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maraschino-girl · 4 months

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pachinko 🎰 { part 1 }

✐ Yoshikage Kira makes a gamble when New York City becomes his new hunting ground, and he soon realizes the prize he's heading toward isn't the one he bargained for. Yoshikage Kira / Patrick Bateman

moriohpsycho AU

~6k words

multi-chapter, 80's-90's era

blood and gore, homophobia, drug use, explicit content

warning ‼️ two depraved serial killers being themselves

✦ NOTES : i have no words... except idk how this happened LMFAO ♡✮☁️✧˖ AO3 °⋆💿。°✩

My name is Yoshikage Kira. First name is Yoshikage. Last name is Kira. I’m partially named after my father, and I was considered his pride and joy.

I’m 33-years-old, not married, and I used to live in the villas of Morioh. I had worked in Kame-yu Department regional management office. It was menial work but I enjoyed it. It was repetitive, it was a routine, it was predictable. I lived a quiet, humble life. My favorite movie is The Remains of the Day, and my favorite designer brands include Valentino and Gianfranco Ferré.

I no longer reside in Japan due to an incident, one I prefer to not discuss at this moment, but this little incident forced me to flee my town and take refuge somewhere where those ants can’t find me. They can’t find me anyhow, all thanks to my Bites the Dust, though despite this, I’m cashing in my insurance just in case.

If I had to pick any city in the world, I wouldn’t say New York City was my first choice; it’s an overwhelming, bustling metropolis with eyes everywhere, both robotic and human, and from what I’ve heard, riddled with crime and filth. But, I’ve soon learned that it’s easy to be alone in a crowd, and there’s nothing wrong with ‘competition’, petty criminals who can take all those mechanical eyes off of me. They want to be seen, they want to be noticed and even hailed for their art. I do not. I have no need for it.

What I do need though is a way to perfectly mesh with this new crowd of mine, and this group of… what do you call them? Yuppies, preppies? Or, Ivy League brats if you’re bitter and sipping beer on the side of 5th Avenue (She had the most disgusting hands I’ve ever seen).

These preppy scholars and businessmen on Wall Street and inside Pierce & Pierce, my dwelling for the next whoever knows how long, adorn themselves with muted hues and statement accessories. I have to switch out my ‘lilacs’ and ‘baby blues’ for ‘eggplant’ and ‘elegant navies’. My ties at least can stay as far as I’m concerned; I’ve seen worse patterns on arguably more fashionable people.

Manhattan has a plethora of designer stores, so many in fact I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack. I’ve had a painful lunch with a Charles McBride, an audacious man but a colleague first and foremost, and I tried to discuss the plans for the fiscal quarter but he wasn’t having it– the entire conversation replays in my head while I’m attempting to maneuver the streets, only serving to worsening the panic inside me. Any store will do, any at all, and so I slip inside a Bergdorf Goodman. I nearly go in a circle due to the revolving doors but luckily no one catches my faux pas.

I didn’t know what a Bergdorf was, but now knowing it’s a department store relieves my anxiety.

Kimiko, my lady since I arrived in New York, hardly comforts me now when I entwine my fingers with hers, and the sickeningly sweet scent of rot is beginning to put me off, so I walk towards the fragrances.

I could get her something with notes of orange blossom and peony, or something sultry with cinnamon and leather, but that thought is cut short when a woman hunts me down from behind. I’m looking at the collection of Dior perfumes when she pops up, her voice extremely loud and shaky. A new girl, perhaps?

“Hello, sir! I see you’re checking out our Miss Dior! This is a very lovely perfume, suitable for the very lovely lady in your life! Um, would you like a sample?” She waves a thin white strip in front of me, and oh my god, her—

Spritz.

I gasp when the perfume incinerates my eyes, her string of apologies piercing my ears just as badly. She immediately fetches me a wet napkin, trying to help me rub my eyes but I yank the napkin away from her. Through my stinging, blurry vision, I hold up her right hand.

“That is a beautiful, uh, ruby ring you have on,” I swallow thickly, blinking frantically. “Sterling silver and ruby, very nice.” It’s a bead of blood atop of a milky white canvas, oh my.

“Why, thank you!” she gleams. I hold her gaze, enticing her, and forcefully crinkle my eyes. She has rather pretty eyes and a bright smile, albeit overlined with a crisp apple red. The red doesn’t shine as well on her face as it does around her fingers. Her name tag says ‘JENNIFER’.

Jennifer briefly checks me out, then scrunches her brow. “Gosh, I’m just a klutz today! I’m so sorry.”

“No need to apologize, really. Mistakes happen,” I reply, a tad confused, until she holds up Kimiko. My heart freezes, the blasting muzak slows down as she casually handles my now ex-girlfriend.

“Matthew, one of the assistants must’ve dropped this when setting up the display. We’re not usually so messy!”

The gold bangle I gifted Kimiko hides the jagged edges of her wrist, and her decomposition has sucked out the apricot tone she used to have. I continue to stare because frankly there’s nothing else I can do at this moment. Except, maybe cry— that’s a big possibility.

Jennifer giggles, “Listen, I’ll take this back to our storage and I’ll ring you up for the Miss Dior, yeah?”

I open my mouth but it takes great strength to speak. “Yes. Yeah, that’s fine. Um, are the registers near your storage?”

“Yeah, there’s one right by the cosmetics, if you don’t mind following me.”

“I don’t mind, no.” Go. Go! Go! Go! “I actually need to hurry to my office after this, so please, with haste.”

“Of course! C’mon, follow me.” She plucks a plastic-wrapped package of Miss Dior off the shelf and points toward the glossy collections of cosmetics. I ensure no one is really paying attention, and of course, the few patrons around are engrossed in their shopping.

Jennifer sets the item on the cash register and tells me she will be right back. I huff, and give one last sweep of the store, and trace her steps into the EMPLOYEES ONLY swing door. I don’t bother to hide my footfalls due to her heels echoing through the concrete maze of these back rooms. All I need is privacy, and I need something, anything to aid me, although simply choking her isn’t ruled out yet.

She doesn’t have a care in the world, doesn’t have a single instinct to look over her shoulder. There’s another door at the far end of the narrow hallway that she disappears into, and I’ll follow her there too, but first:

A giant sapphire and glass star-shaped perfume bottle on a wire shelf catches my attention. It’s asymmetrically shaped, and looks like it belongs atop a Christmas tree, but I deduce it must be for advertising purposes. It’s dense, sturdy, and particularly sharp. I may have had an incident but it seems my luck has yet to run out. This is not an ideal location, none of this is remotely ideal, but there’s not much to be done about it. Besides, Killer Queen didn’t gift me intelligence and charm, only an easy way out. I will do as I’ve always done and I will win.

I will do what it takes to retain my comfort and happiness, and live my life to the fullest.

✃ ✃ ✃

I’m having lunch with Patrick Bateman, a coworker, and his friends slash fellow coworkers Timothy Price, David Van Patten, and Craig McDermott at a “trendy” restaurant called Flamingo East. Apparently, a couple other bankers will be joining us but they have yet to do so; I’m fine with that.

I’m familiar with Mr. Bateman. He has the office right next to mine, but I see more of his secretary than I do of him. The scarce moments we share are somewhat bizarre, and I can’t quite place my finger on what exactly makes them bizarre, they just are. He’s cordial, refined, and narcissistic, much like the others— they’re a breed of their own, a species known only to the rich New England coast, but he still stands out. I’d like to say I’m perceptive, I have to be, and if I have suspicions about someone I’m usually correct.

I also notice that Mr. McDermott and I are wearing the same cologne, Drakkar Noir, a scent laden with lemon, mint, lavender, and bergamot. Either this cologne is thicker than I anticipated or he’s doused himself in it— either way, it’s comforting blending in.

I’m wearing a double breasted linen-and-cotton suit in the shade ‘imperial violet’, a subdued deep purple, a ‘nude periwinkle’ button down cotton shirt that looks off-white in this bright lighting, all by Cerruti 1881. My silk tie is by Alexander Julian, and it has a striped pattern in shades of ‘egg yolk’, ‘vanilla’, and ‘charcoal’; the pattern reminds me of the candy sticks in a sweets shop in Morioh. I met an ex-girlfriend there, now that I look back on it. She always bought matcha tea cakes, every day at 5 pm, like clockwork.

Well, there’s no time for nostalgia right now. I open the briefcase that’s sitting on my lap.

“Mr. Van Patten, I have papers regarding the—”

“Hey, hey,” he holds a hand up, “We’re not doing that right now.”

He then makes a neck-slicing gesture, probably telling me to shut up. He’s at least nicer than his friends. With his round glasses and round brown eyes, he looks borderline puppy dog-ish. I avert my eyes and purse my lips to avoid smirking, lest they start naming me that vulgar word they assign to any man in a one meter radius.

“My apologies.”

Mr. McDermott speaks up next. “This is lunch, we’re drinking, having a good time, no time for that shit.”

I nod my head in understanding and put away my briefcase. Does anyone here actually work, or is it purely kept to the office? Hm.

“So, what are we having?” Patrick asks the table.

I pick up the menu then, and furrow my brows at the options. Fine dining is, uh, fine dining, I suppose.

“Two J&B’s, or three?” Mr. Price asks me.

I clear my throat. “Two, I’ll just have the dry martini.”

“Fruity,” one of them says under their breath. I don’t even bother.

There’s a salmon plate topped with chives and soy sauce, with a side of mashed red pepper sweet potatoes and honeyed zucchini and squash. That’s appetizing. There’s also an ‘organic’ strawberry jello salad mixed with manzanilla olives and cream cheese. Less appetizing.

Mr. McDermott decides to bestow a secret upon us. “I heard they serve shark here.”

“Yeah, and there’s a leprechaun in Turtle Bay that hands out free vials of crack.”

“No, really man, if you tell the waiter a code or something, the chef will hand you a cloche that has a fucking shark fin under it.”

Mr. Price rolls his eyes. “You think the waiter would care if I asked him to drown you in the fountain over there?”

“The waiter looks like a faggoty actor-in-training, so give him a good tip, or just like, you know, your dick and maybe he will.”

“Did I tell you guys that Sabrina—”

“Which one?”

“You don’t know this one. Anyway, she was blowing me the other night and the stupid bitch used her teeth.” Mr. Van Patten gags.

Everyone at the table including me inwardly cringes.

“I was like, the fuck you using your teeth for? I’m already circumcised, and thanks to you, I’m now soft. She kept trying to suck on my flaccid dick and the whole thing was just fucking weird.”

“She was what?”

“You didn’t slap her? Kick her out?”

“I kicked her out right after that. And she’s been blowing up my receiver ever since. Give me another chance, David, please!” he mocks.

“I mean, if she’s willing to suck a softie…”

“She does have nice tits,” Mr. Van Patten admits. Their conversation dies down and slowly they turn their attention on me. I hold my breath and pretend I’m deciding on my order.

“What’s your type, Kira?” The million dollar question.

This is no group to be cheeky with, and too intelligent of an answer will cause me more harm than good. I choose carefully. “I do, uh, have an affinity for blondes.”

They nod.

“You like ditzy? Ditzy is cute. Patrick?”

He shrugs; I don’t know him well but he’s quiet this morning. I answer instead. “I’d prefer ditzy over arrogant and obnoxious.”

“Yep, yep.”

Mr. Bateman suddenly gets up and mumbles about heading to the bathroom. Mr. Price follows him with his gaze and has an amused smile, a knowing smile as he sips his drink. I shouldn’t be nosy but it’s common here apparently to gossip. I too watch him then lean over and whisper.

“Is he sick?” I feign concern. For a moment I wonder if he really is sick, placebo already hitting me with a bomb of nausea in my stomach.

Mr. Price scoffs. “He isn’t sick, he’s balls deep in Halcion. Did you see his eyes?”

They laugh at him. “His pupils are bigger than the fucking plates.”

I’m not entirely sure what that is but I refuse to ask for obvious reasons. The waitress, caked up in makeup and her hair crunchy with Aquanet, takes our drink orders and promptly skitters off. I noticed these things because her nails were crooked, one literally twice the size of the others, and she was noisily smacking gum in her mouth. So garish.

Mr. Bateman returns simultaneously as our drinks arrive, and he wastes no time in downing his. He whispers, “Nice tits” under his breath as our waitress leaves, and then says something else that astounds me. “Did you know I chopped off an East Villager’s hand and jerked off with it?”

I stare at Mr. Bateman as he announces this. He sips his whiskey, and annoyingly shakes his leg, vibrating the table. I look toward our colleagues, back to him, to his friends, back to him. No one says anything. Actually, his friends are too busy fawning over a ‘hardbody’ writing down another table’s order.

“C’mon, she’s smokin’!”

“Nah, nah, no.” Mr. Price is as picky as ever. “Look at her hips.”

“What? You don’t like Coke bottles?”

“I like coke-caine. And Diet Coke, which maybe she should drink more of.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda right. I think I saw her before, in the strings section of the New York Philharmonic.”

Mr. Bateman and I are in our own little bubble. I almost want to reply, but with what? Oh, that’s a hobby of mine as well! Are you like me? Did you also see the wonderful ad in Times Square for Tiffany & Co. and had to rush home for relief?

No, no— he might’ve said this expecting a response. He must know. How could he know? It wouldn’t make sense, I’ve covered my tracks! Or, so I thought. Is he stalking me? Is he aware of how often I daydream about my past girlfriends? Does he know about Jennifer? Has he seen Jennifer? There’s no other reason as to why he would make such a remark unless to evoke me! But what would he gain? What could he possibly gain from terrifying me?

I don’t realize I’m breathing hard until Mr. Van Patten nudges my shoulder.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Pretty sure he’s tweaking.”

I snap back, “No, I’m not. I’m fine. Um, I apologize.” I wipe my brow with a handkerchief. “It’s quite warm in here.”

They don’t believe me but luckily, they don’t care either. I glance back toward Mr. Bateman who’s silently mouthing the appetizers as he reads off the menu. He’s unaffected. He’s strange.

I don’t care for strange men.

✃ ✃ ✃

I didn’t think I’d replace Jennifer so quickly, but with a city so vast and brimming with the prettiest the States has to offer, I guess it was inevitable. And in that same vein, it’s inevitable that I would end up erasing evidence in the fashion of a stereotypical killer.

I drag Heather’s remains, a garbage bag stretched wide with the unnecessary parts of her, and a few miscellaneous things I filled it with to rid the bag of its human body shape. Again, this is not suitable for me, and I don’t like being reminded of what life was like prior to attaining Killer Queen. The act feels dirty, in a more ragged, mask-wearing type of way, and elementary, too. This is how others do this? Who has the time? Who has the attention to detail, and how do they deal with the constant anxiety of covering their tracks?

It reminds me of the last night Heather drew breath and she made me watch a horror film about a deadly surgeon. Despite eagerly returning home with me, she refused to let me get any closer to her even when she squealed and jumped at horribly-designed reanimated zombies. I even tried to kiss her on the lips, which mind you was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was a perfect segway to twist her figure around and hack off my prize, the true beauty, the love of my life.

And yet, she freaked out when I touched her waist, and lo and behold, a brand new suit was ruined from head to toe (which is also stuffed inside with Heather). The film kept playing as I cleaned up the mess, and—

Oh, yes, that’s why I brought that up… Well, it doesn’t matter. The clean-up of a botched murder is the bane of my existence. That’s all.

My stroke of luck shines when I find a dumpster right behind the apartment building I live in. It’s somewhat hidden, though not entirely thanks to the splattering of windows, some lit some completely black, that look down on the alley. Considering I’ve caught domestic violence, passionate love making, and other embarrassing acts through neighbors’ windows, there’s definitely nothing interesting about an innocent man and his garbage.

I wipe my brow and drag the bag another few meters before pausing again. You don’t realize how heavy a dead woman is until you have to dump her body. I’m tired, and want this over with so I can finish my stretching routine— I bought a book the other day that lists basic yoga positions to help loosen the hip flexors, a recent issue of mine— and listen to Mariya Takeuchi’s Variety album on the turntable I bought at Radio Shack. If I can hurry through this, expertly, I will be rewarded a lovely evening with my new girlfriend.

“Ha! Look at us! Both dumping bodies!”

Freeze. I slowly turn my head while feeling for the handle of the knife in my coat pocket.

A man carrying two bulging garbage bags of his own stands at the opposite end of the alleyway where it opens up to the main street. The shadow of the lamplights briefly obscure his face but he walks closer, and I see a goofy grin and wrinkles.

“This is the only dumpster I’ll go to ‘round here honestly, because the college kids that live below me fill the other one up to the brim, can you believe that?” He closes the distance between us and he lets go of his bags to place his hands on his rounded, lumpy hips.

“Uh.” I lick my lips then smack them. “Yeah, I can.”

“I mean this city is crazy, real crazy, and my wife always told me that this wasn’t a good decision but I couldn’t stand the heat down in Austin anymore, I just couldn’t. I mean, us old folks, just me by the way, not you, haha, you’re a handsome fellow, very sharply dressed! You should have a raincoat or somethin’, it’s been real stormy out, you don’t wanna ruin your like, Gew-chi suit, anyway—”

I’m still hunched over, Heather’s casket clutched in my hand. He hasn't studied its’ off putting shape, thank God, but this is too close for comfort.

“Are you new to the city?” he suddenly asks.

“Well—”

“There’s not a lot of neighborly love ‘round here, at least that’s how it feels to me. There’s no more lemonade on the porch and chit-chattin’ with Bobby, just drinking Bud Light and sweepin’ cigarette ashes on my balcony ‘cause of those gawd-dayum NYU kids. That’s so selfish, ain’t it?”

“Sure.”

“I just don’t care for it. That, and the winters are real brutal. Cold and icy as all hell.”

I don’t even want to entertain this, and yet: “I would say Hell isn’t very icy at all.”

As expected, he doesn’t hear me. “It’s irritatin’! But my wife, you know, she loves the lights, the hustle and bustle, the cute little shops and the expresso machines.”

I’m beginning to get a migraine.

“Also, the Chinese food. We only had one Chinese buffet when growin’ up, and I got food poisoning every single time. They told me it was the MSG. What do you think?”

Sir, sir, this is so very interesting, I’m genuinely engaged and wish to further this arousing conversation but I would much prefer if you just turned around so I can get this over with.

Beyond this man, I catch a Valentino suit and head of slicked-back brown hair standing at an ATM. He looks stick-like from this far out, but I can pick out those broad shoulders and tense stance out of a sea of stockbrokers. It’s as if he can’t relax, always coiled up like a viper readying to attack; that’s smart of him, especially while I��m around.

This man is rambling on about sales taxes and humidity, grating my ears and blocking my vision every time I peer around him. Mr. Bateman counts clean cash with elegant, black gloves on and starts walking with confidence he doesn’t deserve. Frustration is getting the better of me— he’s finally alone, very likely unarmed, and I’m about to lose a golden opportunity all because of this man!

Even when I attempt to interject with kind courtesy and ‘oh, of course, yes, but you see’, he steamrolls me. I give up then, and heave Heather and her garbage over the rim of the dumpster. Thump! She goes. This is your cue now, sir. Throw your things away and leave me alone.

“Sir,” I cut through him with a stern, deep voice. “I have to get home, if you excuse me. I have to… feed my girlfriend, she’s been alone all day.”

Awkward pause.

The man chuckles. “Is your girlfriend a cat?”

“Yes. Excuse me.” I brush past him and with great relief, he shuts up.

I count ten steps down the street, hearing the thuds of him tossing his garbage in the dumpster, and I count two seconds exactly before I turn on my heel, speed back the way I came and pounce on the defenseless man while his back is turned. My knife is sharp and easily cleaves through his spine and shoulder blades as I relentlessly stab him, enough so in such rapid succession he can hardly scream. By the time he can open his mouth, his lungs have already filled with blood and so his agonized cries are guttural and bubbly. He reaches out, for what I don’t know, maybe trying to crawl away from me, but it’s no use. His thick denim jacket soaks up most of the damage, and it’s only my gloves that are soiled. That’s fine, really, it’s a miniscule consequence.

Now that he’s mincemeat and paralyzed, on the verge of death if not deceased already, I flick my head to fix the tendrils of hair that have fallen in my face. I’ll leave his corpse; there’s a stabbing or a mugging printed every morning in the newspaper, and I doubt anyone will be questioning an older gentleman being assaulted on his nightly routine. The alleyways are dangerous, as you know. Wrong place, wrong time; it can happen to anyone.

I take another deep breath and search for Mr. Bateman, who is nowhere to be found. He went west, but there are a million doors and stops and shops and whatever else that way. Besides, even if he were right in front of me, it’d be hard to conceal bloodied hands and my frenzied disposition. I lust to take him down and for that reason, I have to be careful.

Sigh.

Until next time, Mr. Bateman.

✃ ✃ ✃

The next excursion that the fine men at Pierce & Pierce have decided on is a rendezvous at a place called Nell’s. It’s not quite a dance club, and it’s too unpleasant to be a chill rooftop bar. The shift between neon and darkness is nauseating, and they seem to have both the ceiling fans on full blast as well as the heated conditioning. I’m sweating yet chilled to the bone. I had to skip lunch due to the piles of paperwork stacked on my desk and I’m feeling the effects of an empty stomach. Apparently, the others have secretaries who do the menial work, but I am without a lady to sign off and look at these documents for me so I wasted my entire day, all 10 hours of it on reading what might as well have been hieroglyphics.

The silver lining to my mundane day is that I managed to find Mr. Bateman’s full address in his secretary’s desk once everyone else had left. That woman didn’t bother to lock any of the drawers, how naive considering there’s sensitive financial information in those folders. Not my problem. What’s next is figuring out when to use this key— I realized he lived rather close to me, another stroke of my luck, but I have to plan ahead. I could directly follow him home and stage a break-in; still easier said than done.

I stash away my plans for now.

It’s nearly 8 pm, right when I would be winding down for bed, when I’m interrupted. A colleague named Tom Hamlin called me asking if I minded meeting him tonight to discuss ‘important matters’. Like the hardworking man I am, I readily accepted and very shortly after, ‘important matters’ became a party invitation. Mr. Hamlin had me start at Harry’s to join up with none other than Patrick Bateman, Craig McDermott, and two other men I didn’t recognize, Victor Powell and George Reeves.

I hanged in the back of the group, intently watching Mr. Bateman who was glaring razor sharp daggers at Mr. Powell— I was oddly curious about why that was, as the former had a semi-permanent scowl, and to see this visceral hate directed towards someone who wears Valentino like him (like me), had slicked-back hair like him (and like me), and even had a resembling smirk, is fascinating. What is so striking about him? One might think of the common petty reasons: found cheating on his girlfriend, stole a deal from him, maybe even openly mocked him, like a bullying situation, but my perfect intuition tells me it’s much deeper than that.

Hm. It shouldn’t matter anyhow. Mr. Powell won’t have to worry about his “biggest fan” much longer.

Inside Nell’s, we sit in an open circle-shaped booth with me at one end and my target at the other. When we make eye contact, I smile but he doesn’t return it. How snobbish.

They’re sharing the menu and I patiently wait my turn, my hands clasped on my lap. I want to leave. I planned a date with Heather, and it’s unacceptable that I can’t even attend my own planned date. I’m starving, I’m thirsty, I refuse to look at the menu right now. So, when the waiter comes by wanting our orders, I ask for a glass of ice water, to the bemusement of my colleagues.

“Hard liquor ages you,” is what I say when one of them persists to bug me. My response hits where it hurts, and I hide my joy when he then questions his drink of choice.

“Hamlin, can you score tonight?”

“Uh, duh! I’m way ahead of you.”

“It’s not from that same guy, right? What’s his name, Carlos?”

“Ricardo.”

The waitress at the booth behind us has wonderfully long, luscious fingers. Her jingly diamond bracelet accentuates her tan skin so well, and those curved, almond-shaped purple nails. My god. I wonder if I should drop Heather (we’ve only dated for 5 days, that’s a little short, isn’t it?), and too late do I look over to them shuffling out of the other end of the booth. I briefly panic.

I might stay and rope the waitress into coming home with me, but I also don’t want to be left with a pricey bill because I’m the ‘newbie’ from Japan. Irritated, I follow after, barely keeping them in my sight through the winding hallways. They end up in the men’s bathroom, half of the group idling at the sinks while the other half, including Mr. Bateman squeeze into a wider stall.

I manage to fit in at the same time that Mr. Price sprinkles a mound of white powder onto an upside-facing mirror bolted to the wall. I may have been a mere office worker, but I’m not naive— that is a drug I recognize. I only knew of one person, a dolt from University, who had the guts to snort it before exams. I almost snitched on him when he was licking it from his hand in the middle of the train platform, but I figured his idiocy would be his downfall. I figured too, not my business. I was proven right during the exams themselves! I don’t know what cocaine entirely does, and it’s very likely he had a cocktail of substances in his system because he was whispering to his pencil as if it was an omniscient deity.

Anyway, I prefer to not begin whispering to inanimate objects as well, and I let my turn pass me up. Mr. Van Patten uses a handkerchief and wipes his brow, staring me down. Please don’t.

“Not interested, huh?”

I ponder this deeply, ignoring how Mr. Bateman judges me too. “I’m not fond of it, to be honest.”

“Have you tried it? I bet the stuff in Japan isn’t as good.”

“Not particularly,” I stutter a bit, and that entices them further.

“He’s scared, dude.”

“He’s a straight-edge, of course he hasn’t had the good shit.”

“What are you afraid of? You’re not gonna explode from it. It’s fucking cocaine, not bath salts.”

Mr. Bateman fixates me with a lopsided grin. “What a loser. More for me, I guess.”

I’m not acting right. This isn’t me. I don’t give into peer pressure, this isn’t Mr. Kira, and yet before I register it, I’ve picked up the rolled dollar bill and sniffed a skinny line. I clear my throat and at first, I don’t think I even snorted anything, until my nostril burns. They hoot and holler, congratulating me on popping some cherry. I blink rapidly, my right eye now stinging. What am I doing?

I just stand there, back against the metal stall. Deep breath, in and out. This too shall pass. I’ll wait it out and then go home, stretch, have my glass of milk, and sleep peacefully with my girlfriend. Remember, anything that gives effects fast, exits the body fast. I nod to myself. It’ll work out! It always does!

Besides, I don’t feel different but I might be expecting too much from a drug that resembles sugar. Actually, one of them just commented that the last gram was ‘NutraSweet’, so, there’s a chance this is all a placebo effect. Watching these men in their tight suits, wallets stuffed with cash and their ‘AmEx’, glittering jewelry, and they’re high off sugar. Damn sugar. Ha. That is hilarious.

My, my, just like the girl I dated after I finished my college education! She would sip sake, wait, no it wasn’t even sake, it was water! Water! She had made an utter fool of herself, and jumped onto a table at the restaurant she had stringed me along to, and she subsequently fell, nearly cracked her skull open.

We were kicked out, both of us, even though I was the pinnacle of elegance in my seat. She made a whole show, basically an educational presentation, of why I should come home with her, and yes, she was an easy catch, and her hands were softer than velvet, prettier than her objectively attractive face, but I couldn’t stand her whiny attitude so I had left her crying on the street.

She really thought I would have sex with her after that?

“What’s so funny, dude?” Puppy-eyes says. Why does he look so sad? So concerned?

My cackling echoes in the steel stalls, matching the thunderous tempo of some pop singer’s hit song upstairs. I don’t know what’s so funny, to be honest, but I can’t stop. I cover my face for a moment, my shoulders shaking, and I find solace in a cold corner.

My diaphragm aches and my sinuses are unbearably dry, yet my teeth rattle and the corners of my lips twitch into a smile I can’t stop. I lick my lips, tasting metal, over, and over, and over—

“Victor, how tight was Francine?”

“Pretty sure she’s a virgin. Or, was.” Hiss, smoke pours out of his mouth.

“Ha, Bateman said she was loose.”

He furrows his brow and frowns, as if it pains him to say, “Loosest fucking slut I’ve met.”

Another plume of smoke. I’m dizzy. “Really? She was tight, man. Maybe your dick’s tiny.”

They guffaw like hyenas and I make eye contact with Mr. Bateman. This isn’t the first time, and surely won’t be the last, that he’s the target of their pissing contests. Judging by his expression, the routine is stale. He’s looking through me, briefly, and indifference morphs into unbridled, sinister glee.

“I think I might chop your dick off, fry it, and throw it to the pigeons.”

The booming laughter doesn’t cease, in fact, one of them slaps his shoulder while he barely contains some need for violence. He pierces his cuticles with his thumbnail, much like I am doing right now.

Is that all you want to do? After he humiliated you?

“No. I actually might fry your whole body and feed you to the homeless, you bucktoothed bastard.”

Mr. Bateman rubs the rest of the powder onto his gums, and the sight of his fingers caressing his wetted lips, going inside his mouth, it’s—

It’s—

What? It’s what?

I clench my eyes. I need to leave now. I can not be here anymore, it is not worth it. I am vulnerable and in a state I do not wish to be in.

Someone pats me, hard, on the back but I don’t turn around, feeling stuck in place. In slow motion, his voice reverberates.

“Killer.”

“What?” My heart sinks.

“Kira, your nose is bleeding, dude.”

I wipe at my nose and brush away the stains on my bloody knuckles. I am not feeling well.

I’m growing erect, for an unknown reason, and I’m acutely aware of everything around me. The stifling cologne, the fluorescent lighting, the waterfalls crashing in the sinks outside the stall, the snorting and flushing, the vibration of my own hands. I haven’t trimmed my nails in quite some time. I should do that when I return home.

⭀ To be continued⥫

#american psycho #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #patrick bateman #writers on tumblr #kira yoshikage #moriohpsycho #teehee #make sure you listen to sussudio and love my way when reading !!

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pixyys · 1 year

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OBJECTION HEARSAY!

[bsd x lawyer!reader masterpost]

— summary.

you are a bright-minded young lawyer entering the city of yokohama! driven by your noble sense of justice and desire to navigate yourself in your blessed, yet star-crossed fate, you join the renowned armed detective agency.

you can also read, or rather, hear minds and thoughts alike. but it's not like it's that big of a deal. because despite this, you always seem to fail to recognize the growing affection people around you steadily develop for you.

— notes.

this is a masterpost for miscellaneous stories circling around you and the lovely casts of bungou stray dogs, featuring events that are may or may not be canon to the original storylines, and may or may not correlate with each other. also, yes. it's now official that you have a slow-burning, growing harem, kind of. feel free if you want to share your thoughts or talk with me about this concept/series! <3

— case files.

OBJECTION HEARSAY! (intro post)

crime and punishment. (getting caught in between life and death fyodor and dazai)

no longer human. (chilling and questioning the meaning of life in bar lupin with dazai)

i'll be counting on that. (wine shopping with chuuya) - pt. 2

— criminal record. (beast! au)

a successful lawyer; affiliations: unknown; infamous for their 'crooked' methods—enter, [name lastname].

risky game

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #[bungou stray dogs]#chuuya x reader #dazai x reader #fyodor x reader

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mari-lair · 1 year

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opinions and thoughts on terukane ghost hotel?

i think there concept or relationship in it is pretty interesting since akane is literally terus demon

OH BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS ON THE TERUKANE GHOST HOTEL AU

It's the only AU I have two vastly different takes that I am fond of.

The first take is that they are both a disaster but kind at their core: Akane was tricked by the clock keepers (they cursed his parents and made him sell his soul in exchange to break the curse) and became a demon.

Akane has the potential to be extremely powerful and dangerous but he promised himself to not fall to the same level as the demons that tricked him. He is so stubborn he actually managed to stick with his human morals. He never stole anyone's soul and ignored temptation like a pro, to the point he barely gets it anymore. This made him a relatively weak demon, but one that cares for others more than himself. Truly, he is a strange case, no one has ever seen a demon that is hard-working but not greedy. Akane can even be called nice when you get to know him. The hotel finds him weird but they like him. He is best friends with Aoi-chan, who is a fairy, so she doesn't fall in love or feel any attraction to anyone.

Teru is a full-time exorcist that never went to school, and was taught everything in a monastery, so he didn't have any friends. After Kou 'disappeared' Teru goes on a years long quest searching for him, he barely interacts with people in his travels, so he is atrocious at socializing and only good at rituals and killing. He traps Akane in a blood pact that makes it so Akane must obey his every order, and very quickly gets attached to him, trusting the demon so much he slowly stops using the pact's influence when giving Akane orders. When he gets a crush he falls hard and he has no idea how to flirt, his attempts are atrocious, Akane is very confused.

(I wrote a fic about this take if you are curious, it’s pretty old, but you can check it Here)

The second take is more messy and hostile because Akane takes someone's soul. He is more demoniac than human.

content warning for violence and manipulation below.

When the clock keepers trick Akane into selling his soul there is someone nearby. Akane is in terrible pain because of his demon transformation and all his senses are a mess, so when a curious stranger tries to check on him he ends up forcefully stealing the person's soul to satiate his hunger. It tastes delicious.

He regrets it when he comes to his sense and is determined to keep his human morals but his desire to taste a soul again is so strong he subconsciously twists his sense of what's 'right' to something more convenient without noticing, convinced he does the right thing by stealing the souls of criminals and other 'bad people', using his powers to help civilians and kill other demons.

The more souls he consumes, the more powerful and less human he becomes. His appearance stops changing after three souls, but his behavior constantly gets worse, until his core values become typical of a demon: greedy and selfish, even his hard work became a product of pure pride over time, with no desire to help others. He eventually hunts down Kako and Mirai, who are very powerful, and kills them to get what belongs to him back (his human soul). It doesn't work, you can't get your soul back after a monster consumes it, and the lack of rewards added with all the injures he accumulated in his battle with Kako and Mirai breaks something in him.

When Akane gets stuck in the ghost hotel, he is not a good 'person'.

Akane respects Aoi but he looks almost hungry at her, so she may had been intrigued by his arrival, but she doesn't like him, making sure they are never alone. His mood is also too volatile, he no longer has any souls to steal (monsters either don't have souls or their souls are corrupted) so he get greedy with other things: when he gets possessive with Aoi, the fairy loses her patience and poisons him, keeping her distance. The hotel doesn't like him, and he doesn't have any friends, but Hanako keeps him around cause he is the most hard-working and efficient employee.

Teru is the same in both takes, he was raised in a monastery and went on a journey to search for Kou, but this time, his blood pact with Akane is far tenser. Akane is an actual threat to him, so Teru's need to take various precautions in this pact, his orders having a strong grip on akane but they are not absolute. Even when Teru orders Akane to not hurt or kill him, he is still paranoid, well aware Akane may have trouble and even hurt himself if he tries to go against direct orders, but he have enough power and determination to try anyways.

Akane wants to eat his soul, and Teru knows, he never lowers his guard near him, his orders made to punish any of Akane's murder attempts. When Teru orders him to get him something to eat from the hotel kitchen, and Akane comes back with fruits or bread, he'll always tell Akane to "take a bite" as a test. If it's poisoned (it usually is) he'll order Akane to eat the whole thing, not taking any mercy on Akane when he gets sick from the poison, and punishing him if he fight against the order and doesn't finish the meal. It's a 'lesson' that makes Akane hate him more than anyone, but it does works: Akane eventually stops trying to kill him with poison.

Teru forces Akane to get him a room in the hotel instead of being gifted one, and he only allows himself to sleep after five days as a guest, when his room is so protected even a demon as strong as Akane won't be able to barge in.

Akane doesn't take too long to be attracted to Teru, it's not love, he still hates Teru's guts, and genuinely resents him, offended he is forced to obey the exorcist, but he finds him exceptionally beautiful in this gloomy hotel, and wants him to himself. Teru can sense it, and depending on his mood he is either completely intolerant and throws holy water on Akane's face until the demon burns or mock him for it, stabbing him and saying he'll give him a kiss if he be a good demon (he does not give him a kiss even when Akane acts good, Teru is just being a bitch).

He only ever kisses Akane when he is desperate and he can sense Akane is growing resistant to their pact, so Teru uses anything he can to tighten his leash and trick him into 'behaving'. At first, Akane is surprised but he doesn't take long to realize what his intentions are, establishing a strange exchange. They both bring out the worst in each other.

They are constantly on edge, it takes years for trust to form and when it does Akane is very possessive.

#tbhk #terukane #my brain has two modes: 'silly goofy mood' and 'give me a corruption arc! give me violence!!'#the comcept of demon akane make me so insane #cause demonsa re greedy and selfish at their core and akane is that to an extent but he is also very sweet and selfless #so his determination without his moral compass is a recepie for a very dangerous demon

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thejollyroger-writer · 1 year

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These Are the Risks - Chapter 3

SUMMARY: Special Agent Emma Swan has been working with her partner, world-renowned forensic anthropologist Killian Jones, for just under five years. Together, they have solved hundreds of murders, brought criminals to justice, and found a family in their coworkers at the Hyperion Research Institute. Their newest case sends them to the small town of Storybrooke, Maine, where they must go undercover as newlyweds in hopes of solving the eerie, unexplainable recent deaths. When they find something that science cannot explain, they only put themselves in more danger, and a final situation that makes them face the feelings they’ve been hiding since day one.

A/N: Welcome back to my 2021 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer entry! It’s a combination of a BONES au (with Killian as Bones) and supernatural dark magic – I hope you enjoy it! Special thanks to @eastwesthomeisbest for her AMAZING art, the other mods at @cssns for making this event happen, David Boreanaz for being one of the nicest humans, and my faithful readers. (If you’re not on my tag list and you would like to be, please let me know!) Yes, okay, I know it’s taken me a whole year to get here. Life happened – and believe me, no one is more upset than I am about the time it took to get here. Anyway, here’s chapter 2!

Read/reread chapter one here / on AO3

Read chapter 2 on AO3 / tumblr

Read ch 3 on AO3

"Ruby," Graham breathes, then takes off through the forest. A silent beat passes, Emma and Killian sharing a glance.

Killian shrugs.

Emma takes a small breath, her shoulders rising and falling, and then she takes off, dipping between the trees. For a moment — but no longer than a moment — she wonders if leaving Killian with the body was a terrible idea. And then she half-trips over a branch and catches herself, losing the thought with her footing.

"Graham?" she calls, cresting the hill, but calling out isn't necessary. She sees him right away, the crisp white of his dress shirt standing out against the dark colors of the forest. And there with him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, is Ruby, still sobbing. Beside them, an older woman with a head of white curly hair stands with her arms crossed, the shake of her head visible to Emma even from yards away.

"Goodness, Ruby, all of this crying is unnecessary. It's not like I'm dead."

"But you could have been! You've been missing for days, no word from you, nothing!"

"So why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset, Granny. I'm thrilled."

Ruby slips out of Graham's arms to smother this woman — Granny — with a hug. Now that she is only a few steps away, Emma sees the roll of Granny's eyes — but also sees the smile that the woman allows to appear for only a moment.

Her glare when she notices Emma for the first time, though, is something that she does not even try to hide. "And who the hell are you?"

Emma is more than used to being talked to in this manner, but hearing the words come out of the older woman's mouth take her aback, if only for a moment. But that is long enough for Ruby to supply an answer.

"Granny, this is Emma! She and her husband are here on their honeymoon, they know Graham."

She hums, like she can see right through Ruby's lie, narrowing her eyes at Emma. "And where is your husband?"

Emma gestures towards the top of the hill, the direction she came from. "I left him up there, he was looking at the—" She stops herself from saying dead body. "View.'

Granny still doesn't believe her, she can sense it with her whole body, but she thankfully drops it.

"Well, let's get back to my restaurant. I'm sure you've taken very good care of it while I've been gone."

"Actually, Mrs. Lucas, if you don't mind, I would like to ask you some questions about where you've been." Emma is thankful for Graham at this moment, asking the question that she so desperately wants the answer to. But the daggers she shoots Graham through a half-lidded glare are sharp enough that Emma feels them in her chest.

"I'm not going to give you answers you're satisfied with, so you might as well just drop it."

Emma watches his mouth open, the words caught in his throat, but he says nothing. Instead, he nods at her.

"Yes, ma'am," he says.

Satisfied with his response, she turns away, taking off through the woods in the direction of the town.

"Would you like a ride, Mrs. Lucas?"

She grumbles something, not even turning around, and continues through the trees, Ruby half a step behind her.

For a moment, the only sound around them is broken sticks and fallen leaves under Ruby and Mrs. Lucas' feet. Once the sound subsides, the silence that sits between them is almost deafening.

Emma so desperately needs to break the silence, something about the silence of the forest seeping deeper into her bones with each passing moment. There is something eerie about these woods, something that Killian would try to explain with science and logic, but she somehow knows that no such explanation exists.

"So that's Mrs. Lucas." She remembers a little from the thorough packet of information Graham sent them, plus the bits and pieces she has picked up since then. Beverly Lucas, owner of Granny's diner, has certainly been around long enough to know the darkest secrets of Storybrooke. Whatever is going on here, Granny at least knows something, Emma is sure of it. But getting the old woman to tell what she knows is not going to be easy, especially given how she responded to Graham trying to question her.

Graham just laughs in response. "Yeah, that's Granny."

"She knows something."

"She knows everything."

"She's been missing for, what, six days? That doesn't just happen. Whatever is going on here, she's either in on it or knows about it."

"I have no doubt you're right, Agent Swan, but it's going to take more than a gut feeling to get Granny to talk."

"And you're okay with that?"

"You really don't know much about small towns, do you?" He chuckles softly but doesn't give her a chance to respond. “We should go find your husband — uh, partner, and my mortician before there's another murder on our hands."

She knows he is trying to be funny, but the idea of another death in this small town, a place already so affected by loss, sends a shiver down her spine that has nothing to do with the breeze coming through the trees.

Thankfully, Killian and Dr. Whale seem to have taken to silence over arguing, but she can tell from the look on Killian’s face, from his posture as he sits on a nearby rock, that he is none too happy about this development. When his eyes met Emma's, the incredulity on his face grows, dark eyebrows raising farther up his creased forehead,

Emma just smiles, moving to sit beside him on his chosen rock.

"Any news, Victor?" Graham asks, standing behind the man as he continues his examination of the body and the scene around it.

Victor doesn't even look up from the body. “I’m not going to call it for sure until we get a blood test done, but I am fairly certain this is Isaac Heller. Hard to tell with the exsanguination and mummification, but as far as I can remember, he’s the only one that’s missing that fits this body type.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I mean, he’s frozen. And not even trying to thaw, which is, of course, incredibly odd.” Nothing in Dr. Whale’s voice makes it sound odd, though; his voice is a steady monotone, an accent that Emma cannot quite place.

She doesn’t like him. She can’t say what it is, but there is something about the doctor’s countenance that tips her off just a little.

With a small smile, she sits down beside Killian on his rock. Playing his part, he wraps his arm around her, moves his lips close to her ear, but instead of pressing a kiss against her cheek, he whispers, “There was a weapon, which seemed to throw the doctor off.”

Not sure what to do with this information, she turns her attention back to Dr. Whale, turning the body back onto its stomach as it was found.

“How are we getting him out of here, sheriff?”

“Do you not think a regular gurney will work?”

“Of course it’ll work, but how do we push it through the forest?”

“You carry it,” Killian says, needing to be a part of the conversation — plus, it's the obvious answer. “Not a gurney you can roll, but one you carry like a pall.”

Both Graham and Dr. Whale turn their eyes towards him, Graham already trying to figure out how he is going to explain this knowledge and Whale’s eyes burning with anger.

“You expect me to help carry a mummified, frozen body out of these woods?”

“Why wouldn’t you help? It’s part of your job as a coroner.”

“How do you know anything about my job here, Mr. Jones?”

Doctor. Emma can feel the words catch behind his teeth, begging to correct Dr. Whale, but with a flex of his jaw, he stays silent.

“There is nothing to argue about, gentlemen,” Graham says, trying his hardest to diffuse the situation.

Killian is absolutely right, of course: once the coroner’s van manages to get as close as it can via an access road, the only option left is for four of them to carry the gurney between them, moving slowly and together to avoid tripping on roots or otherwise harming the body. They only have to move it a few hundred feet, but it’s rough, rocky terrain.

Sweat drips from Killian’s brow and through Graham’s dress shirt by the time they reach the van, and the other two young men helping haul the gurney are just as exhausted.

It's easy enough to convince Dr. Whale to let Emma and Killian follow them to the small morgue: they came to the woods with Graham and would otherwise be stranded. Emma can tell he isn't thrilled by it, though; in fact, he barely tries to hide his displeasure with their presence.

"Why did you say you're in Storybrooke again?" he asks, pointing his camera at a wound on the body's left arm.

"We're here for our honeymoon!" Emma replies, trying to sound as upbeat as possible, but it just draws a raised eyebrow from Whale.

"Don't see many people attending autopsies when they're supposed to be celebrating their marriage."

She's sure they're a sight: Whale in his scrubs and apron, slowly photographing the body as it sits, still frozen, on the table in the middle of the room; Emma and Graham seated by the counter on the only two chairs in the room, each with their own notebook on their lap; and Killian, standing on the opposite side of the gurney as Whale, watching his actions like a hawk, all while pretending not to be engrossed. His hands are clasped behind his back, a too-small white apron tied over his torso, and Emma is certain that there is not an action done by Whale that Killian will not be able to describe in full later that evening.

His attention to detail has always been astounding to her, especially watching the specific way he combs through a crime scene or senses the smallest change in someone's countenance. She could spend hours watching him work, the sleeves of his sweaters pushed up to his elbows, bright eyes collecting every piece of what is happening around him. It is the same attention that she has seen him pay to numerous autopsies during their time together, but this is the first she can remember that he is paying just as much attention to the man performing it than to the body itself.

"I have always been a thanatologist," Killian replies, taking slow steps around the table that mirror Whale's, always keeping as much of the body as possible between them. "A passion like mine does not disappear just because I'm celebrating."

Whale looks up, narrowing his eyes at Killian through his glasses. "What the hell is a thanatologist?"

Killian chuckles, finally raising his eyes to meet the doctor's. "I study death in all forms. Historically, medically, forensically."

They're getting awfully close to revealing what Killian actually does, which Emma wants to avoid at all costs — but Whale just laughs.

"No wonder you think you know more than I do about all of this. I am so far out of my league here, it's not even funny. I was never trained for death, I went to school for pediatrics. But here I am, doctor, surgeon, and mortician in this town."

"Have you always lived in Storybrooke?" Emma asks, hoping to veer away from the subject, and Whale turns to face her.

For a moment, he seems angry about her question, but then his face softens. "No, I moved here as an intern in medical school. The hospital is small enough that they only take two or three, and I was one of the lucky ones. Then something kept drawing me further in and it was almost like I couldn't leave."

"Do you have family around here?" All basic questions, but all helping Emma get a better idea of who Whale really is.

His face darkens again. "I had a brother, but I lost him a few years ago."

"I'm sorry," Emma says. And she is. Even though she has never really had a family, she has grown close to some people that she cannot imagine living her life without: David and Mary and Belle — and Killian, though her feelings about him are much more complicated.

"Yes, well," he mumbles, then turns back to the body. For a few minutes, the room is silent, save the sounds of Whale working: the scraping of his shoes against the linoleum floor, a small metal crash every time he sets the camera down on the steel table. Graham begins to flip through the crime scene photos, newly printed from the computer behind them, and Emma glances over his shoulder at them, taking notes on the pad she keeps in her jacket.

Finally, Whale clears his throat, untying the apron around his waist. "I won't be able to perform an autopsy on the body in this state. It needs some time to thaw, so I'll just keep it here — locked up, of course — and come back this evening."

If he wasn't sure the body was frozen solid, Killian would have found this decision suspicious; but after watching Whale attempt multiple instruments and fail to break skin with any one of them, he agrees that he would have come to the same decision. As much as he would prefer to be present for this autopsy — especially after seeing the pictures from the others — there would be no feasible reason for them to return that evening without blowing their cover.

So, instead of pushing, Killian nods his head, grabbing his jacket off a hook by the rear door, then wrapping his hand around Emma's as they exit the basement morgue, all the while hoping that this man can prove useful enough to provide some helpful information for their investigation.

“You’re here late,” David says, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. If he hadn’t known she was still here, he never would have noticed the single desk lamp in their workroom shining over the desk furthest from the corner. Despite his attempt to be quiet, Mary Margaret still jumps, the book in her hands almost falling on the floor. David can’t help but chuckle. “Sorry, I was trying not to scare you.”

The hand pressed to her chest just proves that he didn’t succeed. “There’s something eerie about being here once the sun goes down,” she replies, closing her book and setting it on the desk in front of her. “You’re one to talk, though, you don’t even work here. What brings you here past sundown?”

“I had a meeting with Rob, a short video chat with Emma and Jones, and then we just got caught talking about—” He literally has to bite his tongue to keep from telling the truth: they were talking about her, his plans to propose, ask her to move in with him. “Some things.”

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks, either missing his almost-trip-up or choosing to ignore it as he crosses the room to stand beside her desk.

He smiles. “Lucky for you, I was waiting for my overworked girlfriend to call me.”

“Great,” she mumbles, letting him help her to her feet before turning off the light above the desk, the only light in the room spilling in from the hallway.

They share a quiet moment, a soft kiss before Mary presses her cheek to David’s chest. And that’s when they hear it: shoes against the linoleum of the hallway floors, the very sound that Mary Margaret failed to hear as David approached.

And a voice.

“Yes, they said they’d be sending my resume to Dr. Jones today, but I have the position already.”

“Who do you think—” Mary Margaret starts, but David puts his finger to his lips, shushing her.

He needs to hear this.

“I signed the paperwork this afternoon then spent some time acclimating myself to the space, just like you suggested.”

David recognizes the voice vaguely but he can’t place it. Thankfully, between the lack of light in the workroom and the lights in the hallway, they can see perfectly through the window-wall without fear that the owner of the voice can see them.

“Yes, as long as it doesn’t happen for a few days, I can intercept the package when it arrives from Storybrooke.”

Mary Margaret gasps. She’s read the case files — the smaller, condensed version that Robin put together for the team.

David stares down at her, eyes wide. She pinches her lips shut, pressing her face into his shirt again.

He recognizes him through the window. Devin Skyler, the newest intern. He has to tell Robin, once they’re not hiding in the shadows. Devin Skyler is working with someone — they just have to learn who.

He's been here before, Killian realizes, looking around him. Recently. He can't wrap his head around what day it is, nonetheless how long it has been since he was last in these woods, but they have a sense of urgent familiarity that he cannot shake.

He puts his hand out ahead of him, as if something were going to stop him from entering the clearing just on the other side of the tree line. With his hand still ahead of him, he takes a step towards the clearing, then another — but stops in his tracks when he focuses on a movement beyond the trees.

His father. That's impossible, he knows. Because even if the man were still alive — which he doubts — there is no way he would ever come here.

Storybrooke. That's where he is.

Lowering his hand, he slowly moves his foot to take a step back, but freezes when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" the voice asks — a voice that he recognizes immediately. Another that he knows to be only a ghost. Seven impossible things, a small voice in the back of his mind mutters, remembering a line from a book his mother used to read them.

His mind is full of ghosts today.

“What is he doing here?” Killian asks, ignoring the fact that he knows the man he is speaking to is dead.

“I don’t have the answers, little brother,” Liam answers, his voice echoing in the forest in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

“Come here, boys,” his father calls, and he turns away from Liam to glance at his father. But when he turns back, Liam is a boy again, younger than when they left England. Killian somehow knows that he, too, is also a boy.

“We can’t.” Killian finally remembers his last experience in this forest, but Brennan smiles and holds out his hand.

“You can now,” he says, and Killian somehow knows he is right. He looks down at the ground as he steps through the tree line and notices a dark line on the ground, his whole body shuddering as he steps over it.

“What was that?” Killian breathes, simultaneously excited and terrified.

Liam is the one who answers: “Magic.”

Killian shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

“What if you’re wrong?” a voice — a female voice that he knows he recognizes — whispers in the back of his mind.

“I’m not wrong,” he insists, and feels himself growing, feels the years pass as he crosses the clearing to Brennan, who holds out his hands to embrace his son, except they’re stained with blood.

No, they’re dripping blood.

“What if you’re wrong?” the female voice asks again, and he feels pulled away from Brennan, like he should turn and run.

“The rarest kind of magic.” This time, it’s his father who speaks, his words having the same eerie echo that Liam’s had before as he reaches out to take Killian’s hand. “You know this, son. Why are you running from it?”

“No!” he yells, pulling his arm out of his father’s grip, though he loses his footing and falls to the ground.

Keeps falling.

And jumps awake, sitting up in bed with a gasping breath, trying to pull himself together.

Storybrooke. Mummified bodies. Science. All things he can understand, all things with explanations that he and his interns will find through their inquisition.

“Jones?” Emma asks, looking up from her cell phone from where she is sitting in the corner of their room. “Are you okay?”

He nods, running his hand over his face. It was just a dream. Just the first dream he has had about his father for years, though every part of it felt so familiar. “Just a bloody weird dream,” he mutters — then shudders at his word choice, remembering the blood dripping from his father’s hands. “Just a dream,” he says again, this time only to himself, as he pulls himself out of bed.

#these are the risks #cssns #cssns 21 #captain swan #captain swan supernatural summer #bones au

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 8 months

Text

Cloud City, Chapter Eleven - a Malevolent AU

He feels Hastur on his lips and under his tongue, behind his eyes and so very careful not to knock Arthur out of his own body because if he is too much himself, he would.

And then it’s gone, and Arthur is gasping, and somehow on his knees, and the bugdog is licking his face with concern and making weird little whimpering buzzing sounds. “Got a kiss after all,” he blurts, laughs weakly, and hangs his head to keep from passing out.

AO3 || Masterpost

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They go south toward the water. They go south because no one in their right mind would. This is blocks past Arthur’s apartment building. Not even criminals hide in this place, and Arthur is all too aware that if they find anything alive down here, it will be a monster.

Talk to me, Arthur, Hastur says as Arthur jogs. You’ve been quiet for too long.

Arthur snorts. “Too long, eh?”

Except when asleep, you’re never this silent. Sometimes, not even then.

“Ha,” says Arthur unsteadily, and keeps jogging.

The ocean is in sight now, and the air has gone humid and briny, salty and fishy, unpleasant and still. Every building is boarded up from windows to doors, at least facing the street.

Arthur’s steps sound so damn loud. “Well,” he says. “I guess it doesn’t really matter that I suck so bad at understanding anyone or anything, since I’m about to die.”

Really? says Hastur, dry. That’s where you’re going with this?

Arthur turns down an alley, finally off the main street, and leans against the wall. “Hastur. In the last two days, everything I knew about the universe, my co-workers, my friendly enemies, and my own body has been ripped away, set on fire, and glued back together in a language I don’t fucking speak. You know, I could use a minute?”

Ah, Hastur says.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, and sits right on the ground.

They’re going to be searching for you.

“I know. I know I have to confront him. I know I have to use the dagger on him. I know all of it. I just need a minute, okay?”

Okay.

And so Arthur takes his minute. He takes his minute, and makes it more, just sitting in a silence he has always shunned—a silence he’d been sure was filled with sounds of his daughter, with lies from his parents, with Bella’s soft Don’t leave me before Arthur did, trying to chase down the guy who’d shot her.

And he’s right: it is. But it has more, too.

It has doubts about every arm’s-length relationship he’s ever had. About half the cases he was on, which he’d solved with the same reasoning and instinct that so misled him here. It has questions about Hastur, and their relationship, and what it means that Hastur—an inhuman spirit who will pour all Arthur is out like holy wine—is the only person who actually knows him.

It hits Arthur then that he’s known Hastur longer than his daughter was alive, and that’s the one that undoes him.

He weeps.

Of course, it starts to rain. It doesn’t all land on him, there in the alley. The eaves far above keep much of the water away, and the gutters that still work rush and roar on either side, bleeding the sky into the sea.

He just has to get it out. Just has to sob right past, to let this poison of emotion and terrible thoughts spill, spit it up like bad food he shouldn’t have eaten.

Arthur, Hastur says.

Arthur’s not sure how long it’s been. It’s getting dark. “Yeah?”

You need to eat. The last thing you need to do is pass out while fighting for the survival of humanity.

Arthur chokes a laugh. “Asenath did her thing, remember? I'm fine."

For a while, you'll be fine. You had coffee fifteen hours ago, then you threw up. Asenath helped, but you need food.

Arthur sighs. “How can so much be happening so quickly?”

From my point of view, it’s all been too fast.

Arthur snorts. “Yeah, sure. You can just Contract again.”

Arthur—

“I know, I know. It’s hard to find someone who can host your magnificence, but trust me. It won’t be your last time on Earth.” He sniffles, then pulls out his handkerchief to blow his nose.

You, on the verge of losing everything, murmurs Hastur, offering comfort to me.

“Some of us try not to be an asshole. Take notes,” says Arthur, and stands.

A truly unique human.

“Sure. What’s our plan?”

Now that it’s getting dark, we’ll sneak back to Asenath’s. We know who it is now. We can find a way to track him.

“Can we, though?”

It’s that or trying to find him on our own.

“He could be fucking anywhere.”

Looking for you, no doubt.

“We could set a trap. Call him. I’m bait.”

And he’d show up with so many people we’d never get away. No. It’s hunt or be hunted.

“Fine. But they’ll be watching Asenath’s.” Lower: “Assuming she got away.”

In ordinary circumstances, they’d never know what happened. You simply were there, then vanished. But in this case… I’m fairly sure they know who took your place in the cell.

So yet another impossible threshold was being crossed tonight, it seemed: “Are you saying the coppers are going to go up against the witches?”

I am.

“That… that is gonna go really badly.”

Yes, it is.

“Will it stop if I take out Parker?”

I don’t know, but I do know the police won’t win.

“Fine,” says Arthur, peeking out of the alleyway. The street is quiet and dark; apart from pattering rain, there isn’t a voice, a radio, a dog. “Good as it’s going to get,” Arthur says, and begins the slow climb back up the long hill toward the populated areas.

Toward the witch’s street.

It’s blocked off.

From two blocks down, Arthur stares. All six police cars the city owns are here, pulled up in such a way as to prevent easy access to or egress from the street. From Arthur’s position, he can’t really see what’s going on beyond the cars. What he can see is not good.

There are sparks of light. A flickering, like flame. Smoke rises from several buildings, right and left. Listening hard, he can hear muffled gunshots, as if inside the buildings.

“Shit,” he whispers.

They acted faster than I expected, says Hastur.

“Makes sense,” Arthur murmurs. “If I remember what Parker said. When their Defiler comes into my body, the eye and the hand somehow won’t be his. They don’t want to risk making their horrible rot god angry by letting you get more body parts first.”

We need to leave. We don’t know where Parker lives, do we?

“Not a clue. Don’t have a way to find out, either.”

What do you want to do?

Arthur thinks. “Back to the station.”

Closer to the danger?

“Only an idiot would go, right?”

That doesn’t make this sound like the wiser choice.

“I think what we need to do is stake the place out, watch for Parker, and follow him home.”

Admittedly… that’s not a bad idea. If we can remain undetected.

“We’ve done it before.”

Never with quite so much at stake, or with such handicaps.

Arthur’s body isn’t working right. He can't seem to catch his breath; his hand trembles, and he feels weak. “So I’ll be counting on you paying attention.”

I am.

“Then we’ve got this.”

Exercising caution, they made their way toward the station. Arthur avoids all main streets; it is easier to creep around now that the unseen sun has set. Cloud City is dark at night, unnaturally so, made worse by Arthur’s failing sight.

It feels oddly claustrophobic, even though he is hardly trapped; he keeps having to stop and breathe, just breathe, reassuring himself the world had not closed in, that he is still free. “I hate this,” he whispers.

It’s almost over, Arthur.

One way or another. “Yeah.”

You can do it.

“I have to. So I will.” And he will. “Just another ten blocks.”

Slow. We can do this, Arthur. I believe in you.

How strangely reassuring that is. “Thanks.” And in the dark, Arthur sneaks on.

They’re nearly to the precinct when it happens.

A weird snapping-fluttering sound. Wings flapping, maybe, but without feathers; like a gigantic bug, but not buzzing; it almost sounds like paper.

Could it be from the Wastes? Some new and horrifying insect? Arthur waves his hand over his head, trying to make whatever the fuck that is go away.

Oh, no, Hastur whispers, and Arthur stops.

Before them lands a… creature. It reminds Arthur of his childhood, before they moved here—a sudden and sharp recollection of a picture book, of full-color images of little red bugs, cute and covered in spots.

He’d forgotten. It’s been so long—so many years since he was outside this city, in a place he hardly recalls, and almost seems like a dream. But this thing is… sort of like that?

It’s round like a dinner plate and about the same size; a lovely, cheerful red, shocking in the gloom, with big black spots at random. The wings are what made that paper-flapping sound—they’re clear, delicate, almost like a veil. It has six little legs like black wires, bent and active, letting it scurry from side to side.

But the face is not a bug’s face. It’s some sort of weird, squished dog—bulging eyes, dangling tongue, black nose pressed into its flat, beige cheeks.

Arthur stares.

I’m so sorry, Asenath.

“Asenath?” Arthur blurts.

The bugdog flutters.

“Wh… what, the coppers turned you into a bug?”

The bugdog is laughing at him. It’s not a voiced sound; he can’t even tell what’s making those rapid, happy clicks, but he absolutely knows what that sound is.

“Hastur,” Arthur says warily.

Hastur sighs. This is a piece. A slice. Like a lock of hair, cut off but still bearing the original’s DNA.

“What’s DNA?”

Hastur pauses, then changes tack. This is what remains of Asenath on this mortal plane. And then they both—Summon and bugdog—give Arthur a moment to parse what that means.

He does. He leans on the alley wall; it seems too hard to stand. “You? They killed you?”

The wings flap. There are words in the sound, but Arthur can’t make them out.

Hastur can. He. Not they. She was completely fine until Yang got involved.

Flap-flap-flap.

Even then, it was close... but they’d murdered another person tonight after we got away, bringing the number to seventy-nine.

Flap-flap-flap.

This was too much—more power channeled than she could channel. She knew she’d lose, so she chose to split herself.

“Oh,” Arthur whispers.

Flap-flap-flap. He could almost understand—

Their fight destroyed the station. Yang doesn’t have a proper coven anymore; she’s very proud of the mess she made.

“What?” And Arthur turns on his heel and runs.

Arthur, wait!

Arthur is not waiting. He stops in front of a door and kicks.

The moment before his heel connects, power zips through his body (and his heart stutters, hurts), but the door slams open, lock broken, and he runs inside.

His last ring pops. The last one. That was it. Arthur doesn’t even comment.

Arthur, what the fuck? says Hastur.

He got Asenath killed! He’s dying anyway! It doesn’t matter! Nothing matters! “Do your fucking worst!” Arthur snarls at him, at everything, racing past dummies and tables of fabric, heading for the stairs.

He takes them at a run.

Arthur, what are you doing?

He doesn’t answer, gasping heavily. His body fights him, struggles, but he doesn’t stop until he gets to the roof.

Arthur bursts through that door and doubles over, panting. Behind him, the bugdog flutters with great curiosity before apparently making a guess, and it flits over to the edge of the roof looking north. That’s where Arthur is going. He’s gasping still, but doesn’t care, because from up here, he can perfectly see what remains.

The station is on fire.

It’s largely destroyed; rubble litters the street on all sides of it, entire walls gone, roof caved in. There are no bodies, but Arthur isn’t sure he could see them if there were. This is enough: the place was brought down, and it sure looks like it blew out from the inside.

He stares at it. He wonders how many coppers died. He wonders what will happen to the city now. “Are all the witches dead?” says Arthur.

Flap-flap-flap.

No. In their own homes, they can neither be taken, nor harmed; Asenath thinks the officers sent there were intended to die, to be gotten out of the way, perhaps to grant him more power.

“That means he doesn’t think he needs their help from this point out,” says Arthur. “Are we sure he hasn’t hit eighty-one murders?”

Flap-flap-flap.

If he’d done all eighty-one, with that amount of power, you wouldn’t have been able to hide.

So that is terrifying. “What… what do we do?”

Flap-flap-flap.

No.

Flap-flap-flap!

No. That’s fucking stupid.

“Give me a vote, idiot,” says Arthur.

Hastur’s low growl makes him shiver a little. She suggests heading to a hidden shrine of hers and using the tools she has there to draw Parker to you. It’s a bad idea, and we’re not going to do it.

Arthur looks at the bugdog.

It flaps at him, wings so fast, they’re a blur.

It’s too much. “Asenath really is dead?”

Flap-flap-flap.

His heart hurts. “Are you in the Dark World?”

Flap.

No. “With the… the Mother?”

Flap-flap-flap!

Joyful, that scuttling, and of course, it would be. “Good for you,” Arthur says around the lump in his throat. “You earned it.”

Flap-flap!

Heck yeah, she did. “Your mouse going to be okay?”

A happy little series of flaps.

She says her sisters have Gertrude, and all is well, and you are not to grieve.

Right. Easy-peasy.

So he’d made another mistake. His life was all mistakes right now; he couldn’t trust his decisions, even the ones that he made to try to avoid hurting someone. What the fuck, why not say it? “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you.”

The bugdog skitters over, climbs onto his foot, and presses its weird dog-face to his shin.

Forgiveness? Pity? Agreement? It’s all there, and it nearly does him in again.

Arthur wipes his eyes, then looks toward the station. Flames lick out the ruined roof; there’s no sign of life at all, which strikes him as odd. No firefighters; no rescue workers.

He looks around. This building is only six stories and does not show him behind or over the skyscrapers, but he still can see a lot—up and down the street, through various apartment blocks, all the dark fronts of stores. There’s no one. Not even a curious gawker. “Where—” His voice cracks, and he clears it. “Where is everybody?”

Flap-flap-flap.

Inside. The witches know what we do this night; they have cast a city-wide spell to keep everyone inside.

“City-wide? I don’t feel anything.”

You have me.

Arthur snorts.

No, Arthur, Hastur says, amused, warm, terrifying. You have me. And then, he—

For a moment, Arthur can’t breathe because Hastur is.

Hastur fills. Hastur already was, but whatever he does now, Arthur feels him in every cell and every vein, flowing like blood through his whole body, sitting like fat under his skin, singing like thoughts in his brain, bearing his weight, strengthening his bones, under every single fingernail and at the root of every hair.

He feels Hastur on his lips and under his tongue, behind his eyes and so very careful not to knock Arthur out of his own body because if he is too much himself, he would.

So. Not a normal Summon. Four hundred years to find someone who could handle him. Servant of the King in Yellow. Arthur is willing to bet that’s more like right hand man of the King in Yellow, but he can’t bring himself to say it.

It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Only one thing does: he has to confront the ex-lover who’s walking around with the power of many murders he wields like a club, and has to find a way to kill him.

That, and he can’t trust his decisions. That’s so fucking clear; not one thing he’s chosen of late was right, and with so much on the line, he’s not sure he can risk blowing another one. “Tell me my options,” he says to his strange companions.

Flap-flap-flap.

Hastur growls.

“Say it,” says Arthur. “I can almost understand her, anyway.”

You—well. Good for you, says Hastur. Pity we didn’t figure that out years ago; I could have attuned you to great magicks.

“Hastur, you’re fucking stalling.”

Hastur sighs. Very well. She says she has a Black Mirror. I disbelieve this statement; there are none left in the world.

Asenath chitters at him angrily.

Yes, well. Hastur huffs. Through it, you can communicate with Parker, wherever the hell he is right now, and draw him to you into a trap she proposes we set up.

“Okay,” says Arthur, trying not to pass judgment yet. “And your plan?”

We track him down, hunt him, and slit his throat from behind.

“Track him down… somewhere in the city.”

He’s looking for you. He’ll be staking out your office and other places you’re known to hang out. Dryly: Finally, a valid excuse to go to Jack’s Bar.

“Very funny,” Arthur mutters. “Meanwhile, he’s getting ready to do more murders and get to full power, right? Do my chances go up or down while he does that?”

They are the same.

Asenath disagrees, wings whirring.

No, says Hastur. They are the same.

Arthur does not think they are the same, given that Hastur already said eighty-one murders would make Parker too powerful to avoid.

Still; even with this, he’s more of the stakeout type—more the kind who’d prefer to sneak behind his prey and gut him, much prefer to do this without having to meet Parker’s gaze. He'd rather do it Hastur's way—so. Since that’s where his heart falls… “We do it Asenath’s way.”

Hastur’s surprise is palpable. What?

“Asenath’s way.”

Apparently, the bugdog is surprised, too. It skitters in a circle, weirdly almost dancing, then pauses to wriggle its rear end. At Hastur, Arthur is sure. He laughs.

Arthur, this is a bad idea.

“Why?”

Because he’ll simply show up with whatever’s left of his coven and overpower you.

Flap-flap-flap.

Arthur understands. “Not if we set the trap right.”

Arthur…

“The risks are huge the other way, too,” Arthur says. “I’m weakened. All my rings are gone—even the weird ones in that bag, which shouldn’t have worked. All I’ve got is my onyx taper, at this point. If I’m going to get a shot at this, I can’t rely on the luck of my past. I can’t just… assume I’ll overpower him, or outlast him, or whatever else. He’s horrifyingly strong. I’m fucking not that. A trap is the best bet.”

You don’t actually mean that, do you? says Hastur, who has always known when Arthur tried to lie.

“No,” says Arthur. “That makes it more important that that’s what we do.”

Arthur…

“No. I suck at all of this. I’ve misjudged everyone and everything. My gut says to do your thing, so we’re going to do hers.”

You are… ridiculous.

“Sure. Whatever. Where are we going, Asenath?”

Willful.

“You’re the one who picked me.” And Arthur does not add and is choosing not to shove me out of my body because surely that impression was wrong. Summons can’t do that.

(Maybe this Summon can.)

(Thinking about it will only fuck him up, so he doesn’t.)

The bugdog buzzes, then skitters for the stairs.

Arthur doesn’t hesitate to follow.

(chapter twelve)

#malevolent #malevolent big bang 2023 #malevolent fanfic #arthur lester #hastur malevolent #malevolent au #cloud city fic #parker yang #asenath waite #trans asenath waite #trans woman

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earthbovndmisfit · 1 year

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In the AU where Speedwagon and Jonathan are both mermen what if Erina was their common human friend and she likes to visit them at the pier daily

That would be so sweet!! I even imagine her making friendship bracelets for them, and them bringing her beautiful stones from their stash as a gift.

There could be plenty of ways as to how they met, too! Personally, I'm thinking she could be a nurse working at a small hospital nearby, so it's easy for her to visit them daily at the pier after her shift. Not only the pier is part of her daily route from home to work and viceversa, but it would also be a nice way to chill and relax with friends after a long day.

So, when they first met, maybe Erina was being followed by some guy trying to rob her. Coincidentally, this happened near the pier. She was ready to fight her potential attacker as soon as she found out what was going on but, before she could even throw hands, two huge figures emerged from the water, menacing towards the guy and giving him the "courtesy" of a warning and giving him the option of leaving the lady alone and flee, or stay and fight them instead. Erina's attacker was frightened and fled the scene without looking back, and even dropping the knife he'd been carrying with him. Cue Speedwagon spitting a disgusted "motherfucker" towards the guy while Jonathan turned to Erina, asking her if she was alright; Spw joining them right away. Frightened a little, because not only you don't meet huge men who are built like brick walls everyday, but she'd also spotted their mer tails by this point, all on top of the adrenaline that had been rushing through her body thanks to being followed around by a criminal. She assured them that she was okay, but they convinced her to stay a little longer, in case her attacker was still around. They stayed with her until she calmed down, chatting with her and offering some comfort and a nice chat. All this assuring her that, despite their imposing appearances, they were both kind and noble (and that Speedwagon had a No Shit Taking policy that Jonathan oftentimes had to keep under control lol). In return, they learned that she was a fiery lady despite her dainty appearance and that she had been ready to throw hands at her attacker, also learning that it wouldn't have been the first time she did so.

The next day, she came back to the pier, bringing them a small gift as a Thank You for what they'd done for her the day before. She didn't know if she'd find them again, but as soon as she got closer to the edge, she could hear the two of them swimming, playfully wrestling each other and just fooling around. She was greeted with huge smiles from both of them when they saw her.

Visiting her friends at the pier became part of Erina's daily routine since.

#erina's profession can totally vary too #same for how they met #i'm just tossing ideas rn #so please feel free to send in any other ideas you guys have!#i'm always down for hearing y'alls thoughts #jjba #erina pendleton #jonathan joestar #speedwagon #speedguapo #merman jonathan #merman speedwagon #jonawagon #(?#maybe eventual jonaeri+jonawagon?

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boomboxfic · 2 years

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Assurance (Mike Logan/Ben Stone); drabble

I have two WIPs in mind regarding OG L&O Season 3x21 "Manhood" about the cops who left hung one of their own out to dry because he was gay.

One's an AU where Ben is a detective that hops on with Mike after Phil gets shot; the other is this comfort drabble. It will be expanded into a longer one-shot.

It was unforgivably early when Ben felt himself coming awake. He’d gone to sleep alone; he had called Mike’s apartment to check on him before he went to sleep, and it went straight to voicemail. Mike sometimes stayed at Lennie’s if they were working overtime on a case, and Ben went to sleep off that assumption. Cracking one eye open, Ben saw that it was 3 in the morning, and grunted. At least it wasn’t time to get ready for work yet.

“Hey, sorry for waking you,” Mike apologized, exhaustion hanging on every word, “I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” Ben replied, voice rough with sleep. He rolled over to face Mike, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off his undershirt. Ben sat up and shifted closer, and Mike felt his presence as Ben pressed a kiss to his shoulder and held him from behind. Words didn’t need to be said; Ben understood the burden on Mike’s shoulders, how the cop shooting affected him.

Ben thought about Max Greevey, gunned down outside his own home. It was roughly a year into Mike and Ben’s then off-and-on relationship, and Mike’s reckless actions nearly tore them apart again; two men trying their best to bring a cop-killer to justice. They’d weathered that storm.

Then Phil Ceretta, being shot during an UC bust. Ben remembered Mike’s rage; he couldn’t believe that Ben was willing to deal with a guy who nearly killed Phil. Phil gave his blessing, but that case ended with horrible implications. Ben and Mike weathered that storm as well.

Max and Phil were cops shot by criminals, but this Newhouse case consisted of implications beyond that of typical criminal activity.

The Officer Newhouse shooting was beginning to show shades of the unthinkable. Yes, Newhouse was killed by a drug dealer, and had taken that dealer’s life in trade before succumbing to his injuries. What was now coming out of Mike and Lennie’s investigation revealed the ultimate betrayal; cops hanging another cop out to dry.

Because he was different.

Because that cop was gay.

Like Mike.

Ben shook the thought out of his head, forcing himself to focus on the real, breathing human being in front of him. “I’m glad you’re here, Mike. I was worried about you.”

That got a half-hearted chuckle out of Mike, but he understood. He held Ben’s hands in his and squeezed, a silent gesture of assurance. He shifted again, and Ben released him sliding back to his side of the bed as Mike moved to lay beside him. Neither man said a word as they lay on their sides facing one another, eyes locked on one another, convincing themselves that this nightmare of a case had not defeated them, not yet.

Mike watched Ben's expressions, knowing that his partner was thinking. He watched as Ben’s hand cautiously caressed his shoulder and slid over to rest over Mike’s heart, feeling his heartbeat. Mike knew that he could have been Newhouse. That, by some inconceivable chance, Briscoe could have been dispatched elsewhere, and Mike would be in his worst nightmare, pinned down from both sides.

Then Ben’s worst nightmare - having to prosecute Mike’s killer.

Mike reacted as Ben’s eyes squeezed shut, those blue eyes trying to shut out his darkest nightmare. Mike held Ben in his arms, protecting him, his low voice telling Ben that he was not Newhouse, comforting him with his words, his presence.

“Ben. I’m right here,” Mike squeezed Ben’s hand, still pressed over his heart. In truth, he had the same fear. He kissed Ben’s temple, and held him closer, assuring himself with the same words he was using to comfort Ben, “I’m still here.”

#mike logan #ben stone law and order #mike logan/ben stone #stogan #stogan drabble #stogan wip #i have too many wips and its all the same pairing #boombox fic #fic: assurance #law and order fic

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f0rtunes-fool · 9 months

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My resisting my neurodivergent urges to tell tumblr about my Criminal Case AU that involves even more mystery, a very morally grey mc and human experimentation

#perry the fucking platyplus godammit #drywallisedible #criminal case #criminal case oc #criminal case no longer human au

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mamamomimomi · 2 years

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ENDLESS IT (Chapter 4 of 16)

Part 1, 2, 3,

Pairing: Touken/Kanetou

Ratings: Mature content/NSFW

Genre: Crime, Romance, Mystery

Synopsis: While attempting to apprehend Tokyo’s most dangerous criminal, FBI agent Kaneki Ken keeps running into a certain short-haired enticing woman in sites linked to the case. Human AU.

AO3 FF.net

_________________________________________

"Did you get any sleep at all? I've seen you refill that mug multiple times now, and it's only ten."

Kaneki's head jerks up, startled by Hide's voice, spilling coffee on his white shirt from the mug he was holding in his hand.

He clears his throat and replies, "Uh, yeah, I went home late yesterday," staring at the mess he had just made.

"Had a little too much fun, perhaps?" Hide smirks, placing his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair to squint his eyes at his colleague.

Kaneki grumbles, "I was on the case," setting the mug down on the desk before removing his reading glasses and massaging his nose bridge. His cheeks are flushed red as he recalls his unexpectedly passionate experience with a certain woman. He wasn't about to admit to his partner that this mysterious woman of his was keeping him up at night, the reason he couldn't sleep at all.

He shakes his head and stands up to retrieve a clean shirt from his bag. He always has one on hand in case of need. He begins to unbutton his stained shirt.

A few people were at the office today; the majority were out in the field, and Akira had ordered Kaneki and Hide to stay inside in their shared office room and wrap up their late reports. Being action-oriented men, they had initially opposed the notion, but her glare made them shrink and return to their seats.

Watching the white-haired agent as he stood shirtless in the middle of the room, Hide jests, "Dude, just change at the restroom. No one wants to see you naked."

Kaneki turns away from his partner to grab the clean shirt, grumbling, "And whose fault is it that my shirt is now ruined?"

"Oh, come on! Don't blame the innocent for your own clumsine - holy fuck, Kaneki!" gasps Hide, startling him once again.

The fact that the man had cuss alone was alarming enough, but he could also hear the genuine shock in his voice.

The white-haired male turns around with a frown on his face. "What? What is it this time?"

"What the hell happened to your back?"

"My back?" repeats Kaneki.

Hide nods. "You have scratches all over it. And not some I-bumped-into-the-wall kind of scratches, it looks like a large feral cat used you as a scratching post."

Kaneki freezes for a second before his face flushes red and he quickly dons his shirt.

"Uh, well," he stammers out. He truly had no idea how to justify the marks on his back, so he went on the offensive. "I-it's nothing! Just some kind of, you know! Well..."

Hide's expression gradually changed from one of astonishment to one of giddiness, his mouth opening into a broad grin reminiscent of a child's face on Christmas. "Did you...by any chance, get laid?"

Kaneki mumbles something incomprehensible while refusing to look at him, and the blond man's smile just becomes wider. "I can't believe it! You're no longer a virgin!"

Kaneki glares angrily at him. "Lower your voice, Hide!"

The said man smiles smugly, "Ah, so you did get laid! Who was it, tell me? Who did you sleep with?"

Kaneki scowls, sitting back in his chair. "You don't need to know that," he says, flipping through a document he had on his desk, before sighing in discontent and setting it back on the desk. "I hate this, why did Akira-san force us to stay inside? I wanted to go with the others to help with the questioning."

Hide chortles, "I guess it has something to do with the fact that we haven't been doing much paperwork lately. You can always tell me about your mysterious woman if you're so bored."

"Knock it off already. Why do you even need to know?"

"It's not often that the great Kaneki-or Sasaki-or whatever they call you, gets flustered over a woman," Hide enthuses, with a hint of cynicism in his voice. "She must be a special person."

Kaneki's visage changes to one of contemplation for a brief while as he visualizes the short-haired woman's face, her soulful two eyes, and her oh-so-alluring lips. Only after three encounters did he realize that she was a truly remarkable woman who made his heart race faster than he ever imagined it would.

After a long pause, Hide remarks, "Take that ridiculous expression off your face. You look horrendously mushy."

Kaneki gives him a death stare. "Who are you calling mushy, Hide?"

"You, of course. Now are you going to answer my questions or what?"

Kaneki groans in frustration, yielding to his best friend's persistence. Hide is someone Kaneki might choose to confide in about his problems. They'd known one another since they were children and had been through everything together.

"Fine. But whatever I tell you cannot leave this room, understood? If I hear about it from someone else, I'll rip your head off."

Hide looks at him in surprise, "Wow, this must be some important stuff if you're threatening me. Your one and true best friend."

"The thing is, if Akira-san or Arima-san find out, they'll be really disappointed, and I'm not sure I could keep this position," admits Kaneki.

"Did you engage in any illegal activity?" queries Hide.

"Not necessarily, but suppose there was information about our situation that I ought to have shared with them. Do you recall the time we were at Kanou's house?"

"Yeah," Hide says, beaming. "I can't possibly forget that. You were left behind in handcuffs with your face painted red. And to think that you're Arima-san's favourite makes it even more hilarious. "

"Yeah, well," continues Kaneki, choosing to ignore his partner's snide remark, "the woman who handcuffed me, the same one that we saw at the bar -"

"Woah, woah, wait, wait, wait," interjects the other man, "are you trying to say that you slept with that raving beauty who kicked asses?"

Kaneki bobs his head sheepishly. "I saw her at V nightclub when I was on duty."

Hide looks at him from head to toe for a few seconds before bursting out laughing and spitting out a globe of saliva. "You banged a stranger — who might also be a criminal — while you were supposed to be working on the case?" Kaneki shifts in his seat and taps his foot repeatedly on the floor in a nervous manner. "I admit it's not the best course of action, but consider yourself in my circumstances! I had been at it for two weeks and nothing happened. I was bored out of my mind, until she came along. Hide, you should have seen her. She was a sight."

The man focuses his gaze on him before smiling perversely. "Was she good at least?"

"Well, it was certainly worthwhile," murmurs Kaneki. "She clearly has something to do with Kaiko's case because I have seen her three times in locations related to the matter."

"You think so?"

Kaneki nods. "I'm certain about it. She even told me that she was looking for information."

Hide lets out a heavy sigh as he reclines in his chair and gives the other man an expressionless face. "If that's the case, Akira-san would undoubtedly punch you to death if she knew you saw her again without having her taken into custody."

"But she didn't kill Kanou," Kaneki points out, running his fingers through his hair. "The bullet was identical to the one we recovered in Mrs. Fueguchi's body, and it was obviously one of Kaiko's men who did it. I wouldn't be surprised if he were the one who sent someone to assassinate Kanou."

Hide nods, reaching for a file on his own desk and flipping through it. "Kaiko could frame that poor girl. Talk about the wrong place and wrong time."

"How many other girls are we going to find until that bastard is behind bars?" Kaneki clenches his jaw in anger.

Hide trails his fingers down on the page his eyes were skimming over. "Do you think that woman is one of his girls?"

Kaneki shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. She has money, and she doesn't need to work for him."

"It could be to keep up appearances. You know that he likes to dress them up fancily to hide their real jobs."

"That's true, but I am sure she isn't one of them. She was a virgin," he admits.

Hide's eyes widen, and he looks up from the file on his lap. "That woman, a virgin? You must be kidding."

"I was as surprised as you are," replies Kaneki. "That's why I'm saying that she doesn't work for him. She can't be one of his prostitutes."

"So she was a virgin and she has money, you say," ponders Hide, stroking his chin. "The possibility of her being a wealthy heiress reduces the population of Tokyo to less than 1%, so identifying her shouldn't be too challenging."

Kaneki raises his eyebrows. "What? Why?"

"Don't you want to know whose cherry you popped?"

"Well, yeah, but -"

Hide cuts him off, saying, "We should start checking into his wealthy associates if she is looking into Kaiko. She might even be able to assist us with the case and point us in the direction of that guy, as she looks to be on par with us."

Kaneki takes a deep breath before leaning back on his chair and extending a hand towards his partner. "Point taken. Give me one of the files."

The white-haired male pinches the bridge of his nose and hurls the file he was holding carelessly on top of the ones he had already read. "This was all for naught. Neither I nor the electronic database can locate anything, and I have no idea where to look for that woman."

"Calm down, everything would have been simple if you could have just gotten her name," says his partner, cracking his neck.

Kaneki frowns slightly. "Do you suppose I haven't given it a shot? She resisted giving any personal information."

Stretching his arms above his head, the blond man looks at the mountain of folders he has already combed through. "We could have overlooked a name, or perhaps we weren't looking closely enough. For all we know, she might be concealed somewhere in those files."

A fatigued Kaneki rubs his eyes. "She is the first woman in my life who has ever exhausted me this much," he murmurs to himself.

Hide chuckles, patting his best friend on the back. "So what do we do now?"

Kaneki pauses to consider. "We could dig into Kaiko's background, and perhaps one of his former acquaintances or associates could point us in the direction of both her and Kaiko."

"No, I don't think so," says Hide, while shaking his head in protest. "I don't think confronting him personally is the answer. Besides, moreover everyone in this office has read through his file at least twenty times."

"Do you have any better ideas then?" asks Kaneki.

Hide beams. "As a matter of fact, I do. These files were printed from the internet database, which only contains information up to 2009 and only contains a small amount of data. Investigating prior 2009 cases is our only option."

Kaneki recoils with disdain. "The ones in the archive room? Even though I'm a voracious reader myself, we'll never be able to finish reading them all."

"Not when we know what we're searching for. I doubt there are that many referring to rich heiresses," returns the other man.

Kaneki ponders for a while, praising his best friend in a low-key manner. Both Kaneki and Hide were men of action. He did, however, occasionally astound Kaneki with flashes of brilliance. Not that the white-haired agent would ever acknowledge it.

"That's actually very logical," he whispers to himself, standing up from his chair. "I'll take care of it." _________________________________________

"Yo, Kuroiwa. I have a favour to ask of you," greets Kaneki, his head peeking from the mentioned man's office.

Takeomi looks up from the screen of his computer. "What is it?"

"I need you to get us something from the archive room," starts Kaneki.

"You do realize that you have the authority to enter that room, don't you? The security won't ask you for a working ID."

"Well, I know that," the white-haired agent clears his throat, leaning against the door, "but since Akira-san assigned us to report duty, if she sees me outside the office and that we are disobeying her directive, she will rip my head off. You just need to go to the archive room right away, please."

The other man is silent for a moment, preferring to stare at his computer before sighing in defeat. "Fine, I'll do it."

Kaneki smiles in triumph. "Thank you, and while you're at it, get Yoriko-chan and ask her to bring us all the cases involving the wealthiest people in Tokyo over the past twenty years."

"What's the use of those? Shouldn't you be working on Kaiko's case right now?" asks Takeomi, watching the white-haired man walk back to his office.

"Oh, it has everything to do with the case," shouts Kaneki with a smile.

"What do you think she needs from him?" Hide inquires when the white-haired man gets back to their shared office.

"You're asking me about her motives when I don't even know who she is?" Kaneki responds.

His partner pauses to think before opening his mouth, "Fair argument, but perhaps there is something so evident that we are simply missing it."

Kaneki places another document inside the box he just went through. "You know, the person who should be insisting on finding her is me, not you, so why are you so determined to know who she is in the first place?"

Hide chuckles. "You're right. But then, why didn't you look for her name before? Is it because you enjoy the secrecy around your casual encounters? To have slept with an unidentified criminal must be great."

Kaneki grabs another file and covers his face with it as his face turns scarlet. "Stop talking, it has nothing to do with it. We don't even know if she's a criminal or not. Maybe she's some sort of vigilante or something."

"Like Batman?"

"Sure, why not?" shrugs Kaneki.

"However, I don't remember him engaging in sexual activity with a cop."

"Hide..."

"What?"

"Be quiet for a minute, please."

They both return to reading as Hide rocks with laughter. Only the sounds of pages flipping and chairs squeaking as their occupants move can be heard in the small office.

After a few minutes of silence, Hide eventually speaks, "Maybe she knew one of the prostitutes hired by Kaiko. She may be some type of vengeful angel for those poor women."

Kaneki purses his lips in a thin line. "I wouldn't blame her. What type of horrible man kills innocent girls for wanting to leave that kind of life?"

"The devil himself. Killing ladies who were looking for a better life was not acceptable at all," adds the blond agent.

"This is so tiring," grumbles Kaneki under his breath.

Hide rolls his eyes. "Stop whining; you are the one responsible. We wouldn't have to do this if you had just arrested her," he tells him, and adding, "but then again, you wouldn't have lost your virginity either -"

"For Pete's sake," moans Kaneki, rubbing a palm against his forehead in frustration. "Why do you keep saying that? Are you trying to hide that you're a virgin as well?"

"You wish," huffs Hide. "Did you find anything yet?"

"Nope. There was not one female with blue eyes who resembled her."

"Neither do I," sighs the blond. "Not alive anyway."

Kaneki perks up. "What do you mean?"

The other man lifts an eyebrow and continues, "There was this one woman with blue eyes who had been killed, but they never found out who did it; but that was more than fifteen years ago, and I doubt it's your mystery woman."

"Let me look at it. It could still help us," says Kaneki, extending his hand towards him.

"Sure."

Hide picks up one of the files he had been searching through and opens it to check that it is the correct one before tossing it in the other man's direction, who easily catches it in his hands and opens it lazily.

His eyes skim the pages as he reads the case synopsis before turning to the next page. His jaw drops open in shock as soon as he sees the image of the woman, and he looks up at Hide.

"Holy shit, that's her."

"What?" exclaims Hide.

"This is exactly how she looks! Don't you recall seeing her before?"

"I wasn't exactly looking at her face," mutters Hide, receiving a glare from Kaneki at his perversion. "In any case, it's not possible. There are even photos of this woman's disfigured body from long ago! Not to mention that, although they have the same haircut, their hair colors differ. In this image, the woman in the foreground has light-colored hair. While your woman has a black one."

Kaneki frowns as he glances down once more, his gaze fixed on the photos taken at the crime scene. If it weren't for the bloodied body lying on the ground at the foot of the sofa, the photographs would have depicted a pleasant and opulent living room. A woman with light hair lay on her back, mouth agape, eyes wide in horror. She had severe gashes on her thighs, and her white nightgown was blood-stained and pulled up to her legs. Kaneki discovers that the grey muck on her light hair was brain matter after reading the cause of death, which was listed in the document as a bullet to the head. He was able to see the bullet hole on her temple in the subsequent image, and he nearly gagged when he saw how much of her head had been destroyed by the bullet.

"Damn," he whispers, horrified. "I've witnessed some pretty messed up stuff in this job, but this one ranks right up there."

"Worse than that body split in half?"

"Definitely worse. At least the cut had been clean. This one here is messy and plain sadistic. There were other wounds on this woman's legs, and there were others shown in the pictures of the autopsy. The killer took his sweet time with her," he notes, reading the autopsy report.

"l haven't even looked at the rest. I closed it immediately when I saw the first picture," says Hide.

Kaneki gives him a pointed look. "You probably missed something important."

"Oh, come on," whines Hide as Kaneki avidly reads the file. "You saw the images; she can't be it! It's only a coincidence since there are apparently seven people in the world that resemble you. It could be just due to chance -"

"There!" shouts Kaneki in triumph, getting up from his seat to shove the file in Hide's face. "Do you see this? It was stated here that they discovered two children at the crime scene, and it was soon learned that they were actually siblings; a 3-year-old boy and a 7-year-old girl. That would make this young girl around our age now! I bet you everything I have that it's definitely her!"

Hide grabs the document from his hands, reading it with a frown on his face. "You might actually be right.... Damn, she left both her daughter and son behind."

Kaneki moves away from his side and sits back on his chair to type on his laptop. "Let's dig up what happened to her back then. What was that woman's name again?"

"Hold up, Kirishima... Hikari?" reads Hide.

"Kirishima Hikari," repeats Kaneki, typing the name and pressing enter. He mutters in frustration as the page loads with nothing shown, "Nothing about her is mentioned here, this article only contains all the information about her murder.

"Search for her online. She was a wealthy heiress back then, thus some media may have covered her passing," suggests Hide.

Kaneki checks up the deceased woman online as suggested by his partner. A few articles appeared, and he began reading them, one by one. The white-haired agent reads aloud, "K. Hikari, wife of Konzern's owner, Kirishima Arata, was found dead at their residence. The injuries prompted the police to assume that it was a murder—okay, this is all the same basic stuff."

"Nothing about those little children's names on that piece? Why is it so hard?" Hide groans, "It's like the Kirishima siblings' existence has been deleted from every database!"

"Naturally, since they were too young, the authorities won't leave their names in the file or reveal it to the public. For privacy and safety matters," Kaneki reasons out.

Hide stands up and hurls the file to the floor in frustration. He pauses to glance at the screen from behind his partner before stooping to grab the mouse from Kaneki's grasp. "Wait, look at this. The Kirishima's company went bankrupt a few years ago, which explains why I'd never heard of them before."

"If her parents' company folded, why does that woman have so much money?" wonders Kaneki.

"Perhaps, she doesn't," argues Hide. "Just because someone is dressed elegantly does not imply that they are loaded with money."

"She didn't deny it when I questioned her about it," mumbles Kaneki.

"So, if the company goes bankrupt, what happens to the two siblings and their father?" Hide wonders aloud as he reads the article. "Holy moly, look at this." Hide moves his head from the screen, allowing Kaneki to take a look at what was written on it.

"He killed himself?" The other man quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah," mumbles Hide. "He evidently did so after losing both his wife and his money. After he committed himself, his mansion and other businesses were used to pay off his debts."

Something doesn't make sense to me," Kaneki tilts his head in confusion. "Why would he do such thing and leave his kids behind?"

"No idea," replies Hide. "There's still nothing about the Kirishima siblings in these articles. It's like they disappeared after both of their loved ones' death."

"At least I now know who her parents are, and her last name," adds Kaneki.

"So what do we do from here?" asks Hide.

"We keep looking, and maybe we'll -"

Behind them, someone calls out, "Here, gents."

When they turned around, they saw Yoriko standing at the door with a box in hand. "I still don't understand why you require so many files, but Takeomi notified me of your request, so I looked for more for you."

"We're truly grateful, Yoriko-chan! And that pertains to our case, but it's confidential. Since you're not an agent, we're unable to tell you," Kaneki smiles apologetically.

The hazel-haired woman pouts, muttering, "Tell it to the person who files all your cases," as she approaches them and places the box on the ground. "So, what exactly is going on here?"

"It's about a wo -" starts Hide, before stopping in his tracks when he notices the look Kaneki gave him, and he suddenly remembers his threat. "About Kaiko. Yeah, we're looking into his rich associates."

The woman gives them a doubtful look, but nonetheless shrugs it off. "Okay then, agents. I'll leave you to it."

"Say hello to Takeomi on your way back, make the man happy," snickers Hide.

He can see the woman's cheeks reddening. "Why would I do that?" she squeaks out.

"Sure you don't," mumbles Hide, sharing a knowing look with his partner.

"Whatever," she whispers back, walking back to the door. Disdainfully, she regarded the files that were dispersed across the office, knowing that she would have to rearrange them before re-putting them back on the racks in the archive room. A document that was open on the floor attracted her attention as she was about to leave the room. She squats down, grabbing it in her hands, and examines the image. Her eyes widen in realisation.

"Oh my god, Touka...chan?"

#touken #kanetou #kirishima touka #touka kirishima #ken kaneki #kaneki ken #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul re #endless pit #my writing

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bangtanloverboys · 6 months

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enchanted // pjm

summary - as next in line to the throne, it’s jimin’s duty to oversee and judge criminals brought before him. following his father’s footsteps, he delivers justice with an iron fist. that was until a familiar face is brought before him for sentencing, but there’s something not quite right about the case

pairing - prince!jimin x cursed female!reader

genre - drama, fluff, angst; fantasy au

author’s note - this was inspired by the book ella enchanted by gail carson levine; i actually wrote a bit of it so you’ll get that. and then it’s followed by a rough outlines, this was hard because i didn’t know what direction to follow completely with it

There were many things that Jimin hated to do as his duty as a prince. Knighting ceremonies were dull, studying vast amounts of languages slowly grew exhausting, balls on occasion were fun but they became draining after so many dances with the ladies of the court. But the one thing Jimin hated most were trials.

More often than not, prisoners were brought before his father, the king. Whatever their crime was, they were presented to the king for a hearing. There they would beg for mercy or plead their innocence. Jimin remembered growing up, he would peek behind pillars or cracked doors, trying to catch a glimpse of the court. However, he would always be caught by the steward moments before the sentencing. No matter how much he begged his father to know what had happened to the criminal, his father never told.

It wasn’t until he was 15 that his father finally allowed him to attend a trial. Jimin remembered being so excited about seeing a criminal and learning what would happen to him. Only all the glee and giddiness left his body once he saw the prisoner being escorted into the throne room. With a guard on either side of him, an old gnome was walking slowly up to the platform where Jimin and his father stood, his shackles swaying with each step he took.

Jimin’s knowledge of magical creatures was surely limited, having only ever read about them in his books and never in real life, but he knew out of all of them that gnomes were truly harmless. The real ones to look out for were the ogres, who often wanted to feast upon the flesh of anything that moved, even other clans of ogres. Elves were a common menace, constantly playing tricks and finding ways to leave you penniless. Then there’s the fairies, always a strange bunch, it was always hard to figure out what they wanted.

The gnome in front of him was hunched over, but he knew if he stood up straight he’d be no taller than his shoulders. His paper thin skin almost translucent in the sunlight that peered through the grand windows of the hall. In his shock, couldn’t move or saw a word the entire trial. Watching silently in horror while he learned the poor gnome before him merely failed to pay taxes, having only gnome currency which was unacceptable payment.

“4 years in the dungeon.” His father’s words boomed in the chambers, but nothing rang louder than the sobs of the old gnome as he was dragged away, begging to go home. He didn’t know until later that the gnome died a few months after his sentencing.

Since then, Jimin wanted nothing to do with trials or hearings, but he was never able to get out of them. He stood in silence for years as he watched a number of citizens where dragged away with unfair sentences; gnomes, fairies, elves, and humans alike.

As the years passed and his father grew older, he decided he could no longer hold the trials himself. Thus, he elected Jimin to hold the trials for him. No matter how much it killed him inside and he knew how unfair the sentences were, he followed in his fathers steps, delivering so-called justice with an iron fist.

The day was just like any other. The Lord Malori, a long time friend of the king, had a thief he wanted to bring forth for sentencing. Per his duty as prince, Jimin was the one to take care of it. The court had all assembled in the Grand Hall, waiting for Lord Malori and his men to bring in the thief. Despite the gathering, Jimin already knew what the poor thief’s fate was. A short drop and a sudden stop.

Right as the clock struck 10, the doors to the Grand Hall opened. Lord Malori stormed right through the doors, his men trailing behind him. Chained and stumbling behind them, was a poor girl; her soft sniveling barely echoing in the quiet hall. Jimin was unable to make out her facial features as her head hung low, hiding her face from his line of sight. But there was something about her that seemed familiar.

“Your Highness,” Lord Malori bent his knee in a quick bow before Jimin. “Three days ago, my estate was robbed of 200 gold pieces by this wrench.” The chained girl was thrown to the ground in front of Malori. “She confessed to the crime, I only ask for you to deliver her punishment.”

At that moment, the girl looked up from the ground, meeting Jimin’s eyes. Within an instant, he recognized you. He knew you as a child, you were the only daughter of a viscount and quite possibly Jimin’s only friend in the castle. Both of you were thick as thieves as children, rumors of an arrangement between you were often whispered amongst the castle halls. After your mother tragically passed away, your father had gambled away his fortune, leaving your family name in ruin. Last he heard of you, you and your father moved to the northernmost part of the kingdom, hiding in shame.

“Your Highness?” Lord Malori’s voice pulled Jimin from his thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

“Forgive me, my mind has been elsewhere,” he excused. “You said she confessed?”

“Aye, tell the prince what you told me, you bitch,” Lord Malori said, kicking your back and forcing you on your hands and knees.

“I-I stole 200 pieces from Lord Malori, pretending to be a guest at his banquet,” you quavered, not even looking up to meet Jimin’s eyes.

“She confessed to the crime once I had announced it to the town. Came right up to me, crying like the guilty whore she is,” Lord Malori explained.

Something didn’t feel right. Despite it being years since he’d last ever spoken of you, he never once thought of you as a thief. Had times really changed so much for you that you had no other choice but to resort to thievery?

Not to mention, the entire situation didn’t feel right to him. He’d seen hundreds of thieves being caught and sentenced, but only ever confessed once they were caught. Not ever had a thief come forward for their crime.

Looking down at you again, Jimin watched as tears rolled down your cheeks as you silently wept on the ground, not even begging for your life to be spared. Like you’ve accepted your fate.

“Y/N.” A collective gasp swept through the court as you looked up at Jimin, “Tell us the truth.”

“W-what?” You stuttered, confused by his words.

“You’re lying. Did you commit this crime?” He repeated.

You were silent as you choked on your words, almost like your body was refusing to answer the question.

“Your Highness, I don’t think that is necessary. She-”

“I did not.” Your words cut off the Lord’s refusal, rendering him speechless.

“Who did it?”

Again, he watched as you internally fought yourself to speak the words before you finally sputtered out, “I can’t!”

“Fine, she has an accomplice. We shall find out who they are soon enough, but Your Highness, I implore you to at least make an example of the girl” Lord Malori insisted, glaring at your spot on the floor.

Glancing down at you again, Jimin saw the fear evident in your eyes. You couldn’t have done this, and Jimin couldn’t allow you to follow to die. “No.” For the first time since he took his father’s place as judge and jury, he refused to sentence a criminal before him. “I will be conducting an investigation on this matter. Until then, she shall be held in the dungeon. Everyone is dismissed.”

“Your Highness-”

“I said dismissed,” Jimin repeated, silencing Lord Malori’s interjection.

Out of the corner of his vision, he could see a clear look of shock written over your face as palace guards took you from Lord Malori’s men. Until you were fully escorted out of the Grand Hall, he could feel your stare burning into him.

Stepping away from the court (more specifically Lord Malori shouting at him for answers), reality of what he did came crashing down on him. Jimin already knew his father was going to be furious with him, not sentencing a criminal brought before him. But it didn’t sit right with him, it wouldn’t be that easy. Plus your confession of lying, there was definitely something going on. And he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Park Jimin!” A bellow of his name had him turning towards the owner of the voice, the steward. “The king requests your presence in his chambers.”

“Well that was fast,” he muttered to himself as he followed the steward in the direction of his father’s chambers. Jimin’s father had been bedridden the past few days, the whole kingdom feared he wasn’t going to make it to the next year. Fairies, wizards, and all sorts of healers from all over the world were invited to try and cure his illness. None had succeeded. It was only a matter of time before Jimin was to ascend to the throne.

Upon entering his father’s room, immediately Jimin could feel him glaring. Bowing when he reached his bed, he greeted him. “Hello Father.”

“What is this I hear about you sparing a thief’s life?” His father’s voice was scratchy as he questioned him.

“Father, it’s Y/N, I know her. I don’t think she would ever resort to thievery-”

“It’s been 16 years! She confessed to the crime, you were supposed to sentence her!” He began to raise his voice, only resulting in him coughing. Quickly, Jimin raced to his father, grabbing the glass by the nightstand. “You cannot be showing favoritism.”

“I’m not,” he expressed, hoping his father would understand. “You told me as king I’d have to trust my instincts; regardless if it was Y/N or not, something doesn’t feel right.”

Narrowing his eyes at Jimin, the king sighed. “You have one week. If you cannot find the person behind it, she will be executed.”

“But father-”

“One week!” The king repeated.

Exhaling deeply, Jimin nodded. “Yes, Father.”

Dismissed from his father’s chambers, Jimin made his way down to the dungeon. With only a week to prove your innocence, he had no time to waste. He needed to talk with you. Maybe the reason you didn’t tell anyone about who put you up to it was because there was an audience watching. Perhaps it was someone in the court even!

As Jimin walked passed, the guards scrambled to their feet, bowing to him in respect. He gave them a tight smile and a wave, motioning for them to ease as he wandered further into the dungeon, looking for your cell.

It didn’t take him that long, in a matter of moments Jimin found where you were being held. Stepping up to the bars, he got a better look at you than in the Grand Hall. You were sitting on the ground in a mess of straw, picking at it, barely even noticing Jimin’s presence. Clearing his throat, your head turned, a look of surprise on your face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I did say I was to investigate,” he reminded you, a light smile pulling on his face. For a moment he didn’t see the iron bars standing between you both, he only saw you and he felt like he was a child again, happy to see his friend. But that moment ended, and he was reminded of the dire situation you were in. “Y/N, we don’t have much time, I need to know what happened.” Jimin urged, ready to jump right into the investigation.

In an instant, your face fell, breaking away from his gaze. He watched you silently contemplate, gnawing on your lower lip. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?! Y/N, please tell me what happened.” He begged.

You were doing it again, that weird face where you looked like you wanted to say something, but your body refused to let you speak. “I-I can’t,” you sighed, giving up.

“Can’t? What do you mean you can’t?”

“I mean, Your Highness, I can’t.” You repeated, holding stern on your stance. Either you were protecting someone, or. . . perhaps you quite literally could not say it. . . However strange it seemed, it looked like Jimin would have to try and work around this obstacle.

“Then. . . what can you tell me?” He asked.

Looking back at him, Jimin watched the gears turn in your head. “Did you know my father remarried?”

Furrowing his brows, he shook his head confused as to what this information might have to do with your charge. “No?”

“Well, he did,” you continued. “Trying to return to society, he found and remarried a baroness, who’d lost her husband. She had a daughter already. My stepsister.”

“I’m failing to see how this connects to Lord Malori.”

-------- that’s all i had written ---------

Pretty basic, reader is cursed to be obedient and maybe gets in trouble with the law, family telling her to take the fall for her step sisters crime

They order her not to say who really did it

When she’s presented before the king he’s like “what is your crime” and crying she says “i stole gold from lord milori”

Jimin recognizes yn from their younger years, they were close friends and he actually really liked her, before her family dipped from nobility. When he sees her he’s really confused bc he knows yn, despite how long it’s been, it’s not like her to steal so he says “tell us the truth”

“What?” “you’re lying, tell us: did you do this crime?”

She clearly struggles but ends up answering “no” gasps from all over the court

“Then tell us who did.” “i can’t!” she wails

The king wants to execute her but jimin is like “Father, no wait.”

So she goes to the dungeon and jimin will visit her and she’s obviously scared bc he’s prince and say the wrong thing and she’ll be dead

“Why can't you tell me” “i just can’t” “if you’re choosing to hide/cover up who did this, i can’t help you”

“I'm not choosing to!” “then why can’t you tell me” “because i can’t”

“Can’t or won’t” “i would tell you if i could, but i physically cannot tell who did it”

Jimin is still confused

But he continues to visit, once he ran into her being visited by her family’s servant (fairy jungkook), and he’s just like “im sorry they did this to you”

He over hears jk and reader talk and he feels guilty about eavesdropping but maybe he can figure out whats going on if her friend is there

“Are you sure you’re alright? They haven’t found out have they?” “no, you know i can’t say anything anyways”

Jimin is confused so he interrupts and is just like “please i want to help you, i know you didn’t do this”

She cries because she cant and jimin becomes frustrated but doesn’t give up

The night before her trial, jimin dreams of how weird she behaved when she followed orders, but didn’t think much of it

As her family is in there, yelling about how she did steal it, he notices that every time they talk to her it’s an order. Just before his father sentences her, he’s like wait, no. yn, tell the truth. An order

She does “it wasn’t me.” her family screams at her to say it was her and jimin orders her to ignore them and to tell him who did it. She confesses it was the sister and then more chaos happens

So many orders being thrown around by his father, jimin, her family, reader screams and has enough of it. Putting herself first now, she yells that it wasn’t her it was the sister, she found her in lord milori’s office at the party blah blah blah

She breaks the curse because she’s had enough of being made to take the blame, so she stands up for herself and breaks the curse, breaking the mold

Her family are all stripped of titles and thrown in prison

Yn is offered to stay at the palace, and hinted at romance / fin

#dip outlines

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sarcasticdolphin · 1 year

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“Good Riddance” Modern mafia au. Read the tags.

The crime scene hadn’t roused Emma’s suspicions on its face - a criminal lowlife gunned down by one of his own. Graham had muttered something about less work for them.

The medical examiner’s report changed everything.

Ten shots - the entire clip of a Glock 48. The gun barrel had been found in the victim’s pocket - they wouldn’t be able to ID the gun. A ghost. And the shots hadn’t been from across the street - 10 to 30 cm the line in the report blared.

Worse was the grizzled old medical examiner as he explained that nine of the wounds weren’t fatal. Only the tenth, and even that one not quickly. 20 minutes to bleed out. At least. So he can’t have died there. Not enough blood.

Ligature marks on the wrists, ankles, knees, waist, and upper arms.

Graham’s shoulders seem to bear the weight of the world that day. Emma knows as well as him that it was most likely one of the man’s victims. Or in his case, probably not. More likely a family member. The survivors weren’t really old enough for the obvious planning that had gone into the man’s murder.

They go in circles for two weeks. Good riddance, the words they hear again and again. Graham gives a resigned sigh two weeks after they get the case. Two weeks without a lead, two weeks of judgmental stares - why waste police resources on the death of a man society is better without?

-------------------------------------------------------

“I think it is time you meet my favorite ADA.” From Graham’s tone, Emma can tell whoever she will meet is anything but.

The ride over to the prosecutor’s office is pleasant enough. It always feels a little strange - being here. Too cold and distant - Emma much prefers it when the prosecutors come to the station instead of the other way around. It made them seem more human.

Graham parks them in the garage but makes no move to get out. “ADA Hapsburg did the original trial. There is no one who knows the case better and who might have a better idea of who is most likely to have killed him. That being said he’s an arrogant stuck-up asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else. And yes, Hapsburg - like the governor.”

From Graham’s warning, Emma is expecting an older man - a brother or cousin to the governor. ADA Rudolf Habsburg is anything but.

Graham pushes open the door to an office revealing a young - for the first thing that pops out to Emma is how young he is - man. The original trial had been five or six years ago. The man in front of her can’t be more than 27 or 28. He has the same inky hair and alabaster skin that Emma has seen on TV and in the tabloids when the governor’s wife makes a rare appearance. The hair is a little longer than Emma would expect - just caressing his neck like a crown of soft inky raven’s feathers.

“Detective Graham. To what do I owe the pleasure?” ADA Habsburg’s tone is cold as it shapes the pleasantry, half-mocking to Emma’s ears. The detective’s earlier words come to mind.

Graham drops the file on Habsburg’s desk without ceremony. The ADA looks at Graham, then at Emma, then picks up the file. Emma can almost hear a sneering voice electing to humor them. The ADA’s eyes on her, though, are a little unnerving. He looked at her - at both of them - the same way he’d look at the vermin in the streets.

Habsburg flicks through the photos in the file without comment, one after the other, his facial expression never changing.

“Good riddance.” The ADA shuts the file and places it back on the edge of the desk, just by Graham.

“Is there anyone from the first trial we should be looking at for this?” Graham’s tone is polite, but he’s obviously struggling.

“Everyone?” And the ADA’s tone isn’t helping. Emma understood that he thought they were idiots the first time. “I’m honestly surprised you got him back in one piece given the ligature marks. I would have expected some slicing and dicing. At a minimum.”

“Is there anyone that sticks out in your mind?” Emma interjects, trying to diffuse the situation.

ADA Habsburg turns to her. “I don’t believe we’ve met Miss...?”

“Emma Johnson.”

“Rudolf Habsburg.” As you already know, his tone implied. “A better question might be who would show the restraint to only shoot him?”

“It wasn’t just a shooting!” Graham snarled, snapping at the ADA. “The shots were careful, calculated. The murderer must have stood there for half an hour, watching that man slowly die - who else does that buy a psychopath? I don’t care who the victim was. We need to get whoever did this off the streets. Names. Now.”

“Well. If you insist.” Rudolf glanced at his nails. “Victim one died. He was the only child of a single mother. She committed suicide after the verdict. I think it is pretty safe to say neither of them were responsible. Victim number two was rendered a paraplegic-”

Graham grabbed the file and stormed out of the office. ADA Hapsburg stops, watching the door bounce after Graham’s attempt to slam it.

“One piece of advice, Miss Johnson.” His tone was milder now. Emma turned back toward the ADA from where she had started to follow Graham. “Don’t kick a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t know that detective Graham has ever taken that one to heart.”

Emma bites out a quick thanks before following Graham.

------------------------------------------------------

Rudolf thinks back to the rest of that night after the detectives leave. How Tod had kept him ensconced in his arms as they watched the pathetic thing before them bleed out, the only motion when Tod shuffled them back to avoid the growing blood pool. He had placed a kiss on Rudolf’s pulse point as the light left the tearstained eyes of the man in the chair before guiding him back to the car. Michael and the other man had gone back into the room. There was clean-up to be done.

The drive back to Tod’s penthouse had been uneventful, the lights of the city at night the same as they ever were. Tod’s hand had returned to his right shoulder blade as they made their wat to the elevator, bidding Gabriel goodnight.

Tod placed a gentle kiss on Rudolf’s lips as they exited the elevator together into the darkened penthouse, the silver moonlight providing the only illumination.

Tod kissed Rudolf again after pulling him into the moonlight - more possessively this time. “My angel of death,” he murmured after breaking the kiss. “How beautiful you are. How beautiful you were.”

Rudolf shakes his head, pulling himself from his musings. Any further reminiscing into what had happened next would probably result in a problem he had no desire to deal with at the moment. Tod would undoubtedly be only too pleased to remind him after the opera that night. He thought of Graham instead. There was no surer way to avoid the problem.

#my fic #todolf #modern mafia au #tw murder #tw guns #tw suicide #Rudolf is a little shit #Tod loves it #no Tod in this one #the detectives are back #Emma's first time meeting Rudolf

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tenkasato · 2 years

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Fanfic Recs: Attack on Titan

Welcome! For my next set of fanfic recs, here is my favourite modern epic, Attack on Titan. This is also to celebrate season 4 part 2 release tomorrow. We made it, everyone!

Levi is my favorite character so my list would mostly be Levi-centric. Hope you try to read these wonderful works!

The Broken Doll by aradian nights

Author’s summary: When Mikasa Ackerman is kidnapped, she is not saved by Eren Jaeger. Instead, a thug from Wall Sina named Levi takes her under his wing. AU (status: complete)

Thoughts: This is the fic I always dreamed of seeing in anime/manga. Wholesome Ackerman fic, both caring immensely for each other, and with the right amount of familial fluff and plot angst. 10/10.

Lawless by kuchenackerman (tumblr: @kuchenackerman )

Author’s summary: Despite his youth, Eren Jaeger is one of the best and most required doctors of the Kingdom. Among those interested on his services is included a recognized criminal clan, which does not hesitate to use the youngest of the Ackerman as bait. Eren never imagined that this "harmless" girl in red dress would get him into so much trouble. (status: ongoing)

Thoughts: Very creative worldbuilding with accurate portrayal of characters. Plot is thickening as author-san updates. Not to mention, if you guys are looking for good Ackerman family dynamics, you can find it here.

Canon-compliant

Levi's by Tramontana Keeper

Author's summary: Levi declares a one-man war on the sorry state of the military's pants (because whoever decided white was a good color for them was clearly an imbecile). Erwin is worried. (oneshot)

Thoughts: Crack fic at its finest. We'll see how far humanity's strongest can go when it comes to hygiene.

SnK x Reader

Dust, Diamonds by maokitty (tumblr: @phen0l)

Author's summary: Ever since your youths, the two of you have been quite the pair: the toddler son of a prostitute and the child-thief who protected him; a thug who could waltz and a whore who could kill; humanity’s strongest soldier and an officer’s mistress. And now, after years of separation: diamond and dust. (status: complete)

Thoughts: My absolute favorite. I feel like if you've been reading Levi x reader fics, you've probably come across this masterpiece already. Well-crafted plot, brilliant dialogues, heart-crushing angst and drama. 10/10.

Widow by Hakyeonsmelanin

Author's summary: In which Levi falls in love with the wife of a fallen comrade. (status: ongoing)

Thoughts: This is an emotion-heavy fic. It hits right home in the heart. Not to mention, the beautiful prose makes the read even more surreal and sweetly painful.

To Sing a Song of Steel by CaptainDegenerate (tumblr: @heichoudaddery )

Author's summary: As a token of goodwill, you're sent to a hostile foreign nation to marry the son of the Czar. Having given up all you know and living inside a castle that doesn't welcome you, you're surrounded by people you cannot trust, your life hanging by a thread in the unsteady political climate. In your hopelessness, the only solace you find is in a man who's no longer fully human. (status: ongoing)

Thoughts: This one is Reader x Levi, but reader has a name. Besides the praiseworthy world-building, plot twists and tense scenes are going to throw you off your seat. Characters are most of the time on point also. A must read!

Blood Runs Thick by a_little_nostalgic

Author's summary: Modern AU: There was something about you not even you can put your finger on. The mysteries of your past unravel when you go into uncharted territory, but this is not a case you can solve alone. As you uncover the doors to your past, so do you bare yourself to the one dangerous man who can save you. (status: complete)

Thoughts: Best modern!AU that parallels the canon. A+ for creativity.

[watch me fall apart, watch me fall apart] by djmarinizela

Author's summary: Levi Ackerman is your mentor and you’re his student. That’s all there is to it. But love happens, anyway. (oneshot)

Thoughts: Modern AU. Tasteful angst that gives you feels as if you're watching a well-written movie.

SnK x OC

Humanity's Strongest Woman by xDollfie

Author's summary: In every empire, there is an epic era that defies the boundaries of time and immortalized itself in the history books. For mankind, an epic era they will never forget has finally emerged. The war between humanity and Titans has finally come to a head. Love cease to exist in a time like this, but they found it, and promised that it'll be worth it. Every stubborn inch of it [LEVIXOC] (status: ongoing)

Thoughts: OC is headstrong, a peerless girl boss who's able to stand head to head with our resident grump captain. Unique plot and good writing. Interesting backstory of the MC that intertwines quite well with canon.

Belated HBD, Levi! Happy new year and see you all in season 4 part 2!

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #AoT #snk #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #fanfic recs #fic recs #rec list #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi ackerman x reader #mikasa ackerman #Eren Jaeger #eremika #Erwin Smith

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saintobio · 3 years

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underground fight club. (final)

↳ iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

summary: gym trainer by day, underground fighter by night—Hajime Iwaizumi gives you a front row access to Tokyo’s biggest underground fight club after setting his eyes on you as his shiny new toy. little does he know, you’re there to infiltrate the illegal underground fighting scene with another purpose in mind.

genre: angst, smut, underground fighter au, 18+

warnings: profanity, violence, mentions of human trafficking (just discussing a criminal case), suggestive, some angst and yearning

a/n: the final chapter is here bye i’m crying — no but rly, thanks so much for supporting this series. this is by far my most popular series and i’m so genuinely thankful for everyone’s love 🥺 until the next one !!

part eleven <- masterlist

1 YEAR LATER

Hajime’s dad passed away.

At least, that was the last news you’ve heard about him according to Becca. It has been a year since you last saw Iwaizumi after he flew back to California and left you with a broken heart that still hasn’t healed for the past year. It was difficult to move on because everything reminded you of him. You remember him whenever you see the tattoo on your hip, you remember him when you see UFC fights on tv, you remember him every time you lay in bed at night hoping to feel his warm embrace. You missed his wood sage and sea salt scent that always lingered through your nostrils. You missed tracing the tattoos on his body—the tiger on his chest, the ‘no mercy’ kanji on his rib, or the snake on his forearm. You missed kissing his soft lips, having him dominate you and make you feel divine with the way he desired you.

With Hajime gone, you were lonely.

You’ve come into a conclusion that he did love you and that the only reason he had to leave was because he needed to be with his dad which was a decision you respected. Oikawa actually confirmed this after you spent weeks crying about his best friend’s sudden departure. However, considering the pain that he was going through made you feel awful and selfish because he went through a lot and it was sad that you couldn’t even be there for him at his lowest. You knew how much he loved his dad and the fact that he lost him 2 months after he came back to California must have shattered his already-vulnerable heart.

You had no idea how he was coping by himself but it had been a year now and he never once returned to Japan which meant that he was most likely starting a new life in America that, devastatingly, no longer included you. You weren’t going to sugarcoat and say it was okay—it wasn’t. You were broken but so was he, and at least even if he was going through a tough period, he had his mom and sister by his side. Although eventually, you learned to accept that he may never return to see you again so you had to go back to your boring old life prior to Iwaizumi. Except, this time, you were still intact with his circle of friends.

It was crazy to believe how you were actually still very close with them despite the betrayal you’ve showed from a year ago. You’ve done your utmost effort to apologize to them as time heals and they gave you a second chance to still be a part of their circle, minus the undercover situation, to simply act as you. They claimed that they could never get truly mad at you because you were only doing your job and they did feel the genuineness you showed towards them. Somehow, it was also Iwaizumi’s last request for them to accept you back in their lives should you wish to still be around them. Becca treated you like a real sister, Oikawa would often check on you, while the others would casually invite you over whenever they had plans. You were truly seen by them as family.

Just like tonight, after you’ve just closed another undercover assignment, you found yourself spending your Friday night at Oikawa’s house as he invited you over for a party with only his closest circle.

The reason why you loved being around them was because they reminded you heavily of Iwaizumi. Seeing them made you feel like he was still around and you were comforted at the thought that you could hold on to a piece of him despite of his absence. He may be a thousand miles away, but hearing about him from his friends filled the abyss he left in your heart. You were contented with the slightest crumbs you were indirectly receiving from him through his friends.

“There she is,” Becca acknowledged your arrival with a smile as you walked further to Oikawa’s poolside lounge where the clique always hung out. The others were happy to greet you and even offered you some drinks. “Hey, chill out with the drinks. She just arrived!”

You released a silent chuckle when Kuroo handed you a red cup. “It’s okay,” you told Becca before turning to Tetsurou, “Is this beer?”

The guy shook his head in response just as Bokuto appeared next to him with an arm around his shoulder, “Why do you hate beer so much? It’s good.”

You scrunched your nose and sipped from the red cup. It’s vodka, you silently thanked. “I don’t like the taste of beer. You guys know that.”

After your little alcohol discourse with the two, you later found your spot on the seat next to Oikawa while the guy was busy arguing with Hanamaki about who got laid the most for the past week. Apparently, you learned that Hanamaki was ‘bedding Oikawa’s bitches’ because the latter was too busy waiting around for that girl from the SWAT team that he seemingly was still trying to pursue.

What he didn’t know was how the girl actually liked Tobio based from what you have observed lately. It was painfully obvious. They’ve been in the same unit for a year now and you could see how they have gotten closer. You even wondered why they still weren’t dating, but every time you asked Tobio, he’d wave it off and say he wasn’t ready.

“How’s the last undercover stuff, Y/N?” Issei curiously inquired just as Becca situated herself on her boyfriend’s lap.

You leaned back and started your little story time, “It’s tiring but fun. I went undercover as a bartender for this club and we tracked down a serious case of sex trafficking in there. It was another successful raid.”

“Sick,” Hanamaki commented, looking genuinely impressed before he gestured towards Oikawa. “You should keep an eye on this pimp, too.”

“Shut the fuck up before I make you,” Tooru retorted.

Hanamaki grimaced at the guy’s choice of words, “Dude, that sounded wrong.”

With Bokuto and Kuroo sniggering on the side, you joined and watched how another round of childish arguments went on between Oikawa and Makki until Becca snatched your attention away.

“Your job’s like so cool, though,” she noted, approving the idea in her mind with the way she bobbed her head. “I think you’re literally perfect for it. Like, I know I got mad before when you went undercover on us but to think about it now, it’s because you were actually pretty convincing.”

Issei agreed, “For real. I never would’ve thought ‘til I saw you fight with Gia.”

Of course, that was one of your dumbest moves. “Yeah, well,” you trailed off to take another sip, “Haji thinks I was pretty stupid. He’s a lot smarter than I thought and he had everything calculated.”

It was true. You’ve never dealt with anyone like Hajime before and that was what made your undercover assignment with him one of the toughest and most memorable. Sure, it brought you a lot of pain, but it also led you to him.

“Iwa’s really fucking smart,” Kuroo chimed in. “That’s why he’s undefeated inside the octagon. He uses his brain, unlike someone...”

Bokuto and Oikawa both reacted against it and it made the rest of you laugh. Kuroo didn’t even drop names but they were fast to defend themselves as if the guy just stepped on their precious pride. Moments like these reminded you of how fun it was to forget about your hectic job for awhile and be around carefree people like them. If Hajime was still here, you were certain he’d be laughing along—apart from the constant kisses or his arm traveling around your waist. It might be repetitive to say but you missed the guy so terribly.

“I heard Iwa does underground fights in Irvine,” Hanamaki said which immediately took all of your attention. You had no idea he still did fights but this was news to you and Makki seemed to have noticed how your head perked up at the mere mention of his name, “California is home to many underground fight clubs, Y/N. Pretty sure he’s well known around there.”

You turned to Oikawa for confirmation since he was the one who had contact with his best friend, “Tooru, is that true? He still does fights?”

Oikawa nodded with a proud, smug face. “Hell yeah, he does. He said fighters in Japan are no match for those California dudes.” Suddenly, as Oikawa observed your full interest at the conversation, he decided it was amusing to tease you about it. “Why so curious, Y/N-chan? You still think about him?”

“N-No,” you denied to save face, “I’m just surprised he still does fights.”

“So you don’t think about him?”

“No. I mean, yes I don’t think about him.”

Your denial only made him snicker, “Really? Since you don’t think about him, you don’t mind knowing that he’s actually dating someone?” he asked, watching your emotions closely, “He showed me his new girlfriend and she’s fit as fuck. He’s really in love with her, too.”

Wow. Your heart stung. That stupid piece of vital organ caged inside your chest felt like it was being squeezed very painfully but you tried your utmost best not to show how hurt and affected you were. It has been a year and there was no sign of Hajime coming back. Did you really expect that he’d wait around for you? Of course he’d fucking find someone new. You weren’t the only girl in the world and you were surely easy to forget about. He was probably very happy with his new girl and that was the reason why he never bothered to return anymore. He found his life with her.

“Good for him,” you silently responded, forcing a smile.

The corner of Oikawa’s lips soon lifted into a smirk, “I can totally hear the pain in your voice.”

And as you were about to reply, Becca already threw an empty cup towards the guy’s head. “Stop messing with her. Iwa’s gonna fucking kill you if he was here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you immediately clarified, albeit hurting inside, “Really, I-I couldn’t be more glad that he’s seeing someone new.”

Maybe it’s time for me to find someone new, too.

You caught how Bokuto and Kuroo shared glances at each other with a knowing smile while Becca was gesturing for Oikawa to shut up. Whether they were trying to protect your feelings or not, you were somehow glad to know that Iwaizumi was able to love again. He deserved it after everything he went through when he was with you.

“Whatever, hey,” Oikawa called to cut you out of trance. “You’re gonna watch me next Friday, right?”

You suppressed a sigh and gave him a reassuring nod, “Yeah, I’m gonna watch and cheer for you.”

Although your heart was eating you inside, you managed to smile when he playfully pinched your nose, “Good, ‘cause I don’t want you to miss it.”

“No way, he’s dating someone new?”

You never expected Keiji to be shocked at the information you told him because it shouldn’t be surprising to know that Iwaizumi would end up getting a new girlfriend after a year of living in America. That place was his home after all. That was where he spent his college years on, so you assumed that he had many friends and perhaps girls that surrounded him.

As for you, you were just alone. Technically, you were back to square one just like when your other ex-boyfriend left you, but the difference between your ex and Iwaizumi was how the latter’s absence hurt you ten times worse. You even ended up crying yourself to sleep that night at Oikawa’s party because you had to release the weight on your heart before it wrecked you. Knowing that Iwaizumi had found a new life with someone else was as brutally painful as a train bulldozing you at full speed.

“Yeah. It’s okay,” you lied, almost inaudibly. “I should start dating too, huh?”

Akaashi patted your back as the two of you walked towards the hallways on the way to Chief Director Matsuda’s office. “I think you should, but you don’t need to pressure yourself if you’re not ready.”

Frankly, the only thing that held you back was Hajime and the fact that no one really desired you the same way. “Guess so.”

By the time you reached your destination, you found Tobio and Alisa in the room swiveling on their chairs as they talked about the recent case and how it was finally closed. It wasn’t really a tough one, but the amount of poor women that were exploited in that nightclub really angered the shit out of you. How could men like those pigs exist in this world?

Your job may seem ‘exciting’ for others (according to Bokuto, he’d be like Jenko from 21 Jump Street if he was undercover), but in real life it was, in fact, very stressful. Not only were you required to be physically fit with exceptional analytical skills, you also ought to stomach seeing all sorts of criminals ranging from thieves to murderers and actually learn how to outsmart them.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted, taking your seat next to Alisa. You acknowledged Tobio with a nod and noticed that he was the only one who wasn’t in an office attire. “Are you still undercover or what?”

Tobio, with his feet on the table, gave a subtle shake of his head. “No, I just felt like wearing ripped jeans.”

“He’s trying to be MGK,” Keiji jeered which was followed by a scornful chuckle from Alisa.

“I’m not!” the sniper countered immediately. “I’m off duty. I’m not required to wear my uniform.” He then turned to your direction and brought up the recent case. “Is it true you shot the guy on the dick?”

“Wha—” Absurd, wherever he heard that. “I didn’t even fire the gun. I just aimed it at him.”

Alisa joined the conversation shortly, “We’re not allowed to shoot fleeing suspects like you do, Mr. SWAT. It takes a reasonably crucial situation before we can do that.”

“You guys suck,” Tobio commented, quickly raising his hands with a grin of mischief as you and Alisa threatened to throw the nearest object you two had on him. “Just kidding. Intelligence Agents are cool. Right, Keij?”

The investigator simply nodded, “They’re cool.”

“Oh, shut up. You guys totally think you’re better,” Alisa bitterly assumed while you were playfully agreeing next to her. What Alisa hated most were misogynistic men—it was already hard enough to gain some respect in the PSIA as women, so you understood where she was coming from.

The Chief Director later came in his office, even though it took him awhile to fully give his attention to the four of you because his secretary was busy trying to get him to sign documents left and right. If you thought your job was demanding, you could only think about this man right here. He was the very definition of workaholic.

“Alright,” he finally spoke as his secretary left the office, “Good job on the last case. Are we ready for the next one? I have another undercover assignment that I think you guys might be interested to participate in.”

Seriously.

“So soon?!” You didn’t mean to overreact but holy shit. You literally just closed a case and now another one was being assigned. “Chief, are these cases like infinite or what?”

The man found humor through your reaction but tried to calm you down before you lost it. “Agent Y/N, you don’t have to participate if you wish not to. I’m just proposing the new assignment as it might be of your interest. You’re gonna be high school students—”

“Shit, I’m in!” Tobio quickly raised his hand like a schoolboy causing the three of you to look at him questioningly. “What, high school’s fun. Think of all the house parties.”

Oh my god. “I knew it”

You almost laughed when the Chief Director looked at him in disapproval. “Officer Kageyama, if I catch you distributing alcohol to minors, I’ll arrest you myself.”

All three of you snorted while Tobio was being told off by the chief and you didn’t miss the scowl he sent you before he gave a salute to his superior. “Yessir.”

You’ve decided to pass up on the next assignment mainly because you knew going undercover as a high school student was a pain in the ass and you wanted to just simply do office works at the PSIA headquarters for the mean time. Alisa, on the other hand, would partake on the said case together with Kenma and Akaashi because Tobio had to work full time with the Tier 1 Special Assaults Team.

It was somehow a nice breath of fresh air to be able to take some time off of being undercover because you also wanted to spend more time with your other circle of friends outside your work. You could live working behind the scenes until you were ready to do undercover work again.

For now, Tobio was walking with you towards the foyer before he brought up a topic that he knew had been on your mind for days.

“He’s not coming back, huh?” he asked, despite knowing the answer to your question. “What’s your plan now?”

You realized that shrugging was the only option you had. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll just...try to forget.”

The words that left your mouth weren’t really convincing for Tobio because he was aware of just how much Iwaizumi meant to you and he said that seeing the guy surrender himself to the cops led him to believe that the love you two had for each other were real. But things change and people change, too. Iwaizumi was the first one to let go, so in your part, you had to learn how to do the same. For your sake, this time.

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” the six-foot tall man softly asked, seemingly very cautious of your vulnerability and strong emotions towards your ex.

He didn’t have to worry that much. It wasn’t anything you can’t handle—losing Hajime shouldn’t be the end of the world for you. “Thanks for being there, Tobio.”

As for him, he didn’t really accept gratitude in the form of words. Instead, he pulled you for a warm embrace, hugging you tightly to let you know that he was here for you and that he would always be. That was what true friends were for.

You were grateful, but as much as you enjoyed the comfort you received from his hug, you had to pull away the moment you saw the girl from his unit entering the lobby and immediately spotting you and Tobio enveloped around each other. You just didn’t want to give her the wrong impression and you hoped that she wouldn’t mistake it for something else. Or something more.

Too late, perhaps, because you saw the look of hurt in her eyes that she soon disregarded when she gave you a friendly smile. You returned the gesture and waved at her, patting Tobio’s shoulder so he could turn around to look at his girlfriend not-girlfriend.

Ironically, you saw so much yourself in her when you first got together with Hajime.

You weren’t one to break promises, so even if you were exhausted after a whole tedious day at work, you still ended up going to the fight club to watch Tooru’s fight.

Yes, the fight club. And no, not the illegal one that was demolished by the police from a year ago.

This new and modified fight club was rebuilt by Oikawa and Kuroo who both worked hard for the past 6 months just to bring it back. You were even involved throughout this whole fight club rebirth because they consulted you into knowing what was allowed and what wasn’t. With two consenting adults and registered fighters who wished to engage in mortal combat under a controlled setup—together with licensed medical personnels and official referees—the new underground fight club, by all means, was now legal.

It was Kuroo’s idea to open up a dojo out of the old arms depot where Oikawa previously stored and manufactured their guns before they moved to a larger warehouse and the latter was very much willing to have the old place be renovated into a new Tokyo Fight Night venue that was technically not so ‘underground’ anymore. Still, everyone was happy that they were finally able to step inside the octagon again without having to worry about cops raiding the place. The thrill to get caught was no longer there but this was better than nothing.

Invites were still strictly amongst fighters and closest friends only to avoid the attraction of locals who could potentially just bring harm to the already-heavily imposed set up. So far, for the past 3 months, none of the fighters have been brutally injured and the most they’d have were light bruises. Oikawa complained that it was becoming more of a spar than an actual fight but despite his multitude of complains, he knew that he would still abide by the new rules. Nonetheless, the vibe was the same. Coming inside the fight club reminded you of the very first time you came to the old one—where the smell of musk, leather, smoke, and sweat filled the place along with the loud music being played from the bass boosted system that somehow overpowered the loud cheers. It wasn’t as crowded, but still as rowdy per se and there was no gambling involved, just pure passion for the combative fighting in itself.

Soon as you walked in, the first one to greet you was Rampage himself who seemed like he just got out of an earlier fight. “Yo,” he bumped your fist with his bandaged ones. “You didn’t see me fight with Kuroo!”

He was slipping a black shirt on as you spoke, “I thought you said you’re gonna quit underground fighting since you’re going pro?” you asked, remembering that one time Bokuto told you that he registered to the Japan Boxing Commissions to start professional fights.

“This is just a practice zone for me, baby doll.” He simpered just before a lightly beaten Kuroo appeared next to you. The grey-haired guy was fast to give him attention by mocking him. “I didn’t even hit you that hard, motherfucker. You’re just acting hurt so you can have that hot nurse come to your aid.”

Boys. You chuckled with a small shake of the head, looking around the place to search for Oikawa until you did locate him climbing inside the octagon ring. You cheerfully called for his name and he ran in circles around the ring while looking at you with a peace sign. It didn’t take long until Hanamaki, Issei, and Becca walked to your side.

“He’s so fuckin’ excited to get his ass beat,” Makki ridiculed, nodding his head at the Capoeira fighter. “Watch him walk out of the octagon with a limp.”

You doubted that would happen because Oikawa was a really good fighter unless he was fighting against someone way better than him. “Uh, who’s he fighting today?” you inquired. “Don’t tell me it’s Atsumu again.”

God, the amount of times Tooru and Atsumu fought each other were ridiculous at this point. They were literally like what Muhammad Ali was to Joe Frazier. Or Pacquiao to Mayweather. They were taking their rivalry way, way too seriously.

Becca opened her mouth to respond but was essentially cut off as the lights turned dim with only the spotlight on the octagon and a familiar loud music suddenly reverberated throughout the warehouse.

At the first drop, you recognized the song being blasted as the Crank That Travis Barker version.

“Don’t tell me this trash thinks he’s gonna win against me!”

Impossible. There was no reason for your heart to ultimately take a halt after hearing that very familiar voice. It was hard to believe.

Everything fucking stopped—your mind, your heartbeat, your pulse, the time, the whole world itself, even your breathing had ceased to the point where your body seemed to no longer require any oxygen.

This must be some kind of a sick dream.

You failed to distinguish reality from imagination when you saw a silhouette of a man with a dragon tattoo on his back walking past you before climbing the ring like a fighter who was excited to ravage his opponent. Like a fighter who was a fucking beast inside the octagon.

Then and there, you wanted to burst out crying.

Shocked. Dazed. Overwhelmed. No word was perfect enough to describe the intensity of your emotions.

“Let’s go, Young Tiger!”

Iwaizumi momentarily turned around to acknowledge Becca with his infamous lopsided grin and you felt like your heart was going to explode. You lost all of your five senses at the sight of your one true love standing a few meters away from you. Here, now, at this very moment.

This couldn’t be fucking real.

“Becca,” you turned around to face her with glistening eyes and a shaky voice, “Y-You guys didn’t tell me he came back—”

A sad smile crept up to her face before she clung to your side comfortingly. “Sorry, babe. He didn’t want us to tell you yet.”

Good Lord. You had so many questions that you couldn’t formulate because your head was in utter discombobulation. Your whole body stiffened that you couldn’t really do much other than to have your wide eyes and parted mouth displayed across your visibly surprised face with the vividness of Iwaizumi’s figure looming over you as he stood in the octagon with Oikawa. Black shorts, red handwraps, tiger tattoo. You barely noticed the fight officially starting as infinite thoughts ran through your head in complete spirals.

Hajime had gotten more tan, almost sun-kissed, as he also lost some weight. His hair was now short cropped and while the silver earring from his ear was still there, the slit on his eyebrow was gone.

“Come at me, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa challenged, hustling around before throwing an Armada kick, following it up with a Queixada.

The Young Tiger merely scoffed as he dodged the attack by retaliating with a clinch. “Capoeira doesn’t work on me, dumbass.” You recognized those moves so well, you knew it so well and have seen it way too many times that you already figured that Iwaizumi would go for a takedown to grapple Oikawa into a submission.

However, Oikawa was fast to recover and deflect the Jiu Jitsu fighter with the knowledge that his best friend would be completely ruthless once he started performing BJJ skills. Inhale, exhale. You blinked thrice in the same second while thinking of how watching Hajime fighting an opponent inside the octagon felt like it was only yesterday.

“Breathe, Y/N.” Hearing Kuroo tease you, you got out of your benumbed stupor to see him and Bokuto wriggling their eyebrows at you.

You slowly shook your head in disbelief as you turned your attention back to the guy who claimed his territory in your heart and soul. Iwaizumi circled Oikawa around as he was looking for an opportunity to put him in a lock hold but the latter’s roundhouse kick to Young Tiger’s bare chest caused the former to lose some balance.

“Take that, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa jeered in triumph, sticking his tongue out at his best friend with his fists positioned for a defense. “¡Toma eso tú!”

Iwaizumi, who was clearly unbothered, casually stretched his neck. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

While you were still astounded by Iwaizumi’s presence, you managed to laugh along when Makki and Mattsun erupted into a guffaw. You only realized just how much you yearned to see this again—him, doing fights. Him, being cheered on by his friends. Him, simply being here.

Before you knew it, you were cupping your hands around your mouth, “Go Haji!”

You met his eyes for a fleeting moment and believed that the world took a pause so you could appreciate each other’s existence once again. All the longing, the pining, and the intense desire to hold each other again reflected from his eyes to yours. There was an inexplicable feeling inside of you when you finally had Hajime’s attention and how the corner of his lips stretched into the most genuine smile you’ve seen on him.

He must have forgotten that he was engaged in a fight because Oikawa’s foot flew towards his left hip. “Iwa-chan, don’t get distracted!”

Iwaizumi snapped out of his gaze and charged on his best friend, “As you wish.” Those simple three words had an underlying threat because he finally unleashed the exact reason why he was called the cold-blooded Young Tiger.

He was fast, aggressive, and hungry to kill. In a span of five seconds, he already grappled Oikawa against the cage and put him in a shoulder lock before they both fell on the padded ground. “N-No, no, no,” Oikawa humorously countered as panic ensued from him, but Iwaizumi couldn’t be stopped when he clinched him from the mount.

“It’s his fuckin’ guillotine!” Makki yelled, clapping his hands to cheer for him. “Choke the shit out of Oikawa!”

Becca, too, joined the claps of encouragement. “Looking sexy, Iwa!”

Had you really forgotten how actually freaking hot it was when Iwaizumi did his signature move? Although the guillotine choke was one of the most common BJJ submissions, seeing him perform the technique with such ease made you weak on the knees. Some of the girls inside the fight club even started squealing at the sight of his muscles flexing from his arms that were constricting Oikawa’s neck.

Hajime’s brows were furrowed as he placed the pressure points around his best friend’s windpipe while knowing full well that Tooru could never win against him once he had him in his favorite submission technique.

Truly. No one could.

Because when Oikawa finally tapped out to signal his lost, Hajime Iwaizumi was once again hailed undefeated.

There were only four fights every fight night because there were restrictions on how many fighters were allowed to participate unlike before where they just randomly threw in whoever wanted to fight. The difference from then and now was how some fighters would usually come home with a battered face or a broken rib, now barely anyone would shed blood or had heavy bruises on their faces after the fight.

For someone who worked together with the law enforcement, you were happy to see that safety became their priority.

Though you could hear Hajime complaining about the lack of thrill in it when the rest of you were walking towards the parking lot. He was a few steps ahead with Oikawa, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa while you were walking together with Becca closely behind.

You haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to your past lover since his fight with Oikawa ended because everyone else surrounded him and you didn’t have the courage to approach him after a year without communication. It was just surprisingly awkward. You didn’t know how much has changed within Iwaizumi but you were scared to know that the same man you fell in love with was gone.

And besides, he had a girlfriend. You no longer bear any sort of importance to him other than being part of his circle.

“Bro, fighters in LA are fucking bloodthirsty. I’m being for real,” Iwaizumi enthusiastically gushed in his flawless American accent, placing an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder with a grin. “Don’t get me started on San Fran.”

Oikawa slapped his back as they reached their cars. “Whatever, Cali boy! I don’t care who you faced off in the US of A but this Tooru from Argentina is gonna beat you to dirt next time.”

“You barely even got out of his grip. What makes you think you can win?” Issei commented on the side which allowed the brown-haired boy to send him a childish scowl singing, “Blah, blah.”

“It’s nice to have Iwa back, though,” Becca spoke just after you two stopped from your tracks to see them turn around. “We missed you a heck lot.”

The man, the love of your life, smiled glancing at you before looking at Becca. “Good to be back, too.”

There was no denying how different Iwaizumi had become, but in a good way. He just seemed... happier. His face was free of any sadness, or resentment, or anguish. It was as if he was no longer holding a heavy weight in his heart unlike when you first met him. What exactly happened in California that changed him?

“Someone’s awfully silent.” Hanamaki fake-coughed, clearly directing his words to you.

It was probably embarrassing how you had to quickly deny it. “What do you want me to say?”

“Like, I miss you ‘Haji’?” Oikawa mimicked your voice, snickering like the annoying asshole he was. “Like, I love you ‘Haji’ I can’t stop thinking about you for the past year.”

Your cheeks heated up and you refused to see Iwaizumi’s reaction out of pure shame. “Stop it, Tooru.”

The rest of them playfully cleared their throats while you heard Iwaizumi trying to shut them up. You didn’t really expect that he’d talk to you after that at all, “Princess, I’ll take you home.”

Was it the nickname or his mere attention that sent you to euphoria?

“Oooooooh!”

You looked up at him and paid no mind to the teasing remarks. “No, it’s fine...” Being alone with Hajime in an enclosed vehicle might kill you inside and you weren’t prepared for that tonight. Heck, you haven’t even gotten a grip of your feelings since you saw him again for the first time in a year.

“Just get in the car, Y/N!” Oikawa whined, stomping towards you and dragging you inside Iwaizumi’s car despite your cries of protest. You just didn’t want to act childish because between the two of you, Oikawa was the child, so you silently got inside Iwaizumi’s truck just as he started the ignition.

The last thing you’ve heard before he drove off was Becca telling Iwaizumi to bring you home safely.

You’ve been inside his pick-up truck so many times before when you were still together but it was for the first time that you were ever self-conscious around him. He seemed like he was, too, because he didn’t really speak while he was driving with one hand while adjusting the temperature on the other.

It was agonizingly silent and you felt the urge to start the conversation for the sake of it.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” you spoke inaudibly but he was able to catch it when he looked at you. It was true, just a week ago you were lamenting about the fact that he might never come back and that you should finally give up. But now that he was back, all your plans had gone to waste. “A-Are you just visiting?”

He kept his eyes on the road as he shifted his gear. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

“I don’t know, I just... I can’t believe you’re back,” you tried to play it off as nothing, “I mean, you probably prefer California.”

He didn’t respond sooner than you expected but he did let out a sigh. “Japan’s still my home,” he answered, taking a quick look at you. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good... Still an agent. How about you?”

“Good... All good.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“Is it?”

“...Yeah.” God, the awkwardness was killing you softly.

It was already uncomfortable to be alone with him in a sense that you two didn’t have an actual closure from the time you’ve separated. Now, you two lived different lives and you recalled the fact that he was apparently in a healthy relationship with someone else now.

“Won’t your girlfriend get mad?” you silently asked, “I don’t wanna ‘cause you any trouble if she finds out you took me home.”

Surprisingly, Iwaizumi turned to you with a perplexed face. “What do you mean?”

A bit as befuddled as him, you clarified your statement, “Oikawa said you’re dating someone—”

Hajime quickly sighed in exasperation. “I’m gonna kill him,” he mumbled before looking at the road, halting the car at the red light. “Don’t believe him. He just did it to get a reaction out of you.”

Oh... What the hell?

You hoped that the sigh of relief you had wasn’t as noticeable as you imagined because the beat of your heart started pacing faster. “So you’re single? That’s hard to believe.”

“Didn’t I promise you that night at the tub that I won’t look at any other girl?” he reminded, gripping the steering wheel tight, “Besides, I didn’t have the time to see other people after my dad died.”

While you were screaming inside from his first sentence, you chose to show sympathy for the second. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. I-I wish I was there for you but...”

“S’okay,” he quickly dismissed, “If you were in my position, you’d have wished he finally took his eternal rest, too. I wanted him to just end his suffering here on Earth. I’ve accepted it.”

You felt for him. You really did, because you were aware of just how much his father meant the world to him. You’ve had your fair share of losing your parent when your mom left the country, but watching one of them leave this world permanently? It must have devastated him. You couldn’t even begin to think how he was able to cope with his loss for the past year, but you admired his strength and mental resilience.

“You know what’s crazy? He actually remembered me during his last few hours,” Iwaizumi opened up after a minute of silence, “He said he was happy to see what a grown man I’ve become and wanted me to keep pursuing whatever made me happy.”

That explained why the overall atmosphere he had just changed remarkably. When you noticed the aura of happiness and contentment that surrounded him, you realized that he was only taking his father’s last words with him.

“He asked me if I had a girlfriend,” he added, resting his head on the headrest, “I told him she’s back home. Then he asked, ‘why didn’t you bring her here?’”

Your heart somersaulted. He didn’t realize how he gave it away that he never really just ‘acted’ being your boyfriend before. His feelings were a hundred percent authentic.

“I’m... sure he’s very proud of you,” you said with a gentle smile.

He returned the gesture back to you for a fleeting moment that left your heart leaping out of your chest. You knew that your love for him was entrenched to the point where even if you haven’t seen him for the past year, nothing had really changed. Loving Iwaizumi was almost visceral, as if he was the other half of your soul that you were destined to meet in your physical form.

Whatever was running in his head, you couldn’t tell. But when he pulled up outside of your apartment complex, you suddenly came into realization that this was exactly how it was with you two on the first night. He drove you to this same apartment in this same car over a year ago. Deja vu was the closest description that you felt out of it.

“You still live here, huh?” he asked, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as soon as you arrived your apartment complex. Hajime was seemingly not wanting to let you go for now.

You responded with a nod, but fell into state of astonishment when your eyes caught sight of the new tattoo on his ring finger.

They were your initials.

“Hajime...” You restrained your vulnerable emotions from showing because your chest burned with an ache that was worth feeling. You wanted no one else in this world but this man and you knew you were two seconds away from tearing up. “Do you... wanna stay for the night?”

Just like the first night. Exactly like the first night when you asked him to come over, not realizing that it would be the start of a relationship that you would never forget in your lifetime.

His adoring eyes were glued to yours, with a heavy breath and a quick glance to your lips, he answered, “Yeah.”

However much you tried to suppress your tears, they naturally came out as soon as you entered your apartment and he was following closely behind. He wasn’t dumb—he knew exactly why you were crying and he was pulling you to his arms for an embrace that the both of you longed to have. The gush of tears that you tried to keep since the moment you saw him again were finally released with the sole realization that the person you loved was now here with you and God, you couldn’t believe that you meant so much to him that he had your initials tattooed on his ring finger.

“Hey, look at me,” he gently spoke, wiping the faint tears from your cheek, “don’t cry.”

You gulped as your chest heaved and he took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, placing a kiss on your hair to soothe your crying heart. “Haji, I m-missed you,” you sobbed, “so much.”

“I missed you more,” he reassured, moving his lips to press them on your temple. His scent, his hug, his kisses—he felt like home to you. “It’s been a year and I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N.”

His words left even more tears spilling from your eyes while you pulled away to have him press his forehead against you. “You don’t know how happy I am that you’re back.”

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he spoke through his raspy voice that left hints of his own heartbreak. He held you by the waist and stared straight at your lips. You didn’t resist when he cupped your cheek before your lips reunited again after what seemed like an eternity. This kiss couldn’t compare to all the other kisses you’ve had in your twenty seven years on Earth. Only Hajime had the ability to invoke emotions of pure love straight from your soul and solidify it with his own devotion and ardor towards you. He kissed you with overflowing passion that you were instinctively placing your arms around his neck while his mouth moved against yours. The smooching sounds only allowed the both of you to envelope each other’s lips like suction.

“I love you,” he said it first, this time around.

You took deep inhales, glossy eyes locked on his beautiful olive green, “Truth or lie?”

He smiled, “Truth. Always was.”

Before you could break into tears again, you already had him engulfing you for a deeper kiss until you were breathing him in, stumbling backwards, mind running on cloud nine. Kisses of pure passion and longing and a year’s worth of loyalty. The next thing you knew, he was undressing you and you were undressing him.

No one else was more beautiful than Hajime Iwaizumi.

You remembered the very first time you shared an intimate night with him without knowing that the both of you were doing it for your personal gain. That time, no real feelings were involved more than the physicality of it and the satisfaction to fill your carnal desires.

Tonight, no one was acting. No undercover duties. No revenge set in mind. Just two people who wanted to make love and show just how much they missed each other.

Hot tears ran down on the corner of your eyes as you lay underneath Hajime who trailed kisses on your neck. Your hands traveled to his shoulders before you clung to him when he carefully sunk himself into you.

“Mmh...” You bit your lip, restraining your breathing until he gave you kisses with tremendous fervor. “I-I’m sorry for lying to you before.”

He thrusted his member inside your clamped walls as he pressed his chest against your bare ones. “I’m sorry for lying, too,” he whispered against your lips before he entwined your fingers together. “I know you still deserve better than me, but I’ll be selfish and say that I want you for myself.”

“Y-You’re all I want, Haji—” A moan escaped your lips to cut you off your sentence. You’ve had sex with him more than the number of days present in a calendar and yet this was the most emotional intercourse you’ve had out of all of them. “I-I wanna be yours, forever.”

With the reassurance of you dedicating yourself to him, he let out a hum of satisfaction before placing your legs above his shoulders. The position allowed him to go deeper inside your core as curses were released under his breath of being reminded just how much he loved being inside of you.

You had all eyes on him even when you were crying out his name at every penetration that sent you to another dimension.

Whichever dimension it was, you only wanted Hajime by your side.

“Aah... nngh... I’m gonna—” You held your breath to hear the bed squeaks and the squelching noises.

His voice turned an octave deeper when he ordered you to hold it in, “Wait for me.”

You always did, even when you were nearly disintegrating beneath him as he slid in and out at a much faster pace. You could feel his weight on your bosom with every grind of his hips, skin against skin, lips to lips, and soon enough, he released his warm load straight to your womb just as you clenched around his member.

You were scared that you could wake up next morning and realize that this was all just a dream.

“I’m so goddamn in love with you,” he spoke, panting as he collapsed beside you. Your own eyes were glued towards the ceiling before you scooted closer to your man. Your only one.

Your cold, shaky fingers traced the tattoo on his chest while the physical and emotional exhaustion made your eyelids fall heavy. “I’m so grateful that I met you.”

Waking up next to the person you love was one of the happiest things to experience in your lifetime. Iwaizumi’s return felt like such a wonderful dream that could turn out into a nightmare. You immediately looked to his side of the bed as soon as your eyes fluttered open the next morning to make sure that you didn’t just imagine the whole thing last night. He’s real, you sighed of relief. He’s real and he’s chuckling at me right now.

“Morning,” he greeted you with a peck on the lips while you were unknown to the fact that he spent the past thirty minutes staring at your angelic face. “I really sleep well when I’m next to you, princess.”

You cupped his cheek with your palm, “I love you so much.”

“Love you more,” he responded, caressing your hip where his tattoo was engraved on your skin. “We have a lot of making up to do.”

His words made you giggle. Indeed, Hajime was still your Hajime. Just happier and more in love. “How do you feel about knowing I’m not taking birth control since you’ve been away?” you asked, reminding him of how he came inside of you last night.

You only said it as a joke, but the guy barely reacted against it. “Then you’re gonna be a mommy soon.”

Gosh. “Not so soon.”

“We’ll do it again,” he teased, planting kisses on your shoulder, “over and over until we have a mini me.”

“I...” Speechless. “We literally just got back together and you wanna get me pregnant right away.”

The chuckle he let out were music to your ears. It was nice to see how genuinely happy he was and it was all because of you. “Your dad wants a little boy, Intelligence Agent Y/N.” He soon watched how your eyes widened in surprise. “I met with him before I came to the fight club last night. I gave him an answer to his advice.”

“What advice?” you asked in complete bafflement. He sat upright, pulling you up with him before he kissed your hand and you brushed your thumb against the ring finger where your initials were forever inked on his skin. Just like the love he had for you.

“He told me a year ago to decide whether or not I’m still worth your time,” he spilled as you were dumbfounded of being unaware that he had such conversation with your father from last year. “I told him yesterday that I’ll make sure every time you spend with me from here on out will be worth having.”

Your body already tackled him into an embrace before you realized it. You were just grateful for this moment and for God because he allowed you to have someone like Iwaizumi in your life. Every person in this world would have their own soulmate. Luckily for you, you finally found yours and there was nothing else that could take this moment away from you. Not now, not in a million years, not in another version of you from a parallel universe. Today, you were his. Tomorrow and for the rest of your life, you would remain his and his only because he was meant for you and you were meant for him.

“Let’s start again?” he asked, eyes fixed on you.

With a peck on his lips and a heart that was beating at the same rhythm as his, you answered, “Let’s start again.”

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