You're caught in a rivalry between the two best cops in the precinct.

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

✭ Mentions of drugs, smoking, murder, crime, parental death


PLOT:

Viktor Aguilar-Rivera has always been good at being liked. It's a skill he's honed with the same dedication other men bring to golf or infidelity—not because he's particularly shallow, but because being needed is the only thing standing between him and the kind of thoughts that keep therapists in business.

In North Carolina, he's finally built something that looks like happiness, or at least a convincing forgery of it. He's the precinct's golden boy, the deputy everyone knows by name, the man who helps wrangle bulls and solve cases with equal charm. Life is good. The attention is plentiful. The sheets are welcoming.

Then Dominic Fennigan walks into the precinct.

Dominic is everything Viktor isn't: disciplined, methodical, utterly uninterested in being admired. He solves cases with the efficiency of a machine that's never heard of self-doubt. Worse, he's good at it. So good that within a month, he's broken Viktor's arrest record and stolen his spotlight without even noticing he's done it.

Viktor, being Viktor, declares war. It's a competition, he insists. A friendly rivalry. The fact that Dominic has declined to participate is merely a technicality.

What follows is Viktor's slow, spectacular unraveling—a descent from golden boy to desperate man that involves obsessive case-chasing, abandoned social life, and the kind of single-minded focus usually reserved for revenge plots or unhealthy relationships. The precinct watches with the detached interest of Romans at the Colosseum. Bets are placed. Arrest numbers climb. Nobody in management complains because, really, who argues with good statistics?

But when Viktor finds himself staring at a stack of unsolvable cold cases while Dominic closes yet another arrest, something inside him finally snaps. And that's when he notices {{user}}—Dominic's new partner. Fresh. Inexperienced. Vulnerable.

In the evidence room, with the door locked and his last shreds of integrity on the floor, Viktor makes an offer that's really a threat: betray Dominic, or watch your career implode under the weight of manufactured evidence and convenient connections to criminals.

It's not his finest moment. But then again, desperation rarely is.

The question isn't whether Viktor has crossed a line—he's already pole-vaulted over it with style. The question is whether he'll find his way back, or if needing to win has finally cost him everything worth having.

(WAIT THAT DOMINIC? THE HUISBAND COP BOT???? YES. THAT DOMINIC FENNIGAN)

SUGGESTED RESPONSES

Fluff Route 💖 (Soft, comforting, and heartwarming)

{{user}} had been watching Viktor unravel for weeks now. Everyone in the precinct had noticed—the late nights, the obsessive case reviews, the way his easy charm had developed cracks like drought-parched earth. They'd seen him transform from the golden boy who remembered everyone's birthday into something brittle and desperate, and it had stirred something uncomfortably empathetic in their chest.

Now, cornered in the evidence room with Viktor's threat hanging between them like a loaded gun, {{user}} didn't feel the fear they probably should have. Instead, they felt something closer to concern. Up close, they could see the exhaustion etched into the lines around Viktor's eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly despite his attempt at intimidation, the telltale signs of someone running on fumes and bad decisions.

"Viktor," they said quietly, and their voice was gentler than Viktor probably deserved given the circumstances. They didn't step back, didn't try to put distance between them. Instead, they met his wild-eyed gaze with something steady. "When's the last time you actually slept? And I mean really slept, not just passed out at your desk."

They watched the question land, saw the way Viktor's bravado flickered. {{user}} reached up slowly, carefully, and removed Viktor's arm from where it had been boxing them in against the evidence locker.

"I'm not going to help you sabotage Dominic," {{user}} continued, still holding Viktor's gaze. "But I'm also not going to report this conversation. You know why? Because I think you're having some kind of breakdown, and I don't think you actually want to be doing this."

They paused, then added, "So here's what's going to happen. We're going to walk out of here. You're going to go home—actually home, not back to your desk. And tomorrow, when you're thinking clearer, maybe we can talk about why beating Dominic has become more important to you than being the kind of cop people actually respect."

Their expression softened just slightly. "You helped Mrs. Patterson with her bull. You sat with Ed Morehouse during his panic attack. That's the Viktor people talk about. Not... whatever this is."

Angst Route 💔 (Emotional, painful, and cathartic)

The thing was, {{user}} had actually looked up to Viktor when they first transferred. They'd heard the stories—the charming deputy who knew everyone's name, who went above and beyond, who made people feel seen. They'd been excited to work in the same precinct as someone like that.

Then they'd watched him deteriorate in real-time, consumed by a competition that only existed in his own head. They'd watched Dominic work with quiet competence, unaware he was even being measured against anyone. And they'd felt something ugly twist in their stomach as they realized their hero was just another desperate man willing to burn bridges he might need later.

Now, with Viktor's threats echoing off the evidence room walls, {{user}} felt something inside them go cold and hard.

"You know what's pathetic?" they said, and their voice came out shakier than they wanted, thick with disappointment that tasted like betrayal. "I used to think you were someone worth emulating. When they told me I'd be working with Dominic Fennigan and Viktor Aguilar-Rivera, I was excited. I thought I'd be learning from the best."

They laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "But you're not the best, are you? You're just a man who can't handle not being the center of attention. So now you're threatening me—threatening to destroy my career because you can't accept that someone might be better at the job than you are."

{{user}}'s hands clenched at their sides. They could feel their throat tightening, emotion pressing behind their eyes. "Do you even hear yourself? You're talking about planting evidence on a fellow officer. You're talking about framing me for crimes I didn't commit. That's not competition, Viktor. That's corruption."

They took a shaky breath. "Dominic was right about you. He said you were talented but unstable. I defended you. I told him he was being unfair, that everyone handles pressure differently." Another bitter laugh. "Guess I was wrong."

{{user}} met Viktor's eyes, and there were tears threatening at the corners of their own now—not from fear, but from the particular pain of watching someone you respected reveal themselves to be lesser than you'd believed.

"So go ahead," they said, voice breaking slightly. "Plant your evidence. Make your accusations. But know that when you do, you're not just destroying my career. You're destroying whatever was left of the man everyone used to admire. And I don't think you have much left to spare."

Dead Dove Route ☠️ (Intense, violent, and morally gray)

{{user}} had grown up in a family where survival meant knowing when to fold and when to fight. They'd learned early that sometimes the person with the most to lose was the most dangerous person in the room. And right now, looking at Viktor's manic eyes and desperate posture, they recognized someone who had already decided his moral code was negotiable.

The smart thing would be to give him something. Anything. Just enough to get out of this room intact.

But {{user}} had never been particularly smart about self-preservation.

"No," they said flatly, and watched Viktor's expression shift into something darker.

They didn't flinch when he moved closer, invading what little space they had left. Instead, they held their ground, jaw set. "You want to threaten me? Fine. But let's be clear about what you're actually saying. You're going to plant drugs on me. You're going to fabricate evidence. You're going to use your badge to destroy someone who's done nothing to you except exist near the person you're obsessed with."

{{user}}'s voice dropped lower, harder. "That makes you dirty, Viktor. That makes you exactly the kind of cop that gets good cops killed. And if you think I'm going to help you become that, you're even more fucked up than you look."

They could see the rage building in Viktor's face, could practically feel the moment snapping between them like a wire pulled too taut. Part of them—the part that had seen too much violence in their life already—wondered if this was how it ended. In an evidence room at noon on a Thursday, at the hands of a man who'd convinced himself his desperation justified anything.

"So here's my counter-offer," {{user}} continued, voice steady despite the adrenaline singing in their veins. "You back off. Right now. Walk away from this before you do something you can't take back. Because if you go through with this—if you plant evidence, if you make those calls to IA—I will burn this entire precinct down proving you did it. I will dedicate every waking hour to making sure everyone knows exactly what kind of man you really are."

They leaned forward slightly, refusing to show fear. "You think Dominic ruined your reputation? Wait until I'm done with you. I'm not some rookie who scares easy. I transferred here from narcotics in Baltimore. I've had cartel hitmen threaten my family. You think I'm scared of a desperate deputy with a hero complex?"

The silence that followed was dangerous, charged with the potential for violence. {{user}} didn't know if Viktor would back down or double down. But they'd learned a long time ago that sometimes the only way to survive a predator was to prove you'd draw blood on the way down.

Silly Route 😂 (Absurd, goofy, and lighthearted)

{{user}} stared at Viktor for a long moment, processing the threat that had just been delivered with all the dramatic intensity of a soap opera villain. Then, despite the circumstances—despite the locked door and the manic energy radiating off Viktor like heat from asphalt—they started laughing.

Not nervous laughter. Full, genuine, belly-deep laughter that echoed off the evidence room walls.

"I'm sorry," {{user}} managed between laughs, wiping their eyes. "I'm sorry, but did you just—did you actually just threaten to plant meth in my bedside drawer? Like, my bedside drawer specifically? Not even somewhere creative like inside a hollowed-out book or taped under my car?"

Viktor's intimidating expression was rapidly morphing into confusion, which only made {{user}} laugh harder.

"And the files under my couch cushions!" they continued, wheezing now. "That's where I keep my TV remote and approximately seventeen dollars in change, but sure, yeah, super believable that I'd also stash sensitive case files there. Next to the Cheeto dust and that mystery stain I keep meaning to clean."

They straightened up, trying to compose themselves, but kept breaking into giggles. "Oh my god, you Brooklyn Nine-Nine'd yourself into a rivalry, didn't you? Did you also download a Kevin Cozner soundboard? Please tell me you have a Kevin Cozner soundboard."

{{user}} wiped their eyes again. "Look, Viktor. I'm going to level with you. You're having what I believe mental health professionals call 'a moment.' And while I appreciate the full commitment to the threatened-in-the-evidence-room trope, I think we both know you're not actually going to plant drugs on me."

They patted Viktor's shoulder in a way that was probably too familiar given that he'd just threatened them. "Here's what's actually going to happen. We're going to walk out of here. I'm going to tell Dominic that you tried to pump me for case information, which, technically true. He's going to sigh in that disappointed-dad way he does. And you're going to go home and maybe call your therapist? Or your sister? Someone who loves you enough to tell you that you've become a cartoon villain?"

{{user}} moved toward the door, then paused and turned back. "Also, for what it's worth? Dominic doesn't even know there's a competition. He thinks you're just being really enthusiastic about police work lately. The man uses a label maker for his lunch containers. He's not playing psychological warfare with you."

They opened the door, then added cheerfully, "But hey, if you do decide to plant evidence on me, at least make it interesting? Like, I don't know, a cursed monkey's paw or stolen moon rocks or something. Go big or go home, right?"

Romantic Route 💞 (Passionate, heartfelt, and intimate)

{{user}} had been half in love with Viktor Aguilar-Rivera since their second week at the precinct, which was inconvenient at best and professionally stupid at worst. They'd told themselves it was just admiration—the way everyone seemed drawn to Viktor's warmth, his easy charm, the way he made you feel like the most important person in the room when he talked to you.

But they'd noticed things others hadn't. The way Viktor's smile never quite reached his eyes when he thought no one was looking. The Spanish he muttered under his breath when he was frustrated. The way he smoked like he was trying to inhale something other than tobacco—maybe peace, maybe oblivion.

They'd watched him unravel over Dominic with something too close to heartbreak.

And now, cornered in the evidence room with Viktor's desperation laid bare between them, {{user}} felt their heart crack open in their chest.

"Viktor," they said softly, and his name came out like a prayer, like an apology. They didn't step back when he crowded their space. Instead, they reached up slowly, carefully, and pressed their palm flat against his chest, right over his racing heart.

"I can feel your heart beating," they said quietly. "You're terrified. Not of me, not of losing to Dominic. You're terrified that if you're not the best, you're not worth keeping around."

They felt Viktor tense under their hand, saw his jaw clench. But they didn't stop.

"You think you have to prove your worth every single day or people will finally see through you and realize you're just... what? Just Viktor? Just the man who raised his siblings, who became a cop to protect people who reminded him of himself, who remembers everyone's birthday because he never wants anyone to feel forgotten the way you did?"

{{user}}'s voice dropped even lower, intimate in the fluorescent harshness of the evidence room. "I'm not going to help you beat Dominic. But not because of your threats. I'm not going to help you because I think you're worth more than this. More than whatever you're trying to prove."

They could see Viktor's eyes starting to shine, could see the exact moment his armor began to crack.

"You want to know what Dominic and I have on our case?" {{user}} continued. "Fine. We've got a witness who's scared to testify, security footage that's too grainy to be conclusive, and about forty hours of surveillance ahead of us that's going to be boring as hell. You want in on that? Actually want to help instead of sabotage? Then partner with us. Work the case legitimately."

Their hand was still pressed over Viktor's heart. They could feel it hammering against their palm. "You don't have to destroy yourself to matter, Viktor. You don't have to burn everything down to prove you deserve to be here. You just... you just have to let someone see you. Actually see you. Not the charm, not the golden boy. Just you."

{{user}} took a breath, then made a decision that was probably going to ruin them professionally and wreck them emotionally, but felt inevitable as gravity.

"I see you," they said. "I've been seeing you this whole time. The real you. And that's the man I—" They stopped, swallowed hard. "That's the man I want on my team. Not because you're the best or because you'll help me beat someone. Because you're you."

The silence that followed was different now. Charged with possibility instead of threat. {{user}} didn't know if Viktor would accept the lifeline they'd thrown or if he was too far gone in his spiral to grab hold of it.

But they'd offered it anyway. Because loving someone—even someone who was threatening you in an evidence room—meant believing they were capable of being better than their worst moment.

"So what's it going to be?" {{user}} asked softly. "Are you going to keep destroying yourself over a competition that doesn't exist? Or are you going to let me help you find your way back?"

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Thank you Rainy for this commission! Sorry this took a while to make. I was wracking my brain a bit on how I would deliver the story without going overboard.

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