and dressed, you made your way to the lab, where Casey was already pipetting on the work table. She was always present when you got in, it was almost like she was sleeping there. First to come, last to leave.

“Morning, Casey. Already at it again, huh?”

She answered without looking away from where she was currently squeezing blue liquid onto a clear gel. “Yep, you know me. Always working.”

You smiled to yourself, Casey was the one constant in your life right now that made you feel an inkling of normalcy. In another life you might have even called her a friend. But here, at Talon, you weren’t naïve enough to believe even for a second that any one of those people thought you to be more than a tool.

The smile on your face fell flat, and you turned away to get a lab coat from the small locker in the corner. As you opened the narrow metallic door, the fine hairs at the back of your neck stood on end. A rhythmic droning was growing louder, foreboding and practically freezing you to the spot. Your eyes were staring unseeing at the coats when the door to the lab burst open.

You already knew who had entered the room, even without looking. The thunderous sound had been footsteps, you realized.

Shaking yourself minutely, you grabbed a coat, shrugged it on and closed the locker door silently.

Dr. O’Deorain had entered, her usual severe look on her face, followed by no one other than Reaper.

Your heart dropped. Somehow you had hoped to never see him again, even if it was delusional. He was dressed in his usual getup, right from the white mask on his face to thick black boots on his feet.

“Good morning,” Casey said cheerfully in greeting as she swiveled around on her stool with a smile, pipette still in hand. You didn’t miss how she took extra care to momentarily pause her work for the doctor.

“Yes, yes. Serum administration in two minutes,” Dr. O’Deorain said dismissively while she walked towards a table in the far corner. Reaper was already sitting down on the examination table, his armour creaking and clanking faintly.

You still stood with your back to the locker, not realizing that you had pressed yourself against it. Now that Reaper had sat down, he saw you. But he made no sign of acknowledgement aside from a small tilt of his head in recognition. Your heart had started to pound quite frantically.

Maybe you could excuse yourself, tell the doctor that you were ill or something. But just as you were about to open your mouth to ask, did Dr. O’Deorain address you.

“Please, come over here.”

Hesitantly, you peeled yourself away from the locker and made your way over to where she was standing over something. It was your amplifying glove that she had given you.

“Yes, doctor?”

“I would like for you to demonstrate how you use the glove. Testing has been rather rudimentary.” She sounded thoughtful, then lifted the object and proffered it to you. “The results from yesterday speak for themselves,” She went on with the faintest hint of a proud smile, “but I want to observe it myself.”

Your eyes darted from the glove to her face.

“Yeah, about that,” You began, and picked up the item carefully, but did not put it on yet. “It doesn’t seem to work.”

Dr. O’Deorain frowned.

“Nonsense. You used it, didn’t you?”

“I tried, but it hurt too much, too quickly.”

She looked mildly upset with that frown of hers as she made a thoughtful sound. Finally, she seemed to have come to a conclusion.

“You will show me, only that way I’ll know what might be wrong with it.” And with those final words she went to the corner and approached a cabinet. Her long fingers deftly entered a code and with a small beep, the door opened for her. Inside was quite a big apparatus that she grabbed and put on like a backpack. There were gloves attached to it as well and she proceeded to put them on. With a final tug at her left hand, she approached Reaper who was still sitting on the table, metal spikes and claws glinting faintly in the overhead lights.

About one and a half meters away from him she came to a stop, her left hand extended in front and aimed at the man on the table. Then something clicked and you could see an instantaneous connection between Reaper and Dr. O’Deorain. It was a kind of beam, very thin and purple-ish in color.

Reaper jerked and grunted when the beam connected with him. It was gyrating and twisting maliciously as it moved from him towards the doctor.

The sound he’d made had you bite down on your cheek, a faint pain blossoming in your mouth, the taste of blood spread and you swallowed subconsciously. You took a small step backwards, eyes glued to the now faintly purple glowing mask of Reaper, whose head snapped in your direction at your movement. It made you stop in your tracks, commanded your attention. As he was staring at you and the doctor used that beam on him, you could hear his clawed hands tightening on the metal of the table. The scratching sound was like nails on chalkboard, goosebumps rose on your arms in discomfort and you hugged yourself.

The urge to get out was making you tremble.

On the doctor’s back, the apparatus was equipped with a big, clear tube that was slowly starting to fill with purple liquid, or was it mist? You couldn’t tell. The longer she held that beam active, the more of the tube was filled. But it seemed to also have an effect on Reaper. He was starting to bend forward, his arms were slightly shaking where he gripped the table edge hard enough to leave marks, and his breath came in short huffs. He seemed to be in pain.

Your eyes wandered from Reaper’s hunched over form toward that of Dr. O’Deorain’s, who was still standing tall with her arm stretched out and connected with that beam of hers. Her face was gleaming in delight, eyes wide, her mouth split in a grin and in that moment you realized that this woman was just as dangerous as that masked maniac sitting to your right.

“Yes,” she said softly, almost inaudible over the hum of the beam. What was she doing? With a worried glance you checked for Casey, who was watching the whole ordeal from her seat not too far away, and—was she taking notes?

Abruptly, the humming stopped, the purple light vanished and the doctor withdrew her arm with a satisfied smile. She studied her left hand for a second, before her sharp, mismatched eyes met yours.

“All right, it’s your turn,” She addressed you curtly and nodded toward the amplifying glove.

“What—” You looked between her and Reaper uncertainly. “What was that?”

She chuckled as she removed her equipment and stowed it away again.

“This piece of cutting edge technology is my Biotic Grasp.” She explained, pride evident in her voice. With a swift motion, she produced a small drone from her pocket and placed it in mid air in front of her, where the little machine started to float and whirr softly. Next to her lay a data pad that she used to command the drone and have it float towards Reaper, little laser beams scanning his vitals.

You still stood there, a good few meters away from either of them, your hands balled into fists.

Dr. O’Deorain watched the data pad intently, while she kept explaining. “The beam you just saw is a derivative of the nanite technology, not unlike the one you have. But instead of regenerating someone, it does the opposite: it saps their energy. Their life force.”

Holy shit.

“I never understood why it was the medic’s duty to offer so much of themselves, when all the required energy is around, ripe for the taking. To redistribute as one sees fit. Enemies are always aplenty, especially in combat situations.”

Her monologue had you realize that she herself must have been a combat medic at one point.

“With this technology, I can equip anybody to do the required work, no training necessary.” A few taps to the pad and the drone hovered around Reaper to his backside, still scanning busily.

“I even managed to go further than that.” Her eyes flashed, your heartbeat accelerated. “I was able to directly implement this technology into the human body.” She laid aside the data pad and approached Reaper, who was still visibly struggling to even sit straight. Her hand reached out and boldly removed his mask.

Black mist rose in plumes from the hood, but from where you stood, you couldn’t see anything, his head was turned down and the darkness was hiding his features.

“It does still have a few... side effects,” she murmured, then used one finger underneath Reaper’s chin to lift his head enough for you to see his face.

You held your breath.

This was the first time when no smoke could conceal him, no darkness; when you were fully conscious and your sight not hindered by anything. The first time had been glances into a dark pond, in the twilight of evening, where the depths of it had been nigh invisible and only the blood red moon had been reflected on its surface. The second time was during midday, the sunrays penetrating the water and illuminating the very ground of the pond, even though it was still murky.

But this time?

This time it was as if the entire pond had been emptied, the unforgiving sun had evaporated all the water, only a few traces of mist remained. And you could see everything.

His eyes were currently closed, a deep frown edged into his brow and a scowl twisted his mouth and revealed pearly white sharp teeth.

The scars were even more prominent now than they had previously been, they were numerous and seemed to be very old. He’d have looked like a normal man—who had gone through some rough shit—hadn’t it been for the greyish tint to his skin that made him look deceased.

Finally, his eyes opened, slowly blinking upward towards the light.

Again, your heart dropped.

The garish lamps overhead cast their light directly into the red orbs of his eyes, making them glow brighter than you’d ever seen before. He blinked once, then their fiery red fell onto Dr. O’Deorain.

She still had her index finger underneath his chin, tilted his face towards herself, and beckoned for the little drone to approach. The small lasers scanned Reaper’s retinas, he didn’t even blink; he simply stared ahead, seeing right through the doctor.

Now that you could see his face in its entirety, you got the feeling that he looked familiar. But you couldn’t remember how.

The little drone beeped softly, signalling that its scan was complete, and Dr. O’Deorain let go of the man in front of her to once again consult the data pad.

Slowly, Reaper let his head fall forward again, but not before his eyes found yours.

It was like staring into the eyes of the devil. Had you been Catholic, you’d have crossed yourself. Even so, the urge to do it made you hug yourself even tighter.

You couldn’t look away, even though he was obviously weakened by whatever the doctor had done to him, he was still able to hold himself up. Slowly, his mouth opened, even more black mist rising from it, like cigarette smoke. Paired with the look he gave you it was very...suggestive.

You bristled and averted your eyes.

Casey was still busily writing things down from where she sat a few meters away.

“Go on now,” Dr. O’Deorain reminded you impatiently from the left.

You couldn’t postpone it any longer, with an internal sigh, you went and put on the doctor’s glove. Casting wary glances at Reaper, you went as far as was necessary, which was still closer than you liked, extended your arm and prepared yourself for the worst.

Unsure of where to aim—there were no visible wounds or anything—you directed the gentle golden spray at his chest, where it dissipated into nothing on contact. After a few seconds, he was already starting to relax, his grip on the table was loosening, as were his drawn shoulders. The scowl on his face remained though, that was probably permanent...

Just when Reaper released a quiet breath of relief, did you feel the numbness spread out and up your entire arm. This time, the following pain came with a vengeance.

You tried to suppress the grunt, but it came so quickly and unbidden, that it was impossible. Reaper seemed to be studying you now, no longer looking through you. His red eyes were jumping from your hand, to your forearm, and finally landed on your face.

As his breathing was becoming calmer and easier, yours was starting to grow heavy. Keeping your arm extended was proving to be too much already, you had to use the other arm for support, wondering when this was done.

All the while Dr. O’Deorain was standing to your right, rapt with attention at witnessing her creation.

“I—I can’t. This is too much,” you ground out and already wanted to move away again, but suddenly the doctor pulled you into her and took a firm hold of your arms.

“You’re not done yet,” she said right next to your ear and a shiver ran through you at the memory of those same words spoken by the very man sitting in front of you.

The sheer surprise of having the doctor reacting in that way and to manhandle you like that, had you in shock. For someone who was usually sitting in a lab, she was surprisingly strong. The grip she was having on you was unforgiving.

Now you were left to watch as the spray kept coming, your arm was cramping up so badly you wondered if it was ever going to relax again.

As your eyes were now fixed on your arm, held tightly in Dr. O’Deorain’s grip, you saw your veins standing out in dark contrast to your skin. They were shimmering with a bluish tint.

“Hng!” you exclaimed. The pain was almost intolerable. “Please, doctor—”

“Just a little more.”

You whimpered, face scrunched up in agony.

Then you heard Reaper snarl, your eyes shot up to his face, black mist was starting to rise from him again. The look on his face was exuding annoyance. His hand came forward to snatch your arm out of the doctor’s grip; she was just as surprised as you were, because she let go immediately, letting him pull you away from her.

Even though he was still wearing his gauntlets, he was able to deftly peel off the glove from your numb hand with ease. His claws left white marks where they lightly scratched against your skin, but you barely felt it.

You just stood there, passively letting him work, watching while you caught your breath.

When he had finally managed to remove the glove completely, he flung it at Dr. O’Deorain, who caught it with an almost comical expression of surprise.

“Back to the drawing board, doc,” he said drily.

Watching the many emotions flitting over Dr. O’Deorain’s face was both alarming, but also strangely satisfying.

With a final huff of indignation, the doctor turned on her heel, glove in hand, and made a beeline for the exit.

Almost immediately, Casey jumped up from her spot and hurried after the doctor and out of the lab.

You grimaced.

A light tug on your hand made you realize that Reaper was still holding it, now examining the many purple veins adorning your skin.

Now that the glove was off, you could finally see the full damage it had wrought. With a shocked gasp, you reflexively pulled free of the man’s loose hold on you and studied your skin with horror.

The discoloration wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. Like ugly bruises they were criss-crossing all over your skin. Were these going to be permanent, would they be there until the end of your life?

Tears threatened to spill from your burning eyes. This was a nightmare...it couldn’t be true. Your arm looked like it was dying, like it could fall off any minute now.

Feeling faint, you backed up until you hit the workbench behind you, felt blindly for a stool and slowly sank down onto it. But even though your world was crashing down around you, no tears were coming.

“This is all your fault,” you accused Reaper. Instead of breaking down in tears, your body decided it was feeling aggressive instead, and even though you were mostly angry at the doctor right now, the only one whom you could antagonize was Reaper. And you had enough reason to be mad at him, too.

There was no reaction from where he still sat on the examination table. Why was he still here, anyway?

“If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be with my friends right now, drinking coffee and doing fun shit or something.” Well, it was partially true. There wasn’t always a lot of time for people in Overwatch to actually do anything besides training, paper work, or going on missions. But there had been the occasional meetup over coffee and a nice piece of strawberry cake.

“If it hadn’t been for me, you’d be dead,” Reaper finally answered in his gravelly voice, then got off the table to land on the floor with a loud thud from his steel boots.

Your head whipped around to glare at him.

“Better off dead than being a pawn for terrorists and murderers!”

The man crossed his arms in front of himself, the scowl on his face deepening. “You think working for Overwatch is morally superior?”

“Obviously.”

He tsked.

“Overwatch is a joke. Always has been.”

“Right, I bet you know all about it,” you said sarcastically, idly rubbing your right arm back to life.

“I do.”

All right, you would bite.

“How?”

“I was there.” He reached for his abandoned mask that lay on the workbench beside you, heavy footsteps making you tense as he approached.

“Before it was disbanded, Overwatch was a giant façade for some of the richest people in the world to play war.” Mask in hand, he looked at it pensively. “We all were pawns for them, given the illusion of being in command. We were, sort of. I commanded my team in the shadows, we were the ones who didn’t even have to play by Overwatch’s official rules.”

Slowly, you realized he was talking about Blackwatch and goosebumps rose on your skin. It couldn’t be. Maybe that’s why he seemed so familiar.

Finally, he looked at you, but his eyes were far away, in the past.

“The ones up top, those we never got to meet, they were pulling the strings. And we were the expendable private militia they could send to their enemies in their stead.”

He turned to you. “Nothing we were told to do was ever for the greater good,” he finished, the light in his red eyes burning.

“Even if all of this were true, why not fight it from the inside then? Instead, you decided to go full maniac and became an official bad guy?” You were treading on thin ice, but he must have been lying to you. Never before had you heard any of these accusations, they sounded baseless and frankly, ludicrous.

You were familiar with Overwatch history, at least the official stories they’d taught you at the beginning at orientation. Had they omitted these details?

The ghost of a smile flitted across his features. “I decided to fight fire with fire.” Then he leaned against the tabletop with his claws resting against its surface, aligning himself to you two side by side with just a few meters in between.

You snorted.

“Is this why you run around dressed like that?” You pointed at his getup, it felt good to poke fun at him like this. But you were also wary about how far you could to push him.

But even as you spoke that last sentence, Reaper suddenly narrowed his eyes at you. It wasn’t in anger, though, but rather in intrigue. He was staring openly at your neck. Self-consciously, you let go of your right arm to reach up to the spot instead.

It was the same one that Ogundimu had inspected after your mission. This particular memory, how he had brushed away your hair, it opened the floodgates to all the other things that had happened on that night.

You were shocked that he was still able to see it. When you’d tried to catch a glimpse of it in a mirror, it was almost impossible because of its position so far back. And the mission had been like a week ago, the mark—whatever it was—should have faded by now.

“I’ve gotta go,” you blurted and abruptly stood from the stool, almost toppling it over in your haste.

You didn’t get very far, your wrist was gripped tightly by a hard, cold steel gauntlet stopping you from leaving. In a state of shock and disbelief you saw your badly discolored arm in his claws around it, and like a wild animal caught in a snare, your body went into fight or flight mode.

With jerking movements, you pulled hard to get free, you threw your entire weight away from where he held you and even kicked at him.

“Stop that,” he grunted, but only sounded mildly disgruntled, and somehow that made you calm down enough to stop your struggling.

“Let me go,” you demanded, emphasizing your point with a tug. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he studied your damaged hand.

“I must know…” he said ominously and removed one gauntlet with his teeth. It clattered on the tabletop noisily, making you jump. The skin of his hand was darker than that of his face, you noticed, as he used the pads of three fingers to lightly touch your bluish forearm.

“W—what are you doing?” You demanded to know, trying to pull away again.

He hummed darkly in thought, tracing small patterns on your skin. The motion sent shivers up your arm and through your entire body. Your eyes anxiously darted between where he was currently touching you and his face. The sensation was disconcerting, but also—you were hesitant to admit—kind of pleasant. A faint blush spread on your cheeks.

All of a sudden, he used the grip he had on your wrist to pull you a little closer and took a hold of your other hand as well.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, and once again tried to break free. And once again, failed.

With all the time in the world, and the strength of a fucking machine, he raised your good arm and laid your hand against the side of his neck, then held it in place.

Now you were...touching him, you felt so repelled by the mere thought of it, that your face twisted in abhorrence.

“Heal me,” he commanded in a low voice.

The audacity. Anger rose up inside you.

“Fuck you!” You uttered with vigor and stubbornly held still without doing a thing for him. What would he need healing for, anyway; you’d just healed him mere minutes ago. He was insatiable!

He growled.

“Do it.”

You pushed your luck.

“No.”

The two of you stared at each other in varying degrees of frustration.

What were you doing? Reaper could easily tear you apart if he so desired, why were you defying him like that? A small voice answered how the last time you healed him through direct touch it resulted in things that still caused you nightmares to this day.

With a snarl, the man pulled you into him and to the side, to push you on top of the examination table. He followed closely, to pin both your wrists to the tabletop, right next to your head. You lay there awkwardly, while your upper body was on the table, your feet still touched the ground lightly, and Reaper now stood over you, holding you down. He was right in your face, too.

“Do you have a death wish, girl?” He was furious, the glowing red orbs of his eyes were burning brightly, dark mist was rising off of him in waves. You guessed he wasn’t used to people not following his orders. All you could do was stare, your head was still spinning from where it had hit the steel table. It hurt like a bitch. Your spine too, how it was bent so uncomfortably.

When you didn’t answer fast enough, his eyes narrowed, his gaze flitted over your face. Finally, he shifted, moved in between your legs so they fell open and around his thighs.

Your blush deepened and your heart stuttered.

“Or is it something else you wish for,” he murmured, eyes falling to your lips.

Oh god, no.

You blinked through the headache and weakly started to struggle again. Of course, you couldn’t even move him a millimeter.

“Nng—don’t…” you gasped, averting your eyes to the side when you couldn’t dislodge him.

Surprisingly, he let go of your wrists, instead his fingers tilted your head towards him. You would never get used to these eyes, you thought, as you were forced to look into them once more.

“Heal me,” he repeated himself, a solemn expression on his ashen face.

You shivered, silently pleading for him to just stop. But the determination in his eyes told you that he was ready to go as far as he needed in order to get what he wanted.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

Arm shaking, you slowly reached for his face. That was the only place where you could touch his skin, and as you did so you had to push down the fear of the consequences. He was watching your hand as it moved, the last centimeter was the hardest part. You were hoping he might help by closing the distance, but he stayed in place. Then you finally touched him, your fingers twitching.

Concentrating on your breathing, which was way too fast, you sent out a gentle wave of healing. It took only a second before Reaper closed his eyes and exhaled in satisfaction.

His breath faintly brushed against your face, he was that close.

You kept the healing stream low on purpose, you’d already given it your all to heal him with Dr. O’Deorain’s glove. No need to go all in this time.

To an outsider this must have looked like a scene between two lovers; the way he was bent over you and you practically cradling his face while he obviously enjoyed what you were doing… good thing there was nobody else present.

His eyes were still closed as you felt his fingers loosen their hold on your chin to gently brush down the front of your neck.

“W—wait,” you stammered and momentarily broke the contact on his face. As you had feared the direct healing was having the same effect on him as the last time.

The second your palm left his cheek, his eyes flew open and his still gloved hand shot up to press it back into place. “More,” he growled in that eerie, dark voice.

If you kept going like this you would collapse again, it was simply too much. That damn glove did something to your nanites that seemed to make them work in overdrive and use all your resources at once. At least that’s what it felt like.

“I think that’s enough,” you said meekly and simply stopped the healing output, glassy eyes staring at Reaper, probably not without an air of a challenge in them.

When he felt the healing stop altogether, Reaper scowled. “I say when it’s enough.”

“No!” You’ve had it up to here with him. “No, you don’t! I get to say when it’s done. And I say it is done,” you yelled and snatched your hand out of his to cradle against your chest. “I’m not your personal health pack!” Just damn this man to hell.

At your blatant display of insubordination, he went through multiple stages of disbelief and anger, followed by one of his growls.

In the blink of an eye he had grabbed you under the thighs and pushed you completely on top of the table, crawled over you, put a knee between your legs and pressed against your core roughly with how he held himself on top.

When you wanted to protest against him manhandling you like that, he simply brought his hand that was still in the gauntlet, up and around your throat, effectively cutting off any of your words. The only thing that left your mouth were short gasps now.

He bared his teeth at you, his fiery red orbs almost burning a hole through your skull.

You whimpered.

“I am—” he began loudly, then stopped to think over his words. “I haven’t felt... anything like this in…” he drifted off, eyes darting between different spots on your face. You wondered what he saw there, what he was trying to tell you all of a sudden. Not that you were the least bit interested to know the inner machinations of this utter lunatic. Maybe when this was all over you’d write a book about it, you would call it ‘My Life With The Murderer’.

Only that when this was going to be over, you’d likely be dead.

“Why do you do it?” The question startled you, what did he even mean? You’d done as he’d asked, you’d healed him. Simple as that.

Your frown deepening, you mouthed your answer and that’s when he must have realized that his heavy hand on your windpipe was hindering your speech. He loosened it just a fraction and you breathed in as deeply as it allowed you to.

“I don’t know what—”, you coughed, “what you mean.”

“No. You know,” he ground out and leaned forward a fraction. “Why, mariquita? Is it to weaken me, to catch me off guard?” He hummed, his voice had taken on a velvety smoothness to its coarse undertones and it made your shiver. “Someone set you up to do this.” Again, he searched your face while his eyes squinted. “Was it Akande, Maximilien?”

The way he seemed to be convinced that somebody had ordered you to, what, seduce him made you exhale in a short hysterical laugh. What utter nonsense.

But your laughing made him tighten the grip on your neck again, he didn’t seem to find this the least bit funny.

“If that is what you tried to achieve, then I’ll give them what they want.” And with those words he closed the distance to press his mouth against yours.

With wide eyes you stared into his, panic rising in your chest. The sheer malice on his face was not a good sign for what was about to come. Then you remembered that your hands were currently free and you pushed at him with all your might. But he just gripped your throat harder, the pressure inside your head was painful, and the lack of air had you open your mouth to gasp.

Reaper used that opening to lick inside and over your tongue. The smell and taste of him were assaulting your senses just like the constant pressure against your neck and groin. Failing to push him off, your hands flew to his wrist where he was cutting your airflow off instead.

Your eyes were burning, tears were gathering at the corners and a single one traced down the side of your face to disappear into your hairline. This was it, just a few more seconds and you’d suffocate. Black spots were dancing at the edges of your vision, your muscles spasmed with the lack of oxygen in your blood, and you whimpered.

When he pulled away it was like coming up from deep water, as if you broke its surface and could finally breathe again. Everything hurt, but especially your chest and your head. You moaned in pain in between deep breaths. The cold from the metallic examination table was seeping into your bones and had them ache as well.

It took you a little while to get your breathing under control again, your numb fingers had slipped off his gauntlet and fallen limply to the side, but he still had a secure hold on you. Finally, you managed to look him in the eyes again.

You were at his mercy once more, your life was literally in his hands. Already his grip threatened to tighten again.

When you tried to speak, it only came out as a whisper. “Please,” you swallowed and another tear ran down your face. “No more.”

You couldn’t do this again, the choking was a horror you hadn’t ever experienced before and it had you on edge so much you thought you might have a heart attack.

The malice that had previously distorted his face had ebbed down a bit, he seemed to be more pensive right now with how he was watching your face and let his gaze wander over your heaving chest. Finally, his gauntlet left your neck to brush down your front, claws scratching you unpleasantly and sending shivers down your spine.

Wordlessly, he moved his hand over your chest where your lab coat had fallen open and lightly squeezed your breast through your thin shirt, his talons dangerously close to piercing your skin.

You held your breath in fear, there was nothing you could do to deter him if he wanted to do... that to you, and the realization had you sniffling pathetically as you turned your head to the side.

Meanwhile his gauntlet moved further down your belly to push under the hem of your shirt. The cold, pointy ends of his claws made you shiver violently as they moved to where your bra was, bunching up your top in the process. The razor sharp tips of his talons made short work of your bra, it snapped in half right in the middle, and you flinched at the feeling of the elastic going slack.

You hid your face in the crook of your shoulder when he bared you to his gaze, light tremors running through your entire body.

For a while, nothing happened. He cruelly left you anticipating his next move.

Then, gradually, you felt him shift above you, his fingertips lightly brushed between your breasts and circled around your left nipple, pebbling it in the process. It tickled, made you squirm. When he rolled it between two fingers, you tensed and tried to turn away and to the side, but bumped into his arm that he currently used to prop himself above you.

“Don’t be shy now, mariquita,” he murmured, suddenly very close to your ear, you could feel his breath on your skin. “We’re just getting started. This is what you’ve been sent to do.”

Oh god, you’d never recover from this. This was the most nightmarish, fucked up excuse for foreplay you could imagine.

He kept breathing in your ear, nipping at the lobe and lightly kissing your neck while his hand kept playing with your nipple.

Soon, the blush was returning to your cheeks. As fucked up as it was, it was still foreplay, and your body reacted to the stimuli it was given, regardless of its source.

“I—I wasn’t sent by...by anyone!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he growled, but kept his ministrations gentle. It was messing with your head. Your anxiety level was through the roof.

“I’m not…” you sobbed, trailing off. This was not helping at all, it was no use. He wouldn’t believe you.

“I know it was me who found you,” Reaper started, “but it was Akande who teamed us up. I had wondered what his intentions had been.” He kept fondling your breasts, and even though you were terrified, your body was starting to get aroused with it. Tingles went down between your legs, made you want to press them together, but Reaper’s armored knee was still nestled against you intimately.

He hummed in thought. “I will find out why you...” he nosed into your neck, “affect me so. A little indulgence in the meantime won’t hurt.”

Won’t hurt you, you thought bitterly.

Reaper’s knee ground against you, so hard that it pushed you up the table with it. The shock of it had you tilt your head back towards him, ready to protest again.

But he simply kissed away any words that had been on your tongue. He was rougher now than before, his mouth forcing yours to open wide and he invaded it boldly with his tongue. It was an all consuming kind of kiss, one that would have you swooning had you not been lying down already. Still, it made your head swim and your legs shake where they tried to squeeze together around Reaper’s thick thigh. He groaned at the feeling of you squirming around him, his bare hand moving from your breast to the fly of your jeans to pop open the button.

His mouth was still slotted against yours, stealing your breath away in a passionate dance.

You were hesitant to admit it, but it was a really good kiss, with the right partner you’d have loved it, given yourself to him without a second thought. Alas, this was Reaper, and the terror you felt at the thought of being raped by him was all consuming.

But suddenly you felt him tugging at your pants, pulling them over your hips, and another wave of sheer panic momentarily gave your head some clarity.

“No,” you pulled away from the kiss, cast fearful eyes down your body and tried to slap his hands away from where they were currently tracing along the top of your panties.

With ease, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them both above your head in his gauntlet.

“Don’t,” your voice broke on the last syllable, “please.” Tears were finally streaming down your face, you couldn’t keep it together any longer.

He paused, cocked his head.

“Poor girl,” he cooed and brushed some of the tears away with his thumb. “You are but an instrument, to be used by one and then by another. This is your place now.” He kissed your brow and drew back again, unphased by your revulsion. “This is what Akande wanted, so it is what he’ll get.” His voice turned cold. “Send him my regards.”

Apparently he was really under the impression that Ogundimu had instructed you to do this, the mere thought that maybe that was true, that Ogundimu thought of you as someone to whore out to teammates acting up made you sick to your stomach. What was the purpose of that, though? Distraction, dependency?

Reward?

Your musings were interrupted when Reaper resumed what he’d been doing previously, his bare hand moved down to your jeans and pushed them down, along with your panties, until they bunched around your knees.

To get them further down though, he had to momentarily get off of you, and it was in that moment that you saw your chance to get out. His hold on your wrists was easily broken when he was so focused on your bottom half. One hard tug and your hands were free, twisting to the side you managed to dodge his renewed attempt at catching you and your legs could slide out beneath him on the smooth metal of the examination table. The fall to the floor was painful, but the adrenalin in your system helped to ignore it as you collected your limbs underneath you and got up to your feet. A quick tug on your pants and you had them up around your hips again, the way to the door beckoning you.

Four long strides and the door almost in reach, but there was a black mass swirling in front of you now. It was Reaper’s black mist, you recognized from where you had stopped in your tracks, too shocked to look away. The mist was swirling, folding in on itself and finally taking on human shape.

This was straight out of a horror novel and you yelped in surprise.

The first part of him that was truly identifiable as human were his eyes, burning through the mist in their demonic color. The rest of his face followed suit, then his body materialized, already reaching out for you.

Too late you stumbled backwards.

In the blink of an eye you were whirled around and pressed against the doors that you had so desperately tried to reach a moment ago.

Reaper was holding you by the arms, a manic glint in his eye.

“You think you can run from me?” He sounded amused and it was almost convincing, hadn’t it been for the way his hands held you in a vice like grip, painfully tight.

That had been your very last chance of escape.

His rhetorical question hung above you heavily. No, you didn’t actually think that, it had been a knee jerk reaction of your body to flee.

“I’m—” His gauntlet on your mouth stopped you mid-sentence. He had pushed even closer to be able to release one of your arms and shush you like this. You cast wary eyes his way and saw that he was looking off to the side.

It seemed like he was listening for something.

Then you heard it: footsteps were fast approaching from the outside. Your eyes went wide. Who was coming to the lab? Were they going to try and come inside? Maybe you could cry for help…

Any hope that dared to blossom in your heart was crushed by the realization that nobody in this building was likely to help you at all, especially with Reaper. You were convinced that most people were afraid of him, yourself included. Hell, you were the president of club Reaper Is Scary.

With his finger against his lips Reaper signaled for you to be silent, not that you could have made a sound anyway. The sound grew ever louder and finally they came to a stop on the other side of the door.

You strained your ears for any clues on who it might be, but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.

Then, a knock.

It almost made your heart stop right then and there. Wide eyed you stared at the man in front of you, not daring to make a sound. You were acutely aware of how Reaper was pressed to you, all hard edges and cold metal.

Casey called your name from outside. “Hey, are you there?” Her voice sounded muffled through the thick walls. “I forgot my keycard when I left. Can you let me in?”

What would Casey say if she saw you like this, half naked with bruised lips by rough kisses from no one else but  Reaper . Would she be disgusted, or would she understand that this was not what it seemed? Really, you didn’t want to find out.

It felt like an eternity until Casey called your name and knocked one last time, followed by a silent curse and mention of finding Dr. O’Deorain to let her in, that told you she was going to leave and come back at a later time. Her footsteps disappeared down the hall.

You had closed your eyes in fear and only now cracked them open to tentatively watch what Reaper was doing. His face had softened somewhat, the fire in his eyes muted just a little. He was watching you intently, removed his hand from your mouth and took a step away from you.

Your knees buckled where you stood half leaning against the door with wild eyes, your hands fiercely clasping your lab coat to shield from view...and maybe more.

“This is not over, mariquita,” he promised darkly, then did his disappearing act again and vanished in a cloud of black mist right in front of you.

It took you a minute to breathe easy again. The darkness had lifted off of you for now, his presence was no longer looming above and you sobbed in relief. Your hands covered your face as tears were flowing freely again.

Your mind was blank, too many emotions were warring within you to make anything coherent of them. What you knew for certain was that you had to get out of this building and as far away as possible.

But what about Caleb?

[minnochu]

Don’t Make Me Say It.

Officer!Yoongi x Reader Spin Off 

(A/n) I have finally finished my Officer!Yoongi spin off that I promised because I fell in love with his role in Interference and just want to give him some love. Hi. I spent a long time thinking up this one, and it’s kind of a mess and weird to be honest, probably rushed ‘cause I wasn’t about to pour my guts out for a whole chapter fic (sorry), but I do hope you enjoy it! 

 This mildly references Interference, but it can be read as a standalone if you don’t want to read it lol. Link to Interference if you dare!!

*Warnings: Death, mention of suicide and postpartum depression, mention of organ trafficking, mention of drugs, non consensual touching and kidnapping, explicit language, reader’s boss smacks her, a customer also smacks reader’s ass too.

Word Count: 17.6k

.

“Don’t you think you need to settle down with a woman of your own, hyung?” 

It’s a question Taehyung and now Jimin asks him. He always blows it off as something he doesn’t necessarily need when he’s married to his job and sleep. As he finds himself doting on Jimin’s new found relationship with a past and now solved case, the latter thought maybe it was time to keep the elder from constantly nagging them like a grandmother. Not like his girlfriend had any complaints to his and Hoseok’s unannounced visits.

“Like I said!” He drawls groggily, his voice heavy with sleep after he was promptly woken up, “Something like that isn’t for me.” 

“That’s what I said too hyung,” Jimin sighed exasperatedly while pinching the bridge of his nose, “But you were the one who pushed us together, and plus… you could use a little happiness in your life.”

The blonde scoffs at this, kicking his shoes up onto his desk nonchalantly, promptly ignoring Seokjin’s protests at the action. Closing his eyes, he crosses his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair, “I’m already happy enough seeing all your stupid faces everyday and sleeping when I’m not burning my eyes at the sight of homicide cases.”

“Wow I’m flattered,” Seokjin grits as he shoves the younger’s feet off the desk, “Sheesh, maybe a girl will teach you some manners.”

“I treat Jiminie’s girl just fine, don’t I?”

“Still, we don’t want our precious Min Yoongi dying a bachelor who only knows how to sleep and solve cases,” Hoseok teases as he slings an arm around his partner, “How ‘bout I set you up on blind dates like we did with Jiminie?”

The latter shivers at the thought of his past blind dates that ended up with his meeting with Jungmi. It was a relief to finally be rid of her and her conniving father and Jungkook too. The rest of the men seem to share the same thoughts as the second youngest.

“Considering your taste in women?” Yoongi clicks his tongue as he gives his partner a judging glare, only to tilt his head to the side when Hoseok launches a half hearted punch at his face with a pout.

“That hurts hyung!” 

After much pestering however, Yoongi ended up agreeing to a month of blind dates if the guys would finally stop bugging him about a girlfriend that he honestly didn’t have any need for. He didn’t even know why it was so important for him to have one. 

It’s a drag, are his only thoughts as he meets up at cliche date spots like the park, a cafe, or a restaurant. And the dates themselves? He wouldn’t call them back. He didn’t even bother trying to learn their names. Perhaps this was payback for setting up Jimin on those blind dates, ultimately resulting in him meeting Jungmi.

“Ah, Yoongi-ssi, do you mind walking me home? It’s quite dark…” one bold woman asks after the eleventh blind date so far. He wondered how many women his coworkers knew, but he decided he wasn’t going to see her ever again anyways so he might as well be civil for once. 

The woman tries to start small talk but he promptly ignores her when he hears noises coming from the alleyway that they happen to pass by. It’s almost pitch black, but he can make out tall figures surrounding a fallen and petite form on the ground. He almost tries to ignore it, but the officer side of him turns sharply into the alley without any explanation to his very confused date whose legs are shaking wildly in fear when he’s engulfed in the darkness the further he ventures onward.

“Call the police!” Is all he answers back with.

And from there on, he spots you among the crowd of men standing above your fallen body. He scrutinizes your messy hair and odd fashion that reveals your midriff, chest, and shoulders where your scarlet flannel is only held together by one button with the sleeves slid below your shoulders. The fashion of kids these days, he thought flippantly.

“Hey, it doesn’t seem very fair to gang up on a little girl,” he grunts as the thugs turn and glare at him venomously. Sizing them up silently, he wondered if he should take the girl and make a run for it or get his hands dirty.

“Who the hell is this asshole?” One scoffs, but the others are way ahead and already lunging at the detective. 

Yoongi effortlessly dodges and deflects the attacks, watching in the corner of his eye if you were in danger. But he’s surprised to find you holding your own ground against two of them. He momentarily forgets the men in front of him when he narrowly dodges the thrust of a knife. Narrowing his eyes, he redirects another thrust before twisting the man’s arm behind his back. Taking the knife, he pushes the thug harshly into the other guys. 

By the time the cops have arrived, Yoongi has incapacitated them to keep them from trying to get away when he didn’t have any cuffs on him. 

“I didn’t need your help,” you pout, looking up at him with a glare. Crossing your arms over your chest, he has to keep himself from pointing out your very visible and very black sports bra. 

“I couldn’t leave a child to fend for herself,” he shrugged, looking you up and down with a judging look.

Puffing out your cheeks, your eyes narrow at him, “I’m not a child!”

“Sure you aren’t,” he shrugged, catching your punch in his hand and pulling you forward and to the side to make you stumble over your feet. He quirked an amused upturn of his lips at your obvious annoyance, “Get home safely, kid.”

“I’m 20 dammit!” You pout then and even now as you storm into your apartment with your eyebrows furrowed, bruised fists clenching around plastic bags of ingredients for the next few meals or so. 

The place is rather cheap, the paint chipping off here and there with dark water stains discoloring the ceiling. The carpet is stained and flattened with age along with the drab furniture that completes the shabby appearance of the home.

“Unnie?” the familiar voice of your little sister, Hyemi, calls from the hallway. Her head peers around the corner before her whole body jumps out and she’s bounding towards you for a hug. “Welcome home!” she greets happily, going on about her good day at school and how much she missed you. 

“Yeah?” You smile softly, your sour mood simmering at the sight of your cute little sister who had just begun her first year of middle school, “Tell me all about it when I finish up dinner okay?”

“Dad’s not home again for dinner?” she asks as you pull your messy hair into a ponytail and move your conversation to the kitchen.

Shaking your head, you grimace as you begin preparing the items for dinner, “I don’t think so… I’m sorry..”

Sorry. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for. For the absence of your father? For the living conditions you both had to endure because of him? It’s not that he was a terrible father… You could only blame it on the sudden bankruptcy his business fell into, which put your family in great debt. 

Your mother? She left. Father? He promised you both he would work to create a better living for you. Which meant going the whole day without seeing his once happy face around the house. And now? The little times you caught him sluggishly returning home in the middle of the night, his face was tired. It didn’t look as youthful as it did when you were still in high school. 

Must be why you changed. You mulled over how perfect your grades were in high school until debt and your parents’ divorce threw you in the deep end and persuaded you into delinquency. Instead of going to college like your past self wanted to, you went straight to working any kind of job that would hire you. Currently, you worked at a restaurant during the day, and a bar as a waitress during the night. 

The money always went to groceries, your father, and a little something for Hyemi you always saved on the side.

Despite all that’s happened, you still love your father dearly. Right now, all you wanted was for Hyemi to be safe and well fed. If something happened to her, you would surely go on a rampage.

After your sister has finally gone to bed, you’re left alone to your thoughts as you clean up the dishes and refrigerate the leftovers. You think about hours prior when that man interferes with your run-in with thugs outside the bar you worked at. Icy blonde hair, pale skin, and brooding dark eyes. Shivering, you placed a hand over your chest to ponder over the thumping in your chest.

Everything diminishes once you hear the door open and close, the rusty hinges whining as your father grunts, followed by a prompt thud of his weight hitting the couch.

“Welcome back,” you greet from the kitchen doorway, smiling as he casts you a weary smile back. 

“Sorry I’m late… again,” he chuckles forlornly, slumping against the back of the sofa and resting his head against the cushions. “I’m really trying my best… we’re so close to being free, but it’s like there’s not a lot of time left.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean your head against the wall as you observe the fatigue in his body… his eyes. 

“I know… we know.”

“Send my regards to Hyemi, it’s been really busy at the company, I’m sure she must really despise me for leaving you two by yourselves all the time.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. There’s no emotion, and you know that he’s so worn down from all the stress of paying back the people who’ve helped his company stay alive after its sudden fall.

“Or… you know… you could say hi before you leave again… or even leave a note,” you suggest nonchalantly as you move to take a seat beside him, “I’m sure she would rather hear it from you than through me... She only misses you, you know.”

He stays silent at that, and you know that in the end you’ll have to tell Hyemi once again that he loves her and whatnot. It just wasn’t special that way. Not at that young age. 

“I love you both, with all of my heart and soul,” he blurts out, turning to look at you with a crestfallen expression. Why? Why did he look like that?

You open your mouth to ask him why the confession all of a sudden when he pulls out two tickets from his coat pocket and practically shoves them in your face.

“One of my employees gave these to me,” he explains as you eye them quizzically, “A coupon to a really nice restaurant in town… You and Hyemi should go out and have some fun for the day, eat out and maybe watch a movie!”

“Sure… thanks.”

If only you had the confidence to tell him how much you wanted him to join you both. A family night out. Something you all haven’t been able to do since the company crumbled and your mother left. 

.

After that chance encounter, Yoongi couldn’t focus. He wonders if that girl is alright. He wonders if that’s a normal thing for you. Which makes him all the more worried that thugs are targeting you. 

“So… how are you liking the blind dates?” Hoseok asks as the former drives to the site they were supposed to search through, Jimin and Taehyung to arrive later on after their meeting. 

“Disgusting,” Yoongi drones blandly as they arrive at a worn down apartment complex. The place is shady, and a sore thumb in a place like Seoul. “Couldn’t you guys find interesting women?”

“Don’t be like that! Please tell me you at least texted back one of them!” Hoseok grins with a nudge to his partner’s side, but the male isn’t amused by him and shakes his head as he heads up the stairs to the second floor. He observes the dirty stucco and the peeling paint on the hand rails, frowning at the kind of place Namjoon sent them to.

“If I say yes, will you stop pestering me?” He asked as they arrive at the apartment, caution tape barricading the door along with two officers that nod their head in greeting.

Hoseok shrugged, obviously knowing that he wouldn’t, “Only if you’re telling the truth.”

The elder can only sigh as they enter to find other police officers already inside and taking notes. One of them perks up at the two’s entrance and hurry over. Over the former’s shoulder, Yoongi can make out a complete disaster of the room. The apartment was already worn down as it was, but everything was in a disarray from the couch being flipped over to the television smashed to pieces on the cruddy brown carpet to the blood staining the said flooring.

The liquid was not yet crusty brown upon further inspection after the officer filled in him and Hoseok about the neighbors reportedly hearing the firing of a gunshot. 

Hoseok searched the rooms, which must’ve been just as trashed, while Yoongi stayed in the living room to inspect the male victim. He had to be in his forties, no older than fifty, dressed in work clothes that were drenched in the pool of blood coming from the obvious gunshot to his head. Unable to touch the corpse just yet, he suspected the blow from a close distance, wondering if they did so in order to extract the bullet to keep from any evidence being left. 

Notably, dried tracks ran down his cheeks from the corners of his eyes. Crying? Was he threatened? He wondered why he found the last expression of this man turning out to seem more and more melancholy and simply tired.

Were they looking for something, he wondered? Burglars? Why did they go so far as to delivering a clean shot to the cranium? 

The messy hair reminded him of you. It just so happened to be the same hair color, and he wondered why he was suddenly thinking of you. An insignificant little girl he just so happened to help out despite your stubborn claims that you were just fine on your own.

“Miss, we cannot let you in!”

“This is my home! You can’t possibly be telling me I can’t go in!” A voice raises with ferocity, reminding Yoongi of a certain someone. 

“St-still… w-wait!”

He turns right at that moment to see you with fire in your eyes as you evade the grasps of the officers to head straight towards the sofa where you ignore Yoongi to set your eyes right then and there on the corpse.

The plastic bag of leftovers and a meal you and Hyemi picked out to bring home for your father is left abandoned on the ground when you set your eyes on your fallen father.

“D-dad?”

Well fuck. Of course it had to be your dad, making it all the more complicated for Yoongi. What a drag, he thought as he stood from his crouching position to halt your approach.

“What do you think you’re doing,” you grit, fists clenching as you stare helplessly at your father, “Get out of my way.”

“I can’t let you, you’ll only contaminate the evidence, and that includes your father’s body over here,” he explains calmly, biting his lip when he notices the traces of tears that gloss over your eyes at the severity of the situation. He sends a look to the officers to let him handle it, their shoulders relaxing after you pretty much shoved the guards out front to the side. 

Tears blur your vision as you ball your fists and recklessly launch a punch at his face in fury, but he catches it easily just like the night you both met. Your eyes travel between Yoongi’s apathetic eyes to the tear-dried face of your parent. Why were his eyes so cold? Why did he look as though he were belittling you for acting the way you did? 

Your knees shake and buckle, your weight folding underneath you as you crumple to the ground, wrist still held high from his hold. You refused to cry in front of him and all these officers. How could you face Hyemi? How could you have left your father alone at home? 

“I love you both with all my heart and soul.”

It clicked now. You figured he knew his time was up at that time. He intentionally drove you and your sister away for the day. But who would be behind this? Who wanted him dead?

You felt dizzy thinking more about it, stomach churning even more the longer you stared at his lifeless body. 

“H-hey!” Yoongi blinked in surprise when you fell face forward, his hands catching you by the shoulders. 

“You know her, Yoongi?” Hoseok asks as the blonde hooks his arms under your legs and back. 

Fixing your head against his shoulder, he gives a brief shrug, “More or less.” Bowing his head at the officers, he promised to return to aid in investigation later on once he deals with you. Outside the apartment is your little sister, who gasps at her older sister’s unconsciousness. 

“I-Is she okay?” She asks worriedly, her eyebrows furrowing, “What’s happening to our apartment? Is my dad in there?”

Hoseok seemed to catch on as he bows his head towards her, “Let’s move to our car, we can explain when we get your sister settled down.”

Yoongi allows his partner to be the one to deliver the news as you slowly regain consciousness laying down in the back seat of their car. He watches as you slowly sit up and glare at him leaning against the trunk of the vehicle. 

“Morning kid,” he says, causing you to frown even more at his nickname for you. 

“I told you I’m 20. I have a name too you know! It’s (Y/n)!”

He snorts at that, “20 with the behavior of a child.”

You turn away with a pout, letting him win this bout. The older man takes this chance to fully look you up and down, noticing the nice cropped blouse you were wearing along with high waisted jeans in contrast to your scandalous casual attire the other night. You both couldn’t have known, he thinks as Hoseok tries to comfort the younger sister. 

“So what now,” you grunt, leaning your head against the seats, “My apartment’s overrun by officers, there’s no way we’re getting in and having a good night’s rest just like that.” It didn’t appear like it hit you yet, but he can only assume that you were putting a facade, in contrast to the sniffles coming from your sister.

Suddenly, Yoongi felt something familiar with this kind of situation. His eyes jumped from you to Hoseok to your sister. This was all too familiar. He wondered why when he spotted Jimin and Taehyung making their way towards them. 

Fuck. This is just like Jimin’s old situation with his now girlfriend. 

“Any relatives, or friends you could stay with?” He asked, trying to avoid offering his place. His heart sped up at the thought and he cursed it for that. 

You shrugged, frowning as your sister sobbed and cried her eyes out, “Hyemi probably has some friends who would offer her a place, but me… not really… as pathetic as that sounds. I don’t even have enough money to stay too long at an inn.”

“Why not at Yoongi’s place then?” Jimin mentions, nudging the elder knowingly, “He and Hoseok would gladly offer you a place until your apartment is thoroughly inspected and cleaned up!” 

Yoongi glares at him for bringing up the idea, and the younger is aware of it as he ignores it to snicker at his distasteful frown with Taehyung who catches on. 

“With this old fart?” You snort, “I’ll just sleep on the streets then.”

“That wouldn’t be too advisable,” Hoseok cuts in, guiding a shaky Hyemi into your open arms to comfort her, “It’s only an assumption that this was an intentional killing. The files read that your father is well known businessman whose company went downhill until another organization stepped in to help pay, someone might be behind this... who knows if you two will be targeted as well.”

Yoongi gives a stern look towards the younger, who turns a blind eye.

“Yeah! It’ll be much safer with these two!” Taehyung grins, winking at the smirking Jimin. 

When it’s finally decided that you two would stay at their apartment, Yoongi vowed to get back at them later on. They exchanged teasing smirks, only for Yoongi to harshly pinch the closest one - Taehyung, who jumped and pouted at him. 

“You’ll all pay later,” He promised menacingly, eyes darting back to you and your sister waiting patiently in the car.

Hoseok grinned, “Not unless you’re thanking us for setting you up with the pretty older sister that you seem to already know!~”

“Now doesn’t seem like the best time, does it?” He harshly shoots back, remembering the despair written all over your expression back in the apartment.

The younger shrugs, keeping a lighthearted smile before turning to the other two more serious now, “We’ll take the two back then, we’ll be back soon.”

On the drive home, Yoongi wants boiling lava to burn him alive right then and there. They left a small crack in the divider glass, but all that can be heard are Hyemi’s faint sniffling. Even more than that, he can feel your burning gaze staring straight into the back of his skull.

“I’m gonna hurt you later,” he whispers harshly to his partner as they lead you and your sister into their apartment. 

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll try to see if I can retrieve some of your clothes tomorrow if they’re not too busy clearing the scene or looking for evidence,” Yoongi dismisses when you both stand awkwardly in the middle of their living room, “We’ll be heading back now.”

“W-wait!” You call out almost automatically, catching him by his elbow. He turns to regard you with a raised brow and you seem to deflate at that, “If there’s anything you find out about my father, please tell me.”

He wonders how you go from fiery and rowdy to timid and vulnerable. As much as he hated to say it, it was quite cute ignoring the situation— what? Frowning at his inner thoughts, he merely nodded and left them to their own devices as he and Hoseok went on their way after leaving you with their phone numbers in case of an emergency.

“You thought she was cute back there didn’t you?” Hoseok grinned knowingly.

The elder shot him a glare, but not denying it either as they drove back to the crime scene. 

“You guys are dumb, I’m only letting them in because they’ll be in possible danger otherwise. Plus I can avoid blind dates now since we’re busy being bodyguards.”

“No need for blind dates when you’ve got Miss (Y/n).”

“Shut up, I already told you, now’s not a good time for her,” he frowned as they made their way back to the apartment.

“So you would’ve considered if the time was right?” Hoseok concluded more than asked.

He shrugged, obviously knowing he couldn’t deny it in front of his partner. 

“Forensics took the body to look closely and search for any fragments left from the bullet if any,” Jimin fills them in when they arrive to only find the taped outline of the victim, “The bullet went straight through, whoever did this must’ve wanted to keep any evidence from being left.”

“The place is utterly ransacked, I don’t know if that’s to create confusion, but it just looks like they were trying to find something.”

Yoongi kept quiet, crouching down near a toppled over bookshelf. The contents were spilled haphazardly across the carpet, including picture frames, books, and photo albums. He didn’t touch but he can make out pictures of you, your little sister, and your dad. One particular frame contained a peculiar photo of a woman, possibly your mother, but she looked the splitting image of Hyemi, nothing like you. He bent down and squinted when he found another piece behind it from the end that was broken. 

Sliding it out carefully, his brows furrowed at the different woman in the photo that held onto an infant while smiling brightly. That had to be you, he thought, recognizing small features that reminded him of you. As embarrassing as it seemed for him to already recognize it.

He waved it off as not looking similar to your sister.

A mistress he supposed. 

He took the previous picture as well, pocketing both to research later for facial recognition. 

“We’re just about done for the day, you two head home and we’ll report back to Namjoon,” Taehyung says as they walk back to their cars, “Don’t wanna leave your lady friend alone at home.”

Yoongi frowned at his teasing, “She’s just someone I met. Besides, she tried attacking me when we met.”

“So she’s feisty?” Hoseok smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at him. 

“Can you do me a favor then?” He asks, ignoring his partner, “Find out what you can about these two women.”

He hands Jimin the two photos before nodding a farewell. Hoseok follows after him curiously, “What was up with the two photos?”

“I found them by the bookshelf, one of the photos was hidden behind the other, there’s a different woman in the hidden one,” He explained as they drove home, in the corner of his eye he could tell Hoseok was pondering over the new information, “I was thinking it could be a mistress, the two look very similar to their respective mothers if I’m correct that the father had an affair. Or he could have remarried if something happened to (Y/n)’s mother.”

“It’s all just speculation,” He shrugged as they started towards their apartment, “Hopefully Jimin can find something.”

Turning the doorknob to their apartment, he pressed inward and felt a tsunami of savory scents crash into him as soon as they entered. He blinked as he noticed only Hyemi was sitting on the couch watching television.

“If you’re wondering, unnie is cooking dinner!” she cracks a small smile when she greets them respectfully. Although her eyes were still quite puffy and swollen from earlier. Yoongi noted how so much differently she acted opposed to your feisty firecracker actions. Was that just a way to protect yourself, he wondered.

He nodded and made his way towards the kitchen to see you standing by the stove. You look over your shoulder and he’s almost spellbound by the sight of you cooking in his kitchen. Until you ruined it by shooting him a glare and turning away with a grunt.

“Hello to you too,” He raises an eyebrow, ignoring your attitude to step behind you and look over your shoulder, “Kimchi fried rice?”

“I hope you don’t mind me going through your fridge, Hyemi got hungry so I thought I’d make dinner… as thanks for letting us stay here...” you trail off the last part but he hears it anyway, watching you mix in chicken.

“It’s nothing, it’s just part of the job I guess,” he shrugs, turning away to grab a drink from the fridge. As he does this, he doesn’t realize the pout that puckers your lips. 

Just a job, you think blandly as you finish up the meal and start plating it.

“You’re right,” You smile half heartedly as you place the platter on the dining table.

“Anyways, I have a question,” He asks, sitting down at the dining table as you take out bowls and utensils, “Where’s your mother?”

“What about her?” You turn suddenly, squinting at him suspiciously, “She left us when my dad fell into deep debt and started a family on her own, that’s all there is to it.”

Yoongi wondered which you were referring to. Hopefully Jimin could figure out the women in the pictures, it’d make it easier on him what kind of questions he’d ask. He didn’t want to jump the gun and assume what happened.

“Right, sorry… just asking for any other connections to your father.”

“I guess,” you shrug as you call out for Hyemi who comes running along with Hoseok.

The latter gasps, “Wow! Haven’t had dinner this extravagant before! Besides from Jiminie’s girl of course.”

You frown at that, looking at him weirdly, which he catches with a knowing grin.

“We’re not that great at cooking, only simple dishes, other times it’s just takeout,” he explains, “Man! This must be how Taehyung and Jimin are getting by now, those two cannot cook for the life of them!”

“Jimin and Taehyung?” You repeat, thinking back to the apartment with the other two detectives, “Are they the two that were at the apartment today?”

“Yup, I guess you could say they’re like us, Yoongi and Jimin are both stone cold, while Taehyung and I are more wild I guess,” Hoseok grins back, “That being said, Yoongi is Jimin’s adoptive brother.”

Yoongi shoots Hoseok a glare, wondering why he was spilling details about him to them when they were just gonna be on their own once again after all has been solved and taken care of.

 When dinner was finished and you were washing the dishes, he cleared his throat to get your attention.

“I’ll be heading over to your apartment tomorrow again, I’ll see if I can find some clothes for you to wear.”

He waited for a response, but you merely continued your washing silently. Hoseok had offered to wash, but you said it would only be fair for you to do it as thanks. Pursing his lips, he decided to leave it at that and turned on his heel to leave.

“Take me with you,” you finally said, turning around to hold his gaze, “I have to work anyways.”

“Work?” He repeats with a raised brow.

“Yeah, remember the alley you met me? It’s near the bar I waitress at… usually I’d go work at a restaurant, but tomorrow’s my off day.”

He’d just learned about your father’s debt just now, he didn’t realize that meant you had to shoulder it as well. You probably wouldn’t want him to pity you, but he felt a sudden admiration for you taking care of your sister. It reminded him of his younger self finding Jimin that eventful day and taking him in. 

“Okay, but we’re gonna have to stop by the precinct.”

He was about to leave when it seemed everything was said and done, but he stopped himself when he turned to see Hyemi lying down on the couch. 

“Do you two want to use my bed? I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You turned at this but looked away with surprise to see him staring right at you.

“I-it’s alright, plus who would want to sleep in your bed you pervert. Who knows what you do on your bed!” 

He squints at you, raising his eyebrows at your accusation. Scoffing, he turned away, “Don’t make any assumptions about my sex life, suit yourself then.” 

“Who would??” You shriek, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks at the image that creates for your wandering mind.

“Ugh I hate him!” You mutter under your breath as you return to the couch with blankets and pillows that Hoseok had lent to you. Hyemi glances up to you wearily, lifting herself to take a pillow and a blanket from you. “How are you feeling?”

The younger smiles weakly, her eyes falling to her lap when she feels the threat of tears building at her eyes. Her teeth dig into her quivering lip as you wrap your arms around her and tuck her head against your neck. 

“I can’t believe…” 

You hush her solemnly, laying your head back against the couch to blink back the tears that have welled at your own.

Yoongi turned back towards his room with a grimace. You didn’t need pity. But he can’t imagine the anguish and sadness that you and your sister must feel, abandoned by your mother, and now your father had been possibly murdered. It just wasn’t something you or your sister deserved to experience, especially with Hyemi that young of an age and having to now grow up without both of her parents. 

.

“Be safe!” You call out the next day as you and the detectives drop off your sister at her school. Despite unable to retrieve clothes for the day, the school had allowed her to wear her physical ed uniform until the search in your home was done, unless you pay for a new uniform but that was unlikely. It appeared as though you were back to being well put together, Yoongi noted as you hug your sister briefly.

Hyemi only smiles as she nods, Hoseok promising to pick her up when she’s done. Her expression is tired, but she still attempts to put on a show to mirror the strength of your facade. 

“I miss having school friends like that,” you sigh as you watch Hyemi disappear behind the school gates with a friend.

“Did you even have friends, with that attitude of yours?” Yoongi scoffs playfully as he begins driving towards the precinct.

You glare at the back of his head while Hoseok tries to diffuse the situation, “I did actually. I had good grades at that time! That was all before… that happened…” Your voice trails off and Yoongi wonders if he went too far. It seemed apparent now that your father’s debt had something to do with your personality. Could it also have been the estrangement of your mother? If the one you were referring to was in fact your mother. 

“Just sit at my desk and be quiet, don’t talk to anyone except Hoseok,” Yoongi says when you all arrive at the precinct. You frown at this but quietly do what he says when all eyes are on you.

“Dang Yoongi, what are you doing bringing your girlfriend to work?” Taehyung snickers as he enters from the break room. 

The elder glares at him, although the other officers in the room join the younger in snickering and teasing the usually cold man.

“Oh hyung,” Jimin perks up at his sudden appearance, beckoning him over, “I found information on the pictures you found.”

“Pictures?” You ask, “From my apartment?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi grimaced, motioning for you to come over. He couldn’t keep anything from you after all, you would’ve argued it as your right to see if it had to do with your family. “I hope you don’t mind, I picked up a couple of pictures I found in order to find some kind of connection to your father.”

“Not at all,” You blinked, wondering what he was getting out until he peered over the brunette to stare down at the two pictures with noticeably two different women. You’ve never seen the picture with the woman holding an infant before, and it was way too obvious that the child was you. “Where’d you get this?”

“I was looking around and found a broken picture frame, that picture was hidden behind the family portrait,” Yoongi explained, tapping on the second picture with the unknown woman, “You’ve never seen it before?”

You shake your head with a frown, brows furrowed in confusion, “I’ve never seen this woman ever in my life… but I do know that that is me she’s holding.”

“How ‘bout this woman?” Jimin ask, pointing to the woman you called your mother, the one you claimed to have left you and Hyemi.

“Our mother,” you point out with a shrug, “She’s off on her own with her own family now.”

“Right, well this woman…” he points at the one holding the infant, “I found her file, but not as a homicide case. Long time ago, her body was found in the river. It appeared she drove her car into the water, according to witnesses, and drowned, there were no signs of foul play so it was deemed a suicide.”

“There was no records on her, her only reported family is a younger brother… mm Hong Suk, I believe.. I have yet to look up his files at the moment.”

“And the other?” Yoongi asks, peering at your expression, but you hide your emotions better than usual.

Jimin holds up the family picture, “No criminal history as well, she seems to be living in a rural town outside of Seoul.”

“Do you have the address? I would like to ask her some questions.”

Despite you not wanting to see your mother, Yoongi insisted on bringing you with him and Jimin to the new home of your estranged mother. It felt weird standing outside the front door with the two donning their uniforms as they wait for someone to open the door. Footsteps resound behind the door, followed by clicks of the locks before an older woman opens the door. You recognize her immediately as the woman who left you and your sister.

“(Y/n)?” She asks, her voice surprised as she regarded the two officers politely, “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, if we could have a moment of your time to ask you a few questions, that would be great,” Yoongi says after bowing his head respectfully, “Of course, you’re not obligated to answer if you wish not to… but it would be very beneficial considering this concerns your former husband who was found dead in his apartment the other day.”

Her eyes widen at this, looking at you for affirmation. You can only look away sadly, rubbing your palms together when there’s nothing more to be said when Yoongi said it all already. It’s not like you had anything to say to her anyway for leaving your family to join another. You just couldn’t let that fact go, even as she invites the three of you in for some tea to talk over the details and questioning.

“I see…” She starts, sitting down across from the three of you while pouring cups of freshly brewed tea for you all, “It must’ve been hard on you and Hyemi, huh?”

“Don’t act like you care about us,” You snap back harshly, looking away from her saddened smile. You could care less if she pitied you. Even now, you wondered why Jimin and Yoongi wanted to question her. It didn’t seem like she knew anything other than the fact that he was going into bankruptcy. 

Yoongi clears his throat audibly, slicing through the tension between you both.

“Lastly, do you happen to know the woman in this photo?”

You mother’s eyes widen in recognition, holding the picture of the unknown woman and child, “Wow, haven’t seen this photo in such a long time, you looked so cute then, (Y/n).”

You squint at her, not knowing what she meant. Obviously, the child looked like you, but you had no recollection of who that woman was.

“You and your mother.”

Standing up suddenly, your eyes widen at her, “What?”

Her lips pull into a guilty smile, eyes staring right down at the picture, “This woman’s your mother.”

“How can that be so?” You urge on, biting your lip at the sudden news.

“Before your father and I got married, he was seeing another woman who bore his first child. As much as I tried despising you after her death, I just couldn’t even after I gave birth to Hyemi. I could only love you even more,” she explained, “I didn’t know too much about that woman, but she had such a big effect on him… it made me jealous how even after her suicide he cared a lot for her… I could only choose to drive myself away from him when I just couldn’t take being second in his heart over her.”

She notices the look you have on your face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration to remember but to no avail. It makes her smile weakly. 

“You have her looks too,” she laughs, “She was a beautiful and strong woman I’ll tell you that… she was great at hiding her emotions… maybe that’s why your father couldn’t tell her signs of postpartum depression until after her death…”

“Do you know much about her brother?” Yoongi asks, cautiously gauging your expression.

The woman shakes her head with a grimace, “I’m sorry, unfortunately I don’t know too much about him. This is as much I can offer to help.”

“No, thank you,” Yoongi bows sincerely, as does his partner, “We’re grateful you agreed to let us question you.”

As Jimin and Yoongi pay their respects and bow, the woman you had thought to be your biological mother catches you at the elbow. Her expression is meek as she looks down immediately and retreats her hand from you.

“Listen (Y/n), you have my condolences for your father and your mother… I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from me, but take care of yourself and Hyemi please. I… if there’s anything I can do… maybe a place to stay… I heard about the apartment… it’s not much but I can roll out a futon in the living room… my husband won’t mind much...”

“I know you may not ever forgive me for leaving you both, but I truly do care for you two.”

You smile sadly back at the older woman, “Thank you for the offer, I’ll bring it up to Hyemi, but as for me… I will not ever stay with you. If you had cared as much as you say, you would have stayed. ” Bowing deeply, you give her a silent nod before turning to follow Yoongi who had been waiting there for you. His mouth is sewn together in a taut grimace as he bows once again to your step mother and leads you towards the car. To him, you were prissy and hard headed but it was these moments where he remembers what you’re going through and how you’re handling it as maturely as you could. 

“I’ll see what I can do at your place, it’s only been a day so I can’t promise much clearance for your clothes.”

You couldn’t blame him if you had to wait another day for clothes, for now you had work to worry about. Although, you couldn’t keep yourself from mulling over the newly found information that is who your real mother is and the fact that she was dead. It was hard to accept, but you decidedly pushed the information to the back of your head for now as you wait for the two detectives to drive to your old apartment. From the parking lot below, you watch as the two approach other officers and converse, probably trying to get you a change of clothes.

They disappear into the home before the blonde reemerges and leans over the railing. He catches your eye and gives a curt shake of his head. You visibly slump, an action he later apologizes for when the two return to the car and explain how they have the apartment under lockdown still, clearance was still a possibility tomorrow and he’ll bring you first thing in the morning. 

“Do you need me to stay and watch over you?”

You blink at the man. Was he growing a third head? 

“I’ll be fine.”

Sighing, he glances at the bar front, frowning when a man walks from within the building, his appearance screaming exceptionally sleazy. Not to stereotype, but the ragged facial hair and barely made bed head, along with an inconspicuous beer belly threatening to pop open the straining button on his jeans, give Yoongi bad vibes. 

“The other night can beg to differ,” his harsh voice rasps, “You don’t know if your father was specifically targeted, they may also be going after you.”

“I can handle myself!” You start to retort, hand curling around the door handle to exit the vehicle.

However, Yoongi grips at your wrist to keep you from leaving, “Yeah? Because you totally had it covered lying on the ground while four men two or three times your size were about to do God knows what to you. I’d say it was well handled.”

Fucking sarcasm. Yoongi bit you in the ass where it hurt.

Your face flushes brightly at that. He had a point and you hated to admit that he was right. Without him there, you could’ve been taken advantage of or worse.

“I only say this out of worry, I know gross, but I’m serious when I say that you may or may not be targeted and we are not about to risk your safety because you can handle yourself.”

It’s safe to say that your conversation ended at that, and Yoongi drops you off momentarily so he can go home and change into civilian clothes. It would be too suspicious for a detective to be in uniform and hanging around in a bar until closing. For emergencies, he kept a holster fastened around his waist, underneath his shirt, in case something does happen. When he returns, you, dressed in your uniform, immediately catch his eye as soon as he enters. He sits casually in a booth in the far corner of the room where he has view of the whole bar. A subtle nod of his head suffices in greeting, but you still blow a raspberry and walk over. 

“Are you even allowed to be serving me alcohol?” He asks with a raises brow and you have to keep all you can from smashing the drink menu into his deadpan. You weren’t even sure if he was being serious or joking. Before you can retort, he waves his hand, “Forget it, just get me water, alcohol won’t do me good if something really does happen to you.”

“Why? Is your tolerance low?” You quip back venomously.

“I’d like to say the same to you, because apparently you’re an adult,” He mocks with an over-the-top scratching nasally tone. 

“Fuck off.”

And one point goes to Yoongi as you stomp back to grab him his water. His eyes narrow when you come walking back and a hand purposefully reaches out to cop a feel of your rear. His fingers tap over his lap, itching to shoot a bullet through the asshole’s hand, when you accidentally step on the guy’s foot with menace. 

Oh.

“Hey you bitch, you just stepped on my shoes!”

Fingers grip harshly to your wrist, yanking you back to the pervert’s table. Yoongi is already up on his feet and stepping in between you and the other man. He places a hand over the male’s wrist, the one keeping your struggling arm from escaping.

“I suggest you let go of her.”

The man raises a brow, narrowing his eyes in irritation at his meddling, “This has nothing to do with you, I suggest you sit down or I punch your pretty face and make you bleed.”

“And she obviously did not like you touching her ass, you pig, so let her go.”

“Hah?” The man balks at the insult, shoving your arm away in favor of standing to his full height, towering over the detective. “Say that again to me, pretty boy, I fucking dare you.”

The situation ultimately ends with Yoongi’s absolute domination and the two getting kicked out however. You’re still flattered that he stuck up for you nonetheless. Your boss had different thoughts however at the whole situation, especially when he’d definitely saw the deliberate stomp on his customer’s foot.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you to just ignore the customers, we’ll be losing business because of your stupid pride!” 

The blonde waits within ear distance, receiving your text that you would be leaving out the back right now. He immediately stopped when your boss had followed you outside. A slap to the face and Yoongi’s breath hitches. His fingers dig into his thighs through the fabric of his pockets. 

“You’re lucky you still have a job, stupid bitch.”

When Yoongi steps out from the shadows, you can barely look him in the eye. You’re back in the clothes he had dropped you off in, your gaze downcast and your cheek raw and stinging from the hit. Where was the headstrong girl he’d met the few nights before? 

“Does this always happen?” he attempts as he walks beside you towards his car. A sidelong glance is sent his way, a raised brow to accompany the look.

“Which are you referring to? The ass grab or my ass of a boss?’

“Both really.”

Not sure what compels him, he opens the passenger door for you. A gesture that is met by an eyebrow raise, making him question his own actions. You don’t comment thankfully, ducking into the car. 

“It’s common, I’ve gotten used to it by now,” you reply once he’s situated in the driver’s side, both strapping in your seat belts. He hated that you merely shrugged it off, like you didn’t just get berated by your boss. You deserved better than that. 

“That’s concerning.”

You stifle a snort at that. “That’s new, coming from you.”

“Am I a jerk to you or something?” He raises a brow as he turns on the ignition, the car purring to life. Your gaze is drawn to his slender ivory fingers, wrapping around the emergency brake handle. How was it even possible for him to have such pretty hands? They move to put the car in drive and you’re faintly aware that he’s waiting for a reply.

“N-not really… like you’re an ass sometimes but it kinda feels like you’re being forced to babysit me.”

“You’re my case after all.” It’s nonchalant, shrugging as if it were natural, but you still couldn’t help the unintended sting they inflict in your chest. If only you knew how in denial he was, trying to convince himself that you were indeed strictly a job he had to take care of.

“That’s not the point fuckhead, you and Hoseok let me into your home, a stranger, and now you’re taking me to work and watching over me…”

“We couldn’t have you staying on the streets when you barely have enough pay to afford an inn, not like that was an option when it’s possible someone’s coming after you and your sister,” he sighs this time, barely taking his eyes off the road to regard you with a frown, “Speaking of your sister, what are you going to do about your… er her mother’s offer?”

“I’ll bring it up to her… she misses her sometimes you know?… She might want to stay with her… I guess it’s also better than staying in a house with two grown men.”

His eyes narrow.

“What are you insinuating, brat?”

“As for me though,” you continue, ignoring him to his discontentment, “I can’t forgive her, with or without her being blood related, Hyemi can stay with her if she wants but I will never accept her help.”

And just as you claim, your younger sister is almost ecstatic to finally see her mother again. The elder woman smiling meekly at the young girl who glomps her with a big hug, her things in your hands as you silently pass them off to the one you had once called your mother. She attempted to smile your way and offer to shelter you as well, but you choose to ignore it.

“Take care of her. Please.”

It throws her off momentarily, but she can’t blame you.

“I will. You be safe too.”

Hyemi hugs you tightly, frowning and the verge of sobbing a protest. But you kiss her forehead and ruffle her hair, “Be strong for me, okay? Yoongi and Hoseok are gonna bring justice to Dad, okay?”

“But you can stay here too…” She knows how much you despise your… her mother after she left. Even if she never stopped loving and missing her, you could not find it in yourself to forgive her for it, ever. 

“I’ll see you when this is all over, okay?”

You’re silent on the drive back home, cooking dinner, and then crawling onto the couch that is half empty now that Hyemi is going to be under her mother’s care for the time being.

The cushions dip under an added weight, your eyes glancing to the side to see Yoongi sitting there with his eyes trained on the television screen. He was clad in sweatpants and a tee shirt, a look that you had to silently admit looked very appealing on his lean body. His eyes slide to meet your gaze, your cheeks warming as you look away in embarrassment. He doesn’t comment on your staring, thankfully.

“You don’t plan on sleeping in your clothes from yesterday again, do you?”

You look to him again, confused this time.

“What are you implying?”

He sits there for a while, his mind thinking like cogs turning in his brain before he gets up abruptly and returns to his room. You don’t pay him any attention, glancing down at your phone when Hyemi texts you a goodnight followed by various heart emojis. A smile graces your face. Before it’s gone when Yoongi launches a shirt and shorts at your head.

Yanking the garments from your head, you shoot him daggers before glancing down at the clothes. His clothes. A romance trope that your high school persona would have gushed over. 

“How cliche, didn’t see you as the type.”

“Shut it, or I’m taking it back.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shrug and shift to get up from the couch.

“Wouldn’t your girlfriend be jealous to see me wearing your shirt?”

“What girlfriend?”

“The one you were with that night, when you… stuck your nose in my business,” you recall the woman he’d been with that night, the one who had clung to his side after the police had shown up to detain the rowdy customers that had cornered you.

“You mean saved you, brat. It was a blind date. The idiots are trying so hard to tie me down, but I just don’t need one.”

You had almost been excited to hear that he was single. 

“How ‘bout you? Got a boyfriend?”

“Do I look like I have one?”

Glancing you up and down, he shrugged with a quirk of the side of his mouth into a subtle smirk, “With that attitude? I’d be surprised if you even had a friend.”

He was relieved. 

...What?

You roll your eyes, should’ve seen that one coming. “Okay asshole, to answer your question, no I don’t have one.”

“Okay.”

“Yes.”

What even were these replies?! What even was the way you felt nervous around him? You take this chance to head to the bathroom to change quickly, his shirt slightly big on your form as well as tightening the drawstring all the way. Before heading out, you pause to stare into your reflection. 

How did it even come down to this? Dressed in the clothes of a man you hadn’t known for longer than two days. How did it even amount to the rosiness that bleeds across your cheeks and the muddled mess that’s your beating heart.

Returning, he’s taken a seat on the couch to your surprise, waiting for you to return possibly. You didn’t want to bring your hopes up. 

...What? No no no, you did not just think that. 

You muster up the courage to force down the lump in your throat and sit down beside him, pulling your legs up to your chest as you join him in watching the cartoon on screen. Then you break the silence once more.

“Can I ask you something?”

You cast him a glance, unaware of the heat burning at his cheeks and ears, his eyes flickering every now and then to drag over your form in his clothes. His adam’s apple bobbing with his swallow.

“What?” his reply comes out smooth, biting his lip in attempt to cool his head.

“Why are you so concerned?”

He deadpans, “Great question, you’re a brat, annoying, no ass on top of that, can barely fight for shit, get yourself into trouble quite often too…”

Irritated, you grab a pillow and launch it at his head, “So you are babying me you ass!”

“You’re my case, deal with it,” he scoffs, catching the item before it hits the side of his face.

After a moment passes, he breaks the silence that had settled after your outburst.

“Can I ask you something then.”

“What?”

“Why stay there?”

You blink, looking up at the ceiling as though the answer were there, “The bar? Not a lot of places take a girl with a delinquency record you know? I didn’t continue after high school, so I’m really limited.”

He wanted to ask you to quit. But that didn’t seem right. It didn’t even add up. Who was he to tell you to do so? You’re just a case. That’s why he cared. Because he was going to be the one who closes your father’s case and bring justice for what happened to him.

...Even if you were pretty and looked really nice in his clothes.

“I know what you’re going to say, even my dad didn’t like me working there. It’s shit. I know. The boss, an asshole, but it’s all I could manage to support my father and Hyemi. Sometimes I do wish I could go back to school.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Hyemi, remember? My father was busting his ass off when someone had paid his debts and salvaged his company, so he’s working hard to pay the him back.”

This was new.

“Him?”

“Father didn’t really talk about work too much. So I don’t really know who helped him, but it really stressed him out paying back whoever had helped him out.”

He hums, rubbing his hand over his mouth as you yawn beside him. The action was cute. 

“Speaking of,” He starts out, garnering your attention once again, “How are you holding up?”

You figured he was talking about your father again. How were you feeling? Sad? Empty? Angry? A mixture of anything and everything negative? He was no therapist, but as much as you can smile at Hyemi and act strong for her, the emotion never reached your eyes. You were exhausted and grieving, but it never helped that you still had to pick yourself back up for the sake of your sister and having to take life on despite the misgivings of the world taking your father away from you both. Moreover that, he wondered how you felt knowing your actual mother was not the one you’d grown up with. He wanted to know what was going inside your head, how you were able to just keep going despite everything being thrown at you in an effort to drag you down.

It all reminded him of Jimin, but in a way you were still very different from the boy he’d met many years ago. You, however, were very good at putting a smile on your face despite the exhaustion in your eyes from putting up a front. 

Just as he says, the ghost of a smile curls at your lips, your eyes glancing down at your toes.

“I’m not sure if it’s even hit me, to be honest, I’m not even sure how to feel about my mom not being my mom,” You say, followed by a humorless laugh, “I cried with Hyemi, yeah… but there’s no time for me to grieve or crumble… I’m sure even he wouldn’t want us wasting away because of his death…”

“You still should give yourself the chance to let it out.”

The sentiment was there, you suppose, touched by his concern for your emotional wellbeing.

“The night before, the night we met too, he gave me coupons to take Hyemi out to eat… I wonder if he knew… he said said he loved us… and it sounded so sad… even knowing that would be last time we got to say that to each other… I wonder if he expected this to happen…”

“Besides that… I just don’t want Hyemi to see me like that…” You say finally after a moment of silence, “I want to be strong for her. It might just seem like its the end if I can barely hold myself up, you know?”

He understood that.

“Enough of the sad talk, you might actually make me cry you jerk.”

You both continued to talk, and you were grateful for his presence. Although you both butted heads, quite a lot actually, you let him whisk you away from thinking about your father and the situation just for right now. You let him lead the conversation, talking about some of the disgusting things he’s seen as a part of the homicide unit, talking about how he’d gotten his adoptive brother to calm down and even get a girlfriend despite his stigma against women, talking about how Hoseok nearly set their apartment on fire trying to make stir fry one night. 

Yoongi didn’t notice how you both drifted off naturally, the lights still on and the television still running with the late night shows. His eyes blink away the remnants of sleep when a hand shakes his shoulder. Adjusting to the lights still on, he almost forgets where he was before he’d fallen asleep, Hoseok’s smirking expression coming into view as the younger points to the pressure on his shoulder. He doesn’t even need to look to know that you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, your body shifting slightly to curl closer to him, the upright position no doubt uncomfortable for your back and neck.

Don’t even think about it, his eyes glare back at his partner who wiggles a suggestive brow, but still helps him remove you from his side and tuck you into a more comfortable position. 

Yoongi doesn’t want to look at you, but he steals a peek at your calm expression, heart picking up in speed as he reaches out to brush his palm over your head. 

The next morning, your neck is slightly uncomfortable for a reason you don’t know, but you choose to ignore as you cook breakfast for the day. 

“How is it over there, get some good sleep?” You ask as Hyemi’s face bobs around the screen at the excitement of your video call in the morning. 

“Mhm, they’re really nice to me, Naeun is really cute, you should meet her!” 

You never really knew the names of your two half siblings, that were biologically only Hyemi’s half siblings, but the awkwardness in what to call your supposed mother and her kids made your head hurt. The girl shifts the phone to show ‘Naeun’ who looks both shy and confused at your form cooking breakfast and still glancing at your phone propped up against a roll of paper towels.

“Hi?” You manage as Hyemi giggles and the camera is pointed back on her face. In the background, you can hear voices as your sister nods to the speaker before turning back towards you.

“I’m getting dropped off to school now, let me know if I can get my uniform soon! I miss you unnie!”

Her smile is the last thing you see before the call is ended and you feel slightly relieved. At least she was able to smile. That much was helpful enough to soothe your worries being without Hyemi for an indefinite amount of time.

Yoongi is noticeably stiffer around you today as they receive clearance for yours and Hyemi’s room only. You drop by to pick up some clothes as well as necessities and Hyemi’s things, that you drop off to the latter’s mother’s house. They drop you off at the restaurant you work at while they head back to the precinct and then your apartment again with Jimin and Taeyung.

“We got word back from forensics,” Jimin says as they once again go over the living room, your father’s body replaced by a taped off silhouette, “No prints, not even fragments either, I’m not surprised though, given the proximity he must’ve been shot at.”

“Did you get anything on Hong Suk?” Yoongi asks as they venture into the messy room of your father. The matress was thrown off its frame, planks scattered out of formation. The cubicles of the dresser were yanked out, clothes strewn all over. 

“His record is clean from what I could tell, although there was a file involving the mysterious death of their parents. I believe he’s the one taking over her father’s company at the moment.”

“I see, maybe we should pay a visit to the company,” the blonde hums as takes a step and pauses. Crouching down, the younger notices this and comes over as he raps his fist against the floorboards. Running his finger over the floor, he catches a noticeable square patch that he pries open to reveal a hidden compartment. 

Heroin. Their eyes staring down the plastic bag of the packaged substance. 

Was this what the killer was looking for? Why was your father hiding drugs in your home? What was going on?

Yoongi decides to keep the drugs a secret from you. They couldn’t draw too many conclusions from the pack when they returned to the precinct with the package as well as hair follicles that Hoseok had luckily found. He just wasn’t about to break it to you that your father was hiding drugs, it would break you. You obviously had no idea what he did or who had helped out his company, knowing this would only tear you down.

From the restaurant, it’s a walk away from the bar, where you feel an eerie feeling of being watched. You had hurried to work despite the feeling, but the discomfort never left when one customer in particular appears nervous and fidgety around you. He gives you a negative vibe that you try to avoid, but when you glance his way, his eyes are on you before quickly flicking away. He fumbles with his hands quite often, sliding his palms together as if they were sweating profusely. 

“Yo-you’re really cute,” He attempts very awkwardly when you take his drink order. You can only internally cringe and simply thank him, the searing eyes of your boss watching you after the scuffle from the other night. 

“I’m going to have to politely decline,” You force out when he offers to take you out for a coffee or something, definitely ignoring the way you shift from one foot to another and try to leave. 

It doesn’t help that you see him outside the bar, waiting for you, glancing at the entrance as you get into Yoongi’s car hurriedly.

The blonde raises a brow at your frantic state until you point out the man. “That guy was creeping me out today, he was there ever since I started my shift and kept staring at me and insisting that I go out with him.” The memory of his eyes constantly on you made you shiver.

Brown eyes narrow at the fidgety male, glancing over his appearance, watching the way he rubs his hands together nervously before driving away.

“Let me know if he comes back,” he says finally, briefly placing his hand over your head. A gesture that you’re thankful for.

“Did you find out anything new today?” You ask the inevitable question when you both have long returned to his apartment and finish up clearing the table from dinner. He helps wash the dishes while you dry. Yoongi almost curses your ability to somehow read the flash of hesitancy that shifts in his eyes. “You found something didn’t you?”

He also curses that he can’t find it in himself to lie to you about the drugs hidden in your dad’s room. It was unneeded stress on your shoulders, but you’re smarter than you let on as you wait for him to answer you. He notices the way you pout, and wills himself to keep a sturdy front, despite his heart exploding with butterflies.

“Stop that, you’re not cute,” He huffs, but if having to live with you for the past three days meant anything, he knew that you wouldn’t quit pestering him, as well as rip him a new one for calling you uncute. “We found a DNA sample in the apartment…”

“And?”

He blinks at you. God you were too smart for your own good. 

“...”

“Min Yoongi.”

Oh. That was new. You’ve never referred to him using his full name. He stuffs the thought that he quite likes the way you say his name, even if you were currently annoyed, away. 

“No,” He grumbles, ruffling his bangs as he finishes putting away the last of the dishes you towel-dried.

“You promised.”

“I didn’t promise shit.”

Fuck. There’s that face again.

“You’re an ass.”

He snorts, “At least I have one.”

You physically start punching him, although more halfheartedly. 

“We found packs of what we presume to be heroin, hidden in a compartment under his bedroom floor.”

All movement comes to a halt. Eyes wide as your hands fall to your sides. This is exactly why he didn’t want to tell you. An array of emotions glimmer in your eyes, he recognizes each stage of realization and hurt and confusion, your lips opening and closing. 

“You don’t think… he would never!”

“We aren’t jumping to conclusions, I just knew you would overthink and stress out your little head over it.”

You settle down at his words, shoulders slumping and your hands open and closing at your sides as you look down. Your father would never do such a thing, right? Given your new found knowledge of his mistress, your biological mother, was he resorting to desperate measures from the loss of not one but two women he had loved dearly. Was it the job? Was he trying to pay back his debt through nefarious means? Was this the reason he’s so worn down? 

Guilt dug itself into your chest. If only you could’ve done more, if only you could’ve been stronger. 

“You weren’t planning on telling me about this?”

Yoongi doesn’t flinch, but his chest squeezes, knowing you would have been upset with him either way. Hair blocks his eyes from searching for the hurt that’s probably found its way onto your expression, he’d only feel worse if he saw it anyways.

“You have plenty to worry about as it is,” He says with a gentle and hesitant hand over your head, “This was exactly what I was trying to avoid, you’re probably blaming yourself right now, aren’t you?”

Curse him for being able to read you so well. Then again, your head hung down wasn’t exactly a connotation that exuded happiness or anything that wasn’t sadness and frustration. Curse him again for inadvertently causing the influx of butterflies trapped in your chest at the slightest brush of his palm over the crown of your head. 

“I hate you,” You mutter, glaring up at him weakly.

“You’re so uncute,” He huffs back to your further annoyance.

The thought was appreciated though. He had thought about you, and that warmed you just thinking about it. For now, you frowned at once again being called not cute and leave him to get ready for bed.

Hoseok drops you off at the restaurant the next day after Yoongi heads to the apartment first thing with Jimin and Taehyung.

“How you doing so far?” The brunette smiles good naturedly as he turns on the car.

You never really spoke to Hoseok one-on-one before, but he radiated an easy-go-lucky air similar to Taehyung, if you remember his name right. His smile seemed to calm you down and soften any guard you had up. It was a polar opposite from the limited expressions that Yoongi expressed around you. Limited meaning, deadpan all day everyday, with the occasional frown and annoyed glare.  

“I’m holding up okay, I guess?” 

He hums at that, “Hyung get on your nerves last night?”

You balk at him, were you two that loud last night? The echo of his words calling you uncute last night haunted you suddenly and you looked away with a pout. It beats you that you mull over the statement rather than his unwillingness to keep you posted on your father’s case.

“He’s an ass.”

“He is,” He chuckles lightly, “But he seems a little more… human around you, you know? It’s quite refreshing.”

“What do you mean?” You ask curiously, interest piqued.

His eyes meet yours briefly as he comes to a stop light, “He’s a little cold, yeah? He’s barely expresses anything other than blank, and he doesn’t even talk a lot unless it’s around Jimin’s girlfriend… but lately he’s been different with you around.”

“Are you sure? He inadvertently called me ugly last night,” You say with a scornful frown.

“Those two share the same wavelength in a way,” He hums nonchalantly, “He’s not entirely socially adept, the same as Jiminie who calls his girlfriend grandma quite often… but that’s beside the point. What do you think of him?”

The question shocks you. What were you supposed to think of him after just a few days spent with him? He teased you, and yet he also took care of you in a way. He made you feel safe and calm despite everything that’s spiraling into hell around you. He made everything just a little bearable. That much you can admit… to yourself.

“You’re cute, you know?” The brunette says, yanking you out of your thoughts with the surprising compliment. He laughs heartily as your cheeks brighten at the sudden proclamation. “Hyung must think that too… ah, looks like we’re here, watch out for yourself heading to the bar after. Give us a call if you don’t feel safe or something happens, yeah?”

Your eyes linger on his carefree smile, huffing as you finally thank him for the ride. There was no point in dealing with thoughts of Yoongi right now, you had to work and just get through the day for now. 

Hoseok makes an amused sound before he’s interrupted by his message tone, his eyes tearing away from your form disappearing into the restaurant to appraise his cell phone. 

‘The guy who was creeping out (Y/n) last night was snooping around her apartment suspiciously. We took him in for questioning, meet at the precinct after you drop her off.’

A sigh leaves his lips as he sets down his phone to start driving again. 

These two are so oblivious, he thinks.

 Yoongi sits at the metal table, elbows propped up on the hard surface with his digits laced one over the other, his mouth pressed against his hands. His eyes are hard steel as they gaze down at his files, courtesy of Jimin’s research, before looking up to the fidgety man. The other flinches at the attention, nearly shitting right then and there when the door suddenly opens to Hoseok. 

Lee Hoon. The exact same features from the other night, as well as the same habit of rubbing his hands together. He’d thought maybe he had a small creepy crush, but it didn’t even make sense for him to show up at your apartment. Was he a stalker? That night was the first time you’d interacted, right? Had he watched from afar prior? Followed you home? 

The thought made him more irritated than he expected as he skims over the details of him being an employee at your father’s company.

Oh.

Under his scrutiny, the poor guy’s ready to wet his pants just by Yoongi existing. 

“Lee Hoon. Correct?”

“Y-yes.”

“You work under the late (y/l/n)-ssi’s company right?”

“Yes, I was part of the few who stayed after the business fell into debt.”

Yoongi hums as Hoseok’s airy tone seems to relax the suspect greatly. It didn’t lessen the grating sight of his chestnut hue glaring into his very soul.

“Saves us some time, I suppose, we were planning on heading over to the company to ask a few questions about your late boss,” the blonde muses this time, lifting his chin just slightly in indignance, almost gazing down on him, “Might I ask what you were doing lurking around (y/l/n)-ssi’s apartment?”

The man doesn’t answer, but he takes this into stride.

“And at the bar? His daughter mentioned interacting with you, you even stood outside waiting for her.”

“That couldn’t have possibly been me,” He manages firmly, but Yoongi watches his movements carefully, the way his eyes flicker and dilate, even the slightest bit, “I’ve never spoken to or seen his daughters before.

“Mm, I see,” Hoseok hums, noting how riled up his partner is more than usual, “Let’s back track a little bit shall we? While working under (l/n)-ssi, was there any malicious intent… or well any negative blood from other workers?”

The man shook his head, “Not that I’m aware, Sir was a good man and an attentive boss as well. Everyone spoke highly of him, even as the company took a nose dive. He worked harder than the rest of us.”

That was no lie. His hand rubbing never seized out of anxiety, but he had visibly perked at the question. 

“I see,” Hoseok nods at the information, before he laces his fingers underneath his chin, a cheshire smile curling at his lips, “I don’t suppose you know what comes with being indicted for homicide, do you?”

“Capital Punishment.” The two words are broken apart with heavy pauses for emphasis as he watches the man squirm uncomfortably, “His poor daughters are left without a father, nor an acting mother… I can only imagine the monster who was involved in such thing, how he’s able to live with himself and touch his wife and kids without a single remorse. Even the sick person who would be such a monster’s accomplice, guilty by association amirite?”

“It really beats me,” Hoseok smiles kindly, as Jimin and Taehyung shiver through the one-way mirror. 

“Hyung can be really scary sometimes.” The brunette rubs his arms, goosebumps littering his skin as Jimin makes a noise of agreement. The guilt that spills over Hoon’s face is evident, especially when facing Hoseok’s sardonic smile. 

“He’s happy go lucky, but really, he’s two-faced,” Jimin blows a raspberry, “You’d think he’s on your side, but that makes it all the more easier to manipulate you into his hands.”

They immediately clamp their mouths shut as Hoseok continues to coax the man into spilling, that damned smile never leaving his lips. Anyone would see the smile of an angel, they saw the smile of a wolf in sheep’s skin.

That side of the older detective never really came out often, but it never failed to make the two youngest uncomfortable, the hair on the back of their necks rising. Normally playful and bright walnut eyes turned dark and cynical, no space for mercy or the kindness that feigned on his curled lips. 

“Hong Suk killed him! I-I, he brought me long to find the girl, and take the drugs he still had, but… but I couldn't find it… and he sent me back or else he’d kill me and my family!”

Did he mean you? They all thought, perking up at the statement.

Yoongi takes a break from the interrogation, leaving the room to greet Taehyung and Jimin on the other side of the one way mirror. He nods firmly to them, as he slips out his phone to check the time. 

“Picking up your girlfriend?” Taehyung sports a small smile despite just finding out your father’s killer. His partner elbows him with a slight frown. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“But you like her?”

Taehyung takes his silence as a yes. The blonde’s eye twitches in annoyance, “She’s my case.”

“That you have feelings for?”

“Taehyung I swear to God,” he frowns, directing his attention to Jimin who looks like he’s thinking way to hard. 

“Her being your case is different from liking her, hyung. I mean, I had always thought of my girlfriend as being nothing more than my case… I guess I didn’t realize until late that she meant a lot to me. You know… ‘cause Jungkook got to her before I could.”

“Invalid,” he deadpans. “I met her three days ago, I do not like her. That’s highly inappropriate.”

“That’s like saying Jimin’s relationship is inappropriate,” Taehyung snickers to Jimin’s annoyance, followed by a weak punch to his arm.

“We got together after I closed her case, you ass.”

“Still inappropriate,” The blonde shuts down once again as the door to the interrogation room opens.

“But you find her cute, no?” Hoseok smiles as he emerges from the room, glancing slyly back through the mirror to see the man reduced to trembles and holding his head in his hands.

“Did you break him Hobi, what the fuck?” Jimin balks, but the brunette ignores the younger’s statement.

“Yoongi, you can’t possibly tell me that you have no dick and didn’t feel anything when you both fell asleep two nights ago on the couch with (Y/n) wearing your shirt.”

The reaction is spontaneous. Taehyung and Jimin gasping none too dramatically as they bat their eyelashes in his direction, but he’s already turning around to hide the heat tinging his ears.

“Great, I have no dick, now fuck off I have to go pick her up from work,” He responds icily, shutting them up with a finishing glare over his shoulder. 

Liar. They all, even he himself, thinks. 

Fuck.

Is his last coherent thought however as the shift supervisor explains to him that you had stepped out for lunch but never came back, your things still there as well as your phone left on the pavement in the back. 

Everything comes crashing down, and despite his steel-like expression, he’s actually panicking and terrified. 

“Hoseok!” Yoongi’s voice strains into the phone, heart pounding in his ears as he jams the clip of the seat belt into the buckle. Dread is building up in his system, forehead breaking out into a sweat.

‘I got it hyung, don’t worry, he spilled the location of Hong Suk and his plans on kidnapping (Y/n), we’ve got our units ready to head out, I’ll send you the location.’

.

You feel sick to your stomach. Still dressed in your work clothes, body very inconveniently tied to the chair. When you had finally come to, confused and lethargic, he was there, watching you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you weren’t sure you even wanted to know - was… was that drool? The sight of slick falling from his mouth causes your stomach to lurch.

“Finally awake?”

Your mind is all over the place, barely able to concentrate, shaking off the remnants of being knocked out. For now, you didn’t know where you were, or who this man was. It didn’t even help being bound to your seat.

“You know your father left behind a real hefty debt you know? With him gone… who’s gonna repay me for saving his business?”

All thoughts come to a screeching halt when he steadily approaches and you become more aware of the room you’re in and the man - your assumed kidnapper. He wasn’t the one who had approached you at the restaurant if you remember correctly before you were knocked out. It looks no more than a regular bedroom consisting of: a bed with a pink comforter set, some stuffed animals, a desk with photo frames, a vanity, and a closet. It was the average girl’s room. And the man? Tall, (e/c) eyes that were wide as they scraped over your form, his body clad in slacks and a white dress shirt and tie. 

“What are you gonna do about it? Eldest right? And an illegitimate child at that,” his voice grates, saccharine sweet but more like needles in your ears. 

“How do you kn… D-don’t fucking touch me!”

Is what you would’ve said if it weren’t for the tape over your mouth. 

You wanted to lean away as far as could, nearly gagging as his hands reached out to caress your face. A blissed sigh comes from his almost manic smile, tension releasing from his shoulders as his fingers drag down lower, the curve of your neck, then over your shoulder. Your body trembles, the sense of fear filling you.

Stop, stop, stop, you think, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 

Which he does to your surprise. His face comes closer this time, too close for comfort that his breath wafts over your face. You turn your head with a scrunch of your nose and he expects this, gripping your jaw harshly in his hand and whipping your head towards him. 

Where was Yoongi? Where were you?

“Did you even know? Your father fucked over a really important person to me you know. Drove her insane, killed her.” He whispers the last part at the shell of your ear, back away slightly to gauge the shock that morphs your face. Relishing in the way your brain works to piece together the puzzle, eyes darting as you analyze his face and the picture frames on the desk beside you. One in particular is of a family, a girl you recognize and a boy and their parents. The faces of their parents, scratched out with a permanent marker however.

The man laughs. Covering his face with his hand as he bends at the waist, keeling over and shaking with euphoria at your expression.

“Hah look at your face! Didn’t know that did you? Didn’t even know who your real mother was. You and your father. You killed her! My beloved sister. She was my world. My everything. But she was stupid. Falling for a business man like your father and leaving me, her beloved little brother by himself. Was pretty easy to take down his company to be honest. Lawsuits? Childsplay.” His eyes peek through the slits of his fingers, leering down on you.

“Which brings me back to my point, my cute little niece. What should I do with you? Not like I have any use for you anyway. I’ve got what I wanted, your father out of my way, and his business is now mine. Simple right? But don’t think you’ll be able to go after hearing all this, quite silly don’t you think? Where’s your little sister? She doing okay? Doesn’t matter.” He’s talking quickly, erratically, and you can barely keep up as he steps around the room with his hands gesturing wildly before coming to a stop. Eyes turned toward you, pointing almost accusingly, “You. You got her blood, her face, everything. Should I keep that for myself? God I wanted her to be mine, only mine, she was mine until your father stole her from me.”

Circling around you, he reaches out to tangle his hands in your hair. You yelp against the tape, scalp burning at the pull. He ignores the sound and instead sniffs the lock of hair and sighs blissfully. Yanking your head to the side, his nose presses to your neck, slithering his nasty tongue down your length as you struggle and attempt to shout against the tape over your mouth.

His nail drags across your neck slowly, harsh and painful, as though he were scraping off your skin. 

“Or how about I harvest your organs? I’ll keep your cute little head, fuck, you look just like her, it’s getting me a little... excited. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”

Tears pour from your eyes, breathing as much as you can through your nose before it’s all cut off when his fingers dig into your neck. 

“But you’re not her, you could never be her! Why did you have to be born? Why did you have to kill her?” Anger burns in his eyes, nearly spitting in your face as he accuses you. Your arms attempt to thrash against the bindings, nails biting into your palm as his bite into your throat.  

Your vision is starting to thin, blurring before he stops at the abrupt echo of the doorbell. There’s barely enough time to register what’s happening, your ears ringing at the sound of gunshots and shouting. The door to the room was thrown open, but Hong Suk had already retrieved a knife and placed it at your neck, other hand yanking your head back by your hair. 

“Let her go Hong Suk.” That’s Yoongi’s voice. You blink multiple times, trying to focus on the figures that seem to melt together in your haze. Yoongi’s face is blurry, but you recognize the frown that marrs his pretty face, fire in his eyes when he takes in the state you’re in.

“Isn’t she cute?” Your biological uncle grins, taking a long sniff of your hair bunched up in his hands. He takes extra care in dragging his tongue over your cheek, revelling in the way the blonde growls. 

“I was thinking of experimenting on her too, reduce her to a begging little bitch once she’s gotten a taste of this,” his eyes dart to the plastic bag of needles on the desk, causing the blonde to stiffen.

I’m gonna kill him, Yoongi bristles, to which Jimin notices and nudges him subtly but keeping his aim trained on the deranged male. It was no use for him to get worked up, you were being held captive, it only mattered now to extract you without getting you hurt or even killed.

“How’d you find us?” He asks flippantly, pressing the knife to your neck, but not enough that your skin breaks underneath the sharp edge. 

“Your accomplice broke after half an hour.”

A moment passes as he seems to connect the dots and figure out just who they were referring to.

“That useless piece of shit! I should’ve killed him earlier!” He fumes at the realization, “Couldn’t find the drugs or the girl, making me do all the dirty work.”

Hoseok notices the dart of Hong Suk’s eyes, licking his lips carefully. “Put down the knife, you’re surrounded with no one coming to help you.”

He’s was right, and even the man knew that as he forced down an anguished sigh as he let the knife falter and his hands raise above his head in defeat. There was no use in resisting when every gun in the room pointed at him. 

Even when he did make a jolt for the gun lying in wait nearby, Yoongi was quick to put a bullet through his hand, causing the man to fall to the floor, clutching his wrist with a pained cry.

.

Yoongi comes rushing to your side outside after detaining Hong Suk and others in the home, other officers currently searching the home for anything pertaining to the heroin found in your father’s room. 

You sit on a gurney by the ambulance, finishing up the last of the check up from the paramedic. Your eyes finds his, examining his distraught expression, heavy with guilt at the same time. This was more of Yoongi than you’ve ever seen. The anger and disgust directed at Hong Suk, the subtle relief when you were extracted safely. So many emotions in one man, that you never knew he could experience when he appeared rather cold during your first meeting. 

“Thank you, for everything,” You smile wearily as he makes his way over to you, placing a fond hand over your head. When had that become your guy’s thing? Especially after barely a week of knowing one another. 

“Just shut up for a second,” he mumbles softly, his other hand balling into a tight fist at his side. The hand on your head slides back to press your face against his neck. His heart beats and he lets out a long sigh of relief. All the tension from earlier dissipates.

“You did well, you were so strong, and I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner… and let him touch you like that...”

“You’re here now,” you mutter meekly, pursing your lips as you inhale the calming scent of his body wash. 

“I am,” his voice replies lightly, a slight hint of a chuckle but not quite. 

Nothing changes that fact that you still stay at Yoongi and Hoseok’s apartment for a while longer, although you grow busy with handling your father’s cremation and funeral (an event that has you and Hyemi crying nonstop)  and the court proceedings leading to the indictment of Hong Suk and his accomplices. Your father’s company had ended up being stripped, with Hong Suk as the acting head, he’d used it to further his drug production and distribution and organ trafficking (which is overturned to the narcotics unit and NIS respectively). Not that you could’ve done anything if you had inherited the company from your father. 

Yoongi finds you in your apartment looking through old photos of you, Hyemi, and your father. Most of which were pre-bankruptcy since your quality time together had taken a nose dive and joyful memories just weren’t made anymore. 

“What do you plan on doing from now on?” You look up, he’s there in casual clothing, hands shoved in his pockets of his slacks. Wow. The thought bubbled in your head, heart beating just a tad faster. He had always looked good to be honest, from the first you had met him on his post-date commute home, and when he came to watch you at the bar. Denim jeans and a plaid flannel over a plain tee? So simple and still drool worthy.

Okay.

No.

Not drool. The thought made you shiver, remembering Hong Suk that day.

Then you remember that you haven’t answered his question yet and you’re basically checking him out at this point while having an eternal thirst-driven panic.

“I don’t know to be honest,” You finally start shakily, brushing your fingers over a picture of your father tossing little Hyemi into the air, a huge smile on his face. His face was youthful and lively, no worries in the world and simply content. “My apartment is trashed and I don’t even know if I’d feel like staying here again when my dad’s gone and having to pay for rent and groceries by myself. I can’t have Hyemi staying with… her mom for too long as well.”

A moment passes and Yoongi takes a deep breath, soothing his nerves temporarily as he takes a determined step up to your side.

“What about staying with us… permanently?”

Your head snaps up to his, eyes widening a fraction as his warm gaze stared back. Heat rises to your cheeks, breaking the stare to look down at the frame in your hands with furrowed brows.

“That’s nice Yoongi, but I’m sure I’ve overstayed what’s acceptable of just a case, and I’ve got Hyemi too, your apartment is two roomed as well... ”

“You’re not just a case anymore,” He says simply when your voice finally falters.

“Why are you so concerned?”

Ouch.

You got him there. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to read your tone and expression, but you refused to look up at him. Especially with your cheeks burning, you kept your head down. Were you teasing him? You had asked the same thing that night as well.

“Don’t make me say it.”

You prove your point by moving to leave, setting down the frame promptly as you did so, when his fingers wrap around your wrist to tug you back towards him.. 

“I hate you.”

You deadpan, “Very concerned, thank you for the past month Yoongi, but I should start figuring out what I’m going to do with my and Hyemi’s life.”

The utter frustration is so palpable in his low groan, you were so stubborn and he fucking loved it. 

“We’ll find a bigger place to stay (Y/n), we’ll take care of you two, you can quit that stupid bar job, start school again, you can rely on me.”

“Why?” 

God you were such a brat. His fingers squeeze your wrist briefly, hardened mocha staring into your own before he glances away. 

Do it.

It’s now or never.

“I like you, you stupid brat,” He finally admits. It had all pieced together that he stopped seeing you as a case to close. Although his time with you was short, way shorter than Jimin’s case with his own girlfriend, he fell face first into your charms. Annoying, but still goddamn charming. 

You look up at him, lip trembling as this flatten into a frown and you’re furrowing your eyebrows up at him, “You don’t mean that. I’m troublesome and bratty, all just like you said. We just met weeks ago, I only stayed with you because there was no other option and… and now you want us to stay with you… permanently? Why would you go so far? For someone like me?”

“I’m doing this ‘cause your sister’s cute,” He deadpans, and you almost take him seriously when he jabs your forehead with his index, “Fuckhead, did you not hear me? I like you.”

“Yoongi..” You gasp obnoxiously with a hand covering your mouth, “I didn’t know you were a pedophile.”

“I take it back, I hate you,” He grunts, “My offer still stands, we’ll take care of you, I’ll take care of you.”

Fuck. 

Were you crying?

Were you seriously about to cry because of him?

He anticipates this and looks away while casually opening his arms to beckon you close. Although, he wasn’t expecting you to throw yourself, face first, into his chest. His palm settles over your head in that way he does that emits a sense of security that just calms. You don’t know what it is about him patting your head, you were no dog, you just liked it. A lot. You liked him. A lot. That much was evident with the creeping blush dusting over your cheeks.

It never helped either when you found yourself gradually nuzzling back against the pressure of his hand, urging him to keep his palm there. If you ever did get addicted to something, it would be the bubble of feelings that erupt in your chest, the quickening pace of your heart when he’s around, the glow of your cheeks when he’s got you so very flustered. 

“Is this how you flirt?” You ask when you finally calm down, as though you weren’t just smothering your snot and tears in his shirt and coddling his hand like a mutt, “Pick up a girl off the street and ask her to live with you. No dates. You’ve skipped quite a lot of bases.”

“I didn’t pick you off the streets you brat, I picked you up when you fainted here.”

“Okay listen, I don’t need to remember that.”

“Busted through the officers at the door like an absolute badass, can you imagine how exasperated I felt when I realized this was your apartment, especially after our encounter the night before?” 

“Even now is kind of not the best way for me to confess my feelings like a stupid teenage boy, but you’re so fucking stubborn.”

“What do you even like about me?”

“Despite being annoying, and a brat with no ass, and absolutely fucking stupid--”

“I don’t even think you like me, you bitch, stop insulting me.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, not even when we first met, I could only think about that dumb brat who managed to find trouble in an alleyway just begging to be kidnapped. To be honest. This was how Jimin found his girlfriend… he took on her case when she’d finally woken up from a coma… they didn’t necessarily like each other at first but he’s crazy about her. And I thought, fuck, this couldn’t be happening to me. This is a case, keep it professional. But then my dumbass offered you my shirt that night. You cooked for us. You’re so incredibly stubborn and hardworking, just for your sister and father, its admirable, I would go through the same for Jimin if I were in the same situation to be honest. When that bastard got to you before we could, I was scared. So fucking scared. He touched you, and I wanted to shoot him dead.”

He composes himself, emotions gone out of control just remembering the fear that built up inside him at the realization that you were gone and in the hands of the man who ordered your father’s death. Even Jimin had been surprised to see Yoongi directing more emotion than usual, especially when it didn’t have to do with his girlfriend. 

“Tell me it’s the same for you,” he whispers softly, so soft, you’re not sure he spoke. But he’s slightly embarrassed at his own courageousness and cheesiness. 

Your words fail you. Taking his hand on top of your head in your own hands, his heart jumps in his throat, were you going to reject him? After he finally stripped himself of his usually cold demeanor and calm facade? He was basically pouring his guts out in front of you, almost desperate to keep you with him when you’re the only girl, other than Jimin’s girlfriend, he’s expressed more than grimaces and frowns at. His heart pounds, like he’s fucking dying, palms clammy. He wanted to deny that he was ever attracted to a brat like you, but everything felt too domestic and he found himself caught in the snare of your fiery determination to work hard for your father and sister. 

He’d always thought that maybe he’d settle with a girl just as quiet as he was, collected, feminine, the type that he’d let dote on him and take care of him. But as you press a kiss to his cheek, the skin flaring with heat, he’s floored. 

“I might like you too…”

Safe to say that the boys won’t let Yoongi hear the end of it when he casually mentions that he and Hoseok found a new apartment with three rooms. He doesn’t even imply or mention your name and they’re hooting and hollering, Namjoon coming out of his office to join in on the fun to his exasperation. 

Please I needed this bonus ending:

You’re helping Hyemi organize her room, opening up the cardboard boxes with her things from your old apartment. Folding clothes and putting them into her dresser, you hum in response as she talks about the recent drama at school. You had sucked it up and thank her mother for taking care of her, stiffly smiling when she reminded you that she cared for you no matter what. It was just not an option at the moment to be able to forget how she abandoned you three. But you were still grateful that she took care of Hyemi for the past month, even with two kids of her own and new husband. 

“Mind if I steal her for a second Hyemi?”

A chirp comes from your sister in response and you barely have to look up to know that it’s your boyfriend. She shoos you when you make a face at her, giggling behind her hand as you cast scowls at her while Yoongi leads you towards your shared room. 

Despite only sleeping together once, on the couch at that, you could never get over the idea of jumping head first into a relationship and sleeping in close quarters immediately. Although, Yoongi had politely offered that he slept on the couch until you felt comfortable enough to sleep together. You were grateful for that, although he didn’t waste a second to tease you about being a middle school brat who couldn’t handle sleeping with a man, because hormones. In which you promptly dragged him to the bed to sleep together for the first time, although you could barely sleep a wink when he was just right there, breathing and existing. 

“Idiot, go to sleep, I can hear you overthinking,” He had whispered towards your back, voice raspier than usual and you just want to slam the pillow over your face and kindly die. It’s safe to say that he silently splayed his hand cautiously over your stomach, dragging you backwards until he’s flush behind you. Yoongi had waited until you protested or even moved away, but you relaxed against him, listening to your hearts beat in tandem and enjoying the way his thumb circling over your stomach soothingly. 

Hoseok finds you two the next morning and made it his mission to take a picture and send it to the other guys. A fact that Yoongi beats him up for.

Getting the new place, Yoongi had teased you endlessly about being fine with bunk beds since you were still a brat and could not handle your hormones around him. To which you punched him and demanded that one bed was fine, unless he couldn’t stand sleeping beside you without popping a hard one. 

Your room is for the most part put together, some boxes of miscellaneous items still yet to be put away. 

“What did you need?” You ask, not even realizing why he even needed to steal you from helping your sister.

“Nothing, really…” Arms wrap around your body and he’s pressing himself behind you, engulfing you in his warmth with his face tucked into the side of your neck. You weren’t convinced but he didn’t make any moves to say any more or move from his position.

“Yoongi.”

“Don’t make me say it,” he huffs.

“Yoongi.”

“Fuck off brat.”

He really just wanted to hold you in his arms after helping out Hoseok set up the living room and kitchen, but you’d just have to make him spit it out.

.

*I suddenly want to write one for Hoseok with the way I portrayed his character here... I also thought about just writing spin offs for the rest of the boys too. Minus JK, but then if I did... I do have a idea for him. :’) Just some afterward thoughts.

Just some tidbits of small details I added but weren’t really too important, but I wrote them in thinking they would be lol: 

I had mentioned in Hong Suk’s file that there’s a case found on the mysterious death of his and reader’s mom’s parents. He killed them. It’s not an important fact that I incorporated, but it was an idea to further that he had a sister complex and obsessed over her to the point of killing his parents when he felt threatened.

It was implied, but to make ends meet, Reader’s father dealt the drugs that Suk made - as a part of repaying him and manipulation out of guilt when Suk revealed to Reader’s father of his ties to Reader’s biological mother. It’s a small detail that didn’t have much importance, but I thought I would allude to the lengths the father would go to.

I realized lol that Hyemi wasn’t present for the rest of story, her role was only meant as the reason why Reader works so hard and keeps her emotions in check for the most part. Made her stay at her mom’s house because. PLOT. LOL I wasn’t just about to have Yoongi only give his clothes to reader and her sister is like tf am I?

I also tried to down play the attraction because they literally just met, but its a romance fic so there is still an attraction between the two and Yoongi just finds himself drawn to wanting to protect her especially when he admires her for being strong despite always getting on her nerves. The same goes for Reader who finds comfort with Yoongi protecting her when she stopped having someone to dote on her and protect her. Obviously I accelerate that by having a small time skip in the end where she still stays with them during the indictment and funeral service, so Yoongi and Reader are around each other for a little longer to develop more feelings. It’s just implied but I couldn’t find any other way to write it in lol...

I didn’t find a good place to mention in the bonus, but Reader will visit her biological mother’s cemetery at the crematorium. I’d like to say this may or may not be the same one that Interference’s MC’s family resides at, but well it’s just an idea. Despite not knowing her, she still pays her respects. Eventually, she comes around when Hyemi’s mother makes it her purpose to call every now and then to check on them. She was trying at the very least, especially for Hyemi, and it still never changed the fact that she grew up with her as her mother and not her own biological one. 

Anyhoot! Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed and please let me know what you think!! 

[simpsonsnight]

Episode #83

WHAT THIS?

Cape Feare Season 5 - Episode 2 | October 7, 1993 One of my all-time favorite episode from childhood! This was definitely my favorite episode up to this point. This is mostly a parody of Marty ScoreSaysHe parody of Cape Fear, which I literally never saw before maybe a year ago (Fun Fact: I have spent most of my life never having seen a single Marty movie. Not on purpose, but there came a point where I realized I somehow managed to never see a single one well into adulthood, and this revelation DID *sorta* make me resistant to seeing any, for no other perverse reason than it was a mildly unique trait I had; I broke my cherry on Goodfellas in the last few years... pretty good!!). I realize watching this now, Sideshow Bob really turns a corner here, officially becoming a revenge-fueled homicidal maniac, intent on murdering Bart just out of pure hatred. The classic era of the show tends to have him go back and forth in the severity of his villany, even appearing reformed at certain points. But this is the Sideshow Bob that we see during the post-classic episodes; he’s almost always cartoonishly homicidal, almost always trying to murder Bart. Even if that’s not what the episode is about, it’s always alluded to as if it’s fall-back position. This episode is pretty funny, but it’s not as funny as I remember. I think I liked how gag-heavy this one is, because in the early 90s I was obsessed with spoof movies. Take the last scene, and if you really wanna go deep, listen to the audio commentary for it on DVD. This was actually the final episode produced for season 4 and held-over. So, reportedly a lot of the gags that wound up in this show were typical of the type of gags that were regularly put in the storyboards and promptly deleted by producers seeking to keep the show grounded. The final scene where Bob performs for Bart’s final request, we see Bart holding a Playbill and a mysterious pair of flesh-colored hands hand Bob a bouquet of flowers from off-camera: two impossibilities that at this point in the show would never have made it. I seem to recall Matt Groening saying that everyone was tired and the more privileged members of the Simpsons staff went home early while the animators went buck wild without anyone to reign them in. Another thing about this show was that it ran short. The couch gag is the give-away, but there are so many gags with limited animation in this that may or may not have been created after the episode’s first record: Lisa receives a pen-pal letter from a third-world country experiencing a coup. The scene is accomplished with voice-over while the camera slowly zooms in on Lisa’s mostly-static, but concerned-looking face. Grandpa rambles on, and it just seems like a lengthened scene with recycled animation. And the gag that might be the most memorable of all: Bob steps on a lot of rakes. This scene goes on forever, and it’s really funny. But it goes on so long that my wife left the room during it and thought I paused the show for her. Anyway, this episode is super funny, and I’ll always love it. But it also makes e think of some moron on twitter who tried to meme the joke where somebody in the court remarks “no one who speaks german could be an evil man” with that screen and quote and adding “ain’t you heard of hitler tho?”, as if the show wasn’t making that joke already. Fucking IDIOT. STUPID. FUCKING STUPID IDIOT BITCH. THE B-SODE:

Goof Troop: "Goof Fellas" Season 1 - Episode 58 | November 25, 1992 Goofy and Pete witness an attempted murder and get put in the witness relocation program! And the title parodies a Marty movie! How about that! Part of me wishes I didn’t limit the B-SODE to cartoons, so I could use that Fresh Prince of Bel-Air episode where Will is playing poker with his friends and tells a story about how he and his family were put in the witness relocation program and got tracked down by a scary mobster, only to reveal the whole story was just a gag. The punchline of the show is that jazzy jeff puts on a rubber mask of the scary villain and spooks Will at the end of the episode, which is bullshit because it’s impossible for there to be photographical specificity in a fake story Will was telling. Pissed me off. I guess I found a way to complain about it. Good.

[detroitwhatitmeanstobehuman]

Chapter 2 - Strange Bedfellows

Part 2/17 of What it Means to be Human

Word Count: 11,073

Warnings: Swearing and some mild suggestive banter.

Genre: Self-insert fic

Pairing: OC (Detective Rachel) X Connor

Rating: Mature

Summary: After arriving at the precinct with Detective Rachel, Lieutenant Hank Anderson is informed that he has been officially assigned to the deviancy case and assigned Connor as a partner. He’s none too thrilled about this predicament, but Rachel is happy to see him again and decides to give him a tour of the precinct and make him feel a bit more welcome.

Previous Chapter

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

It was around ten in the morning when I arrived with Hank at the precinct. I made sure Fowler knew that I was gonna be late on account of making sure Hank didn’t kill himself doing something dumb, and the captain seemed appreciative. As much as I could tell he was getting increasingly frustrated with Hank’s behaviour, Fowler still wanted Hank around and was glad I was looking out for him.

Once we arrived, we went up to the reception area, checked in, and went into the precinct. It felt pretty routine. “Alright, your car’s still here, I made sure nothing happened to it, so you can drive home now.”

“Appreciate it, thanks.” Hank replied grumpily. “You really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve been fine, you don’t have to put yourself through -”

“Friends look out for each other, whether or not you like it.” I stopped him, not wanting him to continue that train of thought. “Sure, when it’s me and myself, I don’t have a good time. But when I stick my neck out for friends like you, it feels like I have some control over my life. So, y’know, just take the help and be thankful.”

Hank nodded, walking slowly next to me. “Well, thanks for having my back.” He said genuinely. “Even if you’re a real fuckin’ pain in the neck.”

“I have to be a pain in the ass!” I joked, jabbing him with my elbow. “It’s practically in my job description to be a bastard.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth?” Hank grumbled, but I knew his words were genuine. As much as I wanted to focus on work, I couldn’t. All I could think about was Connor and Micheal. Deviants were indeed the thing that took up most of my thinking until I eventually fell asleep, my every waking thought practically glued to the case. But it was Connor that stood at the forefront of it.

And I’m not gonna lie, it was mostly the thought of seeing him again today. I wasn’t someone who was good at making friends. Well, okay, I’m good at making friends, just not that great at keeping them. But these days, I do tend to have issues making friends. I’m simultaneously terrified of intimacy and painfully lonely. My existence is a real fucking bitch, if I’m to be bluntly honest.

But somehow...I didn’t feel that around Connor. And I was really looking forward to seeing him again. I didn’t care what anyone said about him “not being a real person,” or whatever. He wasn’t anything like the other androids. Whether that was because he was just more advanced, I’m not sure. But there was something uncannily human about him. Something that made me feel like maybe we could actually be friends.

At least...it would be nice if we could be.

“Well, well, well!” An ear grating voice chimed around my head and I already knew I was in for a headache. Aw, fuck. Here we go. “If it isn’t the plastic prick’s new piece!”

I rolled my eyes at Gavin, only mildly curious about what the fuck he was going on about. “What?” I asked him exasperatedly, noticing that he and Tina, another officer in the precinct, were both looking at me with wide smirks on their faces.

Now, admittedly, I got along with Tina. Sometimes Gavin, if the mood was light, but most of the time he pissed me off. But I got along with Tina, and at one point I had my eyes on her before further investigation made it clear that we just weren’t compatible romantically. A bummer, but...eh, I still had problems I needed to work through, so I guess she dodged a bullet.

“I saw your little pow-wow in the interrogation room after it was just the two of you.” Gavin elaborated, looking like he just discovered the hottest of tea to spill. “Chattin’ each other up, flirting, I mean you were practically tossing your panties at him!”

Gavin never failed to get a disgusted or tired groan from everyone around him. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ disgusting.” Hank grumbled, rightfully so.

“Seriously, do you have to say the grossest shit at every opportunity?” I asked him in earnest. “It’s things like that that make me wish you would never speak again.”

“Chicks dig it!” Gavin bragged.

Tina seemed not to buy it, rightfully so. That sounded like some bullshit. “You sure about that, Gav?”

I scoffed at him, rolling my eyes. “In any case, you are reading way too deeply into that.” I denied. “We were just chatting. That’s it. Nothing more than that.”

“Really?” Tina said skeptically at me, before she straightened her posture and folded her hands behind her back. “I feel as though I should inform you that I’m worth a small fortune.”

Then, Gavin wiggled his body in the weirdest way, which I was assuming was his impression of a human woman. “Really? You sure? Cause you look pretty priceless to me, dollface.”

I couldn’t help but shrug at him with what I was pretty sure was the most confused look on my face. “That’s your best impression of me?” I asked him in earnest. “Because if it is, it sucks ass. Step up your game.”

“If you’re all done being annoying middle schoolers, we’ve got places to be.” Hank said, making me thankful he wanted this to be over as much as me.

“Oh, I bet you do, Hank.” Gavin mocked, making me stand on edge in case he wanted to try something stupid. “Whatever, I got more important things to deal with than the office slut and the drunk bastard who’s probably gonna kill himself in a car accident one of these days.”

“Watch it!” I snapped at him, sensing Hank start to bristle next to me. “You can throw as many pot shots as you want at me, but insult Hank, and I’ll throw you off the nearest bridge.”

“Like I said before, you don’t fuckin’ scare me.” Gavin shoulder checked me on his way to the archives room.

I rolled my eyes, glad that he was gone. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s jealous.” I teased.

Hank scoffed. “What, that you’ve been chatting up Connor last night?”

“No, that I’m a better office slut than him.” I joked, taking the edge off that interaction, before I jabbed him sharply in the side. “And don’t you fucking start with me, you asshole. You know I’ve got my own shit going on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hank relented. Admittedly, one of the things we had in common was that we were both foulmouthed bastards. Actually, there was a lot we had in common in terms of personality. Where we differed came more down to life experience and general outlook on life.

Putting our encounter with Gavin behind me, I followed Hank to the office and saw Connor hanging around Hank’s desk and felt a smile on my cheeks. Admittedly, I didn’t expect to be so happy to see him, but...honestly, I can’t think of anyone else in the office that was as genuinely pleasant to be around as Connor.

Well, aside from Chris, but our relationship was pretty impersonal, aside from a few conversations we’ve had. But even then, I wouldn’t really call us “friends,” per se. Just friendly work acquaintances.

As soon as Connor saw us approach, he gave a small smile. “It's good to see you again, Lieutenant.” He greeted.

“Uh, Jesus...” Hank groaned.

“Hank! Rachel!” Fowler’s voice barked from nearby, drawing my attention to my right. “In my office.”

The dark-skinned wide-set captain turned his back and walked into his glass office, waiting for us inside. Hank wasted no time making his way in, and I followed behind him, stealing a glance at Connor. “Nice to see you, again.” I greeted.

“You as well, Rachel.” He greeted me in kind.

Walking side-by-side, we followed Hank in, Connor closing the door behind me as Hank took a seat in front of the captain. I had a bad feeling this was gonna get shouty, so I stood behind Hank at a reasonable distance, my eyes darting between Hank and Fowler. Fowler was focused on his terminal, not making eye contact with Hank, while Hank just looked mildly annoyed.

Still, I waited with baited breath for whatever was going to happen between them, and clenched my fists, fidgeting with my sleeves in anticipation. Connor was standing to my right, but I could’ve sworn he shuffled a bit closer to me while I waited for what Fowler was going to say.

“I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day.” Fowler started off. “We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap...” He then turned to face us, mostly looking at Hank, but glancing at me and Connor first. “But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night...This isn't just CyberLife's problem anymore. It's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan.” Now, the captain was looking very pointedly at Hank. “I want you to investigate these cases and see if there's any link.”

“Why me? Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?” I only tightened, standing more rigid in anticipation and I could already feel my gut starting to flip with anxiety. Oh boy, here we go. “I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffrey! I can barely change the settings on my own phone...”

In an effort to perhaps keep the mood neutral, I chimed in. “You’re a millennial, Hank.” I stated plainly. “You should realize the ‘old guy can’t do technology’ excuse just doesn’t work anymore.”

“She’s right.” Fowler agreed. “Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation.”

“Bullshit!” Hank snapped, barely waiting for the captain to finish and getting up from his seat. This was not doing my anxiety any good, so I just tried to shove it down while I was standing there awkwardly. Oh God, this is escalating real quick and I don’t wanna be here. “The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!” Hank turned his back to Fowler, not even looking at me.

“CyberLife sent over this android to help with the investigation.” The captain tried to reason, maintaining his composure a lot better than Hank was. “It's a state-of-the-art prototype. It'll act as your partner.”

“No fuckin' way! I don't need a partner, and certainly not this plastic prick!” Hank refused, pointing at Connor and getting up in Fowler’s face, raising his voice. I knew that Hank wasn’t going to react well to having to work with Connor, but that didn’t make this any less awful for me to sit through. “And having Rachel constantly on my back like she’s my babysitter is already enough to deal with.”

“Woah, hey!” I threw up my arms in astonishment, my anxiety briefly snuffed out by the sheer audacity. “Why the drive-by?”

Hank rolled his eyes at me as his scowl tightened, his blue eyes narrowed at me. As much as I was aware that my fussing over him aggravated him, I knew that he appreciated everything I did for him, so I let it go. Just because I know he likes having me around and just doesn’t wanna look weak in front of the squad.

Something I understood perfectly, but also learned to discard. After all, pride was something I realized was worthless if you cared about it more than your well being. A lesson I had to teach a few other people who’ve stubbornly clung to theirs.

An action that has indeed cost me friends, but honestly, I’m not about to apologize for that. And I’m certainly not about to feel ashamed for caring about my loved ones and looking out for them.

“Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off!” Fowler snapped, getting more and more fed up with Hank’s bullshit. And honestly, I found it hard to blame him. Hank was kinda throwing a temper tantrum right now, pacing back and forth fuming like a tank engine. “You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!”

“You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?”

“Okay, okay...” Fowler said, getting more and more done with this and throwing his hand up as he looked away from Hank. “I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over!”

Fowler went back to looking at his terminal, but Hank was clearly not having it. “Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things.” Hank pointed at Connor aggressively without looking at the android, leaning over Fowler’s desk. I couldn’t help but wince and glance over at Connor. He didn’t look at all perturbed by Hank’s blatant venom directed at him, but still...that couldn’t feel great to hear. “Why you doin' this to me?”

As much as I wanted to try and calm Hank, I knew that right now wasn’t a good time to do it and I was already way too anxious to say anything anyways, so my mouth stayed shut as I rocked side-to-side desperately wanting this to be over.

“Listen,” Fowler warned with a stern tone, looking at Hank, “I've had just about enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do.”

Hank seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to get out of this one and stormed out past me, letting out a frustrated growl as the door shut behind him, leaving Connor and I in the captain’s office.

Feeling marginally better, I let out a sigh as I shook my head. “Yep, that’s Lieutenant Hank Anderson, for ya.” I said light-heartedly trying to calm the mood, looking up at Connor. “An ornery drunkard of an old man. But trust me, this is not one of his worst days. No, I’ve seen a few of those in my time here...”

As much as I tried to make light of it, I knew full well the darknesses that lay in Hank. Things that I could not and would never make a joke out of. Which was one of the reasons I did not appreciate Gavin trying to make jokes out of Hank’s alcoholism.

Though...maybe if he knew the reason, he’d lay off. But I wasn’t about to tell him, and honestly, Gavin shouldn’t need a tragic reason not to make fun of an alcoholic.

“I don’t know how you do it, Rachel.” Fowler admitted, folding his face into his hands. “It’s really not your responsibility to look after him.”

“As a cop, no. It’s not.” I agreed. “But as a friend, it is. I choose to have his back, because all this aside, I genuinely believe he’s a good cop. He’s just...got a lot of shit to work through, and you wouldn’t keep him around if you didn’t think that he was worth keeping, Captain.”

Fowler sighed. “I know...” He agreed. “I just wish he wouldn’t make my job harder than it needs to be.”

“No, I agree. I wouldn’t wanna be you, right now.” I sympathized. “He’s being really temperamental and short-sighted and he needs to learn to just put his head down and get the worst of it over with instead of making a scene. And honestly, he’s being really selfish right now.”

Fowler nodded, seeming to finally calm down. “Well, at least he’s lucky that he listens to you.”

“Eh, usually I have to do what I do with my friends and aggressively mother him until he behaves.” I said with a shrug, my anxiety starting to finally settle. “But hopefully he’ll be less of a pain in the ass about this case going forward.”

“Hopefully.” Fowler agreed. “By the way, good work on the interrogation last night. You really managed to get through to the android and got it to open up.”

I shrugged. “Just doing what I thought was the right thing to do.”

“Hey.” Fowler said, drawing my attention. “You’re not workin’ any major cases right now. And I’m not about to put this on you, but if Hank needs your help on this case, don’t be shy about jumpin’ on.”

I nodded, glancing over at Connor. “I’ll think about it.” I said to him. Truthfully, I would really like to be an actual part of the case, but I didn’t want to put unnecessary strain on Hank. Not that we didn’t work well together, because we often partnered up on a lot of cases. But I’m fully aware that I can be...a lot, and with the nature of the deviancy case and having to work it with Connor, I wanted instead for Hank to decide how much he wanted to take on regarding it. “Thank you, Captain.” I said, walking towards the exit and opening the door.

“I'm very pleased to have joined the team.” Connor said amiably to the captain, the man not looking at the android at all. “I can assure you I'll do my very best -”

“Close the door on your way out.” Fowler interrupted, not even bothering to wait until Connor was finished.

Something which made me hold back a sympathetic whine. Poor Connor. He just can’t seem to make any friends, today. Connor glanced at me, as if for reassurance, before he addressed Fowler again. “Have a nice day, Captain.”

As Connor walked towards me, I gave him a patient smile. “After you.” I prompted.

“That isn’t necessary.” He insisted. “You don’t have to hold the door open for me.”

“I’m already doing it, just go.” I persisted with a lighthearted laugh. I was going to be nice to him and he was gonna accept it, damn it!

Connor, seeming to understand that I wasn’t going to budge, just nodded and walked after me. I took one last look at the captain before closing the door behind me, turning my back and looking over at the android. His gaze was fixed on Hank, and he was already walking down the stairs. I put a hand out to stop him, causing him to look at me in confusion. “Probably best if you just let Hank simmer down a bit.” I suggested, leaning over to whisper to Connor. “Believe me, it’s in your best interest not to piss him off too much, so letting him cool down is probably your safest bet.”

Connor, glancing over at Hank for one last moment, fixed his dark eyes on me. “I understand.” In this moment in broad daylight in the general white nose of the precinct, I could actually take a decent look at him without worrying about anything else at the moment.

His pale skin was dotted with freckles, something I found rather charming. Indeed, to say that Connor wasn’t easy on the eyes would be a falsehood. The way his dark coffee brown hair was so neatly kept, yet that one piece curled over onto his forehead rebelliously added an extra layer of charm to his overall appearance. And its placement was very clearly deliberate. Even more curious were his eyebrows. His left had a cowlick closest to the bridge of his very well-sculpted nose, adding some interesting asymmetry to him.

All this combined with his soft and delicate features and the gentleness in his chocolate coloured eyes, it was hard not to see him as an overgrown puppy. The only indication that he was an android was the blue LED on the right side of his head on his temple.

“Well, since we have a bit of time right now, why don’t I give you a tour of the precinct?” I suggested, gesturing to the office. “It would be a great opportunity for us to get to know each other better. And, we don’t get that many new faces around here. I’m sort of the newest compared to everyone else and I’ve always wanted to show someone around if we ever got someone new.”

Connor gave me an appreciative smile, folding his hands behind his back. “I’d love to, Rachel.” He agreed, making me smile in return. I’ll admit, it was nice actually hanging out with someone like Connor. Whether it was his AI or just his personality, I had no problems feeling completely comfortable in his presence. “Lead the way.” He said, stepping back to allow me to pass.

As I stepped down the stairs, I cast a glance over at Hank, who was sitting there sulking with his back turned to us. Waiting for Connor to be beside me, I walked on, looking behind me to make sure he was following me. “Hey, about Hank.” I said quietly, drawing his attention away from the office. “Don’t take any of his flack personally, okay? It’s not really even about you specifically, it’s just...he’s, uh...”

“Not particularly fond of androids?” Connor finished the sentence.

“That’s the nice way of putting it.” I affirmed, with a smile and a shrug as we made our way to the bathroom and interrogation room, which I figured was a decent place to start. “There are a few people who aren’t exactly pro-android, but for the most part everyone here seems pretty neutral towards them.”

Connor continued following along, looking down at me with interest glimmering in his dark brown eyes. “You seem to be rather amiable to androids.” He remarked. “More so than many others tend to be. You mentioned feeling some sort of kinship with deviants due to your mental atypicalities, namely your ADHD and Autism.”

I nodded. “Yep, that’s correct. I feel a lot more empathetic towards deviants than androids in general, but I don’t see any reason to treat androids any differently than I would treat the average person.” I explained. “Well, obviously androids and humans are very different. That much is true, but there’s more to it. I see myself a lot in deviants because of how they’re seen compared to other androids, like you.” I took in a breath and paused, collecting my thoughts again. “My mental atypicalities affect my day-to-day life in ways both benign and malignant. But for as many disadvantages as they give me, of which there are many, they also have their unique talents they give me. For example, I can focus on a task so completely and intensely that I can complete it efficiently and quickly without stopping. Problem is, I have a horrible sense of time. I always misjudge how long something actually takes, can barely register time passing, and forget what day of the week it is, even. I’m effectively time blind. And, on top of that, executive dysfunction becomes a problem when it comes to other tasks that are important, but my brain just refuses to let me do them even though they’re very simple tasks that can get done and out of the way extremely quickly and with little effort. Jokes and sarcasm are things that tend to fly over my head and I tend to really miss social cues, but I can retain a lot of information and hyperanalyze many details at once and learn a lot more than most people can.

“For all the advantages and disadvantages these give me, it’s not that different from those everyone else has to deal with.” I continued on. “But that ultimately doesn’t change the fact that others, when they learn this fact about me, treat me like I’m some sort of defect. Despite the fact that I’m perfectly happy and see myself as whole and get by just fine, they insist I must be broken. Just because I’m not like them. But I’m not the only person in the world with ADHD or Autism. And in that sense, I personally relate a lot to deviants. That they’re seen as defective androids when in reality, they’re just...different. And their deviancy doesn’t seem to be a choice, really. Just...something that happens to them. Just like how ADHD and Autism are things that I just have and are outside of my control.”

Connor’s LED was yellow, a sign that he was taking in information as I was speaking. “I think I understand where you’re coming from.” He accepted. “I suppose it would make sense for you to empathize with deviants. Especially as another symptom of both ADHD and Autism is hyperempathy.”

I nodded, ignoring the small sting of his words. “Yeah, that definitely plays a part.” I agreed, knowing full well that I tend to empathize with others way too easily sometimes, but still trying to shove down what sounded like a complete dismissal. “But I do genuinely believe that perhaps we need to give deviants more of the benefit of the doubt than we do.”

Connor didn’t say anything in response to that. But, we quickly made our way to the end, and I stopped. “Well, you’ve already seen both the interrogation room and the observation room.” I pointed out, extending a hand. “And just behind you are the bathrooms.” He looked over his shoulder, nodding. “Not that you’d need to use them, but maybe you’d need them for something else? Who knows?” I shrugged. He looked back towards me and I pointed to the door to the left of the bathrooms. “And that’s the android repair centre. It also sits above the archive room where evidence is stored. In the event that an android officer gets injured, the repair centre has spare parts and blue blood and tools available to any staff member who has clearance to use them to help repair androids. Of which, I am one of them.”

Connor nodded. “Interesting.” He commented. “I suppose it would make sense and is more convenient for emergency services to have technicians on site with the tools readily available in the case of an emergency. Though they are typically only trained by CyberLife employees.”

“My sister worked at CyberLife years ago.” I explained, puffing my chest proudly. “She taught me a few things about how to fix up androids.” If there was one person I could always take great pride in no matter what, it was my older sister Bianca. We always had each other’s backs, growing up, and we stayed really close to this day. We don’t live together anymore, since she had to go back to Canada, but I stayed here in Detroit. “Anyways, on with the tour.” I said in a chipper tone, turning around and walking back the way we came. “Next to the repair centre behind the captain’s office are the holding cells where we detain suspects. And, over there’s the break room, and past that is the meeting room.” I explained, pointing to the right and then to the left, directing Connor’s attention where I wanted him to see. I then noticed that the break room was right next to us and realized I hadn’t had a proper coffee, yet. “Would you mind actually joining me in there? I could go for a cuppa, if that’s alright with you.”

Connor nodded. “I wouldn’t mind accompanying you.”

“Great!” I exclaimed, leading him towards it. I was kind of a wimp when it came to coffee, so I tended to like it with a lot of sugar and cream. Admittedly, I preferred hot chocolates or tea lattes to coffee, but it was good enough.

But having coffee in the break room and the break room in general was more about the communal setting than the coffee itself. Which was why my good mood was immediately put off when I saw Gavin and Tina in there, more so Gavin. Electing to just ignore him and get my coffee with Connor, I walked inside without even acknowledging him.

But clearly, he didn’t have the same idea. I heard him scoff and felt a few of my brain cells die. “Fuck, look at that...Our friend, the plastic detective, is back in town!” Oh, here we go again. “Congratulations on last night, very impressive!” He said with a very sarcastic clap.

I couldn’t help but snicker at the obvious joke that was presented to me. And, like the carrion bird I was, I snatched that opportunity right up. “Title of your sex tape.” Gavin then shot me an annoyed glare while Tina was snickering. I could always count on her to lighten the mood. “What? You practically handed it to me!”

The android - RK800, as I could read on his admittedly pretty cool jacket - turned to Gavin and nodded, a subtle smile creasing his features. “Hello, Detective Reed.” It was really weird to hear someone address the human weasel with such polite formality, especially after Gavin threatened Connor at gunpoint last night.

Gavin got up and started walking towards the android and I could feel my gut clench. I knew this shitheel was going to start trouble, and it didn’t take much for my anxiety to start flaring up in anticipation. As much as I enjoyed pissing him off, it didn’t stop the involuntary response my body gave in stressful situations like that when I’d feel my eyes well up and my body start to tremble in anger or stress.

“Never seen an android like you before.” Gavin said to Connor, eyeing him up. “What model are you?”

I sort of did a double take for a moment. It’s written on his jacket. How the fuck do you miss that? “Look down.” I suggested sarcastically.

Gavin then shot me a glare. “Hey, I’m not a plastic-fucking pervert, Rach.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, Gavin.” I snapped at him annoyedly.

“RK800.” Connor replied curtly. A lot more politely than Gavin deserved.  “I’m a prototype.”

Gavin scoffed in a way that was starting to piss me off. “A prototype?” He then turned to Tina and pointed at the android. “Android detective.” Asshole turned back and scowled at him, sarcasm written all over his dumb rat face. “So machines are gonna...replace us all...is that it?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Here we go again.” I grumbled. “Oooooh, technology is bad, fire is scary, Thomas Edison was a witch!” I mocked, waiting for the coffee to brew. “Gimme a fucking break.

Gavin then returned his attention to the android, opting to ignore me. “Hey,” he said inconsiderately. “Bring me a coffee, dipshit.”

I glanced over at the coffee Gavin left on the table behind him by Tina. “Seriously, were you raised in a barn? Finish the coffee you already started before you demand another one at the very least, you wasteful prick. Have some damn manners.”

“Manners don’t matter to a machine.” Gavin retorted confidently.

“Forget that!” I scoffed. “I’m the one that’s offended, nevermind Connor. It’s basic fucking decency, just finish the first damn coffee you started!”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Gavin snapped at me. I glared at him, taking a threatening step forward.

“Oh bite me, Gavin!” I sniped at him.

He then snickered at me. “I would, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Not from you, I wouldn’t.” I responded immediately, letting him know that even if it was a serious request (which it very obviously wasn’t), I was not on the menu for him.

A moment went by, and the tension was only serving to make my anxiety more and more apparent as I could feel my heart start beating more rapidly and my hands started to shake. “I’m sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson.” Connor replied courteously. I wasn’t sure if androids were programmed not to respond angrily or if he just wasn’t interested in responding aggressively to people like Gavin, instead opting to tell him to fuck off as politely as possible.

“Oh...oh.” Gavin said, laughing at Tina before he lunged forward and punched the android square in the gut.

He didn’t flinch, but his LED flickered from yellow to a slowly blinking red as he quickly slumped to the floor and my instincts overtook me and I stepped up to Gavin. “If your new pals hadn’t got in the way yesterday, I would’ve fucked you up for disobeying a human.” Gavin said to him, taking a threatening step towards Connor.

“Gavin, back off!” I demanded. “This stopped being entertaining a minute ago, but do you want Fowler to chew you out again? Because that’s what’s going to happen, and you know I will write you up again, you piece of shit.”

“He’s a fucking machine!” He started to get up in my face and I instantly became acutely aware of the pistol in my holster and the space I immediately had to move around me. “He doesn’t give a shit about you, and he’s going to take your fucking job, and we’ll see how you like androids then.”

“So just because he’s ‘not human,’ that means you can treat him however you want?” Swallowing my immediate fear, I stared Gavin down. “If that’s really how you feel, then why don’t you go and fuck up one of the android police officers in the office and see how well you like your job then, hm? I’m sure that’ll really secure your position at the precinct.” I stood my ground and stared him dead in the eye. If there’s one thing I learned from being around these hardened cops, it’s that they practically smell fear and if they even sense the smallest weakness, they eat you alive. “You just like having an excuse to treat someone like shit and not feel guilty for it. Because you know that if you treated a human the way you feel everyday, they’d probably leave you for dead in an alleyway behind a dumpster and no one would give a shit.”

I practically held my breath, waiting for what his next move was going to be. I had my hand ready to pull out my weapon if he got violent and my stance ready to move out of the way if he decided to try and fight me. But instead, he thought better about starting a fight with me and went back to Connor, leaning over him. “Stay outta my way. ‘Cause next time, you won’t get off so easy. And you won’t always have your new little side piece to protect you.”

Gavin quickly left and Tina got up after him, glancing at me with the most exasperated look in her eye. “You’ve got your asshole, and I’ve got mine.” She said to me before following him out of the break room.

I never did like the way people talked about androids. Especially people like Gavin. Even putting aside the familiar echoes of being dehumanized in very similar ways, I just couldn’t understand why people looked at androids that way. Well, I mean, I knew why from a logical standpoint, or at least the justifications people gave. But from an emotional one, it didn’t make sense. After all, I always said please and thank you to my AI assistants I had at home. And I knew plenty of other people that did the same.

And besides, humans naturally pack bond with things that look way less human than androids do. Although, maybe because androids seem more human, people are more inclined to treat them the way they see other humans. A bit of a depressing notion, but food for thought, nonetheless.

Letting out an anxious sigh of relief, I immediately went to help Connor back up to his feet. “Are you okay?” I asked him, genuinely worried for his well being.

He got up and simply straightened his tie and coat as if nothing happened. “I’m alright, don’t worry.” He replied, giving me a small reassuring smile. “I’ve checked my vitals, and I can assure you I’m unharmed. And besides, I can’t feel pain.”

I tilted my head at him curiously. “If you don’t feel any pain, then why did you double over when he punched you?” I asked him.

His LED blinked yellow as his brows seemed to furrow together in confusion at my query. “I...I’m not sure.” He replied, a certain uncharacteristically vulnerable uncertainty creasing his delicate features.

Deciding not to press him further, I looked after Gavin and shook my head. “I wish I could say I’m surprised that people like Gavin exist, but I’m not.” I complained, going back to making my coffee. “People like him have always existed. And they’ve treated actual human beings like that for things ranging from their gender, their sexuality, to the colour of their skin. Things that to people like him meant that those people that are different from him aren’t human, and thus don’t deserve to be treated as such or have the same human rights.”

Connor eyed me curiously. “Is that one of the reasons you relate to androids as a whole?” He asked me.

I scoffed light-heartedly. “Erm, it’s a bit of a tangent, but I’ll bite.” I said, propping myself up for an interesting conversation. “How familiar are you with LGBT history? Specifically regarding the trans community?”

“Passively.” Connor answered. “But if it’s important to understanding your point, I’ll gladly research more into it right now.”

I blinked at him a couple of times. “You can do that?” I asked him, dumbfounded. “Just decide to learn something and pull it from an archive somewhere and absorb it?” I then leaned forward closer to Connor, my eyes taking in his whole face as my interest piqued. “Man, what’s your brain like if that’s how you take in information that isn’t actively in your physical environment? Is it like an encyclopedia where you have all the information in the same place and you just have to look for the index? Or is it more like an archive where the information is not necessarily available at a moment’s notice but can be accessed when it’s convenient?”

Connor smiled a bit more. “It’s more like a library where the information is actively supplied and whatever is not already in the library can be ordered or searched and added to it.”

“Fascinating.” I said, staring deep into his chocolate brown eyes. “I wonder if other androids’ minds work the same way yours does.”

“I’m a far more advanced prototype, so I sincerely doubt their metaphorical libraries are even nearly as expansive.” He replied confidently.

I nodded. “Right, so how familiar exactly are you?” I repeated.

His LED spun yellow once again before quickly settling back to a gentle cool blue. “‘Trans’ is shorthand for ‘transgender,’ which refers to individuals who identify differently than their assigned sex at birth, the antonym of which being ‘cisgender,’ or ‘cis,’ referring to individuals whose gender identity aligns with that which they’re assigned at birth.” He started off. “Many anthropologists agree that the existence of trans people dates back to the beginning of human civilization itself, being prominent in several cultures globally. However, in western culture, until the 1970’s, transgender people were considered secondhand citizens and did not have equal civil rights.

“The catalyst for the modern-day LGBTQIA+ community was in New York, 1969, in the Stonewall Inn, in what would be known as the Stonewall Riots.” He continued to explain, capturing my attention flawlessly even though I had heard all this already. “Interestingly, the Genovese crime family was one of the main backers for the underground LGBT community, the Stonewall Inn being a massive gathering place for members of the community. One day, a police raid was conducted on the inn and all of the patrons were told to line up against the wall and produce identification, and because drag displays and public displays of affection with the same sex were seen as crimes as illegal as money laundering, if any of the patrons’ genders didn’t appear to match their driver’s license, they would be arrested, and those without identification would be taken into another room to have their sex verified. The riot against the police raid was headed by two trans women of colour named Marsha P. Johnson and Storme Delarverie. Since then, equal rights have continued to be fought for by activists both in and out of the LGBT community.”

I nodded, following along. He seemed to grasp it pretty strongly. “Alright, so you know a thing or two. You’ve got the idea.” I suddenly got stuck, my brain failing to capture the right words to explain my feelings. “Oh boy, I’m so sorry. My brain tends to get stuck a lot and I’m really bad at words and talking good and everything tends to ge-sc-abla-blgudfa-get scrambled -” I stopped, getting really annoyed and embarrassed with myself. “Like that. I’m really bad at explaining my points in a way that makes sense. Speech impediment, and all. Not good with speaking.”

Connor tilted his head in confusion. “I find it strange to hear you say that about yourself.” I gave him a confused look. “You’re very detailed and analytical and very articulate. You’re actually quite skilled with language and analysis. I find it invigorating to hear what you have to say.”

I felt myself shrink at his compliment. “I-uh, well. Thank you, I guess. Sorry, I don’t know how to take compliments without making it awkward.” Now I was more lost than before. “Even then, I have to expend considerable amounts of effort to not trip over my words or lose my train of thought. Where was I again?”

“I believe you were about to explain how the trans community relates to your ability to relate personally and empathize with deviants.” Connor answered.

“Ah! Right!” Once again, I took a moment to collect my thoughts and give my two cents. It was actually nice getting to talk to someone about my thoughts on stuff like this. After all, it had been many years since I’ve had long in-depth conversations about topics of such complicated nature. “Well, you know how androids are considered less than human? Just machines, and thus not worth the respect of humans?” Connor nodded. “Well, the things that are said about deviants and androids...reminds me a lot of the way people used to talk about me and my friends when I was growing up. If you didn’t realize it, I don’t blame you. I don’t really go out of my way to present myself a certain way, and I just kinda roll with whatever works. But I’m not cis or straight, and neither were most of my friends growing up. In case you’re curious, I’m bigender and bisexual.” It wasn’t a thing I really admitted a lot, but I figured Connor wouldn’t judge me for it. “And a lot of the things that people say about androids and especially deviants ring in my head like a horrible echo. Because I’ve heard it before.”

I glanced over, pouring a cup of coffee and mixing in the cream and sugar. “The excuses to dehumanize us because they think we’re pretending to be something we’re not. That we’re crazy or delusional. That we’re just confused. That there’s just something wrong with us, and if we stop being what we are, it’ll somehow fix us, believing that we are broken and thus need to be fixed. But their idea of ‘fixing us’ is not helping us feel more comfortable in our own bodies and in society, but rather forcing us to hide ourselves and conform to what they think is ‘normal,’ not caring about how miserable it makes us. And a lot of people have paid with their lives at the hands of the people that say that about us. So when I hear similar sentiments towards androids and deviants, forgive me if I’m skeptical of the rhetoric that they deserve the treatment they get, or that they’re less human because ‘they’re just machines made to obey humans.’ No matter what way you dress it up, humans always look for excuses to treat someone as worthless without even a semblance of guilt.” I let out a sigh. “And I refuse to treat anyone the way I’ve been treated. Because it doesn’t entail good things for anyone and I refuse to be someone else’s echo that they’ll have to hear years from now. For as many advancements as humanity continues to make, the more things change, the more things stay the same.”

I noticed that Connor’s LED was still spinning yellow even after I finished talking. “I find your perspective rather intriguing.” He finally spoke. “If you ever have time, I’d like to hear more of your thoughts.”

I scoffed at him. “On what?” I asked.

“Anything.” He answered plainly. “I’m sure you could make a detailed analysis on anything, if it caught your eye.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate the compliment.” I smiled at Connor, a warmth blooming on my cheeks. Admittedly, I tended to get flustered and embarrassed rather easily. A fact that was, well, rather embarrassing. But somehow, I didn’t really mind in this situation. Once I was done making my coffee, I pushed myself away from the counter and stood squarely towards Connor once again, taking a sip and relishing the feeling of the warm bittersweet liquid trailing down my throat. “Well, we’ve still got more tour to do, but there isn’t much left of the precinct to see, so this shouldn’t take too long and you can start working with Hank.”

Connor nodded. “Of course.” He said curtly. “Thank you in advance for your time, Rachel. I really enjoy chatting with you.”

His compliments were starting to feel a bit excessive, but I wasn’t about to stop him. Honestly, the attention was really nice. “I like talking to you, too.” I admitted to him. It wasn’t until this moment that I had realized truly how lonely I’d really been. But, shrugging the feeling off, I leaned towards Connor as we left the break room. “FYI, I was half-tempted to respond to Gavin’s ‘go fuck yourself’ with ‘fuck me yourself, you coward.’” I joked. “But I didn’t because I wasn’t completely sure that he wouldn’t take it seriously and I wasn’t about to take that risk.”

Connor didn’t laugh, which didn’t surprise me, but his smile did seem to widen a small bit. So even if he couldn’t laugh, he could at least feel amusement, and that was good enough for me. “So, where is there left for me to see, Rachel?” Connor asked me.

“All that’s really left is the archive room and the office, and you’ve seen the office already.” I said to him. “But, I can show you my desk. Unfortunately, it’s next to Gavin’s. But, weirdly enough, when he’s working at his desk, he is mercifully quiet. So, I can actually get work done!”

“Lead the way, then.” Connor suggested.

I cut through behind Fowler’s office, stealing a glance through the glass wall over at Micheal and seeing him lock eyes with me. I reminded myself that I needed to see him later once I was done with this. “Right over there is the hallway leading to the archive room, and the actual room is to the right.” I explained, pointing at the glass door. “It goes downstairs underneath the repair centre. It’s where evidence is filed and collected and stored.”

Once I was done explaining, I walked back towards the office area. My desk was directly across from Hank’s on the opposite end of the office and Gavin’s desk was right in front of mine. But up ahead in the corner, I noticed Chris working at his desk and decided to take Connor to say hi. After all, I didn’t want Connor’s only experience with the police here to just be Gavin being an asshole and Hank being angsty.

And besides, Chris was a really good guy, and I felt like he and Connor would actually get along really well.

So, making my way over, I quickly found my way to Chris’s desk and gave him a little wave. “Hi, Chris!” I greeted.

The black man gave me a smile as he took a break from what he was working on. “Hello, Rachel.” He returned. “How was your morning?”

I bobbed my head back and forth. “It was...an eventful morning, definitely.” I replied.

Connor quickly stepped up beside me, his hands folded behind his back as he looked at Chris with a neutral expression. “You still here?” Chris asked when Connor approached. “I thought your assignment was over.”

“It's just been extended.” Connor replied matter-of-factly.

Chris scoffed. “Hank's gonna be overjoyed to hear that...”

“Oh, he wasn’t.” I assured Chris. “Captain gave him a whole earful. Hank’s been officially assigned to the deviancy case and Connor’s been assigned as his partner, so they’re gonna be stuck together for a little while longer.”

Chris let out a strained breath, his eyes widened in what was the universal facial sign of yikes. “Best of luck to you, Connor.” The black man wished, shaking his head. “You were right about that android...it's been quiet in the cell all night.” He then mentioned. “Scheduled for transfer today.”

I blinked at him, realizing that Micheal was likely not going to survive today unless I acted fast. “Really? When?” I asked him.

“Not sure.” Chris responded. “I think around six is when CyberLife’s gonna come pick it up.”

I nodded. Right. That’s how much time I have to figure out how to help him. Giving Chris a pleasant smile I backed away. “Well, nice to see you again, Chris.”

“Nice to see you too, Rachel.” Chris replied kindly. “Have a good day.”

“You too!” I called, already walking towards my desk with Connor in tow. Once we reached it, I took a seat in it, putting my coffee down and sighing. “And this is my desk! Thankfully Gavin’s not here yet, so I’ll be without him for a little while.”

Connor nodded, his eyes scanning over what seemed to be about everything on my desk. His LED was spinning yellow, no doubt that he was learning everything he could about me just from the contents of my desk. Once his LED spun back to blue, I glanced over at Hank, who was still pouting, stealing glances back at me on occasion.

Giving him a smile, I turned in my chair. “Well, you’ve got work to do.” I said, ending the conversation. “But feel free to get my attention if you need something, got it?”

Connor smiled. “Got it.” He replied.

I glanced up at him, offering him a reassuring grin. “Good luck.” I whispered to him.

Connor then turned around to approach Hank. Whenever I was focused on something, everything else sort of faded into verbal equivalents of static. Well, not everything. I could hear and pick up much smaller noises. The ringings of phones, footsteps, specific conversations while others were complete garbled nonsense, the sounds of birds outside, cars. It seemed that I could very easily hear and pick up on sounds from very far away that most people wouldn’t be able to hear, while the things that happened directly around me just weren’t processed by my brain.

As much as I tried to work on something - anything at all - I couldn’t tear my focus away from Connor and Hank. “I get the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant.” Connor started saying calmly to Hank. “I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that.”

I couldn’t help but melt a little at him. Awww, bless his soul. Granted, he didn’t have one. But honestly, he might as well have.

But Hank clearly wasn’t taken with Connor, so the android persisted. “Now that we're partners, it would be great to get to know each other better.”

Still nothing.

“In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very happy to be working with you.” He tried once again. “I'm sure we'll make a great team.”

Nothing. Connor wasn’t going to be getting anywhere with Hank, and it was honestly so upsetting. He was genuinely trying really hard to bond with Hank.

But...I knew Hank wasn’t going to be that easy to crack. At least for Connor. So this was probably going to be a long process to watch. But bless Connor for trying so hard. “Is there a desk anywhere I could use?” He asked.

“No one's using that one.” Hank finally responded, pointing to the empty desk in front of him, still pouting with his arms crossed like an angry child.

Connor slowly rounded to the chair and took a seat in front of the unused terminal, sitting across from Hank and in full view of me. I noticed him steal a glance at me, and I quickly looked away, instead laying my eyes on the keyboard as I took another sip of my coffee.

As much as I tried to at least act like I was working, I couldn’t for the life of me stop focusing on Connor. Somehow he had completely taken over all my focus. Probably because what he was doing was a lot more interesting than anything else I had to work on.

“You have a dog, right?” Connor asked.

Hank seemed taken aback for a moment before he answered. “How do you know that?” He asked suspiciously.

“The dog hairs on your chair.” Connor explained bluntly. “I like dogs. What's your dog's name?”

Hank narrowed his eyes at Connor. “What's it to you?” He asked grouchily. But, it seemed he couldn’t help but relent. “Sumo,” he answered. “I call him Sumo.”

I smiled at them. I knew Hank had a lovely St. Bernard. Though the story behind him was actually a really sad one to hear. Apparently he belonged to a murder victim Hank was investigating and he took the dog in after they inspected the crime scene. Apparently he didn’t actually know what the dog’s real name was, so he decided to call him Sumo.

A moment of uneventful quiet. I already gave up on working while they were taking up my attention, so I just listened absentmindedly to their conversation. I honestly didn’t mean to eavesdrop as much as I was currently doing, but my attention span was garbage, so this was apparently the only thing my brain thought was worth paying attention to.

“You're a Detroit Gears fan, right?” Connor asked, getting a little snicker out of me. Ah yes, sports. The ideal male bonding strategy. “Denton Carter scored 53% of his shots from the three-point line yesterday. Did you see the game?”

Hank seemed to glare at Connor for a moment before replying. “That's what I was watchin' at the bar last night.”

Oops, that was awkward. “Oh...” Was all Connor could say, and I wanted to hug his poor face. Well, at least you tried, Connor. The secondhand embarrassment was making me shiver a bit, so I decided to have another drink of coffee.

“Do you listen to Knights of the Black Death?” Connor asked Hank. “I really like that music. It’s full of...energy.”

I had to stop myself from making the sort of noises I make when I see my dog at him. Awwwww, he’s so cute! 

Hank seemed to hesitate for a moment before he answered. “You listen to heavy metal?”

I quickly laughed the kind of laugh you laugh through your nose when you’re trying not to laugh, but I was trying really really hard not to draw attention to myself, but as I was starting to let out a wheeze, I realized I had already lost.

“Well, I don’t really listen to music as such,” Connor replied, “but I’d like to!”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing and clearly Hank noticed me. “What’s so funny?” He asked me.

While I was trying to compose myself to try and answer him without wheezing, I leaned over in my chair, letting out a few sighs to try and convince myself that I was done laughing. “I mean...he’s an android...that likes heavy metal.” I said, very much trying to draw attention to the coincidence, and also feeling another fit of giggles worm their way into my chest. “Do you get it?”

I started laughing again, keeling over my desk, not even looking at either of them. “Yeah, hilarious.” I could practically hear the eyeroll in Hank’s response.

“Oh! I think I do understand!” Connor said. I looked back at him, a dumb grin on my face as I was trying really hard not to laugh again. “The fact that several components in androids are made of metals makes the fact that I enjoy heavy metal music a rather amusing coincidence.”

I kept snickering. I just looked right at Connor’s cute dumbass face, my wide grin still plastered on mine. Usually when someone explains a joke, it makes it unfunny and immediately kills it. But there was something about the genuine sincerity in Connor’s dry explanation that was...completely endearing. “Yeah, you get it.” I giggled, keeling over again. “Ohhhh, that’s too good. Oh, that’s fucking precious.” I quickly calmed down, letting them get back to their conversation. Although I was turned away from them, I still couldn’t help but keep snickering, the conversation repeating in my head.

“A lot of people don’t appreciate having androids around.” As he said that, he glanced over at me, and our eyes met. Feeling like a deer in the headlights, I quickly looked away and pulled up one of my papers to act like I was reading it intently. I assumed he looked away from me when he started speaking again. “I was wondering...is there any reason in particular you despise me?”

Hank was quiet for a moment before he talked again. “Yeah...there is one.” He responded. It seemed like he was going to elaborate, but evidently he decided not to. I couldn’t really blame him. He was the type of person that kept his closest and most vulnerable feelings under lock and key. He was a very private person. I knew the reason, but I wasn’t going to tell Connor. Hank was very selective of who his personal details are shared with, and I wanted to respect that.

I, on the other hand, tended to overshare my personal feelings and experiences in contrast. People are surprised that I’m able to be so open about such vulnerable topics, but I never really feel vulnerable. In an ironic sense, it was a sort of defense mechanism for me to overshare my traumatic experiences in an effort to feel like I have more control over my life.

“Have you known Captain Fowler for long?” Connor asked Hank.

“Yeah...” He answered, glancing back at Fowler’s office. “Too long.”

There was clearly a lot of history between Hank and Fowler. After all, Hank and one other person were the only people who could get away with referring to him by his first name. They had been here longer than everyone else, it seemed. But Fowler was made captain, and he hardened a bit. Not completely, but a bit.

“I was wondering...” Connor said, breaking through my thoughts. “Do you always arrive at the office at this time?”

“I arrive when I arrive.” Hank said loudly. “Stop busting my balls, okay?”

“Would you rather he bust your nuts?” I said with zero hesitation, feeling proud of myself, before I quickly realized that I probably shouldn’t have said it. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!

Although, it got a pretty good reaction out of the surrounding officers, as Officer Wilson almost choked on his coffee and started laughing. And very quickly, I started snickering again, too.

Hank looked over at me and groaned very loudly. “Very funny, Rachel.” He grumbled.

“I know, I’m hilarious.” I said with brazen confidence, trying to mask the horrible embarrassment I felt.

I finally decided to just laugh it off and get back to finishing some work, deciding to ignore them altogether.

That’s what I decided. But was that what I did? Nope.

Even as I was doing the minimal work I could do, I could barely tear my attention away from Hank and Connor, more specifically Connor. “If you have any files on deviants, I'd like to take a look at them...” He suggested.

Hank looked over at him and pointed to the screen in front of Connor. “Terminal's on your desk. Knock yourself out.” He said, clearly trying to keep their relationship as impersonal as possible.

Which I couldn’t really blame him for, really. As much as I thought Hank was being a bit of a brat, I also understood that he didn’t want this to go on longer than a day at most. So, this sucked for him.

“243 files...The first dates back nine months...” Connor began explaining. “It all started in Detroit...And quickly spread across the country...” As Connor’s eyes focused on the terminal, his LED spinning yellow, he then turned towards Hank. “An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation.”

Hank was being rather sour with Connor, having already turned away from him with his head in his hand. Connor got up to approach Hank, who turned around harshly and started picking up data pads and was just moving them around, pretending to look busy. An action I found rather petulant and annoying, nevermind what Connor was thinking since he was clearly just trying to do the job he was assigned to do. I knew Connor was going to have a difficult time dealing with Hank, as he could be rather ornery and already couldn’t stand androids, but there was a sense of unwavering determination in Connor that I couldn’t help but respect. I got the feeling that he would stop at nothing to accomplish whatever task he was set out to do.

As I wrapped up the last of my minimal work, my attention was completely focused on Hank and Connor. “I know you didn't ask for this investigation, Lieutenant,” I looked over and Connor was leaning over Hank trying to reason with him, “but I'm sure you're a professional.”

“Why don't you go fuck yourself?” Hank snapped at Connor.

The moment had gone sour, and Connor turned towards me as if to silently plead for my help. I just gave him a shrug and took another sip of my coffee.

“I've been assigned this mission, Lieutenant.” Connor insisted. “I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working.”

In an instant, I saw Hank shoving Connor up against the wall of his desk in a threatening manner and felt my anxiety shoot up again, making the room go completely dead. “Listen, asshole.” Hank growled at Connor. “If it was up to me, I’d throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So stop pissing me off...or things are gonna get nasty.”

I noticed some movement in the corner of my eye and saw Chris getting up from his desk and walking over to Hank. My eyes followed the officer intently. “Lieutenant, uh...sorry to disturb you.” He started with as Hank put Connor down. “I have some information on the AX400 that attacked the guy last night. It’s been seen in the Ravendale District.”

Ravendale. That’s Camden, I’m pretty sure. My brain echoed. I think that’s about a ten minute drive from where I live. “I’m on it.” Hank agreed, not taking his eyes off of Connor. I very quickly looked away, but realized that Hank was approaching me. “Hey.” He said to me. I looked up at him wondering for a moment if I was about to be reprimanded for my behaviour before he put a hand on my desk. “I’m going to investigate that aggravated assault case, you wanna come with?”

I was surprised that he asked me to come with him, considering what just transpired. But he probably didn’t want to deal with Connor alone. Fowler’s words reverberated in my mind at Hank’s request. Me, seeing an excuse to hang with the both of them, agreed. “Sure, why not? I got nothing else better to do, and you two could probably use my help after last night.”

“Great.” He said, nodding as he started walking away. “We’re heading out!”

I got up out of my seat and made sure I had everything I needed, following Hank and approaching Connor. “I guess I’ll finally have the opportunity to see how you work in the field, Connor.”

“Indeed.” He replied curtly. “And I’m looking forward to seeing how you perform as well.”

“Well, I’m hard-wired for investigation.” I said, a smug smirk plastered on my face. “But you’re more so than I am, I bet.”

“I am.” He replied, not catching my joke. “You could even say I was specifically designed for the task.”

I shook my head, giving up for now on jokes since my mind had gone blank. “Well, I can’t think of any puns I can make right now. But now I’m curious if you have a sense of humour in the same way humans do, Connor.”

“Oh, dear God. Please don’t encourage her.” Hank groaned.

Connor looked confused. “Why’s that, Lieutenant?”

“Her jokes are terrible.” He quipped.

I just grinned smugly at him like the bastard I was. “That’s what makes them so great!” I said with a gremlinesque giggle. “You can pretend you don’t find them amusing all you want, but you’ve smiled at a few. Even chuckled, if the mood had you.”

“Pity smiles and pity laughs, Rachel.” He said defensively. “Just don’t quit your day job, is all I’m saying.”

I scoffed at him. “Whatever you say, Hank.”

We followed Hank out of the precinct and into Hank’s car, thankful he wasn’t drunk this time and that I didn’t have to worry about him.

And I couldn’t lie, this was the most excited I felt about something in a long time. 

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

Next Chapter

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-Two

  Stoker was seriously contemplating building himself a new hideout. While the laboratory he kept well-hidden in the wilderness was large and well-stocked with equipment and supplies, it was becoming more and more difficult to come and go as he pleased without detection. He'd done his best to keep his whereabouts a secret, but Limburger was definitely onto him, if the amount of hired thugs constantly sent out to tail him was any indication. The goons might not have been particularly intelligent, but they were annoyingly persistent; Stoker knew that one of these days he was gonna slip up and lead someone right to his lab, and then everything he'd spent the last ten earth years trying to achieve would be sent straight down the proverbial crapper.

   Even the thought of all the work it would require to set up a new workshop was exhausting, but he couldn't risk his project by staying where he was, and he didn't want to move house to one of his other, smaller hideaways scattered across the country. Moving farther from Chicago—and therefore from his comrades—just didn't sit well with him.

   Which was why he found himself cruising down the ruined streets of the large warehouse district not far from Charley's garage. What had once been thriving industrial businesses were now nothing but empty husks of their former glory, ranging from mildly dilapidated to completely demolished. Not even the street gangs and city lowlifes bothered much with the abandoned neighborhood anymore; there wasn't any point as there was no longer anyone left to terrorize. Now they tended to hang out in other areas, living it up in the massive chasms edging the outskirts of Chicago.

   The result of Limburger's past handiwork, the Pits had become home to every sort of human criminal in Illinois over the past few years. Everyone knew it, including the police. Yet, for some reason, they never seemed to have enough of a reason to go in and raid the place. Stoker was certain that was the result of Limburger's handiwork, as well. He'd bribed the law enforcement and government officials to leave the Pits alone; in exchange, the Pit Boss left Limburger's extensive enterprise alone, and provided all the hired muscle needed to do his dirty work. It was a very beneficial business arrangement all around.

   While that knowledge really ground Stoker's gears, right now it worked well to his benefit. Nobody bothered with this district—including Limburger—which meant he had free access to the empty warehouses. And on the off-chance that anyone should get a little too nosy, they could easily be taken care of; after facing down squadrons of Plutarkian soldiers, a few stray punks were hardly any threat. He'd become an expert at setting alarms and traps. If Limburger sent more goons to trail him, they'd be in for some nasty shocks. He couldn't do much in the way of self-defense in the middle of the wilderness, but abandoned factories full of potentially hazardous junk was a different matter altogether.

   With a little planning and a lot of fortification, Stoker was sure he could rig up a decent laboratory to continue his work while he was on earth. A little careful rerouting would give him ample power needed to run his diagnostics, and he'd be right on the home turf, ready to lend a hand should the rookies need it. As much as it aggravated him to admit it, those hours-long rides between the city and his lab were really starting to wear on his body. It would be a nice change to not have his muscles and bones constantly aching from the strain.

   A sharp beep snapped him out of his inner musings, and he nearly lost control of his bike when it made a sudden veer to the left, narrowly missing the lone figure trudging down the middle of the street, who yelped with fright and scrambled out of the way. "Watch where you're going!" she screeched, and Stoker's eyes widened when he immediately recognized Alley's voice. He slammed on the brakes and made a sharp turn, coasting back her way. What was she doing, wandering these streets all by herself? True, he hadn't seen so much as a stray cat in the general vicinity, but still. She had to know that walking alone wasn't safe! Had something happened to her? Again? He chuckled and shook his head. That woman was a walking trouble magnet, and if he had any sense, he'd keep his distance.

   Too bad his sense always seemed to shrivel up and die whenever those gorgeous blue eyes turned his way.

   He pulled to a stop beside her, opening his visor to turn on the charm … and it was then that the distinct odor of Plutarkian hit him full in the face.

   He reared back with surprise and mild alarm; a soft whufff escaped before he could catch himself, and Alley scowled at him, not missing the flash of disgust that wrinkled his sensitive nose. She started to walk on, but he didn't give her a chance. He was off his bike in a second and blocking her path, frowning down at her. "What happened?" he asked, concern sharpening his tone.

   "Nothing," she snapped, her scowl deepening. He felt her defenses go up, preparing for a fight, and bit back a sigh. As much as their bantering amused him, she could be downright exasperating when she set her mind to it. And while he knew she had every right to be a little peeved at him for his behavior the night before, right now it was time to let bygones be bygones. He wasn't about to let her clam up on this subject. Not when her safety was at risk.

   "Nothing?" he repeated, one eyebrow raising. "I can smell Plutarkian all over you."

   "Then feel free to take yourself upwind." She attempted to step around him. Again, he blocked her path, and she glowered. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Get out of the way!"

   Stoker exhaled a deep sigh and tried for patience, resting his hands on her slim shoulders. "Alley," he began gently, and a startled expression crossed her face at the rare use of her name. "If Limburger did anything to you, hurt you in any way, you need to tell me. Please."

   Her brow furrowed and she glanced around nervously; it occurred to him that she never seemed to know how to respond when he was being serious with her, filing that information away for later consideration. "Did Limburger lay hands on you?" he pressed, and she winced when his fingers inadvertently tightened at the thought. He immediately gentled his grip, rubbing her shoulders briefly in apology.

   "He didn't touch me," she finally mumbled. "He just … caught me by surprise, and one of his guys came up behind me and forced me into his car."

   "Why didn't you fight back?" he asked, offering a wry grin. "You've got a hell of a right hook."

   "Yeah, well, wouldn't do much good against the gun in my back."

   A low growl erupted deep in his throat, making her eyes widen. He forced himself to calm down. "What happened next?"

   "That's nobody's business but mine." She tried to ease away, but he maintained a steady grip on her shoulders and gazed patiently down at her. When she stubbornly refused to talk, he sighed deeply and nodded toward his bike. "Hop on. I'll give you a lift back."

   "There's nothing wrong with my legs."

   "Just do an old soldier a favor and get on. Your cousin would skin me alive and use my pelt as a coat if she found out I'd let you walk through this neighborhood by yourself."

   "Fine." She huffed a sigh and stomped to the bike, started to swing a leg over the seat, only to stumble when the machine rolled smoothly forward. She eyeballed it cautiously and tried again … with the exact same result. She nearly fell that time, Stoker's quick reflexes the only thing keeping her from a pair of scraped knees.

   "Stop that," he scolded, scowling and giving the rear wheel a light kick. "What's got into you?" He was answered with a series of sharp beeps.

   "Your pet doesn't seem to like me," Alley muttered, backing away.

   "Hmm. Maybe 'cause you clocked me?" He winked. "She's kind've protective of me."

   "You deserved that and you know it!" she snapped.

   He sighed and scratched his head. "Yeah, I sorta did," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Stuck my foot where it didn't belong, I guess."

   "Yeah. Straight up your—" Alley broke off with a yelp when the bike suddenly rolled backward, the rear tire missing her foot by mere inches. "Okay, that's it." She turned to stomp away. "No way in hell are you gettin' me onto that homicidal machine! I've seen too many movies with these scenarios and they never end well."

   "Now look what you did," Stoker scolded the bike. "Way to make an impression."

   It gave a sulky grumble in reply.

   "I don't wanna hear it." He waved it away. "Take yourself back to the garage and think about your actions. I'll walk." He strode after Alley, leaving the still-grumbling bike to roll off like a dejected puppy.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   They'd only been walking a few minutes more before they caught sight of Charley racing full-tilt up the street toward them, a panicked expression on her face. He easily deduced the cause of her fright, holding out his hands in a reassuring gesture as she approached. "Relax, we're both fine," he said.

   She came to a stumbling halt, bent double with hands resting on her knees for support as she gasped for breath. "You scared the crap outta me, Stoke," she scolded. "Your bike came roaring into the garage all by itself… I thought something had happened to you!"

   "Nah, just keeping a pretty lady company." He jerked a thumb in Alley's direction.

   Charley shot her an exasperated glance. "And do I even wanna know why you're here? I thought you were at the school."

   "Long story," Alley muttered.

   "She had a run-in with Limburger," Stoker supplied bluntly.

   Alley pursed her lips. "Okay, not that long."

   "What happened? Are you okay?" Charley started to look panicked again.

   "I'm fine." Alley's shoulders slumped. "We just talked, that's all."

   "After forcing her into his car at gunpoint," Stoker put in.

   Alley glared. "Feel free to take yourself back to the garage," she snapped, pointing in its general direction.

   "Alley Cat, come on. You know we're just trying to help," Charley coaxed, slinging an arm around her cousin's shoulder. "Just tell us about it, and maybe we can come up with a game plan."

   "I wasn't supposed to let anybody know anything," Alley sighed, head drooping. "If Limburger finds out I told…"

   "He'll have to go through us to get to you," Stoker growled, expression darkening. "And we won't make that easy for 'im. Trust me on that."

   "It's not him getting to me that's the problem," she complained. "It's what he won't do that has me worried."

   "Which is…?" Charley prompted.

   Alley sighed again. "Just lemme get back and take a shower to wash this stink outta my hair. I'll fill you in on all the gory details later." At their dubious expressions, she cracked a small smile and held up four fingers. "Scout's honor."

   "Alley Cat, that's still the—"

   "Oh, shut up."

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Feeling much more humane now that she could freely breathe without the lingering odor of Eu de Dead Fish in her nostrils, Alley sat down in the kitchen with the entire gang and related the story over plates of hot dogs.

   When she finished talking, there was immediate uproar, with all of the mice in favor of storming the tower and blowing it up again. Alley panicked at that. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything! You macho lunkheads are gonna ruin the whole thing and then I'll never get back into college!" she wailed.

   Stoker ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "So, seems like this is my fault," he muttered, scowling. "Limburger got suspicious of my actions, now Alley's the one sufferin' for it."

   "It ain't like you knew he was gonna target her," Throttle pointed out.

   "Yeah. If we're gonna play the blame game, you might as well point fingers my way. He targeted her 'cause she's related to me," Charley added.

   "Oh yeah! That's another thing." Alley glanced at her cousin, frowning. "He called me Parker. He knows my history. He deliberately dug it up for some reason."

   Charley tsked. "Now, what was that supposed to accomplish?"

   "Beats me. He seemed to think us not being blood related would—" Alley cut herself off, suddenly aware of four pairs of eyes fixed on her with varying levels of surprise. She raised an eyebrow at the gawping mice. "What?"

   "You … ain't related?" Modo ventured, frowning.

   Alley blinked at him, then glanced at Charley. "Didn't you tell them?"

   "Oh. I guess it never came up. Honestly, never even occurred to me to mention it." The mechanic shrugged with a grin.

   "What it?" Vinnie asked.

   Alley shrugged. "I'm adopted," she replied simply, and smirked when four furry jaws dropped. "Look, it's easy. My birth dad died when I was really little, like barely two. My mom met the Davidsons when her car broke down, and she and Charley's uncle hit it off and eventually got married. That happened when I was five. Dad officially adopted me just after that and I became a Davidson, too. I mean, it's all there in public records and all, but it ain't like it's right up there for anyone to just stumble over—"

   "—which means Limburger deliberately went digging around fishing for info about you," Charley finished with a frown.

   "Yeah. He seemed to think I'd be willing to help him because we're not 'really cousins'." Alley quoted the air with her fingers.

   "Heh. Typical Plutarkian family values," Stoker snorted. "They ain't exactly known for their loyalty to kin. Theirs is a fish-eat-fish world. Literally. Plutarkian clans are spawned in the thousands, and, well … you ever watch those nature shows? About the fish and insects that hatch and it's basically survival of the fittest from the get go?"

   The women gaped at him. "You mean they actually try to eat each other?" Charley looked disgusted at the idea.

   "Yep." Vinnie wrinkled his snout. "The ones who survive to adulthood are the lucky ones."

   "Yeah," Modo put in. "An' it ain't no wonder they're all the baddest, meanest species in the known universe."

   "They'd be somebody's lunch if they weren't," Throttle finished with a shake of his head.

   "Wow. That's enough to almost make me feel sorry for them," Alley said. She was met with blank stares all around. "I said almost," she huffed, then sniggered. "Given the size of him, Limburger's probably an only child by this point."

   "Ugh. And here I didn't think I could loathe the Plutarkians any more." Charley wrinkled her nose. "So, anyway, now that we know what Limburger is up to, what're we gonna do about it? He's gonna expect an answer soon. And he'll get suspicious if he doesn't get one."

   "I ain't just handin' over my plans," Stoker said firmly.

   "Well, nobody expects that. But I do want to know what these plans of yours are." Charley fixed him with a stern look. "They dragged my family into this mess, so fair's fair. If he's desperate enough to find out what you're up to, who's to say he'll stop with Alley? What if he decides to expand out and go after our parents as well? They have no idea what's going on over here. They'll never stand a chance!"

   "He's never gone after them before," Throttle said doubtfully.

   "He's never gone after my cousin before, either. Now that the idea's in his brain…"

   Vinnie placed a comforting arm around Charley's shoulders. "Time to fess up, Stoke. What've you been up to down here that has you wanderin' off all the time?"

   The old general sighed and sat back in his chair, considering. "No harm in telling you now, I guess," he grunted, before getting to his feet and stomping down to the garage. He returned moments later carrying a long cylinder tube, from which he pulled several rolled blueprints. He spread them over the table, using cups and plates to hold down the curling edges. The mice and Charley gathered around to examine the plans. Alley took a quick glance but quickly gave up; they were a bunch of layouts for what looked like a weapon of some sort, but the writing was all in an alien language. Judging from the growing astonishment and beginnings of delight spreading on the boys' faces, though, it seemed to be something amazing.

   "Stoke! This is—" Modo couldn't finish the thought, swallowing several times. His single eye was suspiciously glassy.

   "Does this mean…?" Vinnie breathed, looking awed.

   "We-we're saved," Throttle murmured, shaking his head. His eyes were wide behind his specs. "Mars will be whole again." He seemed dazed.

   Alley leaned in to whisper to Charley, "Is it a super laser or something?"

   "No," she whispered back. "It's no weapon. I can't make sense of all of it, but it seems to be some kind of a … a conductor."

   "I call it the Regenerator." Stoker glanced around the table, smiling. "It's a matter-conversion device that will hopefully restore Mars to its former glory. It can create water, food, plant life … the possibilities are endless, really. Right now, it's nothin' more than an idea and a bunch've parts and supplies I've been gathering. It requires very specific ingredients that are difficult to come by. Ironically, the most important ingredient—its power source—are tetra-hydrocarbons, found only on earth."

   "So you've been out searching for them?" Charley asked.

   "Yep. In the wilds. Deep in the mountains. They're rare, though. And hard to get to."

   "Why all the secrecy, Coach?" Throttle asked. "We could've helped you search—"

   "Negative, soldier." Stoker shook his head. "Tetra-hydrocarbons are dangerous to work with. Too much exposure can lead to nasty results. Mutation of cells and other such pleasant experiences. Not only that, I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up too high, in case it's a failure." He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I can't make promises that it'll even work. But I had to try."

   Charley placed her hands on Stoker's shoulder and squeezed. "Stoker, in all this time I've known you, you've never let us down. When you say you'll do something, you always do it and succeed. Mars has faith in you. You will definitely be able to build your Regenerator and it will work."

   "No pressure!" Alley chirped, smiling innocently at her cousin's exasperated glance.

   "We definitely can't let the stinkfish get their greasy hands on those plans," Modo rumbled, frowning. "It'd be disastrous."

   "Well, couldn't it be a good thing?"

   All eyes turned to Alley, who squirmed under the sudden scrutiny. "Look, hear me out. I mean, this Regenerator is supposed to build stuff, right? Like natural resources?" She waved a hand. "Say it does work. So, the Plutarkians attack other planets 'cause they're on the endless quest for stuff for their planet. But if they had a machine that made endless resources, they wouldn't have to go out hunting down and stealing everyone else's! They could all go home and waste resources to their hearts' content and leave the rest of the universe alone. Happy endings all around! Yay!"

   Vinnie's jaw dropped. "Say, that ain't a bad idea!"

   "It does seem pretty logical," Modo agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

   "Nope, wouldn't work," Throttle grunted, earning a frown from Alley. "The stinkfish are fighters by nature. They're born straight into it and it's all they know. If Stoke's right and you can build anything with this machine, what's to stop 'em from makin' bigger, better weapons and ships and findin' some other reason to attack planets?"

   "Have to agree," Stoker added. "Aside from that, tetra-hydrocarbons aren't limitless. Their power would eventually run down, and as it's something the Regenerator can't recreate, earth would always be a prime target for Plutarkians. They'd tear this planet apart looking for new replenishment."

   Alley sighed and Charley patted her shoulder. "It was a good idea, though. Smart thinking," she encouraged.

   "It was, actually." Stoker rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed in thought as he stared down at the blueprints. "It might actually hold a bit of merit."

   "Uh-oh." Charley raised an eyebrow. "I recognize that look. What are you thinkin' now?"

   "I'm thinkin' I can recognize a good opportunity when I see one." Stoker glanced up, a sly grin curling his mouth. "Ladies and gents, I think it's time we set up a little trap of our own."

Next

[ayatosama]

the fueguchi files

chapter: one

pairing: ayahina

chapter word count: 1321

total word count: 1321

summary: Hinami Fueguchi is a celebrated detective working directly under Eto Yoshimura, one of the most prolific detectives of their generation. The only thing standing in her way from reaching her goal is her own human limitations. Enter Ayato Kirishima, a young cop looking to make detective. He’s placed under Hinami’s guidance in order to get his detective shield and ease Hinami’s work load. The two start off as polar opposites, sun and moon. But something begins to work between them, bringing Hinami closer to that one thing she can’t seem to reach. That one case that eludes her. 

based on this headcanon by @takatsukkis

Coffee. That’s what Hinami needed right now. Despite having solved a case just mere hours ago another one had landed on her desk.

“You’re the best Hina” her superior said as he dropped the very thin file onto her desk. The size of the file told her enough about the case.

Maybe she’d need some espresso in her coffee. The coffee machine was a very old model and the lines of coffee made in the past still clung to the glass pot. Like rings of tree telling you how long it’s been alive. Telling Hinami how many tired detectives had clung to this pot for some semblance of sanity. She was just another ring in this pot.

“Hina, what a great solve” Eto, her captain, pulls her in for a hug. Eto always smelled like cigarettes and lilacs. Hinami found it soothing.

“Thanks captain.”

“Listen, I know you’ve been working so hard —.”

Hinami cuts in not desiring to hear how she needs a break: “Captain, I’m totally fine.”

“I’m not taking you off the case” She says with a laugh. Eto laughed like she was the only one in the world in on a joke. Everything about Eto seemed secretive and out in the open at the same time.

“Well you sound like every other person in this office who thinks I need a break.” Hinami let out a breath. She had heard from other higher ranking detectives that she needed to slow down. But she couldnt...not just yet...not till —

“Oh I think you do, but that’s not what I was gonna tell you”

“Oh?”

“We’re transferring in a rookie to work under you, and mostly assist you.”

“Why?”

“Well he wants to be detective so think of it like training.”

“Isn’t that more work?”

“He’s mostly here to follow you around and do the monotonous stuff you don’t have time for.”

“Captain… I don’t —”

“Your hand is shaking from the copious amount of caffeine pumping through you.” She points out. Hinami hadn’t even realized her hand was trembling. So maybe she did need some help.

“I guess, we’ll will he be here in enough time for the case I just got?”

She nods, “he should be here in the hour.”

Hinami smiles as she watches Eto walk away into her office. But the smile falls flat. Her muscles too tired to even keep a smile on her face. Maybe...maybe a quick nap while she waits for the rookie to get here.

Yeah. Then a fresh start after with some much needed help.

—

Detective Hinami Fueguchi Cracks Triple Homicide

Ayato first thinks of crumpling the newspaper and tossing. Then he considers reading through to hear more about her.

Hinami Fueguchi, twenty year old detective star. Modern day Sherlock Holmes. Certificated golden child of Eto Yoshimura, the best detective this city has seen in years.

Ayato was a jealous man. Half of him angry at this girl for being higher ranked them him and younger. Half of him...proud? Enamored? Intrigued at the very least.

The cigarette in his hand was done so he tossed it on the sidewalk. He was supposed to be at the precinct in a half hour.  

Maybe I’ll pick her up a coffee, start off on the right foot.

—

Taking a nap on the break room couch was the worst idea Hinami had ever had. She woke up with a throbbing, deep kind of pain in her neck. And every time she turned her neck she felt that pain traversing down her whole body. She also could tell her hair was sticking up at an odd angle. She ties her hair up to avoid having to find that brush she hasn’t seen in months.

Exhaustion still weighs heavy on her. Though at least now she could keep her eyes open. As she’s heading out of the break room to her desk she collides with someone, as if gravity had pulled her that way for a reason.

Iced coffee splashes all over her blouse. Red splashes all over her cheeks. She steps back and grumbles at the feeling of the sticky syrup coating her skin and blouse. She’d have to go home and shower now. Before she glances up to see who ran into her a thought crosses her mind that it was Eto forcing her to leave the office by spilling the coffee.

She looks up to see a boy about her age, maybe a year or two older. Dark hair hangs in messy layers around his angular face. His eyes are the same dark color and she feels like she’s looking at the night sky when the stars are hidden. He’s beautiful. So beautiful she thinks of actually apologizing to him for spilling his coffee. But then she remembers who she is. She was a well respected detective and she wouldn’t cater to this man; no matter how beautiful he was.

“Oh fuck me.” He says looking at what the coffee had done to her shirt. He looked only mildly annoyed.

“Eloquent.” She responds and pushes past him to go see if she had some spare clothes in her locker. She did find a shirt. Not a very nice shirt to be frank. But her old anime t-shirt was better than going all the way home. She finds herself in the bathroom now, blouse unbuttoned and wiping off the stick of sugar and syrup from her chest.

Who was that guy? He wasn’t a uniform. He couldn’t be another detective. And there was no way a civilian’s response to spilling coffee on a detective would be ‘oh fuck me’. Her nerves had her rubbing the paper towel so rough a red patch was forming on chest.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Well. That’s as clean as she was going to get without showering. The bathroom door opens and Eto steps in. Her glance is quick but Hinami knows Eto has already come up with five different scenarios that would’ve landed Hinami to be washing her chest in the bathroom. Blush creeps into her cheeks at some of the reasons she might be thinking.

“I heard you met him.” Is all she says.

“Met who?” Hinami groans. Her head ache returning with a little dose of revenge pain. All she wanted was a hot bath and a cup of tea. But she couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not till she was good enough.

“Ayato.” Eto shrugs and leans forward checking her hair in the mirror.

“When did I…” realization hits Hinami. The beautiful boy, or rather Ayato, who had spilled coffee all over her landing her in this mess. “He spilled coffee on me.”

“Better than someone else.” Eto says with a sly grin. Blush once more coats Hinami’s features betraying her thoughts. Eto laughs. “Hina, you’re so sweet. Bloody murders? Sure! Sex? Oh no cover my ears.”

“Shut it.” Hinami says. “I need to go properly introduce myself to him.” She stands up straight and marches out of the bathroom. Her pulse was skyrocketing. How was she supposed to maintain an image of dignity after he had spilled coffee all over her and caused her to rush away?

Well she was about to find out. Either way she was going to regain the advantage. She was Hinami Fueguchi, celebrated detective, and she’d be damned if this rookie cop take control. She was after all his superior.

She finds him sitting by the break room. Right where she left him. Another cup was in his hands. Did he go get her another coffee? As she approaches he looks up, their eyes meet. She wants to look away but she holds his gaze. Daring him to think of her as a coward. I am in control, she breathes in, I am in charge, she breathes out.

“Nice Naruto t-shirt Detective Fueguchi.”

All her control, any semblance of power, ashes with that comment.

[matrixaffiliate]

Saudade - Risk

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

The lovely @marlmckitten made a picture post with some dialogue that I loved and decided needed a story. Enjoy!

Risk

"Sirius, are you ready?" Marlene called from the kitchen as she put the final touches on the cake she'd volunteered to bring.

"I've been ready for the last hour, Marly." Sirius' voice rang out from the sitting room.

Marlene sighed. He'd taken James and Lily's honeymoon phase a bit hard, especially when Mia and Monty had passed away just three weeks after their wedding. He'd been understanding for the first month, excusing James' behavior for how he was handling his grief, but three months into James and Lily being husband and wife, Sirius was starting to get antsy. So Marlene had suggested to Lily that the two couples have dinner together and, just as Marlene had expected, Lily threw herself into the idea of throwing a dinner party for them.

Marlene wiped off her hands and flicked her wand at the cake. It wrapped itself up in its box before following her into the sitting room.

"Well, the cake's ready now too so let's go."

Sirius grunted. She knew he was both looking forward to seeing James outside of Order business again but that he was hurt it had taken Marlene scheduling them in with Lily for it to happen.

"He's still your brother," Marlene kissed him, "he's just a bit distracted."

Sirius huffed but nodded and stepped with her to the door. They popped to the Potter's back garden and Marlene smiled when she heard James shout.

She sidestepped him just in time to let James crash into Sirius.

"Bollocks, Prongs," Sirius barely kept them upright.

"I'm just happy to see you!" James held on to him and Marlene smiled encouragingly at Sirius.

James and Sirius only had each other now as far as the Potter family went. She and Lily were doing their best, but nothing would change that these men no longer had their parents. Marlene pulled the cake along as she stepped into the little cottage that James and Lily now occupied.

"Honey, I'm home," Marlene grinned at Lily as she set the cake on the counter.

Lily responded by throwing herself at Marlene with slightly less force than James had thrown himself at Sirius.

"I'm so happy you suggested we have a little dinner party!"

Marlene chuckled, "James is rubbing off on you. You never would have done this back at school."

Lily rolled her eyes, "I was far too concerned about what everyone thought of me to be able to have fun. I know you love me so you get no filter."

"And I love you enough to work too," Marlene winked at her, "How can I help?"

Lily set Marlene to chopping and Marlene positioned herself to be able to see James and Sirius in the back garden.

"How's James been with everything?"

Lily sighed, "It comes in waves now. He'll be alright for a few days and then something will set him off and his grief overtakes him. He's handling it different than I did, so I'm never quite sure how to help."

Marlene sighed, she was the only one of the four of them with living parents now.

"Sirius is still fighting the urge to bottle it all up and pretend it doesn't bother him. I swear Lily if I could go back and kill Walburga and Orion right after they had Regulus I probably would."

Lily put a hand on her shoulder, "You've helped him so much, Mar, don't discount how far Sirius has come. Mia once told me that between you and her, Sirius would grow into a pretty amazing man."

Marlene swallowed hard and nodded, but she pushed away the melancholy when Sirius and James walked back in.

She was happy to see Sirius smiling. Whatever James had said out there seemed to have done the trick.

"Just you wait, Lily got some of her Muggle board games out and we're going to try those out. Their games seem much calmer than all of ours."

Marlene chuckled, "My dad says Muggles don't seem to get the same excitement out of their games exploding as Wizards do."

The only way Marlene could describe the rest of the evening was relaxing. They didn't talk about the war, they didn't talk about the Order, they ate dinner and laughed and then enjoyed Marlene's cake as they all argued about who would keep the leftovers.

The first game Lily pulled out had a floor mat with large red, green, yellow, and blue dots on it and a spinner. The four of them ended up twisted around each other and Sirius wasted no time in cheating by deliberately wrapping around Marlene in ways that were entirely unnecessary and mildly inappropriate for company.

Lily put an end to the game when Sirius had somehow managed to get himself over Marlene and then proceeded to start kissing her neck.

They played a game where they had to look for clues and determine what character had committed a murder and how they'd done it - the Muggle way of course, as James pointed out. Sirius won, but James insisted that he only won because Marlene showed him her hand of cards. Marlene just rolled her eyes; she wasn't sure who was more dramatic between the two brothers if anything they escalated each other.

And then James pulled a box from Lily's stack that started, or perhaps ended, everything.

"What's this one, Lil?"

"Oh, that one is a strategy game. It was made based off of World War II but you're basically trying to get your army to occupy every continent and complete a secret mission at the same time." Lily hesitated, "It can take a long time to play, love, maybe pick a different one."

"We don't have to finish the game, Lils, let's give her a go." James started pulling everything out of the box.

"Yeah, I want to crush James' armies," Sirius laughed.

"Let's play teams then," Lily started setting up the board on the floor between them. "It'll go faster that way."

"Couples it is then," Sirius grinned down at Marlene. "We fight together!"

Marlene laughed and pushed away the anxiety that tried to surface. They really did fight together, frequently back to back as spells sizzled in the air around them, on more occasions than she ever wanted to try and count.

Lily hadn't been joking, the game went on forever, but James and Sirius were determined to beat each other.

"Wake me up when you need me," Marlene yawned against Sirius.

He'd long since taken over the strategy, whispering his ideas to her as he worked it all out in his head. Marlene had been into it at first, trying to figure out what James and Lily would do next, but after three hours she was tired and ready to sleep.

"Here," Lily flicked her wand and from down the hall came a stack of blankets and pillows. "We might as well be comfortable while they finish up."

Marlene sighed happily as she wrapped herself in the warm blanket, "Merlin, Lily, I love you!"

Marlene dozed off next to Sirius, smiling when Lily mirrored her position. This was what they were living for, fighting for, to be able to lay on the floor and play a board game about a war that didn't bring the cost of life into it, to have dinner parties, to be young and in love, to be happy.

Marlene slipped into sleep with a smile on her face.

She awoke at some point to the loudest whispers she'd ever heard.

"Aren't they adorable?"

Marlene shut her eyes tighter, hoping to tune out Lily's voice.

"Let's go upstairs before they wake up."

Somehow James managed to be even louder than Lily.

"Marlene can sleep through anything." Lily scoffed at her husband.

Marlene almost growled. She most certainly did not sleep through anything.

"Well, Sirius wakes up at the drop of a pin."

Marlene felt Sirius tense behind her and realized he'd wrapped himself around her under the blanket at some point.

Fine, so maybe she did sleep through some things...

"Yeah, so? Marlene is the scary one in the mornings."

Oh-ho! So Lily thought Marlene was scary in the morning, wait till she saw her right now!

Sirius pushed up behind her before she could act on her homicidal notions.

"I swear to both of you, if you don't bugger off, I will wake her up and say it was your fault!"

"Fine, calm down we'll go up to our room." Lily laughed quietly.

"I wonder what their kids will look like." James snickered just a bit louder.

"Bugger off, Prongs, and get some sleep because you're feeding us breakfast now too."

Marlene didn't hear James response, she was too busy spinning around in Sirius' arms.

"Merlin, I love you." She whispered into his chest.

Sirius squeezed her, "I love you too."

His hands began to wander under her shirt and Marlene sighed happily.

"And I believe I should properly thank you for showing me your cards when we played that mystery game.

Marlene finally opened her eyes, ice blue meeting stormy gray, "I could definitely be persuaded in that direction."

Sirius hoisted her up to eye level with him a smirk plastered across his face.

"Happy to oblige madam," and proceeded to kiss her neck.

[never---ending---story]

A Year Redacted

Possible triggers: Death mentions/implied death, hysterics, panic, and not believing. They also call a person who’s in hysterics, insane.

See end of the post for inspirations

Word count: only 1,741

—————————————————

The morning was just another day really. It didn’t start in shambles or with the universe collapsing. Eli had woken up grumpily and everything was blurry. He forgot why. Last night he was up studying a recent breakthrough on black holes. Maybe his vision was clouded by sleep. Hopefully, it would clear up soon. So, he stumbled blindly around his apartment until he stumbled into his roommate, Damien, who snorted.

    “There you are!” He exclaimed “you left these on the bathroom counter,” he said holding out something. It was a blur of black lines. They almost looked like- oh. Glasses. They were his glasses. That was the missing piece. Eli had worn glasses for 16 years by now how could he have possibly forgotten. He felt overwhelmingly embarrassed as he put the glasses- his glasses and looked at Damien. He had a mildly amused expression on his face and his jet black hair stuck out at odd angles.

 ��  “What is it,” he asked, “you look confused. And I might add embarrassed, your cheeks red.”

    Eli sighed and shook his head “I just,” a chuckle escaped his lips “is it dumb that I forgot that I wear glasses?”

    “You forgot that you- Eli you’ve had those for-”

    “Sixteen years. Yeah, Yeah I get it. No need to harass me,” Eli crossed his arms as Damien laughed at him

    “You act like it’s the end of the world. You were probably just unreasonably tired, I saw you up at like 2 am” Eli’s roommate took a step past him, “you want some coffee? We can stop by Starbucks or someplace.”

    “We have a coffee maker idiot.”

    Damien waltzed into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. “So what? Everything is better when it’s not in this crappy apartment”. The black-haired man stood on the tip of his toes and grabbed a cereal box from the top shelf. Damien was short-ish, around 5’9, so he always wore platform shoes. They made him confident until someone commented on him. Obviously, he wasn’t wearing the shoes at 5 am seeing as he was still in his pajamas and pouring his milk before his cereal like a psychopath.

    “I hate how you make cereal,” Eli commented, “you’re worse than a serial killer.”

    “Eli, the Zodiac Killer wishes he were me”

Eli snorted and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “You do know that cereal is terrible for you right?”

Damien shrugged “That’s kinda the point. Maybe if I eat enough I’ll go into a coma. Lord knows I need to catch up on sleep.”

Eli couldn’t argue with that as he fished a handful of cereal out of the box and into his hand. He carefully tilted his head back and dumped cereal into his mouth. Damien made fake gagging noises. Eli only called it a “feast fit for a king” before he walked off to get ready for another, likely uneventful, day with the addition of Damien following him around as his mentee.

When Eli and Damien walked into the lab everything seemed okay. Nothing was out of place, besides one scientist who Eli knew as Eric Channing. The man had a brilliant mind and was usually calm and collected. Today was different. Eric ran about the lab talking to people, looking as if he were begging them to do something. Damien, who was following Eli around, nudged his shoulder.

“Is he okay?” he asked quietly, “He looks just about ready to break down.”

Eli observed Eric more. He was fidgeting and tugging on people’s arms with a look that Eli could only describe as pure fear. He was talking fast and his eyes were wide as saucers. Dr.Channing’s hair was sticking out at odd angles. He locked eyes with Eli across the room and ran over. He looked about ready to cry.

“Dr.Nunn!” He cried, grabbing both of Eli’s arms, “You have to listen to me,” he begged. Eli glanced over at Damien with worry, by the mentee only looked mildly amused. He looked back at Eric.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. 

Eric took a deep breath, “the world is going to end if we don’t stop our current time traveling project.” he said. A scientist walked by “sure it is buddy” he mumbled. Seems Eric really had gone to everybody. “If you go through with the current project you’ll get us all killed.” Eric continued as if he hadn’t heard, which judging by the desperation he probably didn’t.  He was too caught up in his own story that he didn’t notice. “I know you’re close to Carson! You have-” He pushed on, but Damien interrupted.

“Eric, are you okay. Do you need a doctor?” he asked

Eric looked ready to explode. “I AM A DOCTOR!” he all but screamed. He looked over to Eli again, a silent prayer hidden in his eyes. “Elijah you have to believe me.” he got choked up, “I don’t want to die. Not like this.”

Eli didn’t know what to think. Eric looked so serious, but the world wasn’t going to end. He would’ve known.

“Eric, where did you hear this?” Eli asked, and Eric looked crushed. Before he could get upset and say Eli didn’t believe him he started speaking. “I need solid evidence. It’s literally a part of my job. How did you hear that? What’s going to happen?”

Eric’s brown eyes lit up a bit but the fear on his face never left. “It’s hard to explain, but I found that the required amount of energy we need is just too much. After doing some calculations I found that if we go through with this it will-”

“Cause a power shortage?” Damien guessed, “that’s not the end of the world”

“Would you shut up Mr.Lee!? It’s not just going to cause a shortage it’s going to destroy the universe!” A chill went up Eli’s spine as Eric continued. “Either it would cause a reaction like the Big Bang that would wipe us out in minutes! Maybe even seconds. Or it would completely obliterate time and space.”

Eli felt a trickle of sweat trail down the back of his collar. Fear was in his every muscle. That couldn’t be real. Damien of the other hand had an unreadable emotion on his face

“That’s not funny Eric,” He said seriously, “do your math again. People like Eli have been studying this stuff for years.”

A few tears fell down Eric’s face but he wiped them away. “You’re horrible,” he hissed, “I’ve spent just as long on this project.” he was looking to Eli once more, “you believe me right? I’m not crazy…right?”

Eli wanted to say that he wasn’t crazy, but Damien was right. Eli had spent six years on this project. He and his team couldn’t have forgotten about something as important as that.

“Eric,” he said gently, pulling his arms out of the young man’s grasp, “I think you need to see a psychiatrist, or maybe just catch some sleep.”

Eric broke down then and there. He sobbed and fell to the floor. Eli wanted to console him, but the head of the lab, Dr. Carson Anderson, said he would handle it, so Damien dragged Eli away.

The next day, Eric was at his desk when Eli walked into the office. He was calmly typing out something on his computer.

Damien gave Eric an odd look and whispered to Eli, “It looks like someone needed a nap.” Eli glared at him and elbowed him in the side.

When the time came for the lab’s time travel unit to be tested, they were holding the envelope they were going to send. Eli bounced around excitedly with his fellow scientists (and Damien) as final checks were made. Everything was going fine. And still, everyone seemed on edge. Eric’s words bounced around Eli’s head, “Either it would cause a reaction like the Big Bang, Or it would completely obliterate time and space.”

Speaking of the devil, Eric calmly walked into the room and handed a letter to Dr.Carson Anderson. It was in a neat envelope, with a fancy lab wax seal. Carson smiled at Eric and put a hand on his shoulder as he spoke to him. When Eric was done talking to Carson, he walked over to Eli, and Damien. 

Eli tapped him on the shoulder as the head of the lab packaged the letter they were sending. Apparently it was being sent back in time. As odd as it was, no one dared doubt, Carson. After all, he was a genius. Eric hummed in acknowledgment of Eli.

“Are you feeling any better,” he asked, “you were kind of a wreck yesterday.”

Eric shrugged, looking at his feet, ‘I’ve learned to cope.”

As Dr.Carson put the envelope in the machine, Damien asked: “So, your calculations were incorrect?”

Dr.Channing shook his head solemnly “No. We’re all going to die”. His voice was scarily calm and Eli felt himself shiver. “The letter they’re sending isn’t the one they wanted me to write. It’s a letter to the past. Kind of like a suicide letter, maybe a letter of mass homicide. It depends on how you look at it really.”

Eli was definitely shaking. From head to toe.

“I ran my numbers. Again and again. Nothing I did was wrong,” he looked at Eli and Damien with a dead stare. How ironic. “I’ve learned to accept it. Maybe if you believed me, you would have too.”

Damien put his hand on Eli’s shoulder as a comforting gesture. He could tell how utterly terrified Eli felt.

“We’re not going to die,” he whispered, “he’s just insane.” This didn’t help Eli’s nerves. He felt like crying. Was this how Eric felt.

Carson put his hand on the lever and started a countdown from ten with a broad smile.

Ten

Eli turned to Damien and shook his head, “I can’t do this.” he whispered

Eight

Damien quickly realized that if Eli was scared, he was bound to get scared too. Now was the moment

Six

Eric shook his head and checked his watch.

Four

 Eli hugged Damien and buried his face in his jacket as the crowd of scientists got to three. “You’re my best friend, I love you,” He said, just loud enough for Damien to hear.

Two

Damien hugged him back tightly. “Eli I,-”

There was no time for anything else. 

—————————————————

That’s my story, inspired by a school prompt. Here’s the newsletter I was given. This is what Eric sent to the past as a warning.

[pseudinymous]

Doing Math on the River Styx - 1

Phic Phight / Team Ghost / word count not final

Prompt by Zainymusings:

In an effort to keep Danny from failing out of Casper High and becoming Dan, the ghosts band together to tutor Danny in various subjects (Technus in math, Ghostwriter in Language Arts, etc.) Shenanigans ensue.

Chapter Index: 1 / 2

“I, TECHNUS, GHOST MASTER OF ALL THINGS ELECTRONIC AND BEEPING, COMMAND THE GHOST CHILD TO FIND THE VALUE OF X!”

The Ghostwriter looked vacantly at Technus as if his brains were about to leak out of his ears, and for the first time in his life Danny felt as if he might agree. The three of them had been locked away in this library for all of fifteen minutes and they were already getting on each other’s nerves, but anything to prevent Danny from turning into the dreaded Dan Phantom was worth it. So here they were.

“You can’t just command him to find the value of x, Technus. You actually have to teach,” said the Ghostwriter, somehow keeping his patience. “Not everyone has a way with numbers, you know. He can’t just magic the answer out of thin air.”

Technus stared at him, dumbstruck. “Really? Human children can’t do that?”

“Most people can’t do that,” the Ghostwriter lamented, head within his hands. “Look at him, he’s just staring into that piece of paper as if the world itself is coming to an end. That’s not the look of someone who has clarity on a topic, Nicolai.”

“Fine then, you teach him!”

“Me? Teach math? In what universe? Christ, I’d pass out.”

“Will the both of you just shut up?!” Danny finally yelled, his voice shuddering the non-existent library foundations and sending them both silent. “Maybe I can do this! But we’re never going to find out if you just keep arguing with each other!”

Both ghosts suddenly realised their position in all of this — namely having gotten out of their chairs in the heat of that mildly passionate debate — and retook their seats quickly in their own embarrassment. “Sorry,” muttered the Ghostwriter, quietly. Technus didn’t apologise. What a surprise.

“… So, what part of this equation do you not understand?” said Technus, eventually.

“X,” said Danny, and Writer let out a smirk from the background. “I mean where are you even supposed to get the x from?”

Technus was feeling confident.

“You start with the first part of the equation, then you do the equation in your head, and then you only have x leftover.”

Danny’s head hit the desk. “Are you joking? That doesn’t make any sense at all!”

“He’s right, it doesn’t,” said the Ghostwriter, matter-of-factly. Technus glared at him. “If it’s any consolation, I’d like to use my keyboard to bend reality such that he would learn everything he ever needed to know in an instant, but unfortunately he destroyed it last Christmas.”

“Don’t remind me,” Danny moaned. “I can’t take much more of this, I gotta go home.”

Technus wasn’t having a bar of this. “The value of x is 16! 16!” he yelled, as if that would make his point clearer. “See! Now you can do this type of problem! Now you can find the next value of x!!”

Danny stood up from his chair about as calmly as he could manage. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather just learn the normal way from Lancer. I’m—”

“—What about literature?” the Ghostwriter cut in desperately, after watching his afterlife flash before his eyes. “Math might not be your strong point, but there’s more than just one subject.”

Danny looked at Ghostwriter as if he, too, had as much of a hole in his head as Technus. “Really? And are you gonna be any better at this than the Lord of Electricity over here?”

“I’m legitimately qualified to teach. Unlike the Lord of Electricity over there, as you so aptly put it.”

“… What? Seriously?”

“You don’t honestly think I made any money writing novels, do you?” asked the writer, looking a bit too wry for Danny’s liking. “No one does. I would’ve starved without a side job.”

Technus suddenly stood up. “ACTUALLY HE NEVER PUBLISHED ANY NOVELS, HE—”

A book came out of nowhere and smashed heavily into the back of Technus’s head. Danny watched him arc gracefully through the air, face aghast and twisting as he went, before he was gracelessly plastered all over the wooden library floor. The Ghostwriter’s brow was raised. “Oh,” he said. “How did that ever happen?”

“TELEKINESIS ISN’T FAIR GHOSTWRITER.”

“And why not? You’re perfectly capable yourself.”

“YOU KNOW IT’S ONLY ON TECHNOLOGY! BUT WE’RE STUCK IN THIS PLACE WITH ALL OF YOUR THINGS, YOU—”

A book mysteriously slid off its shelf and landed on straight on top of Technus, striking his head a second time. “Oh, it seems after three decades I’m still having accidents, I’m very sorry about this Nicolai.”

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!” Technus screeched back. Another book struck him. The Ghostwriter grinned in delight.

“Dude, you’re enjoying that way too much,” said Danny eventually, his eyes wide open. “I thought you didn’t like to fight.” “A series of unfortunate events is not a fight,” said the Ghostwriter. He was far too happy about this situation, and he showed it with two long rows of very sharp serrated teeth. “Shall we say, it’s been a long time coming.”

“But can’t he… I dunno, kill you or something?”

The ghost shrugged. “I don’t know. Can he? Or did he accidentally become part of a pact in which he agreed I wouldn’t come to harm, then act like a monumental prat such that I might like to make every book in this god-forsaken library slide off its shelf and hit him? I suppose we’ll never know.”

… Danny refused to unpack any of that. Technus remained unmoving on the floor as if this might be the best course of action while the Ghostwriter simply stood there, apparently contemplating homicide. This was beyond messed up. But what the heck had he expected when he’d agreed to tutoring sessions in the Ghost Zone?

… Ghostwriter kind of had a point about Technus’s math teaching skills, though.

“Now that we have some peace and quiet,” said Writer, whose teeth were clenched on each of those final descriptors and whose gaze was also fixed precisely on Technus, “Perhaps you could enlighten me as to what you need to study in English class.”

Danny breathed. Maybe they could do this. Maybe it was still possible. “Nineteen Eighty-Four,” he said, staring at the sheet of paper in front him, covered in mathematics so poorly executed it was a wonder it didn’t shift the fabric of space on its own. He swapped it quickly for his English book. “I got to sort of skim it at home, but ghosts kept attacking during Lancer’s lectures.”

The ghost sat down again, slowly. “… Orwell? Very well… A bit dry, but that’s fine. They’re after an analysis essay, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” the Ghostwriter began, “Those are reasonably straightforward. All you really have to do is read the question, make something up, and argue it.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed. “Lancer said we shouldn’t make stuff up.”

“Funny how in an analysis on fiction, the writing of which is the very act of making stuff up, you’re asked not to make anything up at all. No, that’s a misconception. What you actually need to do is pretend you’re the author and lie.”

“Lie?”

“About everything,” said the Ghostwriter sagely, tapping his finger on the desk. “You can’t know for sure what was in the author’s head unless they tell you, which is fine, because it means the English teachers don’t know the difference either.”

The little cogs and gears inside Danny’s brain started to fall into place, but it wasn’t a place they’d ever fallen into before. He felt attacked, almost as if stuck in some kind of weird trap, like his fight or flight reflex should be going off. “… That seems pretty suss, why should I even listen to advice like that?”

Ghostwriter seemed almost bored. “You do realise I have a vested interest in not seeing you going insane and killing everyone?”

“Yeah, that seems kind of bad,” Technus chimed in from the floor.

“Even I’m not vindictive enough the jeopardise my own existence.”

Danny turned from his paper and looked from one ghost to the other. Were they... suddenly more tired? “… So…” he began, slowly. “Did Clockwork put you both up to this?”

Technus finally managed to peel himself away from the floorboards. “Came knocking on both our doors. Said we had to do something so that That Future didn’t happen. It’s like, as if you failing classes is tied up in the cosmos to you becoming a mass murderer or something.”

Great. Fantastic. Passing his classes was the one thing Danny didn’t seem able to do, and that was apparently the tightrope that stopped him from becoming an evil megalomaniac who murders his family members and god knows who else. Perfect. Would’ve been nice if Clockwork could’ve given him a heads up about that one before his grades started slipping into the D- range. He stared at his empty English book page and groaned.

“God,” Danny muttered. “We’ve gotta make this work…”

Chapter Index: 1 / 2

[atqh16]

Set Precedents

Matt Murdock & Franklin “Foggy” Nelson

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fix-it, Also me screwing it up, two parter.

AO3

Foggy came into the world with all intents and purposes, to be the best version of himself that he could be. He didn't always have the self confidence or unwavering faith in himself to take the risks that he needed to to get there. And in a way that was what Matt was to him. Inspiring, confident, boundless, almost flighty in how he always flew too close to the sun, always trusting that he could be near enough to never get burned. Always trusting that his wings would take him as high as he wanted and never thinking for a second about how much it would hurt to fall. And he fell and it had hurt and Foggy hurt with him because why had he not tried harder to warn him? Why he he not tried harder to call him back? Why had he not tried harder to ground him when he saw the sun beginning to peak behind the clouds. But Matt had fallen and even worse was that no one had caught him and Foggy had to watch him beat back at every helping hand that came to close and somehow that hurt worst because a grounded Matt was one Foggy had never known. Had never earned the apprehension to meet. And Foggy had tried his best to help him fly again. To help him from making decisions that would ground him for the rest of his life.

"Did you tell Brett that I was planning to kill Fisk?" Foggy chokes on his beer, placing it back on the coffee table with his pizza slice and tries really hard not to look and feel guilty. "I may have hinted that a mutual friend might do something he would regret" He waits for the outburst. The bridled anger behind curled fists and stiff shoulders. The indignation that Foggy had the audacity to meddle in his life, his choices, his integrity. As if Foggy hadn't thrown his chips in with the lot the second Matt had turned up to their dorm room and fate decided they would be best friends for the next half of a decade through all the bad career decisions, homicidal life choices and grief over assumed deaths. Foggy holds his breath in anticipation for the next tense argument that might have Matt be the one to storm out of the apartment this time. Because just because he was back or they had worked together again and were planning to in the future didn't mean that Matt would start to understand why Foggy felt the way he did about the Masked Man being his best friend. Even if Foggy himself had made it clear that he would try to understand why he did it in the first place. In all honesty it wasn't that Foggy didn't understand his best friends motives or that Matt wasn't trying to understand his. It's that Foggy still couldn't accept that Matt might get himself hurt. Would probably get himself caught or killed and that Hell's Kitchen didn't have a right to demand Matt take the risks he did to make it a better place. But instead he understood and accepted that Matt wanted to take the risks in the first place. That he wanted to be what the city needed and that it was already too much a part of him for Matt to let go without clamping his teeth down and keep on flying ever closer to the sun because that's where he truly felt alive. Where he truly felt like he was what he had been born to be.   But was it really so hard to understand that it was difficult for Foggy to bear the fear or seeing his best friend fall again? To sleep nights where Matt visited him bloody and broken and possibly wake up mornings where Matt was six feet under and rotting. Was it so hard to understand that Foggy didn't want to lose Matt not only to deaths waiting hands but also to the abyss that was the mask should it swallow him with its rage and cynicism and utter lost of faith that the laws they've worked so hard to uphold truly mattered as little as flimsy wet parchment. Was it so hard to understand that Foggy didn't want to lost his best friend? So he waits with a thumping beat in his chest only to be surprised when Matt turns to him with a sigh instead of a huff. "I'm not mad at you Foggy", he says. Swirling the almost empty content of his beer bottle in his hand in absent minded swirls. "To be honest I'm sort of grateful you did" There's a beat of silence and..... "Jesus Christ Matt, the next time you wanna express your gratitude can you not make it look and sound like you're about to bite my head off?!" That has Matt letting out a chuckle. It's easy, relaxed. In a way it hasn't been between them for a while now. "Well with all the head biting you've done on my part I figured you deserved a little bit of suspense" "Ha.Ha. You're hilarious. I think stand up might be a calling for you", Foggy takes a swig from his beer, his own mildly frailed nerves starting to calm. "So what changed?" He prompts. The atmosphere between them familiar enough now that he knows this is territory he's allowed to walk on. That this was more of an invitation from Matt than he'll ever get. Matt lets out an amused hum, "After what happened- with Electra, midland circle, Fisk, you and Karen coming back despite everything", the last part he adds in a gentle quiet tone, "I think it sort of hit me how much you've always grounded me. How you've Always sort of made sure I never went too far. I know I've always... I'm not...", He hesitates. Foggy wonders if Matt is trying to hold back the urge to look away. This is strange grounds he knows, for Matt to bring up his flaws unprompted and without prodding. It has nothing to do with ego but instead a sense of self preservation. Of being gaslighted your whole life into believing that showing weakness meant that you weren't worth being cared for. To be noticed and seen. It was bad enough that his blindness was something he could never hide and instead had to manoeuvre around in order to live his life. But it was worse when people tended to realise that the whole charming duckling and confident facade was in fact a facade. A way for him to feel like he has something over others that they could never take. A sense of assurance over who he is and what he was, stupid decisions be damned. He owns up to them. Doesn't let them tear him down. He can't. But foggy has never gawked at his flaws or treated him differently for it. Has never even seen his blindness as a handicap that made Matt difficult, just different. To him it was simply having a friend who had to live in the world a little differently but ultimately it didn't make him a hindrance, merely something to be understood and treated as a person undefined by it. Foggy has always tried to see him for who he is. He realised in the past few weeks that he had never appreciated that enough. So he looks Foggy straight in the eyes -or tries his best to- and takes a deep breath "I know I haven't been the most reliable friend lately. That I've been taking risks and decisions that i didn't think through about how it would effect you and the firm. Especially after you trusted me enough to be your partner and be daredevil at the same time. I just wanted you to know that I do appreciate it. That you trust me but you still hold out a net anyway because you still can't take the chance the I might get hurt. I get it. And I'm grateful" The urge to duck his head after that speech somehow intensifies but the need melts away when he feels Foggy life his arm to clasp his shoulder in a reassuring grip. As if he could somehow tell Matt in that simple touch how much he did it not only because he cared - because Foggy always cared so much for his friends even if they didn't deserve it- but also how Matt was worth caring for regardless of what he thought. "Thank's buddy. But no need to thank me. It's what family's for" And that right there is what makes Foggy so dear. That even when he's angry or upset. Even when he disagrees with Mats decisions he's still there. Still willing to embrace Matt with all his might and reassure him that he still belonged. That he still had a home no matter what. Because if Matts a bird and the sun is what he chases, then Foggy is the air and wind that lifts him ever higher. Pushing him even when his wings tire and pulling him down when the flares burn to harshly and most importantly always pushing him forward. And then Foggy dies and suddenly there's nothing left to keep him afloat.