#benimaru pining

Sometimes there’s the sound of footsteps passing by at the other side of the door, each time making you hold your breath with dread. But nothing happens – not even when the passer by(s) stop outside as if they’re about to enter. Time just passes and you start to tire from the constant vigilance.

At some point, a bland meal arrives through a hatch and slide in the wall by the desk. Nothing impressive. Nothing that tempts you enough to risk anything by eating or drinking it out of fear of what might be in it. I’m overreacting. They caught me, so why would they spike the food or water? But the worry remains unmoved by any amount of logic you can muster.

...  Konro   ...

Everything has descended into madness.

After returning from the kitchen fire, Konro had presumed that the absence of Beni and [Y/N] was a natural result of their slow start together, but when the night had almost dragged by and the world started to stir, only the captain returned. A grim expression on his face was underlined by the clench of his jaw and fists, his clothes singed and torn.

“Where is -” The question is unnecessary. “Where did you search?”

Benimaru sinks down on the nearest chair. “Third. She’s not there.”

The aftermath of Benimaru’s unsanctioned “search” hit shortly after that.

Representatives from Haijima and the highest up of the Special Fire Force are staring down at the two men from Asakusa, one of which has his mind somewhere else entirely. The last thing needed to dissolve some of the tension is for the captain of Seventh to come off as wry, cooperative, and standoffish.

“I don’t know about a guy with a dark coat and wide-rimmed hat,” Konro sighs, rubbing the scar running across his face, “all I know is that an Asakusan citizen is missing now and that captain Giovanni has practically harassed us on several occasion previous to tonight.” Say something. He attempts to project the desperate wish into Benimaru’s brain. Something useful, he adds.

An exasperated huff betrays one of the Haijima guys, a sleazy man called Oguru, but it’s the Agency Chief who speaks up. “Giovanni...is not a captain anymore.”

Finally, the only captain present seems to listen although his face reveals nothing.

Konro lets his hand fall from his face. “Please explain.”

“As you might know from co-operating with Company Eight, certain...issues have come to light that have dishonoured Giovanni’s standing and warranted his arrest which was set to be handled less than 48 hours ago.”

“Was set to be...?” the lieutenant stressed the grammatical choice.

A potent silence drags out.

“...a simple task which the Fire Force leadership was not able to carry out,” Oguru butts in coldly, “instead allowing him to escape with his research and plans.”

“Hrm,” the Chief grumps, “probably into the Nether.”

Konro’s mind blanks out for a second, not even able to think of curses strong enough for what he knows will happen.

...   Reader   ...

Your body has betrayed you, allowing you to dose off after hours of hyper-vigilance, and so it comes as a shock when the door is wrenched open to allow an oddly dressed girl to enter the room – a baggy, white onesie that somehow doesn’t manage to make her appear anywhere near decent is topped by a crown that has slid past the forehead.

“Awww! You didna wike what we gave you, huh?” she trills, an edge of insanity looming close in her voice, “well, don’t wowwy wittle girl! We won’t give you anymore.” The last sentence stands in sharp contrast, suddenly void of any emotion or caricatured childishness.

Rather than engage, you remain on the cot and only watch the cold mannerism disappear to make room for impatience. She’s insane! Whatever horrors you had concocted at night, growing up in fear of the many dangers a homeless girl could suffer, none has prepared you for this.

“Get up!” the girl orders.

She can only be a handful of year younger than you. Reminds me of a spoiled toddler. And just like a brat, the tantrum follows much too quickly and unleashes an electrical jolt that spans the distance and enter your body with a sharp pain before everything turns numb.

“Wha-...?”

Numb, but not limp. Your body moves as if invisible strings have been attached at every joint, forcing you to stumble past the grinning girl and into the dark corridor beyond. Fear claws at your lungs, causing bile to boil in the guts at every useless attempt of regaining control.

...   Benimaru   ...

Mmmmrrr...too early...Benimaru slings a towel over the bare shoulder and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Wanna sleeeep. But he can’t today. Today he has to get up early to get the new watch plan working: no one is going to enter Asakusa without either him or Konro knowing.

Still half asleep, he stumbles to the nearest showers, confident that he’s the only one who’s up at the crack of dawn.

Warm, humid air engulfs him when he open the door, and it takes a moment longer before realization hits that someone else is in fact awake. Only a single lantern is lit to light the room. Standing on a bench next to a pile of mix-match clothes it illuminates the vapour in the air and casts a warm glow on [Y/N] standing under the running water. Drops sparkle like stars on the wet skin as they gather to form a waterfall along the spine, down between the buttocks, and finally splash between the feet – feet that are much daintier than the guys’ stinky ones after a day inside the heavy boots.

Benimaru is awake. Very awake, although the situation seems surreal enough to be a dream. I shouldn’t be here. He manages to suppress a confused groan. I shouldn’t watch...I should leave. Backing out the way he arrived, the captain struggles to think of a way he can forget what he saw or apologize for walking in on her – mainly because he’s got a nagging feeling that she’ll tear his head off if or when she finds out...but also because...because...

Damnit. Back in his own room already, he grumbles at himself for not going all the way to the men’s showers. How could I know? No one’s awake at this time normally?! It’s not the first time, the women’s shower has been put to use by either Benimaru or any of the other guys...but of course things has changed now there actually is a woman around (the twins don’t count and they’re normally noisy during bath time anyways).

Still, the curves and slopes of [Y/N]’s body in the shower is burned into his mind’s eye. Calloused fingers tug at his strands of black hair. Perhaps it’s an attempt to get the brain working, perhaps it’s instead of tugging at something else because Benimaru is becoming aware of a steadily growing issue. Nonono, not like this! Not...not her.

She’s smart, or rather streetwise, and has a tenacity and fearlessness rivalling that of the best of his men who (by the way) all have been charmed by her almost since day one. And she’s infuriating, stubborn, kind, gorgeous and...Benimaru falters, painfully aware of the row of complimenting adjectives he would use about the woman.

“And I promised to protect her,” he sighs. Not fall for her.

...  Reader   ...

“Konro,” you mutter nervously to the guy, “what’s going on?”

You can sense his chuckle more than actually hear it over the hubbub of the street where vendors are busy trying to keep up with their customers’ demands. “Haven’t you been listening? They’ll help keep you safe.”

Glancing back at the district’s oldest citizen, you can’t help but wonder what the ancient woman can do to ensure no one will come for you.

“That’s...nice.”

She’s the fourth person to conspiratorially whisper to you, transforming a simple shopping trip into a test of paranoia versus cold reasoning. And yes, you have been listening. You listened already the first time Benimaru announced you were going to enjoy the protection of Company Seven’s base whether you liked it or not...you just hadn’t believed him and, oh boy, had that taught you a lesson! Whenever he appears behind you, there’s a brief tension at the base of your skull.

“Why, though? They don’t know me.”

Konro glances over before returning his attention to the oranges. “Because Beni’s told them to.”

Pfft. “They do everything he says?”

“I rarely tell them to do anything,” a drawl comes from behind you, “but now you mention it...you’re the first one to ignore me and look what that brought you.”

A fucking headache. Twice. “So you’re saying you’re not always a pain?”

You haven’t turned, preferring to help Konro on the hunt for ripe fruits instead, but you know he’s rolling his eyes under the tussled hair. I should probably be nicer to him. After all, he’s the reason you’ve not in a lab somewhere, locked up until there’s nothing left to use.

“[Y/N]...” Shinmon sighs with a note of defeat.

“Benimaru,” you reiterate, finally turning and almost bumping into him due to the unexpected proximity, “I get that you’ve g-”

“We need to talk.”

The severity in his tone silences you. I’m in trouble? It wouldn’t exactly surprise you. Stumped by the captain’s intensity, you don’t even object as he grabs you by the hand and leads you back to Company Seven’s station.

The air is cold against your skin as he lets go, snatching his hand back as if he’d barely been able to stand touching you this long – not unlike how you should be feeling yourself. Your hand hovers momentarily where he’s left it in midair as you gather your wits enough to kick off the shoes (no longer stolen, but payed for with both money and an apology for your actions).

“Konrooo...” the lad tries, “maybe you could -”

“No.”

“But you don-”

“Yes, I know what you want to ask and the answer is no.” There’s no way Konro is going to be stuck as a negotiator between those two. Both are stubborn, emotional, and smitten to the point that they can’t see clearly. “But if you don’t get your ass together, then I won’t cook for you anymore.”

“You can’t do that!”

Benimaru has always viewed the other man as calm and level-headed, someone who always manages to think before acting. Where Beni can lose his temper easily, Konro never shouts or gets truly angry. But eventually, even the strongest patience can be worn down.

“Boy!” Konro whips around to face him, sharp knife clutched in his hand. “Don’t test me. Stop whining like a baby and go tell her how you feel. Now!”

Of course he feels guilty straight away, still it’s a relief to see the astounded guy stumble to his feet and hurry out the kitchen.

...  Reader   ...

The watchtower has become one of your favourite spots in in all of Asakusa. Up here, you can see the entire district sprawling beneath...and no one can get close without you noticing them beforehand as long as you pay attention. Which you don’t always. At least not right now.

Lying on your back with the legs stretched up against the supporting timber, your focus has strayed to a silly bird is trying to steal loose fibres from the bell’s rope, only to have to give up each time it’s found a string to pull at because the other end is impossibly stuck. The little animal is getting increasingly frustrated. Just give up...some things are meant to be. Yellow and grey feathers fluff with anger at yet another defeat until the bird surveys the remaining options. Don’t bother. As if hearing your thought, it flutters off with an undignified squeak and you watch it disappear between the houses below.

“So this’s where you hide.”

The deep voice causes you to squeak and you scramble to face the one person you’d been trying to avoid by climbing up here in the first place.

“Shinmon.” Why does he have to look so good when the wind tussles his hair? “What...I’m not hiding.”

On your feet, you wish you were tall enough to look down at him to feel superior. Benimaru is always acting aloof, never letting anyone see what he’s thinking...unless everything really does bore him. Or annoy him. This time you notice a faint pull of his lips.

“Hiding or not...we need to talk,” he sighs.

What’ve I done now? Something has changed the day of the raid.

You’ve been feeling it in the silences...or maybe it’s all in your mind. Maybe there really isn’t something brewing in Benimaru’s eyes when he backs off from challenges he’d have picked up on before. Or could it be that Konro’s calm finally have rubbed off on the guy? He barely talks to you, and half the time he begins a conversation it dissolves into nothing and he leaves but only after lingering at the very end before leaving the room. The whole thing has been pissing you off.

“So....talk,” you challenge. As expected, he keeps quiet preferring to lean against the railing rather than face you. “Well, if you won’t then I will!” And don’t you dare look at me while I give you a piece of my mind. “Obviously, it’s brought a lot of complications from the day I’ve stayed here. No, it wasn’t entirely voluntarily from my side to begin with...staying here, I mean,” you begin to falter as you have to search for the words but try to pull yourself together, “and you made it very clear that it wasn’t out of consideration for my needs, which I suppose is fair enough but take your petty grievances out on someone else than me when you regret that decision or have the decency t-”

“I don’t regret it, damnit!” Suddenly, he’s backed you against the beam, arms caging you in as he leans over you. “What bothers me is not you staying with us but the idea of you being gone!”

Logically, you know the life down on the streets still is bustling with all the usual noises and smells, but Benimaru and you are suddenly isolated in a little bubble up under the sky and time is standing still there.

“...gone?”

“Dunno when it started or why it took me so long but I realized that day...” He licks his lips quickly. “O-bāchan...of course she had to meddle and she can be impossible to deny. She knew what she was doing when she came to get you, trust me.”

“I thought I knew that she knew but now I think what she knew was something else than I thought...”

That sentence had made a lot more sense in your brain.

“The point is -” and you could have sworn the man was blushing now -“I want you to stay because I...I really like you.”

Then why are you being such an a-oooh! His gaze has never been so tender. His hand is warm and gentle as it cradles your cheek and you can’t help but lean into it. The two of you have touched before when sparring, but to slowly let your hands wander up his chest before snaking behind his neck – it sends goosebumps racing all the way to your toes. Your breath won’t go any deeper than the top half of your lungs, but it doesn’t matter as long as Benimaru’s lips are neari-

“Now what?” he drawls and your subconscious projects lewd images into your mind – most scenarios where he is pulling your hair for “slightly other” reasons.

Your own hand is small around his wrist but the grip is strong and he doesn’t fight as hard against you as a real attack would which means you can pull him along into a tumble that lands you splayed over him on the ground. The hard panes of his muscles cushions your back a bit while the air is knocked out of him. The only problem now is that he somehow has the wits to change the grip, locking your arms by the elbows – the tangle of limbs is angling you awkwardly and pressing you chest out and shoulders back. A slight tilt of the head brings his bored expression into view.

I can grind into his groin, catching him by surprise and -

“Waka! WAKA!” Mamoru and a few of the other men burst out into the sunlit back yard.

Fists clenched, chests heaving, and eyes filled with nervousness, it’s obvious even to you that something’s wrong. Benimaru must have realized to, because he releases you and pulls you to your feet as he urges the men for an explanation.

“Civilian cops -” Mamoru doesn’t get further for the others.

“- they’re everywhere -”

“We heard it’s the same in Sumida and Taito!”

The panicked voice glide into the background and you grab the oversized clothes you had discarded before the sparring, pulling on socks and shoes without bothering to wipe the sand off your feet.

“Other places too, but the worst thing is -”

Mamoru finally manages to overpower his team mates, “- everywhere Company Three is conveniently there too.”

Shinmon’s voice calms your galloping heart though the words are lost on you – they are not meant for you anyways, but the men who set out to track and delay the unwanted search units in their progress as according to the Worst Case Scenario Plan.

“[Y/N].” Like conjured out of nowhere, Benimaru stands before you, his hot hands wrapping tenderly but sternly around your upper arms. “Keep your head clear. You know what to do?”

You could drown in the calm fire of his mix-match eyes. “Yes.”

“Don’t come out until I come for you...” It almost seems like he wants to say something more, his gaze flicking across your face, but his mouth closes and he turns you with a slight push to get you moving.

And move you do.

For once, you don’t bother about removing your shoes as you speed inside, feet beating a scrambling tattoo as you rush down the hallways and into the men’s bathroom (keeping you gaze fixed on the window and ranting apologies to the startled guy who is unaware of anything going on outside). It’s a stretch for you to get up and through the half-sized window, only pausing to check if the little back street is clear.

As you spill out onto the ground ungracefully, a little thought in the back of you head says you’ll be bruised from this. Thankfully, adrenaline is coursing through your veins and forces the body to move on its own.

Over the wall into the neighbour’s garden.

Spot the little outhouse in the north-west corner...and onto the roof while keeping low.

The thoughts have warped into Benimaru’s voice instead of your own, keeping the objective clear just like he would have wanted. Dirty hands reach for the second floor window in the next house, sliding the loose glass pane sideways without the slightest tremble. Are those my hands? They must be, because they do as you want, reaching in and unlocking the window.

It’s a storage room, you realize after entering and closing the unorthodox entry. Technically, some bored-looking wise ass had revealed that days ago but it only really becomes relevant enough to understand now as you clock the futon in the corner. Under there, there’s a couple of altered floorboards to create a hiding space.

Pushing up the cover, you glare at the cramped spot, a hand sliding across your stomach that has gotten softer thanks to Konro’s amazing cooking granting you regular meals. It’ll be tight. Very tight.

...   Benimaru   ...

Cops. Benimaru can’t recall the last time they had set foot in Asakusa – the district has been more or less self-governing for as long as anyone can remember and institutions like police and firefighters had been a part of the neighbourhood watch roles. Still is, but a fraction of them (the ones best at handling combustions) had been selected by Konro and formed the Seventh’s Special Fire Force. The people of Asakasu protect their own...but it had still taken too long to round up the unwelcome “visitors” and even longer to find the sleazy bastard from Company Three who had managed to sneak into the headquarters.

It had taken all of Benimaru’s willpower to keep from reducing the man to ashes. The taste of blood seeped into his mouth, while Doctor Giovanni spoke of the so-called righteous need to study and use (abuse) the young woman. Fiery rage simmered beneath the captain’s skin at the outsider’s obvious lack of compassion, the refusal to see [Y/N] as a human with rights.

Thankfully, Konro had been able to think. His voice could cut stone as he calmly stated what the accepted channels for cross-jurisdiction work were and in particular how they had been violated during this “unauthorized operation”.

That’s when they were handed the official documentation overruling anyone in Asakusa. I could take them on and win. But Konro took the option away by accepting the order from the higher-ups and telling Company Seven to stand aside.

...

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Konro grated out.

No. The twins had been fast, grabbing the few belongings that could betray [Y/N]’s existence and stashing them in the storage together with other goodwill things.

“The intel was...incomplete,” Giovanni conceded, goosebump-inducing sweetness slathered onto every word. “I’m thankful for your help. It’s a relief to know we can trust our colleagues across all of Tokyo to be true to the law and the interest of the nation. Imagine if someone had indeed kept vital information Haijima and the Holy Sol...”

Benimaru nearly cracked his teeth at that, but managed to keep a stoic facade despite the inner rage.

“Yes, where would we be without the government?” Konro reiterated rhetorically. “Humanity would be vulnerable, and we’re here to protect the people, after all.”

The words hung for a moment heavy in the room until the sound of departing vehicles rumbled by the building. Police is leaving.

“...indeed. Yes.” A few fingers touched the brim of the hat, tipping it lightly in salute. “At least today was...fruitful.”

What? The two men in charge of Company Seven didn’t dare move until the door had closed behind Giovanni. [Y/N]. I have to...she has to...if she’s not -

...   Reader   ...

You’re still not entirely sure you won’t get in trouble (actually, knowing Shinmon and his grumpiness: you’re screwed), but you’ve learned not to argue with the old woman who finally seems to be pleased with the situation.

“This is my favourite tea, dear,” O-bāchan smiles as she readies the leaves and waits for the water to reach the perfect temperature.

When she first pulled you out of the hiding hole (she’s surprisingly strong!), she had tutted at the sight and refused to listen to explanations or excuses while ushering you along. Then she’d drawn a bath for you (which had been lovely considering the sweat from the training and then the dust) and laid out a clean yukata to wear. Once you were re-freshened, she’d prepared a light meal for the two of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me t-”

“Don’t you dare,” once more, her voice grows sharp as a harpy’s, “you’re my guest.”

You don’t dare point out that a guest normally has a choice of whether or not to go to someone’s home. Instead, you dutifully sit, knees and shins digging into the little cushion as you groan mentally at the constricting cotton from the protonationalistic outfit. You’ve seen a lot of women wear it around in Asakusa. It does sort of look pretty in the same impractical way the yellow sundress you’ve inherited does – the difference there being that the latter still allows free movement. And that’s the thing: for too long, you’ve had to think smart to get by on your own and clothes were meant to be practical; something that helps a person survive.

“Here you go,” O-bāchan hands you a cup of tea with a smile just as there’s a loud knocking on the door.

Are they still searching? Is the first panicked thought shooting through your head and you can’t help but wince as the banging is repeated.

“Oï-oï, such impatience. Excuse me for a moment, sweetie, and do try one of the cookies.” Your host is perfectly unfazed as she clambers to her feet (a few muttered groans proving her age) and shuts the door upon leaving the room.

You don’t taste the baked goods – don’t even have the wherewithal to put down the cup of tea as you listen for the muted sounds of voices. Oh...I know that one.

A quick glance around cements what you already knew: there’s only one way in and out. It’s tempting to grab the roll of dirty clothes and try to make a dash for it. Perhaps you can escape to another room and wait there until the hallway’s clear? You scrap the idea right away, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

At least O-bāchan’s delighted chatting warns you before the door slides open, revealing her and a blank-faced Shinmon. No, not blank. There’s a tick in his jaw and his eyes narrow the second he spots you sitting at the neatly laden table. He’s still wearing the same clothes as when you were sparring that very morning (something that feels like ages ago), stale sweat momentarily overpowering the more pleasant fragrances as  he too is ushered to take a place. Right next to you.

“I’ll warm bathwater for you, my lad,” Asakusa’s granny chirps.

“No need, we won’t be staying long.” It’s border-lining a growl, and her pointed gaze makes him add, “Thank you, though.”

“Well...fine...” Something is muttered under her breath that neither of you dare ask about. “I guess I’ll find a new cup for myself. [Y/N], be a good girl and pour Waka some tea.”

You do as she says and rush to free your hands, both because you’ve already learned there’s no sense in refusing her but mainly to do something, anything, to keep the awkward silence at bay. The pot trembles slightly as you fill the blue porcelain cup, and it’s much too loud as you replace it in the holder above the little candle.

...

O-bāchan had done most of the talking during the rest of you visit, but despite the unwillingness of her guests, she still seemed mighty pleased with herself when she waved goodbye. While the tea had warmed your belly and the sweets had made you think of happier days...well, nothing lasted long enough to tide you all the way back to Company Seven’s station.

Walking to your room with too short steps, bare feet silent on the wooden planks, you’re uncomfortable aware of Benimaru following you a few steps behind (probably on his way to the showers or his own room). Your fingertips greedily curl around the etched slit of the door, knowing that soon you’ll be in your own little sanctuary. Alone.

“[Y/N].”

You freeze, loath to turn around because you know he’s about to chew you out. “Shinmon.”

“I told you to stay hidden until I came for you.”

Sorry. “I know, but have you tried arguing with her? The old bidd-”

“Shut up. When you weren’t there...all I could think was...if they’d...” his voice is raw as he struggles with the words.

Too curious for your own good, you turn and find the normally stoic captain in a state you never expected. Hands flexing as his side and shoulders tense. His shaggy hair covering most of his face because he’s looking down as if searching for the root to the frustration that’s rolling off of him. He’s not angry? Or maybe he is but that’s not what’s prevalent right this instant. As if feeling your gaze, he lifts his face and allows your eyes to meet and there, just for a millisecond, there’s a flicker of pain and fear.

Then it’s gone.

...  Benimaru   ...

Ever since Mamoru had warned about the cops, it had either felt as if a fire was searing everything inside the captain’s chest or the sharpness of ice had pierced every organ there. No in between until he had finally stepped in and seen the woman – the source of all the trouble – sitting daintily and sipping tea. For a moment all he had felt was weightlessness. Pretty as the flowers on the yukata – obviously a borrowed item which his brain took time to comment that she ought to own instead – and apparently unharmed, [Y/N] somehow mellowed out the extremes battling inside him.

Now the internal storm is back and it’s all he can do to contain it.

“If they’d -” he bites back the urge to say what he wants, mentally stomps out the burning urge to grab the woman to make sure she really still is there. It’s not just hold her hand or grab her arm but a thirst for her lips and her body’s response if he were to melt into her.

Sensing [Y/N]’s movement, he does wrangles it all into submission by reminding himself that despite appreciating the safety provided by the “neighbourhood watch” she has made it clear as sunshine that she shuns him. Konro, the twins, hell even most of the guys are honoured with the friendship...but not Benimaru. Well, I’m still going to keep you safe.

Bored out of your mind, you try to entertain yourself at “home”.

After almost a month, you give up and sneak out...only to end face to face with the twins less than 20 meters away. They would probably have managed to guilt trip you back if it wasn’t for Konro appearing by your side and handing you a basket waiting to be filled with groceries.

People stare unabashed. Once or twice, your companion is stopped and presented with wrapped sweets or other token of gratitude for the work of the Special Fire Force Company and, in particular, Benimaru. Waka. The baskets fill as quickly as you become fed up by the glorification of the apathetic man.

“He doesn’t want the fame,” Konro confides quietly in you during a moment of relaxation on a bench, “doesn’t even like to be in charge, so he keeps referring to me as the first-in-command.”

So you used to be captain? Remaining silent seems better than challenging the postulate, but you don’t believe him for a second: Benimaru is arrogant and, judging by several encounters so far, can’t handle loss of control. Yeah, sure, the guy is good with the twins and respectful towards his men in that broody, handsome ki- Nope! Not going there!

Desperate to derail the train of thought, you refocus on the people going about their day. You...don’t fit in. With exception of the kids and some of the youth, most citizens of Asakusa are dressed according to the ways of the Old World, and it makes you long for the comfort of the laid off clothes of Benimaru.

...   Benimaru   ...

It takes him a moment too long before realizing his mistake upon spotting Konro on the bench with the young woman. A stranger? he thinks, and in a way he’s right. Glad for the shaggy hair obscuring his eyes, Benimaru allows his gaze to rove up the shapely form wrapped in a soft-yellow summer dress (the sleeves are simply little flaps, like tiny butterfly wings sometimes resting on the shoulders – something he normally finds silly but not now) and he likes what he sees. Then she turns her face his way to say something to the man who is the backbone of Company Seven.

[Y/N]?

He’s not at all sure he wants to accept what the initial feelings were before realization hit like a truck but on the other hand, suddenly seeing this feminine side tickles his curiosity. What else doesn’t Benimaru know? For too long, the captain’s been preoccupied with the risk she poses indirectly and her uncovered pyrochinetic skills (or whatever they might be) that she seems to be dangerously unaware off.

“She’s quite something,” a creaky voice volunteers.

“Hm.” She is. Apparently.

A simpering smile is audible in the words, “I suppose nothing less would catch the attention of our captain.”

Nearly pulling a muscle, Benimaru’s head snap to the side to glare at Asuka’s self-anointed great-grandmother as she beams back at him with a toothless grin. He knows, even if he doesn’t want to admit, that the muddy, old eyes have a tendency to see what is hidden for others. It’s probably just wisdom earned through ages of experience, some say...but they only say it after making sure the old crone is far out of earshot.

“You almost sound like Konro, o bāchan,” the captain complains.

“Ah! He’s a good lad.” Happy wrinkles attempt to swallow her eyes. “You should listen to him, kiddo.”

Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. “Riiiight...”

Come to think of it: Benimaru had also been strange non-inquisitive but maybe both know that it's because you don't have a lot of answers to give other than where you've been – the incident with the infernal, or demon as the captain called it, has been too weird for your brain to wrap around. Maybe, I just imagined it? A pure coincidence where the fiery creature followed its own whims. Yeah, nah. But you’re not ready to accept he alternative.

Heavy footsteps are nearly drowned out by the chatter of a pair of twins who are trying their best to secure a chance of being swung through the air by whoever they are accompanying. Benimaru. You don’t bother looking when the trio enters except to shoot a smile at the girls who fall silent, staring at you with wide eyes.

The men mumble a quiet greeting to each other which doesn’t prevent a certain captain’s stare to burn into your back and it stays there as you rinse and chop the green onions. It stays while your knife makes short work of the renkon, working the root into thin slices.

“Some of the neighbouring women decided you needed to extend the wardrobe available to you,” Benimaru sneers as you reach for sweet potatoes, “maybe there’s something you can use.”

Finally turning to face him, you find him leaning against the table with a stack of clothes next to him. Some of it looks awfully gaudy, but clothes are clothes.

“That’s kind of them,” you concede (and mean it), “I’m sure there’s something useful. As long as it fits I’m not picky...as you know.” He bristles at the thinly veiled insult to his own style which you’ve unwillingly had to adopt for a while.

“Hmhrm!” Konro tries to de-escalate the situation. “Maybe you’d like to wash up and change before dinner, [Y/N]? Go ahead, there’s time.”

Thanking him, you grab the bundle and leave the kitchen.

...  Benimaru  ...

Sometimes, he really would like to punch the older man who is now telling Benimaru wordlessly to go after the girl. It’s not that Konro’s wrong: they need answers and the sooner the better. With a sigh, the captain pushes off and stalks down the hallway.

“Hey, [Y/N]!”

At least she stops and waits, though it looks for a second in the dim light that she rolls her eyes. “Yeah?”

The colourful bundle in her arms separates them like a shield. Splashes of pink and yellow, and he can’t help but wonder what she’ll look like when wearing something else than his clothes. If he’d like it at all. Stop it.

“What were you doing there?”

Benimaru doesn’t have to explain what he means, she knows. “Oh, I decided to have a picnic, y’know?”

He didn’t mean to do it but she’s so infuriating. One moment he’s trying to start a conversation and the next he’s got the woman shoved against the wall, pinning her shoulder against the wood as a low growl (a growl, damnit?) rolls from him. Any person with a sense for survival would be cowed, scared of the sudden anger. Not her. She just look at him with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that makes no sense.

“This isn’t a game!” Again the growling. “You disappear for weeks only to turn up in the middle of a combustion scene. You order a freaking demon around!”

Finally, her face contorts into a mix of fear and anger. “It’s not like I chose to be there. And for the record, I didn’t ord-”

“I. Saw. It.” The words are nearly spit at [Y/N]. “I don’t care where you’ve been, but you got a target painted on you and I need to know what I’m dealing with here if I’m supposed to protect you -”

“I never -”

“- ooor protect my people.”

He must somehow have broken through the stubbornness because she hesitates, eyes flicking across his face as if searching for something before she finally slumps in his grip. “I was trying to get away, I really was and yes...I could have run along...ignored what was happening...”

“But you couldn’t leave the woman there to die?” She shrugs despite the hold and Benimaru lets go, suddenly ashamed of his outburst. “You knew...?”

“No! And I still don’t believe it,” the girl protests. “They’re supposed to be more...uhmm...”

“Aware. Intelligent.”

They both nod in the silence.

“I just...I thought if I could distract it...” [Y/N] sighs again. “Hunger. Souls. That’s all the infernals ever scream about but this asshole...well, you heard it, I guess.” The bundle of clothes is tugged a bit closer to her chest as if for comfort. “I never considered they could get full enough to slow down, to want to take their time to...to...”

Half of what the girl is saying doesn’t make sense until Benimaru begins to entertain the idea that she understands the wailing of the burning terrors. She doesn’t realize. Apart from a few disciplined infernals (very, very rare) none of their screams ever meant anything to him, Konro, or anyone else. Even demons rarely speak, according to the few recollections of witnesses. What are the odds it would listen? Close to none, making this a freak occurrence – curiosity trumping primal blood thirst...he hopes.

“You might have to make a move,” Konro mumbles in passing, causing his friend to freeze, “or one of the guys might try their luck.”

Benimaru scoffs as nonchalantly as he knows to.

“Hey, waka!” one of the guys hollers, “you just gonna stand there?”

No one but Benimaru notices the eye-roll from the guest, but they do hear the biting comment. “I thought he was all talk and no bite.”

“Ooh!” Out of nowhere, the twins have appeared and begin to egg on the guys as they tease both [Y/N] and  their involuntary leader in the hopes of a match.

...   Reader   ...

There is only one rule: make the other give up. Squaring off in front of Benimaru, you hope that he won’t use any of his pyrochinetic abilities, though, because he’s going to be plenty of a challenge even without. Knowing firsthand how quickly he can move (and judging by the rather perfect arms), it’s fair to expect that he knows how to fight.

You can feel his gaze take in every tiny movement you make, causing a bubbly or fluttery feeling to tickle your stomach. No distractions. Shutting out the cheers and cautionary commentary, you begin to circle the man.

There have been bigger guys. Men without any notion of friendliness and fair play who found it convenient to prey on solitary girls. Most of them were sluggish, prone to going down hard and staying down.

Benimaru? You doubt he’ll fall for something simple but as long as you can boost his ego there’s a chance he’ll underestimate you. As usual. Your first, obvious, swipe proves the theory as he sidesteps with a sigh. He even allows you close enough to land a few clumsy punches to his arms before retreating once more.

“You too chicken to fight a girl?” Your words are honoured with cheers from the present members of Company Seven but the best payout is the tick in Benimaru’s jaw as he bites back whatever snarky answer he has come up with.

Reaching further, he dives into the match without hesitation and you barely manage to dodge the fist coming at your face.

Sidestepping and blocking the blows, you bite back the pain in your arms as you wait for the opportune moment. Slide to the left. Swipe with your right wrist. Pushing his punch upwards with your left and there! There it is: the opening you’ve been waiting for! You step close and feel your knuckles dig in and up under his ribs before the abs tense and force your hand back. Smiling at the wheezing gasp, you roll out of the way before popping back onto your feet, defensive stance at the ready.

“One zero to [Y/N],” the twins announce happily.

...   Benimaru   ...

Perhaps he is supposed to go easy on her, seeing as she’s a woman, but even if she’s not volunteered for duty as part of the fire force, he expects [Y/N] to live up to nearly the same requirements as any man on the team. Or maybe that’s wrong? Running a hand through his hair, Benimaru reconsiders for a moment before pushing away the contradicting notions. Whichever is the right or wrong thing, he’s sure Konro will let him know the moment he crosses an invisible line, and either way: it felt good to win after that first sucker punch.

“Hey, waka,” one of the guys pokes his head into the room that constitutes an office, “someone’s here to see ya.”

Nodding, Benimaru doesn’t bother looking up from the budget spread out over the desk until he hears a polite cough.

“Captain Benimaru Shinmon,” the words flow like sticky syrup from underneath the mask, “it’s been a while.”

Creep. “My name’s Shinmon Benimaru.” The announcement is followed by an (on one side) awkward silence – very few understand and respect the old ways anymore. “What brings you here?”

Stepping forward as if invited, the long-legged man perches himself on a chair with a flourish. “I am Giovanni, captain of Company Three, and -”

“I know.”

Startled by the boredom in Benimaru’s voice, it takes a moment for Giovanni to recover. “Well...yes. Yes, then...then you must know that I am an avid scientist!” The statement doesn’t have the desired effect, it seems. “One captain to the other, we ought to share knowledge that could be vital for the fight against spontaneous human combustion, wouldn’t you agree? And as such, it’s only logical to work together in gathering information and finding new recruits suitable for the cause.”

[Y/N]. “If we had anything worth sharing, we’d make sure to do so through the correct channels.” The glasses and the mask makes it impossible to establish proper eye contact, but somewhere in there – in the darkness – a pair of beady eyes are probably watering as Benimaru stares the outsider down. “Now, unless you have anything...I’m busy.”

The butt of the cane cracks onto the floor sharply. “I refuse to leave before I get an answer.”

“To what now?”

“There are rumours of a girl, an unregistered pyrochinetic.”

Of course there are. “So?” Benimaru scoffs indignantly, “unless there’s any solid evidence...?”