#businessman murder case

[sanakiras]

LIAR, LIAR!

PAIRING — kim mingyu x fem!reader

❝ AND THE DANCE FLOOR IS FILLING UP WITH BLOOD, BUT OH LORD, YOU’VE NEVER BEEN SO IN LOVE! ❞

WORD COUNT — 17k

SYNOPSIS — in a dramatic turn of events, a rich businessman is found dead in his lavish estate, and the authorities believe it was no accident. as the detectives dig deeper, they ultimately end up with two key suspects: you, the businessman’s very own daughter, and your sworn enemy, kim mingyu. as the time progresses, tensions rise and secrets spill — and the truth has the power to either bring you closer together or tear you apart.

TAGS — murder mystery, rich rivals to partners in crime to lovers, whole lotta plot, explicit sexual content, somewhat graphic depictions of death, everyone and everything is dysfunctional™, mentions of suicide, unrealistic circumstances, moral compass is nowhere to be found, angst, medium long hair!gyu bc self-indulgence, tsundere-ish reader again guys sorry i love her so bad, mentions of parental neglect, this ended up so long help

♪ verydeadly - wolves (kanye west cover),, low - dancing and blood,, vessel - red sex,, florence + the machine - mermaids,, zayn - bordersz,, mikky ekko - who are you, really?,, q - alone,, danna paola - tenemos que hablar,, blue foundation - eyes on fire (4 ave version),, summer camp - i want you

NOTE — one of my favorite episodes of going seventeen remains bad clue 2020, i loved mingyu’s role in it and i could totally see him portraying darker/morally grey characters and rock tf out of it so. i wrote this solely based on that idea. the music recs above are also really nice to get into the vibe! enjoyyyy :D

[ ONE ] ✧˚ · .⋆ ★ [ JUMP TO PART TWO ]

i. ASK ME THE TRUTH AND I’LL TELL YOU A LIE

the interrogation room is unnecessarily bright, the noise of the water dispenser in the corner and the flickering led light above you running through your ears. the chair you’re seated on is uncomfortable, though it’s nothing compared to the tension you feel as the man in front of you treats you like you’re guilty of something.

“on september 2nd, around six o’clock, your father reportedly got unwell, so he left his office early, choosing to do the rest of his paperwork at home. according to the information we got from the gps tracker in his car, he went straight home, took no detours. he arrived at your family estate thirty minutes later. then at eight o’clock, the police receives a call from you, saying your father hung himself.”

you stare at the the inspector — whose name you did not bother remembering — before waving with your hand. “i’m aware. i’ve heard the recap of events many times at this point. this isn’t the first time i’m being interrogated, surprisingly enough.”

with a puzzled look, he raises his brow at you. “you don’t think you should be a suspect?”

“no, i don’t.”

“at the time of the incident, you were home, as well as two members of the staff. since the staff were on their dinner break and you were apparently in your room, it’s hard to say what exactly happened, since there were no witnesses.”

“do you mind me asking why you think it’s murder and not just a suicide?”

he’s intrigued by the way you discuss the topic so casually. “your father was an important man. wouldn’t you want to know who killed him if that were the case?”

“sure. i’d thank them.” you smile at him, the hatred for your father shining through. “believe me, inspector — my father was a miserable man who surrounded himself with miserable people. i wasn’t there by choice.”

“did he treat you badly, then?” he continues, trying to pry any information out of you.

all you can do is sigh. “i was his daughter in blood and name only. nothing more.”

with your demeanor softening into something sadder, the inspector’s tone changes into something different. “aside from you, and the staff, of course, we do have another suspect who we think could have something to do with your father’s death.”

that sparks your interest. “who?”

the inspector grabs his small pile of documents to pull a printed photo out of it, putting it before you. you visibly frown, because the person on the photo is someone you’re unfortunately awfully familiar with.

“kim mingyu is a suspect? seriously?” you ask, completely in shock. ironically, he’s the last person you’d suspect in a scenario like the one you currently find yourself in.

“what can you tell me about him?”

leaning back in your chair, you list a few things. “he’s a year younger than me. we went to the same high school, same university, have some of the same friends. though all of that is relatively common in our social circle.”

“anything else?”

keeping the insults to yourself for now, you press your lips together. “our parents are good friends. well, were, now that my father’s gone. mingyu and i hate eachother to the bone, though.”

“any particular reason why?”

“i’m not sure where it started… there’s just something off about him. it’s always been there. he’s—beyond arrogant. always showing off his looks, his wealth, his charm, his intelligence. everything. he insults me, i insult him. we simply don’t get along, never have. nothing you haven’t seen before, i’m sure.”

the inspector raises his brow. “i think you may have left something out.”

“such as?”

his hand moves into the blue folder sitting on the table, taking another photo out of it, holding it up before you. “your father was often spotted with him. at events, business meetings — you name it. matter of fact, your father seemed to be accompanied by kim mingyu more than anyone else. which is interesting, considering you are his only child.”

your gaze turns sour, voice softer yet more hateful than before. “don’t tell me this is the reason i’m a suspect.”

“let’s just say it doesn’t make you look good.”

“you really believe i murdered my own father in cold blood because he cared more about kim mingyu than he ever did about me? that’s pathetic and ridiculous.”

“you wouldn’t be the first. it’s a plausible story.”

scoffing at the accusation, you shake your head. “we’re done here. the moment you have an actual lead, i’ll talk, but not like this. i’m still here grieving and you’re accusing me of being the culprit.” you get up in anger, taking your bag with you before slamming the door shut, not bothering to listen to what the man is trying to tell you to make you stay.

this whole shit-train started two weeks ago. your father was found dead in your childhood home, hung by a rope around his neck. instead of calling it a death by suicide, the police apparently have enough reason to suspect it was a homicide.

you’ve been questioned several times in the past few weeks, but there’s been a gradual shift in the behavior of the inspector and his handimen — they’re treating you like a suspect now.

which you are, for whatever reason. they have yet to come up with any actual evidence.

your contact in the police force mentioned to you that you’re not just any suspect — you’re one of the two main suspects.

and that is unsettling, especially when you discovered who else is.

as you go down the hall, you suddenly lock eyes with kim mingyu himself, who’s leaning against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. a few strands of hair hover by his cheeks, framing his strong features.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you ask in a rather hostile manner, the scowl on your face deepening.

his lips part before he starts explaining. “they wanted to talk to me. again.”

“haven’t you heard the rumors, gyu?” you mockingly use the nickname, taking a step closer to him, “they’re saying there’s a possibility you killed him.”

your arch-nemesis looks back at you with a furrowed brow. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it? you were always with him… it’s perhaps the only thing that makes sense in all of this.”

he seems offended you’d even insinuate something like that. “it’s really the other way around, though. you’re the one who hated him. i had nothing against the man.”

it’s true that you and your father didn’t exactly get along, especially the past few years, to put it lightly. you always considered him to be greedy, cold and unforgiving, and you certainly didn’t cry the moment they told you he had passed away.

“no, we all know how much you liked him,” you hardly make an effort to hide your disdain, “but they must not believe that, considering you’re just as much of a suspect as i am.”

he clenches his jaw. “i’m not guilty.”

“neither am i.” you state. like always, there’s a tangible coldness to your voice, which he finds soothing, for whatever reason.

it’s quiet for a moment as you’re both unsure of what to say next, a rarity between you.

a few years ago, your father mentioned you and mingyu could make a good pair.

you proceeded to laugh in his face.

mingyu is a constant reminder of what you could be, and that’s the last thing you need in your life.

“if i find out you’re somehow involved in this—”

instead of immediately refuting the statement, he narrows his eyes at you. “then what?”

you realize you need to be careful with your words here — you can’t throw around threats to kill people as the top suspect in a murder investigation. “i’ll make sure you pay for it. they might buy your little golden-boy act, but i sure as shit don’t. i never have.”

a smirk subtly tugs at his lips as he leans more down, eyes flicking lower before they meet yours again. “i’d be careful with my words if i were you,” he firmly tells you, his lashes fluttering, “there’s always someone watching.”

only now do you take notice of how close you’re standing to him, and you look behind you, seeing the inspector that just interrogated you observing you and mingyu from a distance.

so you push yourself away from him, giving him a last glare before walking away.

mingyu only moves from his spot once you’re gone from his field of view, greeting the inspector with a kind smile.

ii. THE HATRED WE BEAR

you find yourself staring at your father’s tombstone with a numb face and the wind breezing through your hair. your makeup is slightly smudged under your eyes from the tears you shed just an hour before, while you were giving the public a final speech regarding his passing.

the funeral was long — too long.

at a certain point, once the whole thing was done and everyone left, you decided to take a quiet moment for yourself in the graveyard to let everything sink in.

you made the mistake of thinking you’d left alone.

a voice you’re too familiar with speaks up behind you. “i’m sorry for your loss.”

of course it’s kim mingyu out of all people who’s still here, sneaking up on you.

you don’t have the energy to make a snarky comment this time. “i’d ask why you’re still here, but it’s a question i already know the answer to.”

he still offers you his answer. “i’m here to check up on you.”

well, that takes you by surprise. “why?”

“you lost the one parent you had left. i don’t want you to be alone.”

something about that sentence fuels a sudden anger in you. he’s got some fucking nerve, saying that to you. “maybe you should’ve considered that a couple years ago. you know, before you decided to become my dad’s little protege.”

even as a little girl, your bond with your father was a shitty one. your mother passed when you were young, so you barely have any memories left of her.

in an attempt to win his love and affection, you always did everything your father asked of you, yet your efforts were hardly acknowledged. you found him to be a harsh and cruel man, but surely with you being his daughter, his only child, he must’ve cared for you. or so you always told yourself.

something about your yearning for his approval and support changed for the worse when mingyu’s mother became a prominent business partner to your father, about nine years ago. it made him spend more time with the kim family, and you have no idea how or why it happened, but mingyu became like a son for him.

you saw how well your dad treated him, and you cried for a long, long time as you compared it to his neglect towards you. for every pat on mingyu’s back, you got scolded for not being good enough. whenever he got praised, you got discarded. it’s no miracle that you came to be the way that you are. detached, perceptive, appearing to be just as unfeeling as the man who raised you.

you hated your father. with all your heart.

but you grew to hate kim mingyu more.

so to hear him say that he doesn’t want you to be alone — that takes the goddamn cake.

he lowers his head at your words. “it wasn’t like that.”

“right. of course it wasn’t.” your voice is painfully spiteful.

“i wouldn’t have done it if i knew it was at your expense. i’m sorry.”

he’s trying to be nice to you, not understanding yet that it’s actually doing more damage, making you angrier. “the last thing i want is your fucking pity.”

“then what do you want?”

“nothing you can give me.” it’s a subtle final warning coming from you, because you’re actually about to explode at him. “just leave me be.”

“please, just... i wanna help you.”

like a ticking time bomb, you suddenly hit your limit. finally, you turn around, facing him, and it’s only then that he truly sees how upset you are, like a storm suddenly changing its direction, and he’s in the way.

“help me? you’d help me by getting the fuck out of my face. you wanna know what i want, mingyu? i want to know what in god’s name everyone loves so much about you, what it is that made my father shut me out completely and replace me with you. he gave you more love than he ever gave me. just looking at you makes me sick. what the fuck did he see in you that he didn’t see in me?” you ask, unable to stop yourself from pouring your emotions out to the guy in front of you. “why did he hate me so much? even in death, he favors you over me. he left you... everything. a final ‘fuck you’ to his own child. and for what? for you?”

the fact that you got word from your father’s lawyer that your father chose to leave everything he had to mingyu instead of you was like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

throughout your life, you always did what was expected of you. you were the perfect daughter.

and for what?

the fact that your father grew to hate you and love this asshole so much that he left you not a single penny to your name — that is your tipping point.

and mingyu just wordlessly allows you to continue ranting, almost as if he deserves it.

“what the fuck is so special about you, huh? because i don’t get it. sure, you’ve got a nice face and you’re a smart guy, but i don’t believe you actually give a shit about others. i bet you came here today to rub my dad’s inheritance in my face — you fucking pretentious douchebag.”

“i’m sorry. i never meant—” he stumbles, nearly falling over as he backs away while you keep stepping forward, feeling surprisingly small in front of you, in spite of his tall frame.

“i don’t give a shit if this is what you intended to happen or not! i’m all alone.” you show your sadness right between the anger and hostility, vulnerable in front of him. “no family like everyone else, no money, no house, nothing. abandoned by the one person i had left.”

he looks at you as if you’ve just slapped him across the face. he’s never even shown you a hint of vulnerability — nor have you for that matter — so why is he showing it now?

you’re too deep into your breakdown to think rationally about it. “you took literally everything that i had. and i’ll never forgive you for that.”

“please, let me—let me fix it.” he chokes out, as overwhelmed by your strong emotions as you are yourself.

the harshness of your words makes him feel like he’s crumbling in your presence. “talk to me like you care about me one more goddamn time, and i’ll make you regret ever meeting me in the first place.”

in all the years that you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him flinch — you doubt any of your words have ever hurt him.

until this moment, it seems. but why is he even hurt? you don’t care about him and he doesn’t care about you. it’s always been that way, and you have a hard time believing it’ll ever change.

the moment you walk away from him with a sharp pain in your chest, pushing him to the side by his shoulder, he’s left behind in a shocked and bewildered state, neither of you aware that a pair of curious eyes witnessed the whole exchange.

iii. ULTERIOR MOTIVES

“the full inheritance of your father has been transferred over to you.”

the cup of tea you were raising stills with your hand. your eyes narrow at your lawyer as you’re seated in the garden of your father’s estate. “what—how? why? it wasn’t passed down to me.”

“no, but the person it was passed down to can always make the decision to pass it on. and he did — surprisingly with no strings attached,” he tells you, putting the document from the notary in front of you, “i had it all double-checked. everything’s there, the documents signed by kim mingyu himself.”

just hearing the name makes you grimace, putting you off your tea. “and there’s absolutely nothing he wants from me?”

“nothing was mentioned, no. he did, however, leave you a note.”

“what does it say?”

your lawyer raises his brow as he reads it, handing it to you instead of reading it out loud, which makes you give him a puzzled look before casting your eyes downwards to the piece of paper.

tomorrow, 4:30, my apartment. all you have to do is sign the papers. i look forward to the day you’ll make me regret meeting you.

“that asshole.” you mutter to yourself, not loud enough for your lawyer to hear it, but he’s certainly got an idea of how you feel about the whole situation.

“you do, of course, always have the option to reject the inheritance, but i would highly recommend not to. frankly, in all of my years of experience in this field, i’ve never felt a bigger need to encourage a client to take a deal.”

once you’ve picked up the documents and skimmed over the words, you look back at him. “and if i did accept it, it wouldn’t contain any possible implications for me in the long term?”

“none. it is... fairly remarkable he’s willing to give you the full inheritance for nothing in return, even if he and his family are known for their wealth. but it wouldn’t be a significant loss for him, considering the capital he already has to his name.” the man explains, not needing to spell it out for you.

you put down your cup. “knowing him, i’m not so sure he doesn’t want anything. i suppose i’ll have to talk to him about it myself, tomorrow.”

your lawyer highly encourages you to do so, leaving you to spend the rest of the day wondering what he could possibly want from you.

and so the following day, at 4:30 sharp, you step into his apartment — penthouse is the more fitting term. you’ll admit, though, that he’s got style.

it’s dead silent in his place, save for the metronome in the background and the slow brew of his coffee machine. he’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt with black trousers as he approaches you. “glad you could make it. coffee?”

“why are you willing to give me the inheritance?” you ask directly, not feeling up for the unnecessary chitchat. you’ve always hated small talk. “if it was just a set-up, i’m leaving.”

he doesn’t seem to be even the slightest bit surprised by your forwardness. “i’m willing to give it to you because a) i don’t need it, and b) i don’t want it. i think it’s ridiculous your dad set up his will like this.”

“well, that makes two of us.” you fake a polite smile, clearly very sarcastically, putting your hand on your hip. “you asked me to come sign the papers, but i have yet to see them.”

mingyu smiles a little at you. of course you’d skip straight to business — you never were a girl of many words. he walks over to a cupboard and takes a sealed folder with the documents out of a drawer, handing it to you.

when you attempt to take the folder from him, he swiftly retracts his hand like the asshole he is. “it’s not completely free, though.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “of course. i should’ve known better than to believe you were willing to do something out of the kindness of your own heart.”

he just keeps going as if he didn’t hear you, very much used to the little quips you throw at him by now. “don’t worry, i think you can manage this very small task for me.”

“just tell me what you want already—”

“my family’s hosting a gala next week, on friday. i’d like you to be my date.”

you’re baffled. this is what he wants in return for the inheritance worth millions of dollars? to have you on his arm for a single night?

oh, hell no. you’re not falling for it.

“why? you wanna publicly humiliate me or something?” you question, a deep frown settled in your forehead.

he huffs, annoyed that you’d think that low of him. “i know we’ve always hated eachother, but, maybe, during a hard time… it would be nice to have one relaxed night. and yeah, i wouldn’t mind doing that with a pretty girl to keep me company. what do you say? deal?”

not once in all the years you’ve known him has he ever called you pretty.

“fine. but don’t think about pulling any stunts.”

“wouldn’t dare.” his smile sits somewhere beween teasing and serious when he finally hands you the papers.

you sit down and briefly scan the documents, not signing them right away to have them checked by your lawyer first. “if everything in this is according to the plan, you’ll have them signed by tomorrow morning.”

“okay. see you friday.” he winks at you, escorting you to his front door, a subtle grin on his face that gives off the impression he’s planning something, and you can only imagine what it might be.

there is one good thing about having to spend time in his family home, though — and that’s to search his rooms to find anything that might implicate him having something to do with your father’s murder.

since there’s still a culprit to be named.

with your own agenda in mind, you walk out of his apartment, searching for the name of your stylist in your contacts.

you’re going to need a dress, after all.

iv. A PROPOSAL

with a stern look on your face, you look at the entrance of the gala from the tinted window of your car. it’s all bright lights and colorful decorations, candles, flowers — the kim family is well known for their luxurious and memorable parties. you’ve attended plenty of them. while you and mingyu may not get along, his sister and mother are genuine sweethearts, some of the kindest and most welcoming people you know.

if only you could say the same for the asshole you’re about to spend the evening with.

after checking your makeup in the pocket-sized mirror for a final time, your driver opens your door so you can step out of the car, which leaves you on your own in front of the stairs.

mingyu originally mentioned he wanted to pick you up at your home like the gentleman he very much claims to be, but you very quickly shut the idea down and told him you’d just meet him at his family’s mansion.

so here you are.

attending a gala only a month after your father’s funeral must seem like an… interesting choice, to say the least. the people you come across express their condolences and ask if you’re doing well — you wonder if the sentiment is real or not — and you tell them you’re here because it serves well as a distraction.

you’ve become an excellent liar over the years.

as you’re standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing, you observe the people on the dance floor below. those who aren’t dancing are chattering, the noises of clinking glasses and laughter filling your ears.

most of the time, you’re able to somewhat enjoy this life. but the truth is that it can be as exhausting as it is glamorous.

but with your last living parent gone, you do feel a sense of freedom, even if it is lonely at times.

not like you didn’t feel lonely when he was still alive.

you didn’t love him or care for your father. you cared for the hope that someday he would change. that he would show you he did care for you, even a little bit.

but that day never came.

he was primarily an investor, so at least you haven’t been burdened with having to take over a business or anything like it. having no siblings either, you feel like you should take this opportunity to start fresh; focus on building your own career and use your father’s money for things he’d never approve of.

suddenly, you spot your date in the midst of the crowd, breaking you out of your train of thoughts. his half-long hair looks pretty on him, you have to admit, the few strands in front of his face paired with the tailored, navy suit giving him the appearance of a model.

he’s currently talking to an older woman who clearly seems to adore him, the smile he puts up making her give him a gentle, loving squeeze on his upper arms. like always, no one is able to read the bitterness you feel as your face remains neutral.

growing up in your restricted social circle of the country’s wealthiest families, your group of peers wasn’t extremely big. you all went to the same primary school, same private high school. mingyu was always one of if not the most popular kid at school. an effortless ace at every fucking thing. everyone loved him, be it your peers or their parents.

you wouldn’t say you weren’t popular. quite the opposite, actually. your best friend was the queen bee of the school, as she was always striving to be the best in everything. top of the class, highest achievements, a true perfectionist at heart. bold, definitely a bit judgemental and classist too, but once she’s your friend, she’s the sweetest girl in the world. she did like to dabble in some drama with others if it came onto her path.

and you were the opposite. you preferred to steer clear of any drama, much preferring to watch it unfold from the sidelines — as you usually just didn’t care enough to interfere with it — and you were never quite as talkative as your best friend.

the sentences leaving your mouth are always quick, direct, sharp and without stutter. you’re masterful at small talk, even though you hate it. you know how to play people like a fiddle. your father made you use your manipulation skills to good use rather frequently.

many consider you cold and calculated.

which is true, of course. but you still have a heart, even if it barely beats.

the outburst you gave mingyu after your father’s funeral must’ve come as a shock to him. no one has ever seen you in such a vulnerable and weak state, and out of all the people who could’ve seen it, it naturally had to be him — and that makes you uncomfortable.

once he’s finished his conversation, he looks in front of him, then up at the balcony — and he locks eyes with you.

you give him a look of acknowledgment, but that’s it. he doesn’t seem to mind, though, still shining as brightly as ever, making his way up the stairs as fast as he can. “i’m sorry i wasn’t at the entrance to greet you, i didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

“it’s fine.”

he glances up and down, admiring the dress you chose. “you look gorgeous.”

the deeply dark green dress with its boat neckline, long and fitted sleeves and intricate gold embroidery makes you look elegant. with the dress itself already being quite the statement piece, you chose to pair it with dainty earrings, your hair half-up and curled.

“thank you.” you don’t bother saying anything about his appearance. he must be used to it at this point.

“can i get you something to drink?”

you test the waters by throwing in a joke. “what, planning on poisoning me?”

his eyes flicker for a moment, stricken by something you can’t quite place, which makes you blink at him. his flirtatious and charming self returns within a mere second, and he proceeds to snicker at your joke. “i could, but where’d be the fun in that?”

rolling your eyes at him, you take his arm once he’s offered it, keeping in mind you’re doing this for the inheritance.

the time goes by quicker than expected. he introduces you to some of the people he’s close with, tells you stories you’ve never heard before, even asks you about yours.

a few of his friends come by as well, surprised to see you by mingyu’s side. most people your age here know that you and him have never quite gotten along, to put it lightly.

when they subtly ask about it, mingyu tells them he insisted you came to distract yourself from the death of your father, and that you could probably use a party.

it raises more question marks as to what his motive is for asking you to be here tonight. what is he gaining from this? he hasn’t humiliated you yet. if anything, he’s only spoken of you highly, save for the little snark he keeps between the two of you.

it’s strange. really strange.

after a while, once all the guests have been drinking a bit, you decide to set your own plan in motion. this might be your only chance to snoop around here, as you doubt you’ll find yourself in here again anytime soon.

you’re literally invited in his home — you’d be a fool not to check his room.

unfortunately, just as you try to disappear from the crowd, mingyu extends his hand to you. “dance with me?”

just as you’re about to refuse him, you remember that this is the one night you have to be nice to him, all so he can give you the inheritance that was meant to be yours in the first place.

with a small sigh, you slide your hand in his, at which he grins triumphantly.

before you know it, you’re in the middle of the room together, and he has his one hand on your lower back, the other hand intertwined with yours. he’s smooth with his moves, you have to admit.

the question has already left your mouth when you process it. “why am i here? i’m sure there’s a reason i needed to be your date tonight.”

mingyu cocks his head at you. “i think you’ve had to endure a lot the past couple weeks. the incident, the interrogations, the press, the shit with the inheritance — i’m impressed you haven’t lost your mind yet.”

“how do you know i haven’t?” you ask, and he twirls you around, his hands feeling like they’re burning on your skin. “wasn’t my breakdown after the funeral enough to prove you otherwise?”

“well, looking back, i should’ve probably left you alone in that moment. but i did think about what you said, and you can correct me if i’m wrong, but i feel like your father and our ties to him were what made us hate eachother so much. now that he’s gone, maybe we can… i don’t know. tolerate one another.”

you make sure to hide your confusion from him. does he really not see it? sure, the main reason you’ve always despised mingyu was because of his relationship with your father, but you weren’t exactly best friends before that either.

even putting it like that would still make it the understatement of the year.

if he actually pictures the two of you becoming friends, though, he’s lost it.

unsure of what to tell him, you give him a shitty excuse to escape the conversation. “i’m just gonna use the ladies’ room, if you don’t mind.” you let mingyu know, and he nods at you in acknowledgement, caught off guard by you leaving so suddenly.

so you walk off, the voices of the people and the music in the hall fading into the background as you trail off.

now that you’re alone, you can finally go check his room.

it’s harder to navigate the mansion than you thought. hallways that all look similar, god knows how many rooms — you hope you won’t get lost here.

one of your best friends is good friends with mingyu’s sister, and so she knows the place like the back of her hand. when you asked her for the layout of the place, she did think it strange, but you told her she had nothing to worry about.

mingyu’s bedroom and study are supposedly on the third floor of the east wing, and the party takes place in the west wing.

so that’s just fucking great.

your best friend did warn you that he most often keeps his doors locked whenever visitors are present, so to ensure you could get in, you snatched the key from his pocket when he was dancing with you earlier.

it almost makes you chuckle when you think about how easy it was.

when you’ve finally arrived at what seems to be the door to mingyu’s room, you double-check the environment around you to see whether anyone’s following you, and when it appears to be safe, you shove the key into the lock, twisting it.

you exhale when realizing it’s the right key.

entering the room, you quickly shut it behind you, taking in the sight.

it’s raining outside, which you take notice of through the large windows. several paintings adorn the walls — you didn’t know he was a lover of art — as well as some photos of him with his family.

the room is surprisingly tidy, his clothes all neatly folded on the wooden planks in his closet and the drawers underneath. the few books he has sitting on top of the cupboard are gathering dust — you suppose he doesn’t like to read all that much.

of course he doesn’t.

his king-sized bed seems soft and comfortable, and the room smells of the cologne and perfume he always wears.

you blink a few times, realizing you’re dwelling too much on details that are not a priority right now.

which is enough to snap you awake, a rush of adrenaline moving through your veins as you look for anything interesting. files, documents, notebooks — anything.

you find his agenda in a drawer of his desk. with slightly trembling fingers, you move the pages back to the date of your father’s death, as well as the days before that.

as you’re caught up with doing so, you momentarily forget the first rule of breaking into a forbidden space: never turn your back to a door when you should be watching it.

“you know, i’m starting to think you agreeing to be my date came with ulterior motives on your side.” you suddenly hear mingyu’s voice behind you, at which you turn around, looking a bit too guilty for comfort.

your voice almost gets caught up in your throat, but you keep your composure. “if it makes you feel any better, i didn’t plan this.”

“it’s alright.” he responds, closing the door behind him smoothly, as if he doesn’t want you to see it. “you still think i had something to do with your father’s death, don’t you?”

“i’m not sure. i don’t see why you would, now that you’ve given me the inheritance. what other motive could you have?”

all mingyu does is clench his jaw at the rhetorical question. then he snaps out of it, his eyes trailing to the desk you’re currently leaning on. he takes a few steps closer to you, and you raise a brow, waiting in anticipation what he’ll do.

his face is suddenly very close to yours, and you’re almost convinced he’s leaning in to touch you when he reaches for the drawer behind you instead. “well, as a matter of fact, i did have something to show you.”

that surprises you.

“your father always carried a little red notebook with him. it’s the only part of the inheritance i didn’t give you, solely because i wanted to show you myself. there’s a few strange scribblings in it, with locations and numbers, and look at this—” he opens it up in front of you, pointing at the paper with his index finger, “apparently he felt like he was being followed just days before he died. maybe the police is right and he did get murdered.”

“yeah, i already figured he probably pissed off the wrong guy.” when he looks at you hopefully, you shrug. “what?”

“we should check it out, right? find out who killed him.”

you immediately shake your head at his suggestion. “no.”

mingyu’s whole body language changes, genuine confusion overtaking his features. “what do you mean, no?”

“he was caught up in all kinds of shit, things i never wanted to be a part of. that’s no different now that he’s six feet under.”

“are you not the slightest bit curious who killed him?”

“frankly, no, i’m not. i’d say whoever is guilty did me a favor.”

despite your valid point, he persists. “okay, then how about this — what if this person would come after you for whatever reason? don’t you want to know who you’re dealing with?”

you narrow your eyes at him. “why do you care so much, mingyu? i’m sure this is something you could manage on your own.”

the sudden question surprises him, so he shrugs. “maybe i’m not sure why. but i do. and you know i did care for him.”

“why don’t you just let the police handle it?”

“because they don’t know this world — and we have access to places, people they wouldn’t even know where to find or how to deal with. have you talked to the detectives? they’re amateurs.” he answers, pausing before taking a step closer to you. “he’s dead either way, doing a small bit of research might be interesting. who knows what you might find.”

“and you wanna do this with me of all people because...?”

he rolls his eyes at the question. “you were the only other person directly affected by it. c’mon, am i really so bad that you can’t even deal with me for a little while?”

the fact that you just give him a deadpan stare tells him all he needs to know.

it makes you bite your lip. you don’t feel like doing this at all, certainly not with mingyu of all people, but he appears to be ready to do this with or without you.

besides, you do feel up for a little adventure.

“fine, i’ll bite. hypothetically, what if i were interested in finding out who killed him?”

the young man in front of you tilts his head. “then i’d suggest we work together and do some digging.”

pursing your lips, you watch his pleased expression when he notices you’re actually considering it. “why do i feel like i’m gonna regret this?”

“maybe you will. maybe you won’t. we can go right back to hating eachother after this, but for now, we’ll be partners. deal?”

your eyes linger on the hand he’s stretched out to you, and even as you’re hesitant to take it, he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

with a sigh, you shake his hand. “okay. deal.”

v. PARTNERS IN CRIME

“for someone so organized, he sure as hell has a lot of unnecessary shit lying around here.” mingyu mutters, searching through the drawers of the cupboard.

you scoff in agreement. “tell me about it.”

the two of you are rummaging through your father’s study in your home in an attempt to find anything interesting as to what he might’ve been up to the past few years.

so far, you’ve had zero luck with it.

you already figured there’d probably be nothing of interest here, but mingyu insisted, said it would be stupid not to. so here you are.

“you know, i’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t be as stupid as to just leave traces of his criminal affiliations lying around in his study.”

mingyu shrugs while simultaneously looking into a drawer. “you never know.”

“he was an asshole, but he was a smart one.” you mumble to yourself as you go through the little notebook mingyu just handed you a few minutes ago.

he watches you with curiosity. “can i ask you something?”

without looking up at him, you give him a rather direct response. “i’m sure you’ll ask me regardless of my answer to that question.”

ever so indifferent, he thinks. if anything, one thing about you he is actually fond of is your unfiltered attitude. more people should be like that. “you said you’d never forgive me for what i did to you."

hearing those words makes you look up at him. you’re surprised he’s taking an approach this straightforward with you. “i know what i said.”

“is there nothing i can do to at least make things more civil between us?”

god, you’re sick of him already.

instead of outright telling him you hate him more than anyone else you know, you cross your arms over your chest and fire a question right back at him. “why do you want things to be different between us? don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over it, now.”

mingyu pauses a moment before he answers you. “i thought about the things you said, when you were upset with me, and i realized i’ve made your life harder without having intended to do so. and yeah, i am losing sleep over it.”

while he does appear earnest, you don’t exactly trust him, so all you do is shrug your shoulders.

he wants to say something right when his phone rings. once he picks up, you figure it must be something business-related, judging by the tone of his voice and formal language.

an apology directed at you leaves his mouth as soon as he’s hit the red button on his screen. “i’m sorry. an important business meeting was moved and i promised my mom i’d be there.”

you’ve met mingyu’s mother a few times, at events. she’s the ceo of a very prominent hotel business. many of the highest ranked hotels around the world are under her care, and she clearly knows what she’s doing, since her business has been thriving for many years at this point. you remember it was her who took over as ceo after mingyu’s father passed in a car accident when he was younger.

“then you better get going.” you tell him, your face not pulling a single muscle. you hope he didn’t think you were going to ask him to stay.

he nods at your words, taking the jacket with his initials embroidered in the tag and slinging it over his arm. “yeah. i’ll call you.” he says, going out the doorway, yet your voice makes him halt in his tracks.

“mingyu.” you say his name to him, an unfamiliar feeling on your tongue, and he turns to look back at you.

he awaits your words, catching the subtle warning in your eyes as you refer back to the question of his you had yet to answer.

“we may be working together now — call us associates, or even partners in crime — but once this is over, we’ll go right back to strangers. let’s just keep this… somewhat professional.”

you find he can be surprisingly hard to read from time to time, for a guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. after blankly staring at you for a few seconds, processing the words, he just offers you a little smile and a gentle response. “okay.”

and he walks off, only leaving you more intrigued than before.

for two days, it’s complete radio silence from mingyu. all he asked you over text was if you’d been able to find anything in the study, to which you replied with a simple no. he didn’t say anything else.

you sincerely thought this whole investigation of yours wasn’t actually gonna lead to anything, that it was useless — until now.

it’s eleven o’clock, dark outside, the metronome ticking in the background of your living room as your eyes are glued to the screen of your laptop.

you just got a notification from the bank that someone made a significant withdrawal from one of your father’s bank accounts, one that still needs to be signed over to your name.

question is, who the fuck has access to your father’s bank account besides you?

no one. supposedly.

staring at mingyu’s contact in your phone, you twist your lips, unsure of whether to call him about this or not.

going against your gut, you press on his phone number and wait for him to answer the call.

nothing.

for good measure, you call him a second time. same result.

then it hits you. you spoke to wonwoo last night — he mentioned something about him and mingyu going out together this evening.

wonwoo, thankfully, does pick up his phone. “hey. what’s up?”

“hey. are you with mingyu right now?”

“yeah, why?”

“where are you?”

“uh—” he stutters out an address in the middle of the city, clearly confused by the urgency in your voice. “what’s going on? what do you need mingyu for?”

“well, it’s hard to explain. anyway, i’m coming over.”

“he’s kind of—”

you quickly interrupt him by hanging up. taking your wallet and car keys, you head out. the address wonwoo’s given you is located in the club scene downtown, and you make it there in no-time with the navigation on your phone.

parking your car across the block, you get out and check your phone, heading to wherever wonwoo and mingyu currently are. you usually tend to go for the clubs at the other side of the city, as the vibe feels a little different here, but you’ve been around the neighborhood a couple times, so it’s not entirely unfamiliar to you.

when you arrive at the club, you catch the sight of your friend leaning against the stone wall outside.

jeon wonwoo, all handsome in his expensive jacket and sleek shoes, looks surprised when he notices you of all people coming up to him, even though you told him you were coming. his voice is soft when he greets you. “hey. you gonna tell me what exactly you’re doing here?”

shrugging your shoulders, you put your hands in the pockets of your black coat. “you said you were here with mingyu. i gotta talk to him.”

“right now?”

taking note of his baffled reaction, you tilt your head to the side. “yes, right now. i don’t care if he’s occupied.”

wonwoo brings a cigarette to his lips, pushing the pair of dark-rimmed glasses higher up his nose. “what’s going on with you and him, anyway? i thought you hated each other.”

“we still do.”

“well, something’s changed.”

“believe me, wonwoo, i don’t like him any more than he likes me.”

all he does is narrow his dark eyes at you.

just when you want to open the backdoor to the club, wonwoo stops you. “you do know what kind of establishment this place is, right?”

frowning at him, you open the door just the slightest bit to check whatever he’s getting at, and once you catch sight of the pink and red lights, sensual music and metal poles attached to the ceiling, you momentarily close the door again.

right. this must be one of those clubs that are hidden from the prying eyes of non-customers, to give the illusion there’s nothing going on behind these walls, giving the rich clients some privacy in their activities.

you roll your eyes. “when you said you were going to the club, i didn’t think you meant a strip club.”

“i was about to tell you when you hung up on me.”

“so why are you out here and not in there with him?”

“because i wanted to smoke and he felt like heading into a more secluded space. with company, no doubt.”

oh, this is gonna be fun. since kim mingyu pretty much ruined your life, the very least you can do in return is ruin his night. you briefly chuckle to yourself. “alright. well, have fun smoking.”

“you’re still going in?” he calls after you, and all you can do is scoff.

“you think i care whether kim mingyu’s gonna have a good time or not?”

“forget i asked.” he responds, the hint of a smile tugging at his facial features. “i’ll wait here ‘til you get back.”

you shoot him a knowing smirk before stepping into the club. remaining in the background, you scan the area to see if there’s a glimpse of him somewhere.

at the other side of the bar, a man seems to be on watch in front of a separate hallway, so you figure that’s where the jackpot is.

not bothering to look back at the bartender, whose gaze trails after you, you head over to where you need to be, which is where you’re stopped in your path, as expected.

“these are occupied private rooms, ma’am.” a bouncer tells you.

“look, sir, i…” you begin, coming up with some bullshit excuse to get past him, “i’m pretty sure i saw my boyfriend just go in here with a dancer. all i want is a confirmation, i’m not looking to start drama.”

before the man can respond, you wordlessly hold up a small stack of hundred dollar bills between your index and middle finger, waiting for him to take the bribe.

works like a charm wherever you go.

his demeanor changes once he sees the money. “what’s he look like?”

“tall, dark medium-long hair, brown eyes, pretty handsome — though that’s probably subjective.” you shrug, adding a little fake smile to it. you can get far in life with a little charm and money.

the few generic features seem to be enough for the bouncer to know who you’re talking about. he takes the money from your hand, pointing his finger at one of the more secluded rooms in the back.

“go for room number six.” he says, stepping to the side so you can pass him.

thanking him, you head into the back, the heels of your ankle boots clicking against the floor.

the rooms have their matching numbers on neon signs above them. your eyes curiously take in everything they see, but all rooms grant the people in them privacy with the use of frosted glass.

once you’ve made it to the room with the number six on the sign, you take a breath while your hand rests on the handle.

you enter the room soundlessly. the broad space is dimly lit with its soft lights, a mixture of yellow, pink and red almost convincing you that this place is a mere fever dream.

mingyu is seated on the velvet red couch, his legs spread with a girl in skimpy lingerie dancing between them.

yet his eyes are on you.

with his head tilted down, he looks up at you from beneath his lowered brows, peering right past the bare hips of the girl as if she’s not dancing in front of him at all.

you catch a hint of intrigue in his features. he reaches inside his pocket to hand a small stack of money to the dancer in the exact same way you did with the bouncer only a minute before, and the girl leaves you to your privacy.

“hello to you, too.” he says, not bothering to move a single muscle as he remains on the soft couch.

“next time, answer your damn phone.” you scold him, staring him down with the coldest glare you can muster, and mingyu’s not sure why, but he relishes in it. it doesn’t happen often that someone treats him like this.

“i was occupied.” he casually answers, his hand running through his dark locks.

“well, not anymore.” you grin, handing him your phone to show the photo of the bank transcripts. “apparently, my dead father just took fifty grand out of his account.”

mingyu furrows his brows at the screen. “where?”

“all the way at the other side of the city. question is, who else has access to his account, aside from me?”

“we should go and check the footage.” he says, shrugging his shoulders, and he finally gets up, towering over you again. “i know someone who’s with the municipal authorities, i’ll make the call.”

“right now?” you ask, referring to how deep into the night it is, at which he raises his brow.

“yes, right now. this is the best clue we’ve come across so far. don’t you agree?”

“i do. i just thought you cared more about, y’know, being occupied.” you emphasise the last words with a waving hand, gesturing to the girl that was previously dancing on him, and his flirtatious nature comes right back to him as if it never left.

“why? wanna give me a show before we leave?” he smirks, getting closer, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of you, to see what’s lurking underneath your closed-off persona.

fine. both of you can play this game, you think to yourself. “what, are the girls here not enough to get you off?”

“is that a yes?”

“why would you want a lap dance from a girl you can’t stand? i may not like you, mingyu, but i didn’t think you’d stoop so low to go after any woman with a pulse.”

“i feel flattered,” he smiles, eyes trailing down to your exposed collarbones, finding it ridiculously hot in here, “and i don’t particularly like you, either, but we both know you’re gorgeous. besides, i’ve seen you dance at chan’s club. you looked good.”

his honesty almost stuns you in your place. you didn’t think he held that kind of physical attraction towards you, yet it makes you feel good — because you think he’s fucking hot, too.

such a shame that he’s an asshole.

but still, there’s no time to dwell on his words. you have a reputation to uphold and a murder to solve, after all.

so you lean in, whispering your decision. “in your dreams.”

jesus, mingyu thinks, do you even remotely know how much sex appeal you have? it makes him beyond impulsive. “did you know studies have shown that sleeping with someone you can’t stand is arguably the best thing ever?”

you sarcastically reply to him with the exact same tone. “did you know you’d be so much more bearable if you just kept your mouth shut?”

“what? it’s part of my charm.” is all he says in return, snickering a little over your response, and you merely roll your eyes.

“we’ve got a different idea of charm, then.”

“okay, fair enough.” he shrugs, still maintaining the minimal distance between your bodies. “so what do you find charming? i’m dying to know, really.”

“i like men who don’t feel the need to pay for a woman’s touch.” the reply comes fast and sharp as a blade. “i hope you pay them generously, since they have to put up with you out of all people.”

“she didn’t touch me, though. it’s a strip club, not a brothel.”

“how noble of you.” you humorlessly chuckle at him, attitude turning more playful.

“mhm.” mingyu nods his head, the rest of his words sounding lower and suave. “tell me more. c’mon, i’m curious. i gotta know my partner’s preferences, right?”

the look you give your current partner is something. you decide to indulge him this once, face inching closer to his, just to keep things interesting. “i want someone who won’t hold me back. someone who will accept me for who i am — uninhibited.”

there’s something you can’t quite place flashing behind his eyes. it’s close to intrigue, but more intense, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen it in anyone else’s eyes before.

“good to know.” he breathes out, as if your words stole his breath, and you come to the realization that maybe, there’s more to kim mingyu than you thought.

now that he seems to be pretty much speechless, you raise your shoulders. “so, are we heading out or should i tell the dancer to come back in?”

he stutters out a reply, and you find it funny how his attitude is constantly going back and forth between a flustered mess and the most confident guy in the room.

once you’ve returned to the backdoor where you got in, you see wonwoo is still outside, his cigarette put out on the ashtray beside him.

“you leaving?” wonwoo asks, waiting for either of you to answer.

“yeah. duty calls.” mingyu replies while putting his jacket on.

for what it’s worth, wonwoo is actually a dear friend of yours, and one of the few people you show physical affection to, so you give him a kiss on the cheek before walking off. “catch you later, okay?”

he nods, catching mingyu curiously watching the exchange, and when you walk off with him, wonwoo notices him put his hand on your lower back, which you proceed to swat away.

a mere twenty minutes later, you and mingyu are seated in your car in an empty parking lot, looking at a screen displaying street security footage of the bank where the withdrawal was made earlier tonight.

mingyu’s friend seungkwan, who works for the authorities, sent you the footage, and as you’re looking it over, he’s on the phone explaining his observations. “he was wearing a mask and a cap, so we couldn’t recognize him. the car he drove has a license plate that doesn’t match, so likely stolen. he drove from a nearby parking garage to the bank, withdrew the cash, got back in the car and then parked it right here, about six blocks further, in the business district.”

the building the car is parked across is one you’d recognize any time of day. it’s where your father’s main office is — or was — one of the places he never allowed you to get into, or anyone for that matter. it was the only place where he got the peace and quiet he wanted.

you turn your head to glance at mingyu, giving him a knowing look. “that’s where my father’s main office is.”

“you think the guy’s gonna try to break in?”

“if he got his hands on the passcodes and proceeds to wait before the building he always worked in, then yeah, i do.”

you nod in agreement, because he makes a fair point. mingyu looks at the worried expression on your face and decides you’ve gathered enough information now.

he thanks seungkwan and tells him bye before hanging up, then turning his focus to you. “whoever that guy is, if he’s planning on breaking in, we gotta beat him to it.”

“you wanna break into an office on the seventh floor located in a building that neither of us are allowed into? they won’t even let us pass the front desk. i know because i’ve tried.”

he shakes his head. “trust me — we’ll find a way in. i’ve got an idea, but it’s not gonna be easy.”

vi. WE’RE NOT SO DIFFERENT, YOU AND I

the following days are spent analyzing and memorizing blueprints, tracking the people entering and exiting the building and checking security in the hope of finding some kind of loophole in the system.

trying to get in through the front door is too risky, so you’ve opted for the roof instead, because there’s several buildings so closeby that you can get into either of the buildings next to it and reach it from there. you’ll get in with a classic heist movie tactic you pray works in real life as well.

ventilation shafts.

so now, you’re both in dark and practical clothing to attempt breaking in. because your plan is mediocre at best.

as you watch from the rooftop of a currently unoccupied office building nearby with a binocular, you face-palm yourself the moment you notice the security set-up is different than anticipated with the blueprints, meaning the ventilation shafts are most likely not accessible. “well, fuck.”

“what’s wrong?”

you hand the binocular to mingyu, and he mimics your previous actions, huffing in annoyance when he sees it too. “shit. what do we do now?”

“nothing.”

“what?”

“our plan was already risky enough, but now that we pretty much don’t even have a way in, we’d be stupid to try. we only have a fifteen-minute window before a security guard comes up the roof again.”

“that’s plenty.”

“it would be, for like — a swat team. we’re amateurs. at this, anyway.”

“speak for yourself.”

“oh, i’m sorry, have you done anything remotely on this scale before?”

“well… no.”

pinching the bridge of your nose, you roll your eyes to yourself. “we should’ve brought wonwoo.”

mingyu is quick to respond with a sarcastic comment. “and tell him what, exactly? ‘hey, we need your help breaking into one of the best-guarded buildings in the city so we can snoop around and try to find a clue leading to a killer’?”

“well, i don’t know if you’ve noticed, gyu, but we quite literally have no other options.”

“we could always try the front door. you’re still his daughter, they might let you in.”

“i really hope that wasn’t an actual suggestion, because if it was, it would highly diminish the idea i have of your intelligence.”

“is this your way of telling me you think i’m smart?”

“well, currently, i think you’re being an idiot, so no.” you retort, stealing the binocular out of his hand again. “god, i’m starting to respect criminals. this shit is difficult to navigate around.”

mingyu chuckles as he adjusts the black baseball cap on his head. “there has to be another way. maybe we could—”

“—get in through an open window.” you interrupt, handing the device over to him. “you see the glass window in the roof of his office? it looks like it’s ajar.”

once he sees it too, he tilts his head. “it’s almost too easy. it’d have to open manually, otherwise we’re screwed.”

you can only shrug. “it’s only a modern interior on the inside, the building itself is older, so the odds might be on our side. besides, it’s worth a shot, right?”

“can’t argue with that.” he agrees, checking the other buildings around to figure out the best approach.

you watch him as he’s distracted. he’s fully going for the whole partners-in-crime thing you’ve got going on with him, yet a part of you is still unsure what his motives might be.

but for now, you’ll just focus on the task at hand.

every fifteen minutes, a security guard comes up to the roof, checks everything, stays for a minute or two and leaves again. you’ve been keeping track of it. as soon as the one currently on duty closes the door to the staircase behind him, heading back down, you both start a silent timer on your watches, getting to work.

one thing you discover doing said task is that jumping from roof to roof is really not as easy as they make it seem in the movies. if anything, it’s pretty scary, even if they are relatively close to eachother.

the jump from the last building to the one you need to be on top of has the biggest gap, and mingyu takes a solid leap, landing ever so gracefully.

you shuffle your feet for a moment, making the mistake of looking down. mingyu notices your hesitation and tries to encourage you the best he can. “it looks scary, but it’s a relatively easy jump. i swear. that’s gotta mean something coming from a person with a fear of heights.”

clenching your fists, you try to steady your breathing. “don’t you lie to me, kim.”

there’s something strangely charming about you using his last name whenever you’re scolding him. “c’mon. i’ve always thought you were fearless. you’re not gonna diminish the idea i have of you, right?”

curse him for using your words against you like that.

clenching your fists, you bite your lip, the worst case scenario going through your head over and over.

“just go back a couple steps. steady your breathing, and then you run. okay?”

you don’t respond to his words but do as he says anyways. the jump isn’t even that far, you’re just afraid of tripping.

but you won’t go out embarrassing yourself in front of kim mingyu. your pride is too strong for that.

so you take a deep breath and make a run for it, jumping over the gap and landing on top of the other roof, far away from the edge. mingyu laughs triumphantly. “good job.”

“thanks.” you smile as he helps you up to your feet, and you dust off your jacket, proud of yourself for going through with it.

the two of you walk over to the glass window, and you kneel down, inspecting the lock. thank fuck — it’s so simple that all you have to do is click it open. you’re guessing they probably thought the security walking around was enough.

with your hands covered in gloves, you wiggle them through the gap and crack it open, after which mingyu takes the lead. he lets himself drop into the office silently, looking up at you as a gesture for you to follow him.

you attempt to do the same as him, but you figure he must have strong arm muscles, because you’re barely able to hold yourself up the way he can. he notices your struggle and moves to stand underneath you.

“just let go. i’ll catch you.”

“are you sure?”

he nods, his arms up as if he’s waiting for you to jump right into them. “yeah, yeah. i got you.”

not entirely convinced, you try to drop onto the floor in a way you can still hold yourself up, but mingyu proves himself true to his word when he catches you as easily as drawing his next breath. he looks you in the eye while he has you in his arms, his senses feeling heightened as your clothed skin touches with his.

then you tap on his shoulder, and he lets go of you.

the office is bigger than anticipated. the moonlight from outside is bright enough for you to not need a flashlight, so that’s beneficial.

mingyu is awfully quick on his feet for someone as tall and bulky as him. he’s quiet in every step he takes, which is useful in a situation like this.

while he begins to look through a bunch of drawers, you open cabinet after cabinet, going through some documents that don’t really contain anything interesting.

you turn to look at the desk and the painting on the wall behind it. it’s nothing spectacular — your father never had much of an appreciation for art, so you find it strange he’d even have it up here.

out of sheer curiosity, you try to check if there’s a secret stash behind the painting like in those crime movies.

you have to refrain from laughing when your eyes fall onto the safe in the wall. “hey. gyu.”

he turns around, his entire demeanor changing when he sees what you’ve found. “you’re kidding.”

the safe has a surprisingly easy system. it has four dials, so you need a code with four numbers to get access to whatever’s inside. you change the dials to your birth year for fun, but naturally, it doesn’t work. hell, mingyu’s birth year might have a better shot.

while you try out every combination you can think of, mingyu gets the little notebook out of his pocket — the one that was part of your father’s inheritance. he flips to one of the last pages. “try 9-3-6-8.”

going with his suggestion, you rotate the dials until they have the right numbers, and you hear a click. blinking a few times, you turn the small crank wheel beside the dials and open the safe.

there’s not much inside in terms of quantity, but the things that are in there are no joke.

two gold ingots, a stack of files and a loaded handgun with a silencer attached to it.

“what the fuck was he up to?” mingyu asks rhetorically, inspecting the pistol with care, and you shrug, grabbing the files to put them into the bag you took with you.

“i don’t know, but we should hurry up. we can look at whatever all this is later. clock’s ticking.”

he figures you make a good point, so you hold out your bag, and he puts all of the safe’s contents into it.

you’re both scared to death when you suddenly hear voices coming from the other side of the door. you immediately zip up your bag and close the safe back up, putting the painting right back in front of it.

footsteps come approaching your direction, and you realize you don’t have enough time to get back out of the office without being caught red-handed, so you’ll have to find a place to hide.

just as you’re about to go sit underneath the desk, mingyu doesn’t hesitate to grab you by your hand and pull you against his body, both of you hiding in the small gap between the bookcase and the wall, which is right next to the door.

you almost jump in your place when the door is opened by a security guard, and mingyu puts his hand over your mouth to make sure the guard doesn’t hear you.

thankfully, you’re hidden right behind the door now that it’s opened, but your heart is fucking pounding as your chest is pressed against mingyu’s, and all you can focus on is him.

he’s suffocatingly close to you.

the situation forces you to look at him so closely — like never before. your attention trails down from his dark eyes to the litte mole on the bottom of his nose, the shape of his lips, and the glimpse you catch of the silver chain adorning his collarbones.

it’s the first time you see how big of a man he is. he’s been working out a lot in the past few years, with considerable results — standing this close to him highlights the contrast between his frame and yours.

the footsteps leave the office not long after, and the door closes. you’re finally able to breathe properly when he releases his palm from your mouth, and you inhale and exhale deeply.

“you alright?”

“yeah. that was just — scary.” you respond, cracking a little smile.

he nods, neither of you really moving in your places yet. “you can let go of me, y’know.” mingyu whispers, sounding entirely unconvincing, and you frown before looking to your hand that’s apparently been clutching his jacket this whole time.

“oh, yeah. sorry.”

“it’s okay.” he assures you, pointing to the ceiling. “we should probably head back.”

you agree and sling the bag over your shoulders, on your back. he gets onto the desk first so he can climb out the same window you used to get in, and once he’s gotten up the roof again, he extends his hand to you so he can pull you up.

it doesn’t go smoothly. he’s a little clumsy, but he manages, so you take a breather once you’ve made it out of the office with him. you close the window in the exact position it was before you opened it, and you make it to the safety of the rooftop where you started just twenty minutes ago.

as you quickly go down the stairs of the abandoned building to reach the ground floor, he laughs triumphantly. “holy fucking shit. i can’t believe we actually pulled that off.”

you smile at him with adrenaline still rushing through you, heart still pounding in your chest when you realize what you just did.

and honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever felt that… alive.

a mere fifteen minutes later, you’re seated in a half-empty diner with him. he’s across from you in the booth, elbows on the table as he fiddles with his fingers.

while he looks around the place, you take the files you found in the safe out of your bag so you can look them over.

as your eyes fall onto the first page, you frown.

mingyu notices your gaze. “what’s wrong?”

you switch to the other file folders before scoffing to yourself, realization hitting you. “you gotta be fucking kidding me. they’re tabs he kept on the people around him. the staff at home, his driver... even me. and you. well, looks like he didn’t trust you completely.”

before he can even reply to the subtle dig, you slide the folder with his name on it across the table, and he opens it up, noticing a huge chunk of information on him neatly stashed away in separate documents. there’s even candids there that must’ve been made by a private investigator.

“i knew he was paranoid, but this takes the cake.” you mutter, and you throw the folders back into your bag, and mingyu hands you his so you can take it as well.

“well, this sucks.” he sighs. “those files aren’t of much use, so now we’re back to square one.”

you tilt your head. “that’s not entirely true. we might be able to check where the gun came from, or whose name it’s registered under.”

mingyu hums, lifting the cup to his mouth, whispering a compliment, not really expecting for you to hear it. “smart girl.”

with your bag zipped up and everything off the table again, it’s quiet between you and mingyu for a moment.

“god, i’m starving.” he says as you wait for your food to arrive, and where he’s slightly fidgeting in his place, you sit completely still, looking at him with a frown. once he catches your gaze, he raises a brow at you. “what?”

“do you do this often?”

“eating in a cheap diner?”

“trespassing. breaking in. illegal activities. whatever you wanna call it.”

he shrugs. “occasionally. keeps life interesting, y’know?”

the casualness in his attitude makes you scoff. “sure.”

“you don’t agree?”

“i didn’t say that.”

“no, but then again, you don’t really say much at all.” he says bluntly. he doesn’t mean it as an offensive statement in the slightest, but it would’ve probably sounded better if worded differently.

for a moment, he thinks his impulsivity must’ve upset you, seeing as you remain silent for a moment.

then you laugh at him. the sound is completely new to him, yet strangely soothing to his ears.

“you’re bold, i’ll give you that.” you snicker before taking a sip of your coke. “but i assume you don’t have an issue with people who are on the quieter side, since you’re besties with wonwoo and all.”

mingyu mimics your facial expressions. “yeah, i prefer being around quieter people more. but i didn’t—it came out wrong. i meant, you don’t really, like... show who you are. if that makes sense. even back when we were in high school, you were like a mystery. you still are, to me.”

“is this what this whole partnering-up thing is about? you wanting to unravel the mystery about me? because if it is, i’ll give you credit for the creativity.”

mingyu tilts his head. “well, it’s a little more nuanced than that.”

“if you wanted to get to know me, why didn’t you try years ago?”

“have you met you?”

you roll your eyes. he smirks at you, enjoying your company quite a lot, anticipating whatever it is you’ll say in response.

“you wanna know something, mingyu?”

“yeah.”

“you’re telling me i’m the mysterious one, but i’d say that’s you.”

his playfulness falters a bit, and he shows his confusion instead. “me?”

“mhm. you’re popular, good-looking, charming, all of that — and i think you’ve got layers to yourself that no one even knows about. characteristics no one would ever dare imagine when they think of you.”

his breath hitches in his throat. “why do you think that?”

twisting your lips into a pout, you put your drink back down on the table. “wouldn’t be any fun if i outright told you, would it?”

mingyu narrows his eyes at you. you just shrug, as if to tell him he’ll figure it out, if he’s smart enough.

and he welcomes the challenge.

“okay.” he smiles, biting his lip when he leans back in his seat. “but, hypothetically — what if you’re wrong about me? what if i don’t have those layers you’re talking about?”

you eye him up and down, remaining quiet with your arms crossed over your chest. you’ve always had that attitude. like you know more than everyone else, as if you’re the smartest person in the room. usually, you are. and yet you’re never smug about it, unless someone challenges you to be — you’re always calm, cool, collected. stoic. the fact that wonwoo of all people called you an ice princess years ago says enough.

“i’d be sorely disappointed.”

“so you have high expectations of me?”

“in a way, perhaps. though you’ll have to work a little harder to impress me.”

“tonight wasn’t enough?”

“it was a start. we still loathe eachother, remember?”

“right. i’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

sure, you and kim mingyu hate one another, but he still makes you smile the most anyone has in ages, and you make him feel more alive than anyone else has.

vii. FRIENDS CLOSE, ENEMIES CLOSER

“i’ve got bad news.” you say, tapping your nails on the coffee table in your living room as you have mingyu on speaker.

“okay. do tell.”

“the gun isn’t registered, so we pretty much only have the files as evidence.”

“yeah. i doubt your father put those files together himself, since they seem like the work of a professional. we might be smart to seek out the private investigator who gave him the intel.”

you know he hears you sigh at the other end of the line, and your response hardly sound convincing. “yeah, i guess.”

“what’s wrong?”

it’s quiet for a moment. you speak up with a tension rumbling in your chest. “maybe we should just quit, gyu. i don’t feel like what we’re doing is actually going anywhere. we still don’t have a proper lead.”

then it’s his turn to remain silent, and you swear you can hear his breath shudder. “we’ll get there. it just... takes some time.”

“you sound a little too sure of that.”

“i just think it’d be a waste to not continue after the stunt we pulled last week.”

“what’re we gonna be doing next? breaking into the national bank?”

“something tells me you’d find that exciting.”

well, shit. have you become so transparent that kim mingyu of all people can tell the truth about you?

“maybe i would.” you grumble like a child admitting defeat.

the sound of his laughter echoes through the phone. it subconsciously brings a small smile to your face.

“look, i have a meeting ‘til five. i can come by after to brainstorm about things, pick up some food on the way. are you free tonight?”

“yeah. text me when you’re on the way here.”

“yes, ma’am.” he jests, saying he’s got to go before hanging up. it leaves you to stare at your phone for a minute. a past version of yourself would never believe it if you said mingyu would ever get close to you in the way he has over the past two months. it’s been a strange time. it’s come to the point you’re pretty sure you don’t even hate him as much as you used to.

maybe you don’t even hate him at all anymore. maybe.

but something about admitting that to yourself feels scary, so you put your thoughts elsewhere while secretly looking forward to having him come over again.

it’s a quarter past five when he sends you a message, letting you know he’s picked up the food and on the way to your house, and a mere twenty minutes later, you and him are seated in the lounge on the first floor as he tells you about his day – all while shoving a dumpling into his mouth.

what interrupts you, however, is the noise of your doorbell. mingyu frowns instantly, and you mimic his expression, because you weren’t expecting any more company. “who’s that?”

“no idea.” you shrug, so you get up from your seat, jogging down the stairs with mingyu following you, simultaneously chewing the food in his mouth.

checking the screen beside the door that’s connected to the doorbell, you notice a familiar face standing outside.

“isn’t he the main detective on the investigation?” mingyu asks rhetorically, his body language changing to something more stiff. “what is he doing here?”

“good question. i certainly didn’t invite him, but the guy at the front gate probably told him i was home. fuck — you have to hide.”

“hide? why?”

because the detective thinks you still hate mingyu, so seeing him here would make your story hardly plausible. “because he can’t see you, obviously. get upstairs and stay there. i’ll distract him.” 

“are you sure?”

“yeah, so go!” you push him back with your hands on his chest, and he seems hesitant to leave you by yourself, but he eventually jogs up the stairs again to get out of sight.

the inspector smiles only as a formality. you do the same. you haven’t spoken to him since you indirectly accused him of being an asshole, a while before your father’s funeral.

“good evening. i hope i haven’t come at a bad time. may i come in?”

“i have to take a business call soon, actually, so another time would be—”

“i won’t be long. i assume you’d like to have an update on the investigation?”

well, fuck. he’s got you there, so you’re forced to let him in, but you don’t let him wonder and gesture for him to sit down in the living room, on the couch. you move to take the seat directly across from him to ensure his focus is on you, instead of on the huge staircase behind him.

“am i still at the top of your list?” you ask. when the man tries to find the right words to respond, you scoff, filling in the blanks. of course you still are. “but you have no evidence.” 

“it’s not about evidence — moreso the lack thereof. i’m stuck with two people who each have a solid motive, an alibi that’s far from foolproof, and an important tie to the victim. you cannot deny that.” 

“is this another interrogation? because this is all off-record.”

“not an interrogation. i was just wondering something – back when i spoke to you last, before your father’s funeral, i asked what you could tell me about kim mingyu, your father’s former associate.” hearing him say his name makes you anxious, yet you pull every possible muscle to hide it. “you spoke of him as if he were the devil himself. you clearly hated him, perhaps more than you hated your father.”

“and?”

he pulls something from the inside of his jacket, and you discover they’re a few candids, photos taken of you with mingyu while out in the city. well, that’s just fucking great. you’re gonna have to make use of your top-notch acting skills here.

“i’m sure you wouldn’t mind me asking why you’re suddenly seeing someone you claim to hate as much as you do.”

the blankness of your face dissolves as you adapt a more playful and sassy persona. “you came all the way to my home for this? a few photos?”

“a few photos of my two main suspects together for a reason i cannot think of, yes.”

“you can’t think of a single thing? really? no offense, but i was under the impression you were at least a little clever.”

the man stares at you as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. that can only mean one thing – he’s falling for your act.

what an idiot.

you lean forward in your place, the dry smile remaining on your face. “i fucked him. several times, actually.”

he narrows his eyes at your statement. “i thought you told me you hated him.”

“oh, i do. but a good hate-fuck is the best way to release some frustration. you should try it sometime.” the sound of your voice is monotonous as you utter the words in one go.

“i’ll keep it in mind.” he sarcastically responds with a fake smile, and you copy his body language, pleased to see you’ve made him somewhat uncomfortable.

he clearly wants to change the subject, but you don’t feel like continuing this conversation any longer. “if you’ll excuse me, i really have more pressing matters, so i trust you can see yourself out.”

the inspector huffs a bit, but he knows better than to overstay his welcome. he wordlessly allows you to let you walk him to the door before turning around. “i hope you know who you’re dealing with. not everyone is who they say they are.”

leaving you confused, he looks at you a moment, proceeding to walk out your front door, after which you close it. did he know more than he was willing to let on? what a strange visit.

when you finally decide to turn around, you see mingyu standing in the middle of the stairs, looking a little baffled, at which you roll your eyes.

“why would you tell him that?”

“would you have preferred it if i told him the truth?”

“would that be so bad?”

you scoff, passing him on the staircase. “see, this is what i mean when i say you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

mingyu follows you back up to the lounge. “i’m just saying — maybe it’d make us look less suspicious.”

“it’d do the opposite, gyu. trust me.”

“okay. fine. but out of all the things you could’ve said, why that?”

“well, it made him uncomfortable, making it easier to get him to leave early. and, well… you know what you look like.”

the last sentence really grabs his attention.

“what i look like?” he repeats, knowing damn well what you’re getting at, but he’s eager to hear you spell it out for him.

“well, you’re somewhat good-looking. it’s one of your few strong points, actually.”

“so you think i’m hot?”

“didn’t quite say that.”

“no, but you implied it.”

“not really. you may be conventionally handsome, gyu, but attraction is a whole different thing.”

“oh, c’mon. admit it. i’m willing to, so…”

“do i need to remind you i said we’d keep things professional? which you agreed to.”

“god, you’re so tough.”

“part of my charm. maybe that’s why you like me so much.”

“i never said i liked you.”

“no, you didn’t have to.” you scoff, laughing at him, and mingyu feels the corners of his lips curling up — because you’re right.

then, as you plop down on the seats in the lounge again, you sigh as you look at the papers scattered across the table.

“you know, it’s been weeks, and we still haven’t got the slightest clue who’s the killer,” you frown, fingers resting on your collarbone, “and if i’m being honest, i doubt we ever will.”

mingyu briefly narrows his eyes at you, proceeding to take his laptop out of his bag. you watch curiously when he silently types away at his keyboard, then turning the device around and clicking on the play button.

suddenly you hear your own voice, and the words — you said those during the interrogations. how the hell did he get his hands on those recordings?

he seems to be able to read your mind. “i’ve got a contact in the force. he sent me the sorted files of everyone who was interrogated. we should probably listen to them, right? after all, we know more about the situation than the detectives.”

blinking a few times, you shrug and nod in agreement, so he increases the volume and presses the button again.

the following two and a half hours are spent listening to the recordings and taking notes of important things. you’re only halfway through them, but doing this the whole time really sucks you dry of energy.

at a certain point, you press the pause button and get up from your seat, moving to the liquor cabinet a few meters away. “you like a good whiskey, right?”

“yeah. how’d you know?”

“i observe and listen. that, and i heard you say it to wonwoo one time.”

he chuckles at your words, watching you take the bottle with two glasses and set it down on the table.

once you’ve poured the liquid into the glass, he takes what you offer him and down it in one go, after which you give him a judgemental stare. “seriously?”

“sorry. had a rough day.”

your gaze softens, and you pour him a second glass as he holds it out. “why?”

“i just… haven’t been feeling great lately. not really sure why.”

well, that’s interesting. “your conscience eating away at you?”

his eyes widen an uncharacteristical amount, and your face is blank for a few moments until you crack a smile. he laughs it off, squeezing his hands together, which you take notice of.

“guess you could say that. no, i don’t know. my sister’s been stressed and she won’t tell me why, which is odd ‘cause she always comes to me — and my mother’s been overworking herself, and i’m worried for her.”

pursing your lips together, you cast your eyes down for a moment.

for some reason, you feel a sense of repulsiveness whenever mingyu speaks of his family like that. as if it’s a reminder of what you didn’t have.

but you don’t show it.

“sounds tough.” you reply, not intending to sound distant — you just find it difficult to know what to say.

what you fail to recognize is that mingyu sees it. he sees your struggle and the emotions you think are so deeply hidden underneath the surface. they actually are, to be honest, but he’s come to know you and with that the way you hold yourself. and he’s suddenly able to read you better.

you’re made of sharp edges only — broken glass on all sides.

he takes another sip of his drink. you down yours in one go.

“can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

mingyu’s eyes curiously follow your every move, the alcohol in his system making him bolder. “how are you holding up?”

“me? ‘m fine. why do you ask?”

“i think mostly ‘cause i’ve asked you a lot of questions, but not that one.”

the words make you silent for a moment, and you let out a knowing sigh when you realize what he’s getting at. “i told you i was glad he died, gyu.”

“i know. but even if you are, you can still find it difficult to deal with.”

you inhale and exhale slowly, leaning back against the wall for a moment, staring into nothing. “i’m not sad that he’s gone. i never will be. but there’s things i wanted to ask him.”

when you don’t continue, he asks you to. “what things?”

“things about my youth, my mother… hell, maybe even about you.” you shrug, chuckling for a brief moment, but the sound is gone as soon as it came. “but i think, mostly, i’d ask if he saw himself in me.”

mingyu is intrigued by your answer. “why would you wanna know that?”

you shrug, your tiredness contributing to you opening up. “because maybe i’d hear the answer i want to hear, and not the one i currently have. my worst nightmare has always been to turn into him.”

“you won’t be like him.” he tries to tell you, but you shake your head.

“i already am. i hated him to the bone, and yet i act like him, sound like him, handle things like him — because he taught me everything i know. at the end of the day, i am my father’s daughter. there’s no changing that.”

“you’re not a bad person. he was.”

“how would you know? he was nice to you. stand-offish, probably, but nice.”

“you don’t think i had an idea of what kind of person he was? i cared for him, but i knew he could be harsh. i caught some bits and pieces when he… yelled at you after our high school graduation.”

you have an almost visceral reaction as he mentions the incident. your father had yelled at you after the graduation, because the best student of your class got a prize on the big podium, and it wasn’t you. and that as a result made your father angry, because being in the top five wasn’t enough — because it should’ve been you.

it was always supposed to be you.

“why did you even want to be around him at all? if you knew how much of an asshole he was all this time.”

mingyu stares at the wall for a few seconds when he thinks about it. “he came into my life when i needed it the most. but looking back, i feel guilty. i shouldn’t have cared for someone like that.”

“like what?”

“someone that cruel. he didn’t deserve to be loved or cared for, not in any way.”

“can only good people be loved?” you ask in return, and he seems positively surprised at your question.

“you’d find love for a bad person?”

“mingyu.” you say his name in a brief chuckle, and it steals his breath away. “do you think you have that much of a choice over who we love? we don’t. that’s what makes it so complicated.”

he seems to grow increasingly stressed with each thing you say, much to your surprise. “but would you want to love someone like that?”

looking away from him for a moment, you think his words over. “if that person was good to me, and had the same values… yeah, i would. trust me, the few people i care about are no saints, and yet i’d go to hell and back for them.”

“am i on that list too?”

you meet his eyes, and his expression is so beautifully genuine, full of raw emotion you’ve never seen him show before. it’s then that it finally hits you — kim mingyu actually cares about you.

the worst thing is that you just might care about him, too.

so you gently smile at him with a light shrug of your shoulders. “maybe.”

he reciprocates it, his brown eyes blown wide as he gazes at you. “i’m glad. you’re on my list too, y’know.”

“am i?” you tease, and he nods cheerfully, happy to have verbalized his appreciation for you. “well, i didn’t really see it coming, that’s for sure.”

your words bring mingyu’s thoughts back to the death of your father, the rift you accused him of causing between the two of you. a wave of guilt comes flooding in once more.

“look, i… i know you may not believe me, but i genuinely feel sorry for what happened. for taking something from you. despite the things i saw and heard, i really was too stupid to see that your dad treated you as badly as he did.”

staring him right in the eye, you don’t fail to catch the earnestness in them. “it’s alright. you’re not half as much to blame as i’ve tried to make myself believe you were.”

the words intrigue him. “how come?”

swallowing the lump in your throat, you press your lips together. “because he didn’t care about me. he never did. maybe he was different before my mother died, maybe he wasn’t. i wouldn’t know.”

mingyu tries to hold his ground as he watches you get emotional. he remains quiet in his spot next to you.

“can i tell you something?” your voice is hesitant and almost inaudible, like a child who’s trying to tell their parent they did something wrong.

when he silently nods, you continue.

“you wanted to know why i hated you, right? well, i...” you pause in an attempt to find the right words, “i felt invisible to my father. like i didn’t matter — i was treated like nothing more than a tool to improve his businesses. but you... he treated you like a son. like a person. and i spent years trying to figure out what i did wrong and you did right, and i just... i didn’t get it. i still don’t. but whatever it was, i was jealous that you had it and i didn’t. and everyone loved you and praised you, be it our friends or their parents. everyone in our social circle. from my point of view, no one had ever uttered a single bad word about you, and then when my father began to take a liking towards you as well... i just hated you. you were my perfect scapegoat.”

the guilt on his face is clear as day. when he parts his lips, you already know he wants to apologize again, but you shake your head, speaking up first.

because you don’t hate him anymore.

“mingyu, there was nothing for you to take away from me to begin with. long before you were even present in his life, he didn’t care for me either.” with the corners of your lips turned down, you continue. “i did everything he asked. perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect social life. but he didn’t care. it’s not often i say people have no heart, but he just… he just didn’t have one. for his job, perhaps, for his business partners — but not for anyone outside of his work. i just didn’t think that would go for his own child, too.”

you reach for your forehead, trying to take his attention away from your face, running your hand through your hair while blinking your tears away. why are you telling him all this?

but it just feels so good to finally get it all out.

“you did the best you could.” he tells you, and you nod with watery eyes.

“i did. and somehow, none of it mattered.”

when the first heavy sob leaves you, you try to hold it back, not wanting him to see you break down.

he doesn’t let you. he moves to sit next to you and takes you into his arms, and for the first time in however long, you let yourself break. the tears are your acknowledgement of the pain it has caused you over the years, the damage that will never quite heal and always follow you wherever you go.

you’re not sure why you’re falling apart this easily. you hardly ever cry anymore, perhaps a few times a year, and you usually feel strong enough to hold it all back when you’re in front of others, but this time — this time, you just can’t.

“it’s alright, sweetheart. it’s okay. you’re alright. he’s gone now.” he whispers into your ear as comfort. “but you’re not alone. not anymore.”

his heart shatters when he internally makes the comparison between the loving family he grew up in and the lonely, broken family you could hardly call home.

“why wasn’t i enough? why didn’t he like me?” you mutter to yourself, having lost control as you cry into mingyu’s neck, clinging onto his body as your chest aches.

“because he couldn’t. he didn’t have it in him to care for anyone. that says more about him than it does about you.” he responds, gently stroking your hair, even pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel… cared for. like you truly matter to someone.

something that feels scary, perhaps even strange, but good.

mingyu’s big arms cage you into his hold, a comforting feeling. to be honest, you wish you could stay with him like this for the whole night. maybe even longer than that.

he rubs your back, feeling the pain in your chest as if it were his own. he’d take all of it if he could. you were damaged in a way that no one deserves, and seeing how much it still affects you and most likely will in the long term, that tears him apart.

the heavy ache in your chest subsides, yet you still cling onto him. you feel the most at ease you’ve ever been with anyone.

“thank you.” you mumble, giving him a tight hug with you wrapping your arms around him ‘till he’s almost suffocating. “i needed that.”

“anytime.”

you eventually finally come down from your breakdown, body slightly twitching as the last tears silently roll down your cheeks.

with your head in his lap, you lay on your side, closing your eyes for a while as the pain in your chest slowly subsides. he’s still rubbing at your clothed skin, and you’re curious if he’s aware it does wonders for calming you down.

“i’m sorry for yelling at you, gyu. after the funeral.” you speak up, voice still raspy. “i was wrong about you.”

mingyu feels his throat tighten up. “it’s okay. i was wrong about you, too. we have more in common than i initially thought we did.”

you wipe your tears away and move to sit upright, finally feeling confident enough to look him in the eye again. “like what?”

both of you are tired. everything that’s happened the past weeks has definitely been causing some sleepless nights for both of you, and with all the alcohol and emotions running high, you’re both feeling a tad drowsy.

he runs a hand through his dark locks. “this part of society — i think it’s exhausting, a lot of the time. full of noise, small talk that’s supposed to hide how cold half these people are, social pressure, all of that. but here, at home, it’s quiet. maybe a little too quiet. the thing is, i have my friends and family that i care about more than anyone else, but i still feel… hollow. like i’m missing something.”

you nod at him. “you can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely.”

“yeah.” he sighs. “do you feel it too?”

“well, i may not have a family, but i have my friends. and they mean so much to me, and i can talk to them if i need to, but… yeah. i feel it too.”

he wonders if you feel the same connection that he’s feeling right now. he’s drawn to you like a damn magnet.

mingyu already knows he’s a goner when he gently puts his hand on your cheek. he feels electrified by your presence, your voice, even the way you look at him.

he needs you.

“maybe we can be lonely together.”

his words are enough for your breath to hitch in your throat. you doubt you’ve ever wanted to have someone as much as you do now.

and so you cross a line you never thought you would and press your lips to his, desperately needing his touch.

the kiss is harsh but slow, as if you’re aching to taste eachother. his hand makes its way to the back of your head, the other on your back to pull you closer to him.

his heart might as well be lurching out of his chest. god, he feels that excitement and nervousness as if he were his teenage self sharing a first kiss with his crush — yet whatever feeling is clouding his mind is something darker and deeper, something that transcends what he can describe with words.

he kisses you like his life depends on it. once you’ve both pulled back to get some air, looking the other straight in the eye, it’s like you’re silently admitting that the relationship you share is more than just being partners.

it’s something that comes alarmingly close to love.

the moment is harshly interrupted when his phone rings. he blinks a few times before rolling his eyes at the timing, as he’s still half on top of you.

you can do nothing but wait underneath him as he takes the call, and when he closes his eyes and releases a sigh, you know it’s not positive.

“alright, thank you.” he says before hanging up, turning his focus to you. “the alarm at my apartment in the city was triggered. i gotta check it out, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine.” you mutter out, suddenly unsure of how to talk to him now that you’ve crossed the line that you have.

but mingyu is much more straightforward. his gaze is warm and intense as it finds your eyes, and he wants nothing more than to stay here with you. so he shows you that.

just when your lips are about to touch again, he smirks, gently holding your chin. “i’ll be back for this.”

with those words, he catches his breath and gets up from the couch, after which he jogs down the stairs, and half a minute later, you hear the front doors open and close.

the sound allows you to release the breath you’ve been holding.

what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

thank you for reading. let me know if you enjoyed it x

READ PART TWO HERE

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[yohanseyebrowmole]

Indelible | Jacaerys Velaryon

(adj. impossible to erase or forget)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

Sum: Jacaerys realises he should have listened to you and told everyone about the two of you too late...

Or was it too late?

or in which

Jacaerys breaks up with you two years after secretly dating you, and you get wind of his potential engagement to your cousin the heir to your family's company.

Word count: 3,692 (give or take:/ I edited it and wasn't bothered to recheck the wc)

Warnings: idk nothing much. I tried to avoid using y/n but ended up using it like thrice (I think)

a/n: Reader's mother is the second child of a huge businessman and took on her husband's name upon marriage, but has business ties (her maiden name is Dayne but its not a big deal). Reader's father is a well-respected lawyer but it's not relevant. Jace is heir to the Targaryen family business. He's a little slow and doesn't connect dots until later on lol.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

☆ Loving Jacaerys Velaryon was easy.

Keeping the fact that you loved him a secret was the hard part.

Two years.

For two years, you loved Jacaerys, and now you are hearing that his family was actively trying to set him up with your cousin.

What’s worse is that it makes perfect sense for them to get together.

Jacaerys is set to inherit the family company from his mother and your cousin is set to inherit your family's company from your uncle.

Why did he want to keep your relationship a secret in the first place? You didn't know, but you respected his decision nonetheless.

But two years of not being able to tell anyone?

You wanted to tell your parents and your older brother, you wanted to gossip with said cousin about your relationship, but Jace remained steadfast in his decision not to tell anyone.

He probably got fed up with you asking to become public and broke up with you, at least that was what you originally thought.

Two years of dates and I love you's gone just like that, all because Jace wanted to keep your relationship a secret and you were tired of not being able to tell anyone.

You had no interest in your mother's family company to be honest. No care for business or the likes, your interest is and will always lay within anthropology.

You loved it.

It was the perfect balance of history, science and mystery and everyone who knew you knew how much you loved a good mystery.

You loved the drama and the slight chaos whenever you got called in, and they say they found a body and having to find out what happened to it.

What was their story? What were they like? What was their life like? How did they end up like this?

Sometimes, it was a simple burial. Sometimes, it was an accidental death.

The murders were always the most interesting.

Of course, as an intern, you were usually not always assigned to the murder cases, but you always accepted any that came your way.

You loved the hunt, your curiosity always getting the best of you and the sense of relief, pride and justice that filled you once you found the identity of who was lying in front of you and who was responsible for it was always worth it.

You loved finding clues that helped catch the one responsible for the person's death, and being able to give families closure after their loved ones went missing was rewarding to you.

Yes, it was confronting and disgusting at times like the time a body was found at the landfill and you had to sift through weeks of rubbish to find missing bones (you were sure you would never be able to smell anything other than rotten food ever again) but you loved it regardless.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

You were once again sitting in the library at your corner.

It was one of your favourite spots on campus.

The window provided a perfect distraction when she needed a little break from her work. It was far enough from the other tables that no one bothered her but close enough that she could watch people go about their day when she was bored.

The shelfs also obscured their line of view of the table giving you privacy was always an added bonus. 

“Having fun, pretty girl?”

You blink, shifting your gaze away from the window where you had been watching what seemed to be a very heated fight between a couple. You smile at your boyfriend. 

“Hey,” You said. “You're here earlier than normal.”

Jace sits down next to you, letting his bag drop from his shoulder onto the floor.

“Finished early.”

“You look tired,” you said, taking note of the light dark circles under his eyes. 

“Cause I am,” Jace groans, leaning into you. He practically shoves his face into the crook of your neck.

You shift sideways so he can rest his head comfortably and run your hand through his hair gently undoing any notes made from the wind outside.

“You should go home and sleep if you're tired, Jace.”

“Don’t wanna,” Jacaerys responds, not bothering to move his head from the crook of your neck. “Just wanna be here with you.”

You can’t help the upward tug of your lips.

“Careful Velaryon, someone might assume that you're obsessed with me.”

Jace huffs out a laugh, finally lifting his head and sitting back. 

“They would assume correctly. What are you doing later?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “But it seems like you know what I’m going to do.”

Jace grins, grabbing his bag from the floor and digging around it before pulling out two tickets. “You are going to go visit that new exhibit at the museum with me.”

“You got tickets?" You can't hide your excitement. "How? I tried getting them for weeks but they were sold out, I even asked mum if she could pull some strings.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Jace smiles. "You were going to ask your mum to get you tickets?"

You shrug lightly, grabbing the tickets from him, inspecting them before you all but throw yourself at him, hugging him. You pull away but grab one of his hands intertwining your fingers with his. 

Jace nods along to your random facts about Egyptian history as he watches your eyes light up as you giggle and ramble on about the exhibit, squeezing your hand, bringing it up to his lip and kissing the back of it. 

You barely react to the affection, already gotten used to the gestures and continue talking about Ramesses the great and his military accomplishments.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Your first thought was that it was your fault.

Clearly, you must have done something wrong for Jace to break up with you.

You rack your brains for weeks afterwards to try and figure out what you've done wrong, but as you sit there in your little corner of the library, you realise you've done absolutely nothing wrong.

So then you wonder, why would he break up with you?

Was it because you brought up the fact of a public relationship more often than not these days? Did he suddenly think you weren’t pretty enough? Or were you and your random rants now annoying to him?

The tip of the pencil you had been using to draw snaps.

You thought it would be easy to get over him. After all no one knew you two were together so you weren't getting constant pity glances.

Turns out it was harder. Way harder.

You didn't have anyone to rant to, no one to lean on or cry to and you were practically at the end of your patience, about to call your brother and spill everything to him when you heard someone call your name.

"Oh my god finally!"

You turn only to be met with your best friend Baela, who coincidentally was also Jace's cousin. You smile at her, forcing yourself to push your previous thoughts to the back of your mind.

"What's got you so excited?" You ask her.

She plops down on the seat next to you.

“Why are you so hard to find?”

You laugh. “I’m always here Baela. You know that.”

She rolls her hands before leaning forward. You notice the glint in her eyes. Mischief. Her eyes were basically the same as Jace’s aside from the colour difference.

“It’s Jace,” she said. “Mum told me that Aunt Rhae was trying to set him up with Elise Dayne.”

You freeze slightly. “What?”

“I know! I was shocked as well!” Baela smiles, not realising the bombshell she had just dropped on you. 

“Elise Dayne?”

Baela nods and rambles on about how she had seen Elise and Jace on a date the other day and how cute they had looked together. You smile and nod along but all you can think about was this was why he broke up with you.

Baela leaves to go to class but only after after telling you everything.

She leaves and you sit there for what felt like hours trying to wrap your head around what she had told you.

Jacaerys had broken up with you only to get together with your cousin. 

You gather your things and walk to your car.

With your hands on the wheel you scream before you start laughing.

The laugh turns into choked out sobs as you let yourself cry for the first time since Jace left you.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Seeing Jacaerys walk into your family home with his family had not been in your plans for tonight.

Frankly, if you had known this very important and must not miss family meeting was to officially announce his engagement to your cousin, you would have accepted that case on the unknown skeleton they found last week or gotten your professors to make something up so you could have an excuse not to turn up.

Instead, here you are, forced to stand and watch Jace smile and greet your cousin and her parents. 

You stand in a corner next to your brother, tongue poking the inside of your cheek in slight annoyance.

You can tell the exact moment Jacaerys notices your presence. 

You send him an overly sweet smile and watch him falter, confusion and something else flashing in his eyes before he blinks and puts his mask back up, turning and shaking your mother’s hand.

He had always been good at that, pretending that nothing was bothering him.

Your mother smiles and turns to you and your brother. Your brother nudges you, and you quickly plaster a pleasant smile on your face.

“This is my daughter and my oldest.”

Your brother shakes Jace’s hand and introduces him. Jacaerys turns his attention to you. 

“Hi,” you smile, reaching out and shaking his hand. “Y/n. Pleasure to meet you.”

You watch him gulp, smile and greet you back.

You keep your distance and stay quiet the entire time the two families eat. You know your brother has noticed because he keeps sending you odd looks, but you brush them off, not bothering to pay him any mind or explain your current predicament to him.

What does bother you is Jace.

He keeps looking over at you, most of the time it’s short glances but sometimes you can feel his gaze boring into the side of your head as you answer the questions his brothers, Lucerys and Joffery ask about your degree, his mother occasionally asking a few of her own.

You make sure to keep your answers brief. Your degree was hardly dinner conversation, and you didn't want anyone's dinner resurfacing in any way.

You make sure to turn to him and give him a smile. He snaps out of his daze every time, blinking a couple of times before tuning back into whatever your cousin was talking about.

At some point in the night, you get up, telling your brother you needed to get something from your room.

You don’t notice Jace’s eyes following you as you walk away, and you sure as hell don’t hear him excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

You startle slightly as you feel someone grab your wrist. You don’t even need to turn around to realise who it was.

The soft scent of sandalwood tells you enough.

“What are you doing?” you hiss under your breath, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen the both of you before pulling him into your room. 

Jace looks around, taking in his surroundings.

He can’t really help it. It was the first time he had been in your room. He notices the photo wall full of polaroids you told him about making and the string of fairy lights you had bought together after convincing him to go shopping together. 

“I didn’t know you were related to her,” Jace said.

“I told you who my mother was,” you scoff. “It was pretty fucking obvious Jace.”

Neither of you notice the person standing by the door, listening in on the conversation through the slight crack.

“Well you could have straight up told me,” Jace argues.

“You're arguing with me because I didn’t give you my mother’s government name? Are you serious? I told you her name, where she worked and what she did. I even told you she was helping coordinate that joint event with your mother! I couldn’t have been more obvious, it’s not my fault you couldn’t put two and two together!”

Jace opens and closes his mouth. It's not like she was wrong.

“This,” you whisper. “This is why you broke up with me? If you had known, would you have stayed? Would you have let me tell everyone that we dated?”

Jace winces at your harsh tone but otherwise stays silent, giving you your answer. 

“I can’t believe you.”

“You think I wanted this?” Jace said. “You think I knew my parents were gonna set me up with her?”

“Clearly you did since you refused to tell anyone about us.”

“That’s not -”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Just don’t.”

You sigh and shake your head.

“You need to go. Leave first, and then I can follow after a couple of minutes.”

Jace grabs your hand before you can push him towards the door. “Wait, just -”

“You need to go,” you repeat. “If you haven’t noticed your fiancé-to-be is down the hall along with the rest of my family and we both have better things to do then stand here and argue over a topic we already know our stance on. Also, I have somewhere I need to be.”

With that, you pull your hand away from his and walk away. He follows you into the hallway, hears you say bye to your family, and watches you turn to leave.

Fuck.

How was he going to fix this?

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Looking back on it, Jacaerys really didn't know how he didn't put two and two together.

He had met your mother on numerous occasions considering that she worked with his mother for joint events and whatnot.

You were practically a carbon copy of your mother as well. 

The hair, the eyes, the intellect. Everything about you screamed Dayne and his stupid brain couldn’t piece together the fact that you were related. 

How the fuck did he not know?

All those times when you had told him your mother was away on business and he had commented that his mother was gone as well. 

He groans, running a hand down his face. 

Rhaenyra, who had been standing by the doorway for the past five minutes watching her son have what looked like a mental breakdown, finally decides to make her presence known.

It was time to talk some sense into her son.

“Jace.”

“Mother.”

“Can I come in?” His mother asks. 

Jace nods and she walks into the room.

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” she questions. “Luke is complaining about your constant groans.”

Jace normally would have laughed but all he can do is sigh. 

“What’s wrong, Jace?” his mother asks again.

“I messed up,” Jace mutters. “Really bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

His mother nods, walking forward and sits beside him on the bed. 

“Why don’t you tell me everything so I can help?”

Jace looks at her, hesitates for a moment before the flood gates open, and he tells her everything. 

He tells her about how you two met, about your first date, about how he wanted to keep your relationship a secret, and you had been okay with that for a while.

He tells her how he broke up with you because she wanted him to get together with your cousin. 

He doesn’t leave anything out, and his mother just sits and listens to everything. 

When he’s done she stays quiet.

“Jace,” she asks softly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jace forces himself to hold back the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t -” he shakes his head. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t approve, and I didn’t want to lose her, but I guess it’s too late for that now.”

Rhaenyra reaches out and holds his hands. 

“If I had known you loved someone like that,” she said. “I wouldn’t have set you up. I would never deny you your happiness. Even if she wasn’t what I envisioned for you, I wouldn’t have made you leave her, Jacaerys.”

His bottom lip wobbles. “What do I do now?”

Rhaenyra smiles and whips away a stray tear from his cheek.

“Jace?”

He hums.

“Do you like her?”

“What?”

“Do you like her?”

“I love her,” Jace said. “A lot.”

His mother smiles. “Then what are you doing here?”

He stays quiet, blinking at his mother.

“If you love her, why aren’t you with her?” His mother said. “Go get her back, Jace. If you love her, fight for her.”

Jacaerys stands up quickly and nods. He grabs a jacket from his chair and is gone the next second.

Rhaenyra watches him leave shaking her head with a soft smile.

That foolish boy.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

You were on campus, specifically at the building where your professors kept the unidentified bodies that had been sent over after being found.

You weren't allowed to have phones near the workstations or the bodies and even if you were you would have never bothered to bring it up with you.

Who in their right mind wants to touch their phone with people juice on their hands, regardless of whether or not you were wearing gloves?

Not to mention that you would have kept having to change your gloves as well, and that would do your head in. 

Your phone was in your bag, which in turn was in your personal locker outside, which meant you had no idea that Jacaerys had been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour.

You had no idea that he was calling you or texting you to ask for your whereabouts. 

Luckily for him, you were slightly predictable. 

You had just finished writing down your notes for the Jane Doe in front of you and making sure her bones were locked away and secure. 

You swiped your student card into the security slot, and the doors outside opened. Smiling and waving to the security guards stationed outside the lab, you grabbed your bag from the the opposite wall, holding the lockers.

You push open the door and stop short.

It was raining, because of course it was. 

You put your notes in your bag and started walking to your car, which was conveniently parked at the far end of the parking lot. 

You had been too busy re-reading and protecting your over your notes while speed-walking to your car to realise that Jacaerys had been waiting outside waiting for you.

You couldn’t hear him call your name over the sound of the rain.

When the rain suddenly stops falling on you, you look up only to be met with the slight of an umbrella. 

You turn confused and are met with a panting Jacaerys.

“You walk really fast,” he said, slightly bent over as he caught his breath.

You just stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

He stands up straighter. 

“Uh, I came to apologise.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Jace said. “For everything. I’m sorry for being stupid and not putting two and two together. For keeping us a secret and breaking up with you. I’m sorry.”

“Where is this coming from?” you question.

“I came to a realisation,” Jace answered. “I can’t live without you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“I hate the fact that we aren’t together anymore. I hate the fact that I didn’t tell anybody we were together,” Jace said. “I hate being away with you. I hate not being with you. I hate not being able to hold and tell you I love you every day. I’ll do better this time. I swear it.”

“Careful Velaryon,” you say, stepping forward. “People could assume you are obsessed with me.”

Jace’s lips tug upwards, and he nods, closing the gap between the two of you completely, leaning down.

“They would assume correctly.” 

The world around the two of you fades into the background as he leans forward, his lips brushing against yours. 

The air around the both of you seemed to warm. You don’t know who leans in first, and you don’t care. 

All you cared about was the fact that Jacaerys was kissing you again. That he was yours again.

Your eyes flutter close as your lips meet, and the umbrella protecting the two of you from the rain drops to the floor as he pulls you closer.

You don’t register that you drop your bag to hold onto his collar and pull him even closer. 

You could have sworn lighting flashed through the sky as your lips met, but maybe that was you imagining things. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to kiss him. 

Those sparks when your lips touched his, that feeling of something more.

Of something real.

Your heart skips a beat

“You know you’re stuck with me forever now right?” Jace said as he pulled away smiling.

You laugh and Jace sees that familiar sparkle of light in your eyes. The ones that remind him of stars.

“I think it’s you that’s stuck with me.”

He grins leaning in to kiss you again. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you smile into the kiss.

A particularly cold and harsh gust of wind coupled with the booming sound of thunder breaks the moment and you shiver.

Jace goes to pick up the umbrella that had fallen. Luckily, the wind hadn't carried it too far off.

Your eyes follow him before they fall on your wet bag on the floor. The bag that had your notes. The bag that held the notes that you had been painstakingly working on for the past few hours. 

You scream, causing Jace to jump.

“You little shit! You made me drop my notes! I take it back! I hate you!”

Jacaerys laughs as you pick up your bag and hit him with it. He runs away as you chase him in the rain, cursing him out for letting you ruin your notes. 

You really wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Well, except maybe with dry notes. 

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Thank you to my bby girl @icarusignite for pre-reading this and thirsting over Jace to an almost unhealthy degree with me ily<3

Go read her fics or else (this may or may not be a threat)

Written by Yor <3

[lok-shakti]

एक कारोबारी की हत्या पर क्यों हिल गया है कानपुर, कस्टडी में व्यापारी की मौत के बाद उठे गंभीर सवाल

एक कारोबारी की हत्या पर क्यों हिल गया है कानपुर, कस्टडी में व्यापारी की मौत के बाद उठे गंभीर सवाल

कानपुर: उत्तर प्रदेश के कानपुर देहात से जिस प्रकार की खबर निकल कर सामने आ रही है, चौंकाने वाली है। एक व्यापारी की पुलिस कस्टडी में मौत का मामला सामने आया है। व्यापारी की मौत के बाद गंभीर सवाल उठ रहे हैं। दरअसल, कानपुर देहात के शिवली थाना के लालपुर सरैंया निवासी व्यापारी बलवंत की मौत पुलिस कस्टडी में हो गई। मामला सामने आने के बाद लोगों का गुस्सा उबल पड़ा। सड़क पर निकले लोगों ने पुलिस प्रशासन के…

[stil-lindigo]

FOR AUSSIE FOLLOWERS - the Albanese government continues to actively perpetuate genocide in Palestine.

In case you haven’t been keeping up, recently;

- Albanese attended a private Katy Perry party funded in part by a prominent Israeli businessman.

-Albanese hasn’t released a single statement pertaining to the NSW policeman who brutally murdered two gay men just before NSW Mardi Gras, nor has he reigned in the NSW police commissioner who treated queer people not wanting police at pride following this tragedy as a major insult.

-Albanese’s office claims they haven’t received any emails asking the Australian government to not support genocide but is actively hanging up on calls.

While taking strong action now, it’s important to recognise and remember for future elections just how Labour sees its constituents.

RELEVANT LINKS FOR SOLIDARITY WITH PALESTINE

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[eternal-evergreens]

Hello! I stumbled across your post “jjk men as yandere” and I really enjoy both your thoughts and writing style.

I would truly appreciate if you wrote any scenario involving yandere Geto with reader (sorcerer).

Thank you if you even consider writing it<3

A/N Thanks so much!!

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Meet Cute" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: Drabble

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru Geto x GN!Curse user!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Reader is morally bankrupt, mentions of eugenics/genocide, reader is a little too into WWII, minor age gap, super greedy reader

"You're like a modern-day Hitler, huh?"

"...What?" Geto looked at you with wide eyes, putting down his to-go cup to better gape at you.

"Well, you are advocating for mass genocide and literal eugenics," you say, taking an unbothered sip of your own coffee. (Geto recommended the place. Apparently, his kids like the hot chocolate there. You'll have to ask him for the name of the place later.) "So, yeah, you're like Hitler."

Geto appears to be having a crisis of some sort. Just sort of staring down at his lap with an unreadable look on his face. You watch with amusement. This kid must be a newbie, you think—not that you're much older than him, but you at least have seniority on this.

"What, are you getting cold feet? You've already killed people, you know. If you want to make it in this career, you're gonna have to get real comfortable being compared to some pretty terrible things."

"I'm used to being called terrible things, it's just—"

"Oh, what? Like monster?" Geto says nothing, and you sigh, reclining back in your chair. (Damn, this cult has some nice shit. You wonder if you can sneak the couch out without anyone noticing?) "So unoriginal. Anyway keep your chin up. It's actually a good thing. Hitler already exists, so you can steal his ideas."

"Weren't you just complaining about something being unoriginal?" You wave your hand dismissively.

"That was then, this is now. Anyway what do you think? Hitler industrialized murder. You can do the same—if you can get the right ingredients."

"You're talking about power, right?"

"Pretty much. You'll need hands and money. And a lot of both. With that in mind, this cult is actually a perfect setup. But putting that aside," you take another sip of your drink. Empty. Damn it. "You didn't call me here just so I could give you my professional opinion, did you?"

Geto smiles. "I hear you'll do anything for money."

"I don't come cheap, you know."

"That's not a problem," he snaps his fingers, and someone, a "monkey" from the looks of it, walks in, clearly struggling with the weight of whatever's in that giant briefcase. You suppress a smile as it's placed on the table and opened. Hundreds, no, thousands of ¥10,000 notes line the briefcase from top to bottom. You nearly salivate from just looking at it. Quickly, you check for any signs of deceit, of counterfeits, empty space, or otherwise. You can't find anything.

"You'll find this briefcase contains over one billion yen." Geto says, gesturing for his...indentured servant to close the case. How many bills is that? It's gotta be over a million. You're half tempted to take the money and run, but years of experience have taught you not to underestimate guys carrying this much cash. "I trust this is sufficient?"

"That depends on the job," you say, crossing your arms. "If you want me to take out Satoru Gojo, you'll need to multiply it a hundredfold before I even consider it."

"It's nothing that severe," he says, wearing the smile of a polished businessman. You sit up a little straighter. Maybe you were wrong about this guy being an amateur. Whatever he wants you to do, it's bad news. You feel excitement tingling in your veins. Will he ask you to take out a city? A country? Considering the scale of his plans, you wouldn't be surprised if he wanted you to take out a continent... you'd need a bit more to do something like that, though.

"I want you to marry me."

You snort, then laugh. You laugh for a very long time, even holding your stomach as you bend over in your seat. If this was a ploy to make you let your guard down long enough to kill you, it was smart. Still, you wouldn't go down that easily. You're more than confident enough in your ability to defend yourself, even in such a hilarious encounter.

Finally, the laughter dies down, and you wipe a tear from your eye. You look up at Geto's face, only for him to look back at you oddly serious. "No way..." you murmur, "are you for real?"

"I'm afraid I am," he says. Your smile drops. How annoying. What's this guy even want from you, huh?

"So, what, that money's a dowry?"

"More like a bribe."

"Uh-uh. No way. Not happening. I can't take a job like that."

"You're not even going to ask what's in it for me?"

"Not interested," you say, grabbing your bag and standing.

"I think I ought to tell you anyway," he says, throwing a sack onto the table. A stack of yen falls out, and you eye it with a raised eyebrow. "That's my payment for listening," he says. "¥200,000."

You inspect the fallen stack. Once again, it's real. He's either crazy or plotting something, and you have a hunch it's the latter. You sit back down. Whatever he's thinking, it's definitely bad news. Even so, you need more information to properly deal with it.

"I've heard you're the sole caretaker of four siblings." He shouldn't know that, but you decide not to derail the conversation by asking. "As you know, I've got two little girls of my own."

"So, what? You need a babysitter?"

"Precisely."

"Okay, but why marriage? Surely you could just hire me as a nanny and be done with it?"

"The girls don't trust strangers easily. I already told them that I had a Fiance out of town who'd be coming back soon. Just play along with it and you'll be compensated accordingly." "For how long?"

"Just until they turn eighteen."

"You'll have to pay me more." "What I showed you earlier was just a down payment; you'll also get an annual salary of fifteen million."

"Make it twenty."

"How's forty?" he says. You ponder over it for a moment. Judging from how you saw things earlier, it seems like he does genuinely love those kids. He's young and not afraid of spending, which would make you worry about the sustainability of the job, but cults are famous for making tons of cash.

"How old are they?"

"Six." So, twelve years. Counting the initial (over) one billion, the listening fee of two hundred thousand, and the annual salary times twelve, you'll be paid over ¥1,480,200,000. That's more than enough to send your siblings to college, as well as set them up for life.

"Deal," you say, reaching your hand out to shake. You'd ask why he doesn't just hire someone more qualified, but you think that speech on 'monkeys' he gave you answers the question.

"It's getting late," he says, shaking your hand. "How about I take you to dinner?"

"Why?"

"My girls are smart. They'll realize something's up if we don't know anything about each other," he says, standing.

"This isn't coming out of my salary, right?" Geto, or, you suppose you should be calling him Suguru, now, chuckles.

"I'm not nearly that stingy," he says. He holds out his arm to escort you, and you take it. "I'll need your ring size, too."

Of course, he already knows it. That, and so much more. After all, this may be your first time meeting him, but he's already met you plenty of times.

"Sure, but I'm not paying. Also, if you get me an ugly one I'm selling it."

"We'll go together, then." For some reason, the smile on his face seems a little too genuine to be meant for someone he's only just met, but you pay it no mind. Money is money, after all.

"Oh, what about living arrangements?"

"You and your siblings will live here," he says. "You'll have to sleep in the same bed as me, I'm afraid. Just to keep up the illusion."

"Do I get a bonus for that?"

"You're hurting my feelings," he says.

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned that in 1935, a tiger shark that had just been brought to an aquarium in Sydney spat out a human arm. At first it was believed that it was an unfortunate swimmer, but soon the police realized that this case continued.

King's arm

The shark that vomited the arm was not the same one that had eaten it. To explain, the tiger shark had eaten a smaller shark, and that was the one that had eaten the arm in the beginning.

It turned out that, despite the damage to the limb, it was possible to tell who it was, also because he had quite conspicuous tattoos, and the fingerprints were still well preserved. He had cuts all over his arm from a sharp object, a razor or a blade. This indicated to the police that it had not been an accident.

The arm belonged to an amateur boxer and criminal named James Smith, who had been missing since April 7, 1935.

The initial investigation led the police to a Sydney businessman named Reginald William Lloyd Holmes. Holmes was an impostor and alcohol smuggler who also ran a successful family boatbuilding business.

Holmes had hired Smith several times for insurance scams. Shortly thereafter, the couple met Patrick Francis Brady, a former military member and convicted counterfeiter. Their "friendship", as is often the case in such cases, ended badly.

The investigation revealed that it was Patrick Francis Brady who murdered Smith, dismembered his body and threw it into Gunnamatta Bay. There, his arm was eaten by a shark.

The rest of the body was never found.

[sadesluvr]

Guilty - William Afton x Reader

To be a lawyer is to adhere to a strict code of ethics.

A/N: Slight AU, but not really. This is kind of tame compared to other William fics I have planned, but I thought it’d be fun to make Reader more dominant and less innocent than usual! This has a bit of build up, but it pays off ofc ;) You can imagine William to be in his 40s/50s like he is in the movie, or 30s as he would’ve been during his killing spree.

Word count: 2.6K

Tags: SMUT / Age gaps (Reader is in her 20s) / Sexual tension / Hybristophilia / Power play (Kinda) / Fearplay (If you squint) / Clothed sex / Unprotected sex / Mutual consent / Dirty talk / Discussion of murder / Mentions of cheating

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza was in a mess. A bunch of children had just gone missing - presumed dead - and there were even rumblings of a lawsuit from the victims’ families. It certainly wasn’t the case an up-and-coming lawyer usually received, but had the potential to be the one that cemented your career.

“I must say, I’m rather surprised you chose me to help you out,” you said to the man who was sitting at the table as you closed the door behind you. Your office was by no means large, but it was sizable enough to make you feel important.

“Why’s that?” He asked, cocking his head, his brows raising above the rims of his glasses. You’d done your pre reading; the man’s name was William Afton, a humble businessman who’d started the pizzeria and had come to you for help. He seemed well meaning enough.

“Well,” you began, adjusting your skirt as you sat down, “I’m not the typical face you’d imagine when picturing a bloodthirsty lawyer. Especially someone like you…”You said carefully. It was no secret that men either overlooked you, or went out of their way to hire you for your ‘assets’. “I find they’re usually set in their ways about having a woman deal with their issues,”

The man shrugged, a small smirk creeping to the side of his face. 

“Doesn’t bother me. I have a daughter of my own,”

“Oh,” you smiled, pushing your chair in as you fixed the paperwork around you. “Is she…?”

“She’s a little younger than you,” he said simply. “I make it a mission to practise what I preach at home,”

You smiled, and he smiled back, his skin wrinkling ever so slightly around his eyes and sides of his mouth. He was put together and certainly likeable; only driving you to want to help him out even more. you were quite comfortable, which was good as it was likely that the rest of the office, bar the receptionist and the interns, would file out over time, leaving you alone with him in your assigned wing.

“I suppose we should get started. First — Would you like a cup of coffee?”

/

“…In conclusion, I suggest you speak to this PR rep, he’s excellent,” you said, sliding a card across the table. “For now, our plan is to go ahead with the statement, and hold off on any retaliation,” you continued, making a few notes as you did. “Cooperate with the police, and let me handle things — But, if there’s anything I should know, it’s best you tell me…” you finished, looking up at him from across the table, your eyes meeting his own blue ones.

William smirked. His focus on the task had dwindled in and out over the past hour and a half, having watched the way you explained things with striking confidence, yet bit your pen childishly before writing things down. He couldn’t help but admire a woman with confidence, and it certainly helped that it wasn’t misplaced. You were good at your job. Perhaps too good.

He wondered how you’d ended up here. Young, attractive, yet closed off in a building with stuffy businessmen on a Friday night. You should’ve been at the club; dressed in your sluttiest attire, making out with random guys whilst you split Margaritas on yourself, eventually taking them back home and fucking their brains off. He wondered if you were the dominant or submissive type; if you liked to take charge and ride in cowgirl position, or into the classic missionary, arms above your head as you moan and whimper for more. You might’ve been good at your job, but it was impossible that you hadn’t fucked any of the seniors in the office during your time. 

More importantly, he wondered if you’d ever slept with your clients. After all, it wasn’t as if they were in his calibre; likely some shady businessmen who’d moved a few pots of money around, or middle-aged men moaning about real estate - none notable enough to ruin your reputation.

This was much different. Far different.

You didn’t know it, but you were face to face with a killer.

“Such as?” he hummed. Of course he knew what you meant, but he just wanted to hear you say it.

“…Anything that could damage your validity should there be a trial,” you said, sitting back in your seat. “Forged bank documents, hoarding evidence, an admission of guilt…”

“You think I had something to do with it?”

You paused, somewhat taken aback by how abrupt he was. Usually people reacted dramatically to accusations (especially ones as callous as this), and yet he was eerily calm, barely even flinching at the mention. It intrigued you, but more disturbingly it made you horny.

“I never said that,” you shrugged, trying to compose yourself. “But, if you did, it could change this situation entirely. Your wife, your daughter - the public - will look at you very differently,”

William chuckled, his leg beginning to bounce in excitement. The mention of his family was quite the mood killer, and yet you acknowledging them turned him on. They weren’t really any more than tools to look like a convincing family-friendly businessman, and yet you seemingly bought into it. In terms of the public, well, he had a big ego for sure, but his libido was bigger. Throbbing, even.

“And what about you?” He said, leaning in and placing his hands under his chin, grinning at the way you shifted under his gaze. It was time to turn the tables.

“Excuse me?” you choked, an uncomfortable feeling beginning to churn in your stomach. There was something in the way that he smiled at you, like he was getting some kind of satisfaction from making you squirm. Perhaps you’d been wrong about him. Perhaps there was something deeper. 

“Will you look at me any differently?” he insisted. You paused for a moment before shaking your head. 

“Absolutely not, Mr Afton. It’s my duty to be impartial,”

So prim and proper. It was time to blur the boundaries.

“Tch,” he scoffed before bursting into laughter. “Come on! That’s what they all say. It’s human nature to judge,”

You rolled your eyes, tossing your leg over the other as you began to drum your fingertips on your desk impatiently. This was usually the part where whoever you were talking to stopped to talk down to you. William could tell you were agitated, and he loved the way your brows were beginning to furrow and lips scrunch into a pout. He wondered how they tasted. Much more how they felt.

“It’s also human nature to feel discomfort when running over time,” you snapped, closing your files with haste. “This session is over, Mr Afton,”

So feisty. Repression had clearly done a number on you.

It was a blatant sign for him to move on, and yet he remained firmly in his seat, watching as you got up to put your files away, skirt slightly crumpled around your legs from how long you’d been sitting. You noticed this and pulled it down, turning to face the man yet again and leaning over the table, palms flat as you rested your hands on either side. 

You were rather close to him, and if anyone walked in it would seem sketchy. It didn’t help that he was quite handsome; with rugged yet refined features, a slowly greying goatee and bright eyes that were somewhat hidden by his large glasses. The longer that you stared at him, the more you felt weakened under his gaze.

“Can I help you, Mr Afton?”

“You can,” he said, and you raised a brow for him to continue. He felt his cock begin to harden and heart beat as he worked his way up to the moment. Yes, you were a lawyer, but the circumstances meant that you were game to react rather abruptly.

A killer and a lawyer in an empty wing, just after hours - doors shut with no one to hear a scream? It was the perfect scenario for a crime.

“I have something to declare…” he began, and he could barely contain his smile as you raised your brows, mouth slowly falling agape and body subtly recoiling. As if in a trance, you lowered your head further, the eye contact so intense that you could feel a tingle throughout each others’ bodies. You were 90% certain he could hear your heart pounding in your chest.

“…Go on,”

“I think you know what it is,” 

With a slow blink, as you tried to ground yourself. You could’ve vomited. In your eyes, murder was a grey area in the realm of self defence, but children were always off limits. 

He didn’t even seem to care. He seemed amused, actually. 

“O-Okay,” you whispered, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to revisit this with fresh eyes in the morning —“

You were so painfully uncomfortable, and yet part of you was aroused. Perhaps it was because you’d never encountered an actual killer, or it was because you were incredibly aware of the blatant fantasy being played out from both sides. He was a wolf; a hunter, bigger and stronger than you and waiting to ravish you like prey. 

You were dedicated to holding up the law, fighting for what was fair like a good girl, but sometimes good girls needed to be ravished.

“— What do you think, Miss L/N?” he teased, standing up to match you. “Am I a dead man?”

“No…” you whispered. “I’m going to do what I can…”

“Good,” he smiled, backing away from the desk, the outline of his bulge illuminated from the dimming lights. “That’s why I chose you,”

You gave an awkward nod, haphazardly rushing to hold the door open for him to leave. You held your head down as he passed, and squeezed your eyes shut as you realised he’d stopped in front of you. 

Your bodies were painfully close in the tiny doorway. William grinned, and he knew he had you from the moment you looked up at him through your lashes.

“…Are you going to kill me?”

“Not unless you want me to,”

Your lips were on each other in a heartbeat, your hands immediately finding the door and slamming it shut before focusing your attention on the killer at your feet. He wasted no time in effortlessly hoisting you up around his waist, his large hands firm on your hips and thighs as he held you steady, stumbling to find your desk. You returned the favour by holding onto his neck and beginning to grind yourself against his cock, your skirt riding up in the process.

“I bet you’re real happy I walked through those doors, aren’t you?” He teased. “How long have you been waiting for a fucked up guy like me, hmm?” he said, crudely sticking his fingers inside your panties as he placed you on the desk. He grunted at the sensation of your wet heat, hungry as he stuck a third finger inside without warning or hesitation. They were lithe and calloused, and seemed to hit your core immediately upon penetration, causing you to let out a moan. 

“I never –” you began, barely unable to form a sentence. “This is nothing —” you insisted, lips leaving his own as you began to fumble with his belt, cupping him through his pants. He was painfully hard. And big. Bigger than most guys your age. “— Just a formality,”

William scoffed, unable to hide his lascivious smile as he began pumping in and out of you, your lips swallowing him to just below his knuckles. Against the creaking of the desk and desperate pants you could hear the wet sound of your juices coating his fingers, sticky and copious as his motions continued; rough yet controlled. 

To think, they were the same hands that had murdered all those kids…

You’d taken out his cock now and was massaging the organ in your hands, causing him to hollow out his cheeks, sighing at the contact. It was over five inches, and considerably thick, with a long blue vein running along its underside. As you stroked him, a healthy secretion of precum coated your fingers, indirectly lubing him up further. His thrusts were lazy but needy as he fucked your hand, and with every movement you worked together to guide his cock to your entrance, his bulging tip teasing your folds.

“Fuck,” he whispered, throwing his head back. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you? Naughty girl, you know this goes against your ‘ethics’...” he teased again, and you could barely formulate an answer as his body was now almost completely on top of yours, your back arching as you stabilised yourself with your free hand on the desk.

He chuckled, reaching down to grip the base of his cock as he lined himself at your entrance. For a moment your hands touched, and the excessive hairs and slight wrinkles reminded you of just how much older he was.

“Fuck ethics,” you moaned, and his grin deepened, to the point he was baring teeth. You couldn’t take it anymore, and you were beginning to lose your grip on your panties as you held them to the side.

Next time he should just rip them off.

“William…” you moaned. “Please…”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he laughed, and thrust himself into you, rutting into you like a rabbit. To him the sensation was euphoric, it had been a long time since he’d fucked a fresh pussy, and admittedly his wife was getting rather stale. You were so tight and melded perfectly around him, but most of all you were eager, even if your morals were blatantly backwards. 

William’s cock filled you completely, repeatedly hitting the untouched crevices of your cunt that you hadn’t even known existed. He was big, skilled and oh-so painfully perfect - Perfectly bad for you. You could get disbarred, your public reputation ruined, much like the narrative of the man inside you - but with every thrust that drew deeper into your pussy and lustful kiss to your neck and lips none of it seemed to matter. His large hands cupped your sides, moving between your breasts and thighs as he groped and massaged; most importantly making sure that you remained spread wide and available for him as his clothed thighs hit against yours repeatedly. You were high; so high that you barely acknowledged the wedding ring on his left finger, even if you could feel it through the thin material of your blouse.

“You feel so fucking good,” he grunted. “I haven’t fucked a pussy like this in ages. You and I are gonna make such a good team — Ugh — I knew there was a reason I chose you…”

“Fuck…” you groaned. “W-William…”

“Does it bother you that I hurt those kids?” he snarled, beginning to feel his stomach knot up. 

You were too lost in your ecstasy to answer. 

Did it?

“…Tut, tut. You said you wouldn’t judge me, sweetheart,” he chided. “We were getting along so well…”

“We are. I’m gonna help you,” you said determinedly, eyes unable to shift from his own. You were close.

“I know you are,” he hummed, letting out an intermittent groan as he shut his eyes. “You have no choice. You’re just as guilty as me,”

There was something about those words that immediately sent you over the edge, squeezing your eyes shut and letting out a pornographic moan as you came, your body twinging as the man held your thighs apart, making sure you felt every inch of your shared ecstasy. William had barely found it in him to pull out on time, his heavy load painting a mess on your panties and thighs, but leaving a small trail of cum along the outer lips of your pussy, a subtle but telling reminder of what had happened.

Fixing your crumpled shirt and skirt, you adjusted yourself before hopping off of the desk, hands clasped in front of you. 

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. You were surprised it wasn’t sore from your incessant moans. “I’d like to see you at the same time tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

@yellowbunnydreams @lonelyaxolotl13

[noroi1000]

could i request a gojo x yn where yn is a famous supermodel while gojo is like businessman mafia and she meets him in a part for influential ppl and some rival of gojo attack the party to catch gojo but can't do it and to save y/n gojo takes her with him in a hurry to make sure she's fine ( bro fell in love at first sight while y/n doesn't really care bcs yk very hard to be impressed type of lady ) but a plot twist in this setting sort of is that there has been cases of many murders recently and the serial killer is impossible to catch ( the killer is y/- ok yes u get it but she killed them bcs she ruined her family or sum like that so our baddie is taking revenge ) well this is a dark theme dark romance request so yep ofc there's dark content and no one knows abt y/n's past at all despite her status no matter how hard they try and gojo after taking her makes her stay with him bcs she's one of the few ppl who saw his face so for privacy purposes and gojo barely finds out abt y/n's "dark deeds" when she throws hints playfully ( she's kinda devious morally grey sort of woman ) and idk what to add much more honestly but yea a smexy romantic love story ( SUB GOJO PLEASE 🙏😍😩 ) and gojo brings her a person to kill every year on her bday bcs she feels "stabby" ( mindfuck book series ref if ykyk ) also ofc y/n continues her career as a supermodel bcs 💅🏼👠. as another personal preference don't make y/n younger as it's uncomfy to me so yeah jsjdndbdnfn

whew this was quite a lot

have a good day !

Beautiful Vengeance

cover by @blvckryx my advisor and friend

paring: Mafia boss Gojo x model reader (killer)

words: 4,7k

warnings: murders, violence, guns, some kidnaping, smut (sub Gojo/dom reader)

Your mother always wanted you to have a good life. That's why when you told her you wanted to be a model when you grow up, she supported you as much as she could. To give you what you might need to make your dreams come true.

Your career took off when you were a teenager. When you were 16, you won a modeling contest, and your name made headlines.

And because you took the victory from one person, your life was about to end...

You competing with a girl whose family was more important than yours. You won anyway thanks to your innate charm, which made you stand in the first place and people considered you a beautiful, future model.

Thanks to this, your career could continue to roll and grow. And you couldn't take that chance.

You've worked so hard. You were the pride of your parents.

But your only opponent was a spoiled female dog who after losing to you all she wanted was to get rid of you.

She was the niece of mob boss Q. A man going by the name Q, who made his living by killing people for hire, dealing drugs and weapons. Even human trafficking. His mafia teams were everywhere.

You didn't know about it until you saw a group of people enter your house.

You were in your room then, and you heard screams and sounds of fighting.

As you quickly made your way down to your parents' living room, all you saw was pools of blood covering the soft carpet.

And three people dressed in black with black masks on their faces. In their hands bloody knives that they used to make your parents lie on the floor with open but dead eyes.

You were sad. You were afraid. You lost your parents. You wanted to cry over their loss. They were everything to you. They loved you, you loved them. You could have lived with them 16 years of your life. And now... It's all over.

Or you die and join them. To shorten your suffering.

But something else popped into your mind. To make them suffer.

You could have died at their hands, or you could have gotten revenge for your parents by killing them.

And you want revenge for the destruction of your life...

So you silently walked over to the cupboard until the opponents saw you, and unscrewing the bottle you let the water flow out of the plastic, soaking the entire floor where one of the people was standing.

You smashed a nearby lamp on his head and stabbed him with the sharpened glass at the end. Throwing the damaged item onto the wet floor, you jumped back quickly, letting his body quiver with the current coursing through him.

You hit the other's neck with your elbow, pulling his head back until you heard a crack.

Such easy ways to kill someone...

You've already killed two people with your own hands. Even if the metallic, disgusting smell of blood was nauseating.

Before you were stabbed by the last man, you took the knife from the dead body, and plunged the bloody blade into his chest.

While his body was still moving, he managed to scratch your head with the tip of the knife, just above the ear. Cutting off some of your shiny hair. Making your ear and the side of your neck covered in drops of blood.

The man in front of you writhed in pain as you pushed the knife hilt towards him, holding the knife in it. Stuck in his sternum in the chest.

Even though you saw the fear of death in his eyes, you felt no regret. Even if he cried and looked at you pleadingly, you showed no mercy.

Just like they had no mercy for your parents.

As he fell to the floor, the knife fell out of his chest, staying in your hand. Covering your hands in scarlet liquid.

When he was twitching and moving away with the last strength, you just walked over to him, and sitting on his stomach, you drove the knife into his heart, slowly watching the life fade from his eyes.

You felt your pajamas soaking in warm sticky blood. However, you didn't let go of the blade as you walked over to your parents and hugged them, not caring how dirty and bloody you were. You slowly and gently closed your eyes and left the house. Heading to a place where you know where a girl used to live surrounding herself with people with "Q" marks on their clothes.

There was a calm expression on your face as you walked straight down the runway, focusing on going perfect. The flashes of the flash bouncing off your eyes. The outfit you're wearing looks so good on you. One of the collections of one of the most famous fashion designers has been selected for you. Alternating with two other models, you go out there, showing the clothes on your body for less than a minute. A then you go back to change into your next outfit, and leave when it's your next turn.

It was your job.

You like it. You are a famous model.

And you don't mind that people only look at what your body looks like.

You go to clothes exhibitions, you take part in advertisements for clothes, cosmetics, nail polishes, jewelry. You are the face of many advertisements.

A lot of people who hire you choose you because you're sexy. And there is mystery in you. And your eyes show killer sexiness.

Your pose is flawless, sophisticated.

Everyone who knew you talked about this mystery in photos and videos. Something obtained without photomontage and without any additional make-up.

And Dark Beauty when you're seen in the ads for the blood red collection. Everything from lips to nails was a rich red.

That color just reminded you of what had happened over the years of your life. You don't care as long as no one knows about it.

Besides, your revenge isn't quite complete yet.

When you were 16, you swore revenge on those who hurt your family and you. You are 23 now. You are a famous model that neither the media nor anyone knows the whole truth about.

Nobody knows anything about your childhood, nobody knows anything about your past.

"Our killer only kills those from Q? Pretty good..." the white-haired man muttered, looking at the lists of names killed by one person this month. Three people. He couldn't feel sorry for these people. Each of them had the symbol of the Q family. How could he worry about the death of his enemies?

"Gojo-san, there's going to be a fashion show party soon with Q's boss."

He looked at the man who had spoken to him.

He stood up, adjusting his white shirt, adjusting the collar. He put on a black jacket and black glasses hiding his face.

"I couldn't miss it. Let's get together, guys. Time to bust some Q's heads."

Upon arrival, Gojo sat in a chosen spot next to the raised stage for models.

Soon after, the lights all around went out. The stage was lit.

This made it difficult for them to find their target.

So they decided to wait until the main banquet and party started to catch their enemies then.

Those who hinder his mafia cannot exist. Creating a business is a daily routine for the great "Six Eyes. And when people who have contracts with him are suddenly found dead with a "Q" burned into their skin, he can't sit idly by.

When he watched the fashion show, he thought it was everything he had seen before. All models the same, with fake smiles, with everything to make them even more attractive to the viewer. In none of them, in his opinion, was one whose eyes reflected the soul. And Six Eyes draws attention to human eyes. He knows people's eyes when they show fear or anger. When they show emotion. According to him, there was nothing interesting in the eyes of these women.

Until you came out from behind the curtain, walking calmly ahead. In an elegant black dress.

Your face showed a certain coldness, but warm at the same time. Your eyes were so mysterious.

White hair caught your attention, and you looked at him once.

And then, the mysterious darkness in your eyes made his heart beat faster.

Despite your emanating true model face, coupled with a nice façade, he felt your beauty was deadly. And he liked it very much. Mysterious danger.

A beautiful cat that can scratch her claws at any time. Even to death.

His eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he felt a little blush appear on his cheeks.

It was the first time he fell in love with someone at first sight.

No... It was the first time he truly fell in love. And he didn't want to lose this chance.

That's why he memorized as many details of your face as possible to catch you at the party after the fashion show. Because he sincerely hoped you'd be there.

Even if this party here may be bloody and trashed tonight.

But the moment everyone heard a few shots and one man fell to the floor lifeless, Gojo knew that this was no time for love or fun for him.

After all, he came here to get rid of enemies in an easy way.

And the orders to anyone who came with him said only: "If you see someone from Q, shoot without hesitation. They're definitely here."

All the people panicked and started to run.

And then each of them took out a gun and started shooting at the enemies.

When the white-haired man saw that you were standing behind the curtain on the stage, without a moment's thought he ran ahead, jumped on the platform and pulled you on his shoulder, to sit behind a meter high and shoot to protect you. His goal in sight has already killed three opponents today.

"What're you-?!" You screamed as you pulled away from him.

You already had a plan to approach one of the Q's from behind and slit his throat!

And he interrupted you.

"Don't be afraid, you won't die." He said to you.

You couldn't see his eyes clearly through his glasses. But you know he's not a cop.

You are in the middle of a fight between mafias.

Arrows started raining in your direction and he then quickly pulled you in front of him, making you kneel in front of him, and he lowered your head to his chest as he bent down so they wouldn't shoot him.

As he knelt, leaning forward, you were underneath his body. That's how he protected you.

You don't know why he did it. But you guess there's a deeper meaning to it.

It was the first time anyone protected you. It was nice of him. Because that man didn't even know you. You only looked at each other once during the show. Few minutes ago!

When there were fewer shots in your direction, you crawled out from under his chest, heading around the narrow stage.

And you, too, reached into your thigh and pulled out a folding knife.

Ignoring the screams of the white-haired man behind you and the shots, you kept walking. Until you finally saw a man with a "Q" tattoo on his neck.

You literally felt the knife sharpening in your hand and you quickly walked over to him without making a sound and smashed the knife into his neck. And then to the side of the head.

You quickly pulled away and sheathed the knife to check for blood. Fortunately not.

You were pulled to your feet by the same man who tried to save you right after all the shots had stopped.

You looked at his face without glasses.

You noticed the beauty and unique vigor of the eyes.

You heard another shot.

You looked to the side to see a dark haired man firing a gun at a man who was sitting with his back against the stage to make sure he was dead. With his head on the side. Because of this, no one could see the hole in his temple and neck, which is why he died.

"That's everyone. None of them managed to escape." He said, addressing the white-haired man. "What about her? Shoot? You don't have glasses."

He pointed the barrel of the gun at you.

You'd love to fight. If only that guy's hands weren't on your shoulders.

"She saw my face, huh... It's okay. We're taking her with us." He said with a smile.

"What?!" you shouted pissed off.

"Baby, you couldn't see my face. It's not against the rules of my Mafia. No one except those closest to me has seen my face or knows my real name. According to the rules, I should kill you or lock you up so you don't tell anyone. However, killing you would be a great loss. You're so beautiful and you got me curious... I don't want to kill someone I fell in love with."

"...Hold on!" You screamed as you pushed him, but he only held you tighter.

"Come on. I just have to admit there's something mysterious about your eyes. What you show on stage is not the real you, is it?"

"Fuck off!"

"Aw, honey..." he mumbled sadly.

He started to drag you by the wrist to the car. And even though you kept leaning against you, when the other man helped him to immobilize your arms, you were put in the car and he got in right behind you. The door was closed.

You noticed the black window in front of you, separating you from the driver.

That's good. Maybe you can kill him.

When he looked away for a moment, you put your hand under your dress, pulling your knife from the belt on your thigh, and suddenly jumped into his lap, putting the blade to his throat.

"Hey, baby, this is how you repay me for helping me? Understand that these are the rules we have." He said with a smile, hands raised in front of you.

"I could handle myself." You growled.

"Such a dangerous, beautiful woman. What part is the real you?"

"Who are you?! Someone from Q?!"

"Slow down a bit. Actually, it's like I'm taking you, so I should be the one asking the questions. But okay. I'm Six Eyes. Mafia boss. And when it comes to Q, I'm their biggest adversary."

You wondered if you should trust him. He didn't seem threatening now. Also, there was no Q anywhere here.

Holding the knife to his throat, you hesitated for a moment on what to do.

This caused his hands to quickly pull you down to the seat. His both hands held your wrists while his hips touched your ass as you lay on your stomach.

"If I was from Q, I'd rather kill myself than be there. And besides, everyone from Q would pay no attention to anything. They would just tie you up, rape you, kill you, and then dump your body in a ditch. Did I do that?"

"If you tried, I'd castrate you." You growled.

"Dangerous. I like it. However..." he let go of your wrists and sat in his place, giving you space. "I don't know if you could do something for me. I must admit your ferocity and hostility is strong. But let's say I'm the Mafia boss and you're the model."

"Do not underestimate me..."

"So tell me, (y/n) (l/n), why shouldn't I underestimate you? Tell me something about you. Because you are famous, but your biography is not known by anyone."

You were locked up in the large villa that was his home for several days. Why? Because he didn't want to lock you up in your old garages. He didn't want you gagged and bound while you sat there for who knows how long.

Your relationship was closer because you liked him. However, there was still some tension between the two of you.

Him, the annoying, selfish asshole and egotist who spoke to you the way he wanted to, and always came in when you least expected it.

He was able to come to you in the bathroom while you were taking a bath.

And he joined you.

That's why things became intimate between the two of you quickly, even though you weren't even a couple. You could just be considered friends now.

And you both liked the relationship you already had.

Nothing changed for the next two weeks.

It doesn't matter how many times you hit him with a pan until he finally let you go.

Of course he didn't because he acted like a child after being hit on the head with a pan. He pretended to cry.

You took good care of him and checked him for any head injury. Everything was fine. So you didn't have to worry.

And then he wouldn't let you get out of bed, wanting to make you feel guilty for doing it.

He was lying on your stomach, making you rub and stroke his head because it hurt. And it was your fault.

You apologized to him, and what else were you supposed to do?

It was your revenge for him locking you in here. And for skipping one of the most important performances where you were supposed to show clothes on stage. However, you couldn't complain, because as compensation for your lost money, you received from him a wardrobe worth half a year of your work. Or even more.

If only he was still good at sex, then you wouldn't complain so much. Because your partners were terrible. It's as if they couldn't do anything.

Besides, you've also been given a luxurious house that you have to live with him anyway.

"Come on. I already apologized to you..." you said, running your fingers through his white hair.

"But it hurt..." he said, pretending to cry.

"You don't even have a trace of it. There isn't even a bump on your head."

"But it still hurt...

"You've probably watched the ball through your opponents more than once, right?"

"Not at all..."

"You're in the mafia, Satoru..."

So yes, he told you his real name with the idea that you can't leave him and leave his house anyway. So your names were used by you on a daily basis.

"I've been in the mafia since my mother gave birth to me. I took it from my father... Besides, nobody ever shot me. Because I shot faster and more accurately than they did. When I was 15 I killed a spy who was looking for our weak point in our defense." He laughed, purring as your fingers swirled in his hair.

"So you had a bloody childhood too?"

"I doubt you shot anyone when you were a teenager." He laughed. "How old are you anyway?"

"I'm 23." You replied.

"Same as me! You see? We are made for each other!" He stood up suddenly, looking at you with sparkles in his eyes.

"Apparently you have a headache." You laughed as you saw him quickly lay down on top of you again. "Come on. Come, let me stroke you a little more."

"Which means you had a bloody childhood?"

"Do you really want to know? Don't you prefer that I leave my mysterious eyes?"

"You're smart and cold, or so you think. At fashion shows and commercials, you change it to a mysterious and sensual façade. However, you can care for someone else."

"I hit you with a pan. Is this supposed to be taking care of someone?"

He laughed slightly.

"It was different. Because I don't forbid you to be aggressive. I understand that you hate me. But now you're stroking and hugging me. You wash me while I wash you. We are not such enemies. Can you say we're lovers?"

"I don't know. But when I was 16, I also did something that probably no other model has ever done." You laughed.

He looked at you for a moment, analyzing what you said.

And 7 years ago, almost 10 people were murdered. And from that moment on, the murders of everyone in the Q group and family began. Starting with some of the closest ones from the family of the boss himself.

And these murders continue to this day. The murderer is impossible to catch because no one knows who he is. The gender of this person is unknown. No one knows what his goals are in these murders.

"This knife... You..." He looked at you questioningly.

"I have a knife scar under my hair. And the blood stains are washing off the skin." You said softly. "You can beat me if you know the truth now. If you think I'll be in the way or I shouldn't kill people like them. But remember that if you try, I will try to protect myself."

"You know it doesn't matter to me We may even be partners in crime. Because this is the woman I fell in love with at first sight." He hugged you, holding you tight.

Your actions for revenge are not ridiculed by him. On the contrary. He supports it.

And he promises that everyone from Q will die.

Because he fell in love with mysterious dark eyes. Eyes that from the beginning hid something murderous. So beautiful.

Just like all of you.

Your relationship was like lovers and enemies at the same time.

Or was it more like partners in crime now?

Dark lovers who don't care about the lives of their enemies. You has a mafia boss, the famous Six Eyes, wrapped around your little finger.

You guided him. His heart.

Such a powerful man was so small and sweet to you. So submissive.

That's why you could give that big little boy what he wanted.

You were still riding his cock until you were out of breath that night.

Or rather, his breath.

When you wonder if he's good at sex, you thought he was going to be average.

However, it is different.

He has a big nice dick.

It really stretches you out. It goes so deep. It hits all the best places.

You could barely feel the thin condom against his thick length as your pussy slid over him, lovingly inviting him into your tight warmth every time you lowered your hips.

His arms were bound with the string you found. It felt so good in his muscles.

He couldn't move while you scratched his arms and bit his neck.

You were riding him, making him moan. His hips pushed upward to meet your warmth. Your hand on the back was catching his balls and you were squeezing the skin in your palm. You pinched his thighs. You ran your hands over his lower abdomen, running your fingers along the veins running down his pubic bone.

Your fingernails ran over his chest, occasionally grazing his nipples.

While riding him, you massaged your clitoris to make you come faster. And you smiled as you watched as his head was thrown back as he red-faced moaned at the feeling of your pussy sucking him. His chest heaved rapidly.

His cock twitched inside you.

And then you pulled it out of you, leaving it out in the air. Only with a thin condom on it.

He moaned as your fingers tightened on the base of him, not allowing him to come.

It was his first ruined orgasm you gave him.

And you think he was always driving during sex. He was downstairs now, but he didn't protest. This guy just needed someone to dominate him the right way.

Very slowly and unbearably, you took the condom off him as the precum began to form a transparent puddle in the sperm reservoir.

Leaning down to his red cock, you kissed his head, listening as he moaned, his hips jumping as he felt a sudden touch against a sensitive part of his body.

He was so red and sensitive from a ruined orgasm. It was so cute.

You sat on his hips, and rubbed your pussy against his length, pressing his shaft against his muscular belly.

At the same time, you pulled his face down to your chest, doing something he always did when he saw you shirtless. You put his head in your breasts and he immediately started sucking on your nipples. Feeling the softness of your skin.

Soon after, he started moaning again and you stopped touching his cock again. If he wasn't tied up now, he would grab the length of it and start stroking himself to feel relieved. But alas, his hands were tied. There was nothing he could do and he was at your mercy.

You pressed your fingers against it again. Ensuring not one drop of his cum will come out of his tip. He couldn't come yet.

You want to see him throw his head back and moan when he wants to cum so much.

You sat on his cock when he didn't have a condom on, and he hissed through his teeth at the hot and tight feeling when he had nothing to separate your insides from his sensitive skin.

You grabbed the second condom and ripped open the wrapper. Only then did you get off of him, watching his wet tip drool.

You put the rubber all the way down his length, and then you sat on him again.

Warming his cock until his eyes were glassy and hazy and his face was so red.

As he threw his head back and his shoulders and hips trembled, wanting to start thrusting into you to come, you gave him some mercy.

You started jumping on top of him, smiling as you watched his heavy breathing and closed eyes.

The mighty mafia boss began to moan beneath you. And his ragged moans coupled with light sobs were the cause of his intense orgasm which was a combination of the three he was about to get. His thighs trembled as he came filling the condom inside you, the heat from his fluids pushing his sensitivity to the limit.

As you pulled him out of you, his cock fell soft against his stomach. You took the filled condom off him and tied it, putting the sticky rubber on his abs.

You lay down next to him, untying his hands, letting him pull your body against his.

Your nights together made him unable to resist you. So when you wanted to go back to your dream job, he had to agree.

Two people followed you across the city.

Even if he trusted you not to tell anyone.

He had your secret and you had his.

Little cameras in people's suits let him see what you were doing.

Well, he knew what you would do with those two.

Besides, he didn't feel sorry for them. They were two deserters who ran away from Q to join his mafia.

And he promised you that everyone who is or even was with Q will die.

That's why when he suddenly saw a pool of blood on the other side, he wasn't surprised and didn't even feel sorry for the two people.

Then he saw your face as you held the camera in one hand and your knife in the other.

"Not nice, Six Eyes ~. I don't like being followed. And we'll keep your punishment for that for later, Okay?"

When you said that, he felt a pleasant shiver that passed over his spine. And he couldn't wait for you to come home.

You were his dark queen.

His dark, beautiful queen will have her beautiful vengeance.

Because you will get everything.

Every year, on your birthday, he would take you to one place where the dirty work of killing was often done.

As a surprise, you got one or two high-ranking Q people.

Because his beautiful queen will always get what she wants.

So if you want revenge, you'll get it. In the best way for you.

You are his killer beauty. His deadly love.

[mooniel]

Cherik hidden gems - part 2

It took me a while but here are some more nice fics with under 10k hits!

(part 1)

Closer (to God) by dsrobertson; 64k:

Political journalist and editor, Erik Lehnsherr, has just lost £150,000 in a libel case against businessman, Kurt Marko. Down on his luck and in need of money, Erik is approached by the Metropolitan Police’s Detective Inspector Charles Xavier. Well-known for his investigative journalism, Erik is asked to help in the search for a serial killer in return for £200,000 if the killer is caught.

Wrapped up in murder, religion, and sex, Erik gets more than he bargained for.

lucky, lucky you (i am fortune’s fool) by roachvibes; 17k:

Charles buys a houseplant to prove to his therapist that he can take care of something. Single father Erik sells them at the local farmer’s market every Saturday.

to put a world between us by populuxe; 25k:

Erik Lehnsherr is one of the hottest actors in Hollywood: fresh off an Academy Award nomination, he’s about to star in HBO’s most anticipated show of the year. And even though online chatter about his recent string of queer roles keeps getting louder, his personal life remains personal—just as it always has, and just as his manager and publicist continue to advise.

But when he winds up at the same wedding as his college best friend, Charles Xavier—and when they quickly fall into bed together—he’s forced to revisit the past he’s been trying to get away from for years. The pull between them has always been magnetic, but so has the weight of secrecy. Can they keep from repeating the same mistakes, or will the price of the truth be too high?

Stars Will Tumble From The Blue by Baamon5evr; 11k:

“Just one night, no fear, no shame, no blame or rage. Just serenity. Just us. Just one night to acknowledge that there is more here and then we go our separate ways and you go back to being angry and hating me.”

5 Times The Students Figured Something Out about their Professor (and one time they learned the full story) by ladanse; 14k:

Six months after Apocalypse, things are looking up. Magneto seems to be appearing more and more at the manor, and as the mutants adjust to their life at Westchester, they dig up long-concealed secrets that, honestly, Professor Charles Xavier would rather stay buried.

connecting the dots by joshriku; 7k:

 As students of both Professor Xavier and Professor Lehnsherr, the students notice they only know one thing for certain about Professor Lehnsherr: he's married. Nothing beyond that.

They take it upon themselves to find out more about him after that slip of information. Perhaps Professor Xavier knows more about his mysterious spouse?

we might just be hollywood material, baby by ikeracity, midrashic; 15k:

Ten years ago, Charles and Erik co-starred on the explosively popular animated show Greenkeep, where they first earned their big breaks — and where they fell in love. Now, at a cast reunion a decade later, they've made careful, PR-vetted plans to reveal their relationship to the fans with minimal fuss.

Of course — easier said than done.

The Wurst Case Scenario by sareyen; 12k:

If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

just remember you are standing on a planet that’s evolving by populuxe; 17k:

 On some level, he knew he was doomed the moment Charles Xavier rolled into the first debate team meeting of the semester and gave them all a sunny grin.

Erik is so busy he barely has time for partying, let alone dating. But as he gets to know the newest member of the debate team—and as the political climate for mutants shifts significantly around them—everything starts to change.

[fyrewalkwithmee]

Cherries and Wine Pt.1

Dale Cooper x Reader

This is a NSFW fic 18+ only.

Synopsis: You are undercover as a bartender at One Eyed Jacks and are waiting for your partner, Agent Cooper, to come and get you out of there. You and Dale ingest a mysterious liquid that heightens arousal. Shenanigans ensue ;)

Warnings: tension, descriptions of arousal, reader is working in a brothel, alcohol, poisoning, making out, SPOILERS if you haven't seen twin peaks.

Word count: 3.4k (I'm so sorry)

AN: I'm sorry this is so long idk what happened. If you find all this detail boring maybe skip to the next chapter which will be smut. As always if you like the story please like, comment or message me to let me know! Enjoy.

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It was your third and final night working as a "bartender" at one-eyed jacks. It had been your idea to go undercover and had you gained valuable intel on Laura Palmer's involvement with the brothel. So after 3 long days, your partner would be coming to get you the hell out of there. He would be posing as a wealthy businessman travelling across the states on his way to a meeting. At the club, he would start chatting you up and take you into a private room where you would escape through the window. Part of you couldn't wait to see him and finally leave that godforsaken place.

Another part of you was secretly dreading it.

You and Agent Cooper hadn't left on the best of terms. Let's just say he wasn't overly excited by the idea of you being all alone, surrounded by unpredictable characters in a place that a murdered girl frequented. You understood his concerns, you really did. Cooper was a highly skilled agent, extremely intuitive and charming. You assumed he felt some level of responsibility for you being a few years your senior and far more experienced working in the field. But sometimes you felt like your partner forgot that you too were a trained professional. You needed to feel capable in your position, encouraged, not held back. He seemed to be that way with everyone else, so why not you?

You found yourself reliving the conversation the two of you had 3 days prior when your partner had dropped you off a couple blocks away from the club. Coopers eyes were filled with dread, he would have done anything for you not to get out of that car.

"I don't like this agent, I really don't. All of these men and the nature of the business, not to mention the club is out of our jurisdiction I-"

"It's going to be fine, alright." you interrupted his anxious ramble "Our plan is airtight, I just need a couple of days and if I don't find anything, come get me."

"If things go south you call us straight away okay?"

"Do you really have such little faith in me?"

"Of course, I have faith in you. It's just your first time undercover alone and it's a very delicate case."

"What you don't trust me? don't think I can pull it off?

"That's not what I meant. i don't want anything happening to you... for the sake of the case"

"Right well, for 'the sake of the case' I better go."

You exited the car slamming the door a little hard. Cooper looked regretful and like he was trying to find the right words to say. One last quip of encouragement that might ease the tension between the two of you, but nothing came to mind. His eyes met yours as you slipped off your trench coat revealing a slinky, long black dress that clung tightly to your figure. You were happy with the way you looked. The dress paired with some makeup and the long blonde wig you chose made you look exactly like one of the club girls. You handed Dale the trench through the window as he oggled at you wide-eyed.

"Having fun?" you snapped him out of his trance. "Sorry you look um... do you have your gun?" was he serious?

"No Dale I left my gun at the hotel" you said to yourself in your head mockingly.

You leaned over giving Dale even more of an eyeful than he already had and lifted up one side of your dress exposing your leg wrapped in sheer black stockings with suspenders that trailed up to reveal a lacy garter that held in place a tiny pistol. You decided to go all out with the undercover allowance given to you by the bureau. "I always bring protection. See you in 3 days." And with that, you dropped your dress and started swiftly towards the club leaving Agent Cooper in the dust.

You met with the club mother, an older woman who smelt of whiskey and cigarettes. You gave her big doll eyes as you told her a lengthy tale of all the clubs you've worked at and how all the men loved to get a drink from you, the girl who could use her tongue to tie cherry stems. Cherry was also your decided name and you had prepared a whole backstory so that you could seem as genuine as possible. You demonstrated your cherry-tying skills and managed to secure a role on the bar. She called a young-looking girl into the room and told her to help you pick out your uniform. As you went to leave the dimly lit room the woman called out, "Oh Cherry dear, don't think just because you're working behind the bar you won't have to also serve our clients in other ways. We all do our part around here." your stomach dropped, you assumed that the bar girls remained at the bar. You felt a wave of panic wash over you. What were you to do if some slimey man asked to take you into one of the other rooms? You would have to find a way out, but how without breaking your cover? You calmed yourself internally and turned to the woman, "Of course, not a problem" You said it so sweetly you could almost taste it.

Your first night had been quite uneventful. You served drinks, got chatted up and watched as the club girls worked their magic as the customers spent their money. You had no luck finding anything about Laura Palmer until the second night when a grey-haired man came and sat down at the bar. He had a down look about him which was strange seeing as most of the men who came to the club couldn't wipe the smiles off their faces.

"Tough day sugar?" you sauntered your way over to him as he gazed up at you. He straightened his posture and gave you a weak smile, in a thick southern accent he spoke, "Just found out one of my favourite girls was... well is no longer with us."

You lit up inside but tried your best to put on your best puppy dog eyes and gently grabbed his hand, "Oh no you poor thing. I'll tell you what. Imma make you a drink and you can tell me all about it. How's that sound?"

His eyes scaled your body hungrily and he smiled crookedly, "Sounds like a dream baby."

One hour and half a bottle of Jack Daniels later you had found out all you had to know about Laura Palmer's involvement with the club and you had pumped the older man with so much whiskey he didn't have the wits about him to ask you into a private room. He held your hands tightly as he slurred, "You're an angel baby." you giggled at him with a hint of disgust that you knew he wouldn't pick up on in his state, "No sweetheart, I'm Cherry." He laughed a boisterous laugh, "You are my new favourite! I'll see you tomorrow, I can't wait to get to know all of you." He finished his sentence eyes gaping right at your chest. "Oh God help me" you said to yourself, saying goodbye to the man.

Your last night couldn't have come quicker, you had gotten ready early to help pass the time and were in the bar polishing glasses when one of the other girls fittingly named 'Candy' entered. "You look especially pretty tonight. Someone special coming in?" You chuckled, "No one in particular." She continued, "Watch out for that man you were talking to last night, I hear he's racked up quite a debt with the club." she winked at you and went to serve a customer. Laura sure knew how to pick em you thought taking a deep breath.

A couple hours had passed and you found yourself constantly scanning the room eager to find Agent Cooper and get this over with. Your eyes met another familiar pair but to your dismay, it wasn't Cooper, it was Mr. Jack Daniels.

He made his way over with a confident stride and sat down in front of you. He grabbed your hand and placed a wet kiss on the top of it. "I saw you looking for me baby, this is gonna be a night to remember." You tried your best not to punch the smile right off his face, instead, you grabbed the bottle of Jack and went to make his usual when he stopped you, "Oh no my little Cherry, tonight we're having the good stuff." He called over Candy and asked her to get his 'special' bottle, he then began to tell you about how this spirit would make you feel things you've never felt before.

You pretended to listen but felt all the noise around you wash away when you spotted a tall man enter the area. He was talking to one of the clubgoers and nodded towards your area of the bar. They had a chuckle about something and he slowly made his way towards you. You couldn't help but check him out, starting with the shiny black shoes he wore. They were paired with a tuxedo that fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long frame. As he walked closer and further from the dim lights you could see black hair slicked back revealing a strong jaw and cheekbones. He wore a pair of spectacles that circled a pair of deep dark eyes that locked with yours and you suddenly realised that the handsome stranger was in fact, Agent Cooper.

Your eyes widened for a moment and the old man went to look at what had caused such a reaction but you stopped him quickly, pulling his face towards yours. "wanna see a trick?" he nodded with anticipation and you grabbed a candied cherry putting it in your mouth and seductively moved it around using your tongue to tie the stem. You caught Dales's gaze in the process and to your surprise, neither of you looked away. He had a look in his eyes you'd never seen before. You finished tying the stem and held it between your teeth to show off your work. The old man applauded and went to speak but was interrupted by Cooper who had reached the bar. He leaned towards your red lips and grabbed the stem. He inspected the knot and leaned an elbow on top of the bar. He looked at you through his lashes, "that's very impressive."

His voice was low and smooth and it sent a jolt of arousal coursing through your body.

Is he flirting with me?

You then reminded yourself of the plan. Of course not he's just really committing to this alias. Not that you minded, Dale always kept your relationship strictly professional which was disappointing but you respected his boundaries. But at this moment, for the sake of the case, of course, you had a rare opportunity. You leaned towards him, exposing the cleavage your tight corset created, "Thank you handsome, you know this mouth can do a lot more too." he moved closer and leant both arms on the bar, trapping you with his size, "Is that so?" you bit your lip and looked up at him, fire in your eyes, you nodded.

He wore a mischievous grin that old you knew he was enjoying this as much as you were. "Well, how about you come and show me just how good that little mouth can be." His words shocked and turned you on. You had never heard Agent Cooper talk in such a dirty and suggestive manner, but you were loving it. You felt a delicious tension build in your stomach and your arousal started to form a wet spot in your panties.

The electricity swirling between the two of you was extinguished by the gruff sound of someone clearing their throat. you looked to your right and were reminded that your admirer was still seated at the bar, now with two glasses filled with a dark crimson liquid in front of him.

You had forgotten all about him, just now it was like you and Cooper were the only people in the whole world.

The older man turned to Cooper, placing one of the cups in front of you, "Sorry friend, but I've got Miss Cherry reserved for the night." Cooper lowered his head, "I see. Well, we won't be long." he reached into his coat and pulled out a big wad of cash, "How about you go and hit the casino and I'll have Miss Cherry back to you in no time." The old man stared hungrily at the cash. "Well that seems fair enough, you can warm her up for me ay?" The old man laughed obnoxiously and took the money. Dale clenched his jaw, hating the way he talked about you but forced a chuckle out anyway. And just like that, the man walked away not even uttering a goodbye. You turned to Cooper and whispered, "How did you know he needed money?"

"i did my research" he smirked

"well, should we get out of here then?" you gave him a wink

"Not so soon, we don't want to seem suspicious, let's talk longer." he grabbed the drinks from the table and led you to a quieter end of the bar. he moved in closer to you and raised a glass, he gave you a sincere look and spoke, "Here's to you. A great agent and an even better partner."

You blushed under the low lights finally receiving the approval you always wanted from him. "Thank you, Dale" You clinked your glass with his and you both took a sip of the mysterious liquid, eyes remaining locked. It had a strange, sweet taste and sent a tingling sensation down your throat. You weren't sure why, but something about it made you crave more...you took another sip.

"You never call me that." he furrowed his brows suspiciously, "well, now's a better time to start than any", you replied, happy that he wasn't still upset about the mission. "Hmm, I don't know. I think I prefer handsome." he teased. You scoffed at him and pushed his shoulder playfully. To anyone watching, it probably did seem like the two of you were flirting like any of the other people in the club.

You and Cooper talked for almost an hour, getting lost in conversation regarding the intel you had uncovered and news from the station. It would almost feel like a date if it weren't for the setting and talk about work. You went to take another sip from your cup to find that it was already empty.

A familiar buzz was starting to take effect, you assumed this was from the alcohol but it was mixed with another sensation. A faint burning pulsed through your body, forming an electric heat around your throat and neck, stomach, your breasts... you could feel that the wetness in your panties had grown rapidly into a puddle of arousal.

You hadn't realised it but all this time while talking with Dale you had become more and more turned on. Watching the way his lips moved, how his long fingers danced over the glass and combed through his hair... god that hair! You desperately wanted your hands to replace his. to grip and pull and guide his head lower and lower, to do terrible, sinful things. You had known for a while how much you wanted the older agent, wanted to feel his strong hands grip you, his mouth latched onto yours and on other places too. But this newfound feeling wasn't like anything you'd ever felt, it was a burning desperation that seemed to have a will of its own.

You suddenly felt flushed flipping your wig off your shoulders to help cool yourself. You caught Dale's eyes sneak a glance at your chest, but he quickly looked away adjusting the top of his collar and bowtie. You wondered if he was feeling it too?

Your question was answered when he spoke, "I think it's time to go" he sounded out of breath even though he was sitting down. You agreed with him, taking his hand as you led him out of the bar and into a softly lit hallway. You tried not to react but you could feel the heat from his body transfer to yours and fuel the lustful desire coursing through you. Your crotch throbbed from the slight contact and you moved quickly in search of an empty room. You finally located one and shut the door behind you, immediately looking for a window that would aid your escape.

This room was different from the others but you paid no mind to that heading straight for the windows. The temperature in the room was getting hotter as you both frantically pushed and pulled on the latches but to no avail. the windows were sealed shut.

"Did you not examine the rooms to prepare for the escape?" Dale looked wrecked, his cheeks were flushed and hair dishevelled, two strands hung teasingly over his glasses. "I did but this one was shut off during the daytime!" you replied in a panic trying again to push open the glass. "We're going to have to break it." Dale stated and began taking off his suit jacket to protect his hand.

Suddenly there were footsteps outside of the room and a faint knock on the door, "everything okay in there?". The door started to creep open and you did the first thing that came to mind. You shoved Dale up against the wall and thrust your mouth onto his. His body stiffened from the sudden contact but quickly relaxed into the kiss, he wrapped his arms around your waist pushing your bodies closer to one another.

A large man entered the room, security you assumed, "Everything okay?" your lips left Dale's and you peered at each other with wide eyes. You turned to the man and quickly spoke "All okay." He nodded and closed the door behind him.

You stepped out of Dale's grasp and started stammering, "Cooper, I'm so sorry! I wasn't thin-" but were interrupted by your partner grabbing and turning you so now you were against the wall. His mouth was on yours and he kissed you aggressively, slipping his tongue into your mouth, gripping the back of your head with one hand. you wrapped your own around his neck, pushing yourself into him, needing him closer.

Every move he made felt heavenly, heat and sweat building as you desperately clutched onto each other's bodies. Your arousal was at an all-time high and you instinctively ground your crotch against his quickly discovering that a hard bulge had formed in his pants. A delicious moan escaped Dale's throat before he broke away from your embrace, a slight look of embarrassment on his face. "We really have to go" he spoke desperately and out of breath. You nodded not really knowing what to say.

Cooper told you to step back as he wrapped his hand in his blazer and smashed the window. he got rid of any shards of glass and lifted you up so you could exit the room. You hit the grass outside with a thump and waited for Cooper who followed close behind. The two of you quickly made your way into the night towards the sheriff's truck which was waiting for you a block away.

You walked in silence, panic washing over you as your mind raced with a thousand thoughts about how you and Dale were ever going to recover from the moment you just shared. The cool air was a welcomed relief from the overwhelming heat of the club but nonetheless, you wrapped your arms around yourself. Dale noticed and shook his jacket making sure there were no pieces of glass and gently placed it around your shoulders. The familiar musk of his cologne overcame your senses and you were immediately taken back to your steamy exchange. His hands, his lips, his hair, the feeling of his arousal pressed against your own. You quickly felt the effects of the mysterious liquor begin to work its magic again as the fire in your veins returned, somehow even stronger than before. You were getting wound up and started overheating as your sex clenched around nothing in the cool night air. You looked to Dale. He was in the process of rolling up his white sleeves and had already removed his bowtie, popping open the top buttons of his shirt.

He was feeling it too.

You were so fucked.

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

[sanakiras]

LIAR, LIAR! [TEASER]

PAIRING — kim mingyu x reader

WORD COUNT — 1.4k (full fic will be 20k+)

RELEASE DATE — TBA, will probably take a while!

SYNOPSIS — in a dramatic turn of events, a rich businessman is found dead in his lavish estate, and the authorities believe it was no accident. as the detectives dig deeper, they ultimately end up with two key suspects: you, the businessman’s very own daughter, and your sworn enemy, kim mingyu. as the time progresses, tensions rise and secrets spill — and the truth has the power to either bring you closer together or tear you apart.

TAGS — murder mystery, rich rivals to partners in crime to lovers, whole lotta plot, dark comedy if u ask me, explicit sexual content, somewhat graphic depictions of death, everyone and everything is dysfunctional™, mentions of suicide, moral compass is nowhere to be found, angst

♪ aquartos - crystal city,, verydeadly - wolves (kanye west cover),, blue foundation - eyes on fire (4 ave version),, low - dancing and blood,, vessel - red sex

NOTE — one of my favorite episodes of going seventeen remains bad clue 2020, i loved mingyu’s role in it and i could totally see him portraying darker/morally grey characters and rock tf out of it so. i wrote this solely based on that idea. enjoy :D

i. TWO WEEKS SINCE THE MURDER

the interrogation room is unnecessarily bright, the noise of the water dispenser in the corner and the flickering led light above you running through your ears. the chair you’re seated on is uncomfortable, though it’s nothing compared to the tension you feel as the man in front of you treats you like you’re guilty of something.

“on september 2nd, sometime around six o’clock, your father reportedly got unwell, so he left his office early, choosing to do the rest of his paperwork at home. according to the information we got from the gps tracker in his car, he went straight home, took no detours. he arrived at your family estate thirty minutes later. then at eight o’clock, the police received a call from you, saying your father’s hung himself.”

you stare at the the inspector whose name you did not bother remembering before waving with your hand. “i’m aware. i’ve heard the recap of events many times at this point. this isn’t the first time i’m being interrogated, surprisingly enough.”

with a puzzled look, he raises his brow at you. “you don’t think you should be a suspect?”

“no, i don’t.”

“at the time of the incident, you were home, as well as two members of the staff. since the staff were on their dinner break and you were apparently in your room, it’s hard to say what happened, since there were no witnesses.”

“do you mind me asking why you think it’s murder and not just a suicide?”

he’s intrigued by the way you discuss the topic so casually. “your father was an important man. wouldn’t you want to know who killed him if that is the case?”

“sure. i’d thank them.” you smile at him, the hatred for your father shining through. “believe me, inspector — my father was a miserable man who surrounded himself with other miserable people. i wasn’t there by choice.”

“did he treat you badly, then?” he continues, trying to pry any information out of you.

you can only sigh. “i was his daughter by blood only. that’s all.”

with your demeanor softening into something sadder, the inspector’s tone changes into something different. “aside from you, and the staff, of course, we do have another suspect who we think could have something to do with your father’s death.”

that sparks your interest. “who?”

the inspector grabs his small pile of documents to pull a printed photo out of it, putting it before you. you visibly frown, because the person on the photo is someone you’re unfortunately awfully familiar with.

“kim mingyu is a suspect? seriously?” you ask, completely in shock. ironically, he’s the last person you’d suspect in a scenario like the one you currently find yourself in.

“what can you tell me about him?”

“he’s a year younger than me. we went to the same high school, same university, have some of the same friends. though all of that is relatively common in our social circle.”

“anything else?”

keeping the insults to yourself for now, you press your lips together. “our parents are good friends. well, were, now that my father’s gone. mingyu and i hate eachother to the bone, though.”

“any particular reason why?”

“i’m not sure where it started… there’s just something off about him. it’s always been there. he’s—beyond arrogant. always showing off his looks, his wealth, his charm, his intelligence. everything. he insults me, i insult him. we simply don’t get along, never have. nothing you haven’t seen before, i’m sure.”

the inspector raises his brow. “i think you may have left something out.”

“such as?”

his hand moves into the blue folder sitting on the table, taking another photo out of it, holding it up before you. “your father was often spotted with him. at events, business meetings — you name it. matter of fact, your father seemed to be accompanied by kim mingyu more than anyone else. which is interesting, considering you are his only child.”

your gaze turns sour, voice softer yet more hateful than before. “don’t tell me this is the reason i’m a suspect.”

“let’s just say it doesn’t make you look good.”

“you really believe i murdered my own father in cold blood because he cared more about kim mingyu than he ever did about me? that’s pathetic and ridiculous.”

“you wouldn’t be the first. it’s a plausible story.”

scoffing at the accusation, you shake your head. “we’re done here. the moment you have an actual lead, i’ll talk, but not like this. i’m still here grieving and you’re accusing me of being the culprit.” you get up in anger, taking your bag with you before slamming the door shut, not bothering to listen to what the man is trying to tell you to make you stay.

this whole shit-train started two weeks ago. your father was found dead in your childhood home, hung by a rope around his neck. instead of calling it a death by suicide, the police apparently have enough reason to suspect it was a homicide.

you’ve been questioned several times in the past few weeks, but there’s been a gradual shift in the behavior of the inspector and his handimen — they’re treating you like a suspect now.

which you are, for whatever reason. they have yet to come up with any actual evidence.

your contact in the police force mentioned to you that you’re not just any suspect — you’re one of the two main suspects.

and that is unsettling, especially when you discovered who else is.

as you go down the hall, you suddenly lock eyes with kim mingyu himself, who’s leaning against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. a few strands of hair hover by his cheeks, framing his strong features.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you ask in a rather hostile manner, the scowl on your face deepening.

his lips part before he starts explaining. “they wanted to talk to me. again.”

“haven’t you heard the rumors, gyu?” you mockingly use the nickname, taking a step closer to him, “they’re saying there’s a possibility you killed him.”

your arch-nemesis looks back at you with a furrowed brow. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it? you were always with him… it’s perhaps the only thing that makes sense in all of this.”

he seems offended you’d even insinuate something like that. “it’s really the other way around, though. you’re the one who hated him. i had nothing against the man.”

it’s true that you and your father didn’t exactly get along, especially the past few years, to put it lightly. you always considered him to be greedy, cold and unforgiving, and you certainly didn’t cry the moment they told you he had passed away.

“no, we all know how much you liked him,” you hardly make an effort to hide your disdain, “but they must not believe that, considering you’re just as much of a suspect as i am.”

he clenches his jaw. “i’m not guilty.”

“neither am i.”

it’s quiet for a moment as you’re both unsure of what to say next, a rarity between you.

a few years ago, your father mentioned you and mingyu could make a good pair. you proceeded to laugh in his face.

mingyu is a constant reminder of what you could be, and that’s the last thing you need in your life.

“if i find out you’re somehow involved in this—”

instead of immediately refuting the statement, he narrows his eyes at you. “then what?”

you realize you need to be careful with your words here — you can’t throw around threats to kill people as the top suspect in a murder investigation. “i’ll make sure you pay for it. they might buy your little golden-boy act, but i sure as shit don’t. i never have.”

a smirk subtly tugs at his lips as he leans more down, eyes flicking lower before they meet yours again. “i’d be careful with my words if i were you,” he firmly tells you, his lashes fluttering, “there’s always someone watching.”

only now do you take notice of how close you’re standing to him, and you look behind you, seeing the inspector that just interrogated you observing you and mingyu from a distance.

so you push yourself away from him, giving him a last glare before walking away.

mingyu’s eyes remain on you until you move past the corner. he only moves from his spot once you’re gone from his field of view, greeting the inspector with a kind smile.

if you’d like to be tagged in this once it’s released, leave a comment! <3

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[madjosie]

Thorns and Roses | Bangchan (pt.1)

f!reader x detective!bangchan

Part two here

Note: mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, mentions of abuse, use of tobacco, detailed scenes of murder, mental illness

Words: 12k

-

The repeating flashing of red and blue lights in the distance jolted Christopher out of a long trance. For the entire twenty-minute ride, his mind was completely blank. His first murder investigation. His real chance to test his own ambition and knowledge he acquired over the long and hard years of college. But most importantly, to prove he didn’t get this job for nothing.

After finishing college and doing a couple of internships, his friend landed him a job at the local police investigation unit. At least that's what Changbin thought was the least he could do for his friend, who had gotten him through far more shit in life than he should have. Christopher and Changbin had been friends since the start of university and after realizing he failed his initial career path, Changbin encouraged Chris to try the justice system instead of his original choice of music. It was a hard decision for him to leave the thing he most loved behind, but Chris decided to follow his friend's words and got into criminology. On some nights he found himself dreading the decision, but his friend was always there to encourage him that the path he now found himself on was a real calling for him.

A few years later, the pair found themselves assigned to the same investigation. Changbin was well-loved within their unit, often described by coworkers as a witty chihuahua but also extremely hardworking, with a couple hundred cases behind him already. Christopher, on the other hand, had mixed reviews. Some thought he got the job just because of his friend, while others believed he had great potential, but not enough experience to be anything more than an assistant to Changbin. For the first month, his job was to act as a printer and coffee machine; nobody took him very seriously, including his boss. He thought maybe that was the process for everyone, that everyone had to go through the "maid phase" before getting assigned. He never spoke of it to Changbin, but he was already well aware of what was happening.

Upon arrival, a swarm of butterflies, or rather angered wasps, went crazy in Christopher’s stomach. Anxiety or excitement, he didn’t know. He came with the task of finding out how the crime happened, and he wasn’t going to let a few loose screws mess up his chance.

“Seems we’re a bit late,” the driver said, the buckles clicking as they frantically tried to take them off.

The scene was painted by flashing lights of cameras and police tape. To Chris, it resembled more a creepy movie set rather than an actual place. It was the middle of December, the cold air lay thick as two police officers made their way over to the two men. His companion Changbin mumbled curse words under his breath, rubbing his hands together frantically, trying to warm them up at least to comfortably greet the approaching officers.

“Evening, gentlemen.” One spoke, his breath painting shapes in the air.

“The forensics took the body for autopsy, feel free to head on over there.” The two investigators only nodded, the atmosphere seemingly not conducive to starting any conversation.

As they got closer, the scene became clearer. A plastic folder found its way into Christopher’s hands, his companion gesturing for him to flip through the pages.

“Only 26 years old?”

“Yep, and a quite successful businessman.”

His eyes turned upward to look at the rather underwhelming house. Maybe it was due to it being December and no flowers finding the strength to bloom under the thin coat of snow, or maybe it was due to the old musty doors and windows and an unkempt porch. Chris found the strength to let out a chuckle. “Sure seems like it.”

Changbin rubbed his temples. “Apparently his girlfriend was the last one to have contact with him, but she says that at the time of the murder she wasn’t even in town.”

“Is she in for questioning?”

“Yep, they got her in right now.”

Chris’s fingers traced along the glossy paper, outlining a few news reports of the man. He seemed to be quite a successful real estate agent. Ironic, considering he lived in what looked like a literal garbage truck.

Upon entering the house, Christopher’s stomach turned at the odor that hit him like a slap in the face. “Fucking shit.” Fortunately for him, he hadn't had the glory to inhale the lingering smell of a deceased body until now, which was now a shock to his gut. Taking a few seconds for his nervous system to calm down, his mind focused on the task. If he wanted a good reputation so badly, these kinds of things shouldn’t be an obstacle for him.

The suprisingly narrow hallway of the house led right to the living room, the floor and wall painted with crimson liquid. Trash decorated the floor along with evidence markers. Trying not to move anything around and make an even bigger mess, they made their way deeper into the house, the blinking of forensic cameras flashing every now and then.

“Forced entry?” Chris handed the folder back into Changbin’s hands. “No, we’re assuming the killer had a key,” one of the remaining police officers informed, bowing her head to both of them.

The red liquid that outlined the body stood in the living room, but the trail led farther out. It seemed that the conflict started in the kitchen and proceeded to the living room. Changbin left Christopher’s side, occupied with his own brainstorming. Chris took a better look at the evidence marked with the yellow plastic. Bloody shoe prints, knocked over chairs, the kitchen utensils untouched. The killer either brought their own weapon or took the one from here with them. Flipping through a few more pages of the folder, it seemed that the footprints belonged to the victim. No found fingerprints, no DNA left anywhere. Making his way to the backyard of the house, Chris was greeted with a fresh thin layer of snow.

“How long has he been dead for?” Maybe if it hadn’t been long, he could find footprints or any type of trail. It hadn’t snowed a lot these past days, so if it happened at least two days ago— “Four days,” Changbin was heard from the bathroom, making Chris sigh in frustration and shut the back door with a loud thud. He leaned his back against the kitchen counter as his eyes fell on the small dining table in the middle of the room.

A splash of purple caught his attention from his peripheral vision. A small bouquet of purple flowers covered in glitter was thrown in the corner of the kitchen counter, barely visible because of the microwave.

“Seems like he did have a good relationship with his girlfriend,” Changbin followed his companion's gaze. “There’s no sign of struggle in the bathroom.”

For some reason, Chris decided to pull out his phone. With a quick tap and a 'click' sound, he captured the lonely pile of now long dead roses.

Time flew by, and by the 60-minute mark, they decided to call it a day. Nothing new was found except for the small sign of affection thrown away in the kitchen. The only thing they could do was wait for the analysis of the evidence found and the autopsy results to reach their hands.

-

3:37 AM blinked on the clock. No sign of sleep.

Chris usually had a very hard time falling asleep, being prescribed sleeping medicine ever since he got into college. His body seemed to prefer the nocturnal lifestyle. Chris rubbed his eyes, turning in his bed for the twelfth time in the past half-hour. “God fucking dammit.”

His feet hit the cold apartment floor. Step by step, he made his way to the balcony. The lights of the city drew warm shapes on the white snowy canvas, but the city had never felt this cold. With a deep sigh, he took a seat on a not-so-stable wooden chair, pulling out a box of tobacco that had been squished in the back of his pocket for the whole day. He knew it was a bad habit, and at some point in life, he might even regret it, but for his mind, it was the only option. Putting on one of his own tunes in the background, he looked over at the city, focusing on making shapes with the clouds and lights rather than the running worries.

He knew he should be extremely grateful for how far he had come, but the feeling of a missed opportunity never left his tough head. Is this even his real calling? Maybe he should have pursued music when he said he wanted to? Maybe he should have stayed on the path he started on when he got to university? Maybe it’s not his coworkers but him? His own performance? Instead of waiting for work, should he have gotten up and demanded it?

A loud groan left the deepest pit of his throat as his head fell in a desperate attempt to quiet down the most annoying and loud part of his brain. He felt as if the engines in his brain had been working for a year without stopping, and he was a minute away from overheating and shutting down. He felt a pair of eyes looking at him, his gaze spiking up immediately.

His eyes met with a girl’s. Her face was defined by only a couple of shadows from the old streetlights. Her expression seemed startled and puzzled; he could only make out the shadow of her softly curled jawline and her long hair. It seemed like she was carrying some bags with her.

“You scared me, are you okay?” Her voice was sudden, a soft melodic vibration merging out of the darkness. To Chris, her voice had become one with the now soft jazz melody playing on his phone. “Sorry. I burned myself with the cigarette.” He awkwardly chuckled as he pulled up the almost-done cigarette to show her. Probably not the most attractive thing a guy could have said for an excuse. Seemed like the only logical option, he was not going to vent to a random stranger at 3AM about how his life choices made him miserable.

She awkwardly laughed with raised eyebrows and nodded, shifting on her feet before taking a quick step, trying to escape making this conversation far more awkward than it is by now. Before he could say anything more, she sent a quick wave to the weird shirtless man on the balcony, disappearing away from the orange street lights, back into the darkness. 

-

With a huff of relief, she set down the two bags in front of the shop’s entrance. Fiddling through the pockets of her cardigan sweater, she caught hold of a flower-shaped keychain with a pink ice cream cone glued to it. Her own work of craft.

The bell of the small shop rang as the door pushed it, usually signaling an incoming customer, but now signaling her despair and urgency. “Okay, three hours to finish it, it’s enough time.” She breathed out in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves.

She autonomously set down one bag on the counter of her work place, while the other got chucked into a big wooden box that was hidden under a broken piece of wooden flooring.

She doesn't really remember when she got the habit of doing that, or what kind of materials are even in there, but she still liked to keep them in case she ran out of something in the middle of crafting.

The pickup was scheduled for 7 AM, and did she completely forget about it and sleep through the whole afternoon and half of the night? Yes. Were an angry bride and a ruined wedding on her bucket list for this month? No.

Who the hell even has a wedding in the middle of cold December?

Her worktable, usually filled with colorful ribbons and glitters, was now covered in various shades of white, gold, and pink. Placing every flower in its designated place, not one should be even an inch off. In her mind, every misplaced glitter particle could be seen, every wrong shade diamond could ruin the whole piece, every miscolored petal could completely destroy the bouquet. She was a skilled artist, and flowers were her medium, her self-defense of choice.

Flowers could make everything pretty. Even the saddest lawn with a few daisies turns into a cozy backyard. Flowers even make funerals beautiful. It’s a sign of life. But they won’t bloom in the wrong conditions. They need sun and water to grow, to become beautiful; otherwise, they rot and become one with the ground, the ground they grew from. When you plant a flower, you have to look after it, just like a mother and father look after their children. Feed them and watch them grow into a person.

Roses hold a special place in her heart. The symbol of love, affection, and life. But roses come with thorns, and what do you do with those thorns? Thorns are there to protect the beauty of the rose, and if you touch them, they hurt you. Then what do you do with them? You remove them from the rose and throw them away.

-

The clock struck 7:48 AM, and the bell this time signaled a customer. A late customer, nothing new.

"Pick up for Watson," a friendly voice sang from behind the counter. Adriana emerged from the colorful beads in the doorway of her little workshop, greeting back in the same cheerful tone.

"Here you go, I hope the bride likes it." She handed over the carefully crafted bouquet of white roses and transvaal daisies, decorated with various ribbons and glitters.

"Oh my god, she will love it. Thank you again."

The cheerful woman exited the store, leaving only the faint sound of the TV to set the ambiance in the store.

Winter was always slow in the shop. Not many people find snow and harsh winds perfect for holding outside weddings or birthdays, hell even funerals get rescheduled. But, of course that is not always guaranteed, such as today. For these kinds of situations she decided that maybe it was worth it to stay open during winter.

The calm atmosphere was cut short by the ringing of Adriana's phone, her favorite song indicating that someone was trying to reach her. She picked it up and swiped the green button across the screen. "Hello?"

"Adriana, can you please come over? Some shit happened. I was at the police station until now—"

"Lila?"

"I came home last night, I didn't even enter the house and-"

"Wait, Lila, slow down. Where are you?"

The voice on the other line stopped to take a breath. "I'm at my apartment. Please come over. Jaehyun was found dead last night."

-

The apartment complex suddenly filled with the sound of hard footsteps. Moments later, Adriana found herself wrapping her arms tightly around her best friend, whose cries were quick to be muffled by Adriana's cardigan. In this moment of despair, Adriana didn't know how to feel; she usually kept her emotions very well under control, but now, they ran wild.

She didn't like Lila's boyfriend at all. The history between them only made Adriana's body boil with anger rather than happiness for the couple, and for all the right reasons. But seeing Lila break down in her arms naturally put all of that aside, how could she focus on anything else but tightly wrapping her arms around her.

“The police questioned me the whole fucking morning. They think I did it,” Lila managed to say between sobs.

“Oh, fuck,” Adriana broke the hug, her face painted with disbelief. She couldn’t grasp the accusation of her sweet best friend killing a human being, the amount of monstrous venom that needs to run through your veins to take the life of another living and breathing being. Lila was completely incapable of such an act.

Lila’s voice grew louder, filled with desperation. “I didn’t do it, I swear. I was out of fucking town. How the hell could they accuse me of that?” The cries got louder as Adriana’s comforting became more and more useless.

“Listen, I know you were out of town. We even texted about it.” She took Lila’s hands in hers. “I’ll be the witness for your alibi. I know you didn’t do it, Lila. We will print out the texts that you sent me and give them to the police. You’re gonna be okay Lila.”

The room eventually quieted down as Lila caught her breath, nodding in confirmation at Adriana's words. Only a faint ‘thank you’ could be heard from Lila before she got pulled into a hug once more.

Her boyfriend Jaehyun was a pretty sketchy guy. Adriana didn’t know much about him, except for the fact that he was a pure asshole towards Lila, and that he had a history of abusing drugs. Great combination.

Adriana was convinced the drugs led to his aggressive behavior. On multiple occasions she tried to sit down with Lila and convince her to break things off with him, but that just erupted an argument between the two girls. She didn’t want their friendship to end, so she stopped trying and only offered a shoulder to cry on when incidents with him happened. On couple of occasions he even threatened Adriana, which spiked an unfamiliar feeling within her. A feeling that she could maybe be the last page of his book, and the first chapter of Lila’s new life, but choosing morals, Adriana deleted the text and never mentioned it to Lila.

-

The cafeteria was filled with the bustling sounds of plates and chattering, every group occupying their own little table much like a high school cafeteria. Chris took slow bites of his now cold and tasteless mashed potatoes while the two men in front of him argued about something he didn't pay much attention to. It was amusing enough for him to just watch them bicker.

“Yeah, but if you leave it on for 10 then you're basically eating a rock.”

“I didn't say 10, I said 7. Are you even listening? Who the fuck boils eggs for 10 minutes?” Hyunjin spoke while pulling on Changbin's ear.

Changbin was quick to react to that, slapping Hyunjin's hand away. “Ay, you can't do that to your senior.”

Chris, on the other hand, stayed quiet, chuckling to himself at the two grown men pushing and pulling at each other’s nerves. One thing about Hyunjin that Chris valued the most was his sense of self. Nobody could tell that man anything; he followed his own path. Even though his main occupation was to nitpick at rotten dead bodies and analyze bloody weapons, he still didn't throw away his love for art. That man painted day and night, no matter how much his job as a forensic tired him out.

Their laughter was cut short by the appearance of a usual, grumpy face. “Christopher, I need you in the interrogation room. You too,” Hank pointed at Chris then briefly at Changbin.

The two men shot the long-haired boy an apologetic look while standing up from the plastic cafeteria chairs.

“We will finish this discussion later,” Changbin whispered under his breath to Hyunjin before the long-haired man was left alone to finish his lunch.

“We have a witness for Miss Bennett. You need to make a formal report of it and add it to the record. Christopher I believe you have the skills to do atleast that, right?”

He couldn’t say no to Hank, he was already terrified of him as it is. This was the first time their boss directly gave a task to him, and it felt like a huge responsibility to take it, and most importantly, do it right.

Hank handed a stack of papers to Changbin, shooting a polite smile to both of them, or more like a threatening one as it seemed.

“You’ve done this before right?” Changbin turned to look at the dumbfounded boy in front of him, raising an eyebrow at his expression.

“Twice,” Chris nodded. “I think.”

Picking out a couple of papers, Changbin handed them to Christopher, before grabbing him by his shoulders and turning him towards the big black doors. The words interrogation room bolded above a small frosted window.

He stood on the other side of a one-way mirror, awaiting the sign that he could seat himself on the chairs that stood on the other side of the reflective glass. He didn't really know what to expect; he didn't even have questions formed in his head yet, but with a few nudges and looks from Changbin his nerves let loose for at least a second or two.

To Chris, it felt like not even a second had passed before he was sitting in a pretty uncomfortable chair. His fingers fiddled with the rims of the pages of a series of notes in front of him. He was well aware the conversation was being recorded, and he for sure didn't want to have any mistakes on his record.

Just take a deep breath and stop being a bitch.

He heard the door of the interrogation room open. Three quiet "good mornings" were exchanged, but he was too anxious to look up at the women now sitting across from him. He finally pulled his gaze up, first catching a glimpse of the uniform of a police officer in the corner of the room, then at a strangely familiar pair of eyes.

Chris cleared his throat before speaking, “Good morning, ladies. Today is the 7th of December 2023, 11:05AM. Please state your names and relations to the victim for the record.”

As they spoke, he pulled out a blank piece of paper, writing down the date in the corner as he waited for them to voice out their names.

“Lila Bennett.”

“Adriana Lee.”

The man in front of them felt his breath stop for a second, the voice of the woman echoing through his ears, reminding him of a jazz melody. His eyes looked up at her, the woman calmly awaiting for the witnessing to continue. His eyes traced the familiar outline of her jawline.

“And your relations to the victim,” he cleared his throat once more, desperately trying to get the clump of anxiety out of it. He barely even spoke to her last night, but now that he sees her in the clear light instead of the streetlamp lighting, he's finding it hard to organize his thoughts.

“Girlfriend.”

“Lila's friend.”

“Okay, and miss Lee you are here to comfirm the alibi of miss Bennet on the night of the murder, December 6th, 2023?”

The woman in front of him just nodded.

“Correct?”

“Yes.” The jazz-like voice spoke up again.

“Can you confirm the location of miss Bennet of the night of the murder?”

“Yes, she had previously announced to me that she had a business trip to attend from the 4th to the 6th of December. She even sent me photos of the trip.”

“Mhm, and where were you off to, Miss Bennett?”

“I told you already, I was on a business trip to New York.” Lila's voice broke. Adriana could tell that the police weren't on her side at all with this. Hell, they are probably too lazy to even do any real investigation and just want to get it over with. She took her hand under the table, squeezing it tightly.

“I told you, I have proof she was there,” Adriana spoke to the man. “I can show you, I have them printed out.”

She reached for her bag, pulling out five printed photos of their chats from the last few days. Christopher's eyes scanned the text, noticing the photos were sent at the right time. He put the photos over the stack of papers on the table.

His attention turned from Lila to Adriana. “And can you please confirm where you were on the night of the murder?”

“I was at home sleeping. At around 3AM, I had to urgently get up to run some errands for my shop.”

Chris just nodded at the reply. “I can confirm that.”

Adriana's brows furrowed in confusion, trying to recall if she came in contact with anybody last night. She was so occupied with running to the store to finish that damn bouquet and by the lack of sleep for the whole entire morning that digging for any more information in her brain felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Maybe she didn't hear him right.

“Oh, the shirtless guy.” Her mouth formed an 'O' shape, her finger pointing at him.

His ears perked up at the response. He loudly cleared his throat before continuing. “Alright, and when did miss Bennet arrive back from New York?”

“It should be in the text.” Lila spoke up before Adriana could get a word out.

“You didn’t text me, you called me in the morning.” The other girl whispered to Lila. The hand holding hers suddenly getting sweaty.

The man in front of them eyed them both, switching his gaze from the girl on the left, to the girl on the right. His gaze seemed to stop at hers.

“I told you, I called the police as soon as I got home and saw him lying ther-“

“Please, sir. You even saw me on my way to the shop. You were on the balcony, I remember-“

With a swift motion, Chris got up from his chair, gathering all the papers and binders from the table. “Okay, the hearing is done. I will send the photos for further investigation. Have a great day, ladies.” He barely even finished the sentence before he was already out the door.

“The fuck was that, Chris? You could have asked so many more questions.” Changbin exclaimed, his tone not very angry but rather just confused and laced with dissapointment. He knew Chris never acted weird unless something was bothering him, but he couldn't really guess what was happening to him. He had a simple job of asking a few questions and writing down the answers on a piece of paper.

“We have enough evidence with this. Just send it over and rule her out.”

Dropping the few papers in Changbin's hands, Chris decided to return to the cafeteria, hoping at least Hyunjin was still there.

-

For the third time this month, a man has been found dead in his home. Autopsies reveal that all three victims showed signs of struggle, but unfortunately, no murder weapons or significant clues have been found. The crimes are still under investigation, and we are currently awaiting new information. We kindly ask all citizens if they have any information about the victims or possible suspects, to please contact the number below or the local police department. On the further note, authorities recommend keeping homes locked at all times. I am Tina Mitchell with ABC News—

The monotone voice of the news anchor was quickly cut short by Lila turning off the TV. Adriana sighed, her hands handling the hot glue gun with precision.

“Do you think they're all connected?” Lila questioned, rolling a plastic diamond between her fingers before sticking it onto the fresh layer of glue on the decorative paper. The two had been in the shop for the past couple of hours, sipping tea and trying to shift their minds to anything but the last few days, but to no avail. Every channel they turned to, every video they watched, every radio channel they tuned into—everyone talked about the murders of these three men. Knowing the topic hurt Lila, Adriana never thought of bringing it up first, but if Lila brought it up, she was more than willing to continue the conversation. Adriana, to some extent, understood her but a big part of her also didn't. Jaehyun was abusive, and as crazy as it was to admit to herself, Adriana was happy that the man finally had no way to control and harass her. He was a pretty rich and put-together guy on the outside, but when the covers lifted, he was actually a raging psycho, or in Adriana's words—a devil that should have never walked this earth. Every time he broke Lila into pieces, Adriana was the one gluing them all back together.

“Could be. There are no weapons found in any of them.”

A moment of silence fell between the two. Adriana’s eyes briefly caught Lila’s fingertips picking at the skin of her hands. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“Do you think Jaehyun deserved it?”

Tears brimmed in Lila's eyes, but she tried her best not to cry. In her mind, she thought her best friend had suffered enough because of her, and that her crying again would just set them back. Her friend worked so hard to try to make her feel better, cooking her meals when she couldn’t, cleaning her apartment, letting her cry in her arms.

“Do you want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

“I do.”

A tear managed to escape Lila’s eye before she could wipe it with the hem of her sweater.

“Lila, he abused you, you are finally free from that.” By her words, Lila seemed to be letting her tears fall more freely.

“I know it hurts, but it was for the better, no matter how heartless it sounds.”

Lila knew Adriana wasn’t the best person to feel remorse for such people, but she couldn’t deny that her best friend’s words did pull at the strings of her heart. She took one more deep breath, finally wiping the last tear off her soft cheek.

Finally, a sob escaped her lips “But it hurts,”

“I know honey, its going to hurt until you tell yourself it doesn’t.”

The girls exchanged a quick tight hug, and a quick smile before turning their attention back to the peals and stems surrounding their table.

The cheerful bell of the store rang as footsteps echoed through the store.

“Good afternoon, welcome to Petal Paradise, how can I—” Lila's sad voice quickly changed by the cheerful customer voice, but it suddenly stopped without a warning, alerting Adriana in the back of the workshop. “How can I help you?” Lila finished in a quiet, almost unhealable voice.

“Oh hello, we didn't know this was your shop.” The shorter man spoke in a soft tone, trying not to alarm Lila by their appearance. “Oh this is not my—”

“Hello, how can I help you?” Adriana took her usual position behind the counter, staring at the two familiar men. The appearance of them sent a protective signal in her mind, quickly pulling her best friend behind her, hiding her behind her own body.

“We're not here because of the investigation, he just wanted to—”

“I saw the arrangements on your display, so I wanted to buy my date a nice bouquet. We don't mean to cause you inconvenience.” Changbin butted in the middle of Chan's speech. Both girls visibly relaxed at the statement.

“What style of bouquet are you looking for?”

Adriana’s words were still laced with caughtion, but she knew she should act towards them like she would to any other customer. Maybe it was a better idea for Lila to come to her shop another day. Seems like this would only bring more trouble on her already weak heart.

“Ermm...” The shorter man rubbed his chin while his eyes scanned all the displayed bouquets, ranging from sunflowers to roses to tulips in all different styles and colors. “This one.” He pointed at the one hanging near the TV. A rich pink and red bouquet with silver ribbons and small pink angels glued to the wrapping. The tulips of various colors hugged each other, making their colors resemble a pink sunrise.

“The tulip one?” Lila spoke up, finally finding the courage to look at the man that she had been pushing and pulling with for the past week.

Still after the confirmance of the alibi, she was still up for questioning for a couple of times before they finally decided to drop her as a suspect from the case. The man who mostly interrogated her was the one who was now standing in front of her, taking interest in the work of her own hands and mind.

Lila quickly made her appearance right in front of Changbin, eager to inspect his wishes for the boquet, much like he questioned her, except this was a much more lighthearted discussion for Lila’s mind.

Lila wasn't a full-time worker at Adriana's shop, but trying to be a good friend, she often hopped in to help Adriana during busy hours. Over time, Lila started to catch a grip on it. In bad moments, the two girls would find themselves covered in glue and glitter, smelling like a Lush bath bomb. Adriana noticed Lila's talent, so she decided to display some of her works in the shop, and Lila couldn't be more proud of them.

To her best friend’s surprise, she visibly got rid of all of her fear and dread by the mention of her own little bouqet.

After a minute of debating, the two found their way to the back of the workshop to discuss futher about the decorations.

“Very romantic for a first date.” Adriana chuckled, looking up at the brown-haired man in front of her as she typed in her register, the only thing making her feel at a safe distance from the man in front of her.

“He sure is.” He nodded in agreement. “Oh, I'm Christopher. I think it would be time to finally formally tell you my name.” His hand found itself reaching out to her.

Adriana hesitated before her eyes fell on the growing pink color on his nose. The faint dimple showed on his cheek as his eyes formed creases while he politely smiled

She took his hand into hers, giving it a few shakes. “Adriana. You're the weird shirtless guy, and the detective.”

He let out a laugh as he let go of her hand, nodding his head. “Don't know about the shirtless guy part.” He chuckled once more, rubbing his nose, resulting in the soft color rushing back once more. “Sorry about that, I was having a rough night.”

“No need to apologize to me. You burned yourself.” Adriana turned on her heel, walking to the outside of the counter and plopping herself on a fluffy emerald green couch placed in the corner of the shop. “You can come sit while we wait on those two.”

The pair found themselves in comfortable silence as they waited. Given that the couch wasn't very big, their knees often bumped into each other, causing a fit of quiet 'excuse me's' and 'I'm sorry's'.

In hopes of trying to avoid another awkward memory in the making, the pair found their focus shifting to the small pastel pink radio and the classical music that was coming from it.

“Enemies to lovers. Joshua Kyan Alampour?” He questioned.

“You listen to classical music?”

“Not really, I just know Clair de Lune and this one.” He chuckled. “I’m more of a rap guy, i'd say.”

“Oh, wow,” Adriana nodded, trying not to erupt in laughter by his awful attempt to strike a comfortable conversation. No way he is an actual interrogator. “I don’t think rap would be suitable for this kind of place.”

“Oh definetley not, stick to classical.”

Adriana was biting her lip, trying not to let the bubbling pit of laughter burst out of her, while on the other hand Chris was trying not to bang his head on the nearest coffee table.

Finally, the moments of despair ended, and Lila and Changbin emerged from the colorful door decorations.

“I'm so glad you like it. Have fun on your date.” Lila exclaimed as Adriana joined to greet them out.

“See you around.” Chris turned to send one of those dimpled smiles again, and with the sudden restriction of the possibility to form a functional sentence, Adriana just smiled and nodded goodbye.

-

The cold winter streets got washed by a wave of rain and wind. The sound of it hitting the ground accompanied by the sound of police sirens and curious groups of neighbours, set the atmosphere of that night. Fourth victim this month. Same settings as always. No forced entry, no sign of any murder weapons, no hopes of Chris ever growing in his bosse's eyes. The police investigation unit had been putting the last few cases as priorities, thinking that maybe this was all a connected act. An act of greed for money, or maybe just pure jealousy, or even just raging partners. The team got called out for yet another eary hour investigation, making Chris curse everyone and anyone that was in charge of distributing cases. He finally managed for once to fall asleep without taking his medication.

The house where the new homocide took place looked monotone as usual, making Chris feel like he got teleported back to the first time he even went on these types of investigations. The floor beneath their feet creaked as groups of forensics and investigators and police hoarded the house, sending comments to eachother every once in a while in hopes of puzzling up a convincing story, but to no avail. Leads were impossible to find and as minutes passed the atmosphere at the crime scene indicated more and more that the only thing they agreed upon that the past few incidents were calculated and connected.

„Do you think somebody was hired to do this?“ A tall man in a white hazard suit spoke up, the suit crincling as he put his hands on his hips.

„Why would anyone spend that much money to kill people like this?“ Changbin answered Hyunjin, widening his arms to point at the state of the house. As usual, the house wasn't very well kept. With empty bottles and various kinds of trash littering the, what seemed like once was, a very light and spacious living room.

Hyunjin shrugged his shoulders. „Debt maybe?“

„Could be, they all seemed to be quite successful at some points in their life. Don't know how that could turn into this.“

A faint sound of moving chairs and the closing and opening of doors could be heard in the background. Hyunjin and Chanbing didn't think to look at the man, figuring he had something mapped out in his mind and that it was best to leave him to it.

„Do you have any connections to the victims?“

Nobody has really came foward about these men. They have gotten a few calls from former employees or from ex-friends, but nothing to make the story significantly change. The girlfriend of the last victim has been ruled out long ago, leaving the case pretty much cold, and by the pace they were going with, it seems like the remaining three ones will end up just the same.

The autopsy report was also long due, looking at the fact that the first body has been sent in for inspection almost a month ago. Without the reports they was nothing they could really do, not knowing the weapon used and not having found one at the crime scenes.

The tensions in the department were heating up. Chris has been assigned to the case for a few weeks now, and by the looks of it, and by the looks that his boss sends his way, he was not in for a good time. Could he potentially be fired? Probably not. Changbin would not let get Chris fired in any book, but was there a chance of him getting landed just heavy paperwork and coffee stains. Very much possible.

The man now inspecting the kitchen floors has working the hardest he had ever been, not even a single peck of dust going unnoticed, and most certanly, not even a small purple petel that had suddenly caught his attention.

It was squished between the cracks of the musty beige tiles of the kitchen floor, leaving some purple pigment smeared across the cold tiles. The glitters from it seemed to be speckled everywhere, from the tiles, all the way leading up to the dining table. It couldn't be that this one tiny thing travelled so far and left such a trail. Chris dug through an archive of memories, trying to remember where exactly he saw that sparkle once before. He twisted the small petal, delicate and vibrant, between his gloved fingertips. It was a dark shade of purple, with a subtle light gradient towards the area where it once used to be connected with the stem.

With a quick whip of his phone, his fingers glided through various apps trying to find the one that would revive his memory, and not long after, a picture of a chucked boquet at an old kitchen counter stood before him.

„I might have found something.“ Chris's voice was finally heard from the next door room, alerting both Changbin and Hyunjin. Soon enough, the suited man found himself next to the investigator, analyzing the small flower remain after snatching it from the investigator at the speed of light. „It's just a rose.“

Leaning over the two men to take a look at the new found item, Changbin cimmed in. „How the hell will that lead to anything?“

„Remember the real estate agent guy, from like a week ago? We saw the same type of flower at his own kitchen. See?“ Chris flashed up his phone of the same flower he took, trigerring a not very amused look on his partner's face.

Changbin wasn't really having any of it, wile on the other hand Hyunjin was  quite intrigued by what Chris had to say. After all the pushing and pullin they might have actually found some type of clue that could help them progress, and not spin in circles.

„Wow congradulations, now we can show the jury that if you buy a bouqet of purple roses that look like a unicorn shit on them you might end up getting slashed by the throat.“

Couple of scoffs were heard. „Come on Changbin, don't be an ass. It could really mean something.“ Hyunjin spoke up.

„How the fuck do we go from here, we follow the glitter trail into a fairy killer's house?“ It was visible to the both men that the last couple of weeks took a toll on Changbin aswell. Everyone expected a lot from him and he expected a lot from himself. „Oh or even better, maybe we should send it to the lab to wait another fucking month, and have Hank bickering above my head for the whole week like a fucking seagull.“

Hyunjin sighed once more as his fingers found their way to rub his temples. „You're such a dick these days.“ And with that, Hyunjin left the two men in the kitchen of the crime scene. Changbin knew he was, but the frustrations came over him like an avalanche.

„I know someone I can ask.“ Was the last thing Changbin heard before he was left by himself, surrounded by the familiar yellow markers and a nausious mix of chemicals.

-

The heavy sounds were muffled by melodic beats, ringing in the ears. Thousands of voices tried to pick the right from wrong, creating a cacophony that drowned out any lost hopes of peace. Thoughts collided, creating a storm too powerful, turning the once melodic rhythmic beats uneven. The storm overcame and swallowed any last bit of clarity. The trees that once grew in the palace of a beautiful mind, planted and left to grow, twisted and turned out of their roots, swallowed by the heart of the storm. One by one, they disappeared.

Eyes shifted from one crimson puddle to another, the scenery resembling a collision of two rivers. The rivers twisted and turned around the room, colors blending with numerous shades of gray, consuming any vibrant speck. Making sense of the surroundings was almost impossible. The body moved on its own, while the mind struggled against a force that wanted total control. This force ordered the body to pick up anything that could potentially give it away, anything that could lead to the destruction of the little paradise the force had created for itself.

Each step was driven by an unseen compulsion, an urgency to erase traces, to cover tracks that could lead to exposure. The air felt thick with tension, every breath heavy with the weight of the task at hand. The rhythmic beats grew more erratic, mirroring the turmoil within. Shadows danced on the walls, fleeting glimpses of a reality that seemed just out of reach.

There was no room for error. The voice echoed, layered, each letter bouncing off the walls. After the final order, it stopped. The limb that once snuffed out the burning candle of life caught a velvety texture. The royal purple splash of vibrance found itself consumed by the crimson river.

-

The morning was greeted by the sun after the last night's storm, creating a rainbow here and there in the light blue sky. It wasn't a busy morning, so Adriana chose to take it slow and not bombard herself with tasks like she usually did when opening the store. With the ring of a bell, she left the colorful little building and headed over to a small coffee shop right across the street.

"One coffee with milk, please."

The young girl behind the counter flashed Adriana a smile accompanied by a nod. Adriana took a seat in a booth near a window overlooking her store, her eyes darting towards the once snow-covered street. The smell of sweet pastries and brewing coffee calmed her mind. For some reason, her body seemed more tense than usual today, maybe due to a lack of sleep or the stress circulating for the past few weeks.

Closing her eyes, she tried to shake away the chills, but to no avail. A dreading feeling had found a home in the back of her mind. Her body felt dirty, and her mind felt even worse. She dug deep into her memory to find the cause but couldn't even remember coming home. The last thing she recalled was going for a couple of drinks with Lila and her friend at the downtown bar, but that was way before the storm even started, yet somehow, she could still feel the wind and rain hitting her skin. Could it be—no. She would never let that happen again, drunk or sober.

The face of her father flashed before her eyes. The feeling of his fingertips brushing against her bare skin, and that stupid smile as he looked at her with every emotion but the one a loving father should have for his daughter.

Her eyes abruptly opened as her name was called. She quickly gathered her stuff from the booth table and made her way to the counter where two coffee cups were sitting. She reached for the wallet in her purse, counting out the loose change to give to the cashier.

"How much for the both?"

Her head turned to look at the voice behind her, and her eyes met with a familiar pair of light brown orbs.

"Chris?" Her brows shot up at the sight of him. "4.40 for the two coffees."

He flashed her a smile before handing a bill to the cashier. "I went to look for you at the store, then I saw you from the window. I was hoping I could have a chat with you."

"Yeah, sure."

Adriana must admit it was a pleasurable shock to see Chris in front of her, but something told her she wasn't in for a sweet chit-chat. With goodbyes exchanged with the cashier, they exited the sweet-scented coffee shop and made their way to the building across. They both set their belongings on the emerald green couch, the couch where Chris felt his legs were going to give up on him last time he sat there. He knew he had to stay professional today, even though he really wished he had an excuse to talk to her about anything but the cases he was assigned to.

He didn't understand why, but the pure sight of her made some type of feeling wash over him, a feeling of his chest tightening and his brain getting foggy. He must admit to himself that he felt very pathetic to be experiencing this in the presence of a person he saw only three times, two of them being completely awkward, and the third being purely professional. It was like he couldn't help himself but be completely drawn to her. Maybe it was her long chestnut hair, or her piercing eyes that seemed to hold as much wisdom as they did mystery. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but he had to snap out of it. He was talking to her for a reason.

"We can sit and chat here. I usually drink my morning coffee here anyways." She led him through the back door to a tiny porch. It was pretty hidden off, a line of big trees and bushes creating a tall fence around the small garden of the store. On the wooden floor sat a tiny light wood table with two foldable chairs overlooking a row of clay pots waiting to be planted with colorful flowers. The garden was quite lively for this time of year, a few winter-thriving plants occupying their space along with the birds that found their home here.

A tiny greenhouse sat in the corner. He figured that's where she grew most of the flowers she used for her crafts.They placed their coffee cups on the table before a comfortable silence took over for a minute.

It felt absurd to Adriana to let a random man sit with her and drink coffee in her place of peace, but unlike with most strangers, she felt quite comfortable with him. It was odd to her rather than alarming. She was always cautious and observant around strangers; she had to be.

"It's quite chilly," he said, breaking the silence. He took a short sip of his coffee before rubbing his hands together.

"Much less than last night."

"Right, I got called to investigate while it was going on." His lips pressed against the paper cup to take another sip. "Barely came home alive."

A chuckle fell out of Adriana's lips as she took a sip from her own. "Now imagine that but you're drunk and in heels."

A small fit of laughs erupted from both of them. "Who the hell thinks of going out in that weather?"

"Wasn't my choice. Lila needed some company. I wasn't gonna turn her down." She shrugged her shoulders, letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"How is she holding on?"

"She was fine until the funeral. Now she's back at the beginning, it seems."

Chris nodded. He knew it took a long time to get over such a death, especially if it was a close person, but it felt weird how Adriana talked about it with such ease. Surely, they were close. He was her best friend's boyfriend.

"I'm sorry we couldn't come back with any clues. The body was found with a slash over the throat, nothing more nothing less. We asked left and right, and nobody could recall seeing anybody."

She just nodded, not a word escaping her mouth.

She felt weird talking about it, or rather listening. It's not that she felt much dread about the death at this point, but the atmosphere in the air didn't seem to sit right. She waited for him to speak up again, but he didn't. Soon they fell into the same silence once more.

The once excitement to be talking to Christopher turned into pure anxiety, to an extent even fear. She knew he didn't come here for no reason and she anxiously waited for him to bring it up, but he didn't.

She looked over at him. He seemed to be lost in his mind, focused on something. He didn't notice her gaze shift onto him, so she took the chance to admire his features. A voice in her head seemed to be screaming at her to stop, to resist the urge, that it was no use to fall into these feelings, that he's going to hurt her just like the way the man closest to her did. That he is capable of the things both her father and Jaehyun did. But despite the effort, she still focused on the way his brows knit together in thought, and the way his rosy lips puckered out, chapped from the cold and harsh winds.

In her mind, he represented danger. Not the kind of danger she was looking out for in a man, but the kind of danger that seemed to turn off all her sensors. His presence was like the polar opposite of what she was used to. The presence he held was calm, comforting, so intoxicating to her mind.

"How often do you sell those roses?"

Her head snapped toward the direction he was looking.

"Which ones?"

"The purple ones." His eyes seemed to be set on a bush of dark purple roses inside the greenhouse.

"Not very often, I mostly grow them for my own pleasure."

A hum escaped his throat, his eyes not moving even an inch from the dark flowers. "You like them?"

"Do you recall the last time you sold or gave them to someone?"

"I'm not sure. I removed them from the display in the shop not long ago, so probably before then."

"How long ago?"

"Are you interrogating me?"

The sudden change of her tone caused him to finally look away from them, and rather set his eyes on hers. Her gaze seemed to stiffen and her eyebrows furrowed in defense. With another sip of his almost cold coffee, he reached for the phone in his pocket.

"I found this at all of the crime scenes, including the one last night."

A series of pictures of dark petals submerged in a thick red liquid were shown on his phone. Most were just petals, but the one that caught most of Adriana's attention was a bouquet. A sparkly bouquet with dark brown wrapping, words "I miss you" written out in cursive with red ink.

She felt her breath being caught up in her throat. The sight of it sent a painful sensation in her gut, almost like a sharp knife piercing through her. Her vision got blurry as a wave of tears threatened to fall onto the lit-up screen. "No, no, I—"

"I'm not saying that you're the culprit, I just want to know if you recall who you sold these to last." His voice was awfully calm, like trying to calm down a crying child.

Her voice broke as she spoke up. "I made those for my mom last. I took them down after that. I swear to God I'm not the one who did it. I saw those men barely once in my life—"

"You know them?"

She stood still for a second, rewinding her own words, before fully letting the tears slide down her cheeks. To Christopher's surprise, his suspicion of her didn't grow. Instead, his eyes softened at the sight of the girl in front of him. Her cheeks flushed red as her tears fell each second at a more rapid rate, coating her eyelashes with the salty liquid.

"How do you know them?"

He tried to choose his words carefully. He never imagined being in a situation like this with anyone, let alone with her. With every approach he calculated in his mind, he felt like there was nothing he could do to minimize her tears, yet he still tried to soften his voice the best he could.

"I saw them with my dad in meetings sometimes, mostly when I was little. They were all a bunch of scumbags, rich people trying to become richer." Her voice suddenly changed, laced with bitterness.

"Could I perhaps get in contact with your dad or mom then?"

A couple of moments that felt like hours passed before she stood up from her seat, almost knocking down the now cold and unfinished beverage. She slid the glass back door open and entered the store, her heavy and obviously angry footsteps fading away.

He knew he had messed up badly. It was a dumb mistake to pursue this line of questioning alone. He should have brought Changbin with him, someone with more experience. Doing outside work without his boss knowing could easily lead to being fired.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, but he didn't dare to look up, fearing he'd be met with either a slap in the face or with those bright, glossy eyes that tugged at his heartstrings.

"Here is my mom," a voice said.

Chris finally looked up, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

Forever in our memory, Anita Lee. 1979-2022.

"The dad is at the graveyard, search for the name Leon."

-

"Isn't it weird though?" Changbin sat on the edge of the table, eyeing Chris who remained motionless, the only sound in the room the tapping of a pencil on the armrest of Chris's chair.

"Those damn flowers don't grow at this time of year, and she told you herself that she made the bouquet," Changbin continued, frustration creeping into his voice as Chris remained unresponsive.

With a heavy sigh, Changbin slid off the table. "Should I talk to her?"

"No," Chris replied curtly.

"Oh, come on now," Changbin exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Chris knew the aftermath if the word got out within the unit that he had spoken to Adriana privately. Someone was bound to draw a connection between her and the murders, and just the thought of it sent a chill down his spine. Part of him feared it might be possible, but another part, the emotional part, screamed that she couldn't possibly be capable of such acts. She seemed so... harmless.

"A young girl that works at a flower shop kills four men in their own homes with no forced entry, and no murder weapon. You sound stupid, Bin," Chris muttered, rubbing his temples.

"You're the one being stupid, firstly by going to talk to her before informing anybody, and secondly by being so fucking oblivious," Changbin retorted, pacing in circles around Chris's desk.

Chris sighed, realizing Changbin wasn't going to drop the topic easily. Changbin finally stopped pacing and pulled a chair from a nearby desk, positioning it in front of Chris.

"How about this. I don't tell anyone about your little private investigation, and you let me come with you," Changbin proposed, leaning forward with a serious expression.

"No chance," Chris replied firmly.

Without another word, Changbin stormed off towards Hank's office, clearly intent on taking matters into his own hands, or better yet, to force Chris into submission.

Chris scrambled to his feet, hurrying after Changbin. "Wait, hold on."

Changbin stopped abruptly, turning to face Chris with a raised eyebrow.

"I could use the backup," Chris admitted reluctantly.

Changbin smirked at the response he knew he was going to get either way. "I knew you'd surrender so easily.”

-

„Adriana. Adriana what the fuck?“ A loud and terrified voice screamed, but there was nobody in sight.

Silence.

„Adriana please, you're scaring me.“ There it is again, louder this time.

„Lila?“

„Adriana please, put that down.“ Louder. She knows too much.

„Wake up, please.“ Louder. She is going to give us away.

„I beg you, please.“ You have the rose in your bag. Just kill her already.

Silence.

„What the absolute fuck is wrong with you?“ A voice screamed, as the scene in front finally cleared.

Lila stood in front of her, a completley unreadable expression plastered on her face. It was like a mix of terror and relief in one. She looked around. Lila's kitchen?

„What the fuck?“

„Yeah, what the fuck is right. Put that shit down.“

Only when Lila grabed the object from her hand, she realised what she was holding.

„When the fuck did you get the idea to sleepwalk into my fucking kitchen and start banging your head, with a fucking knife in your hand?“ Lila's screams got louder than before, clearly fear masked by anger overcoming her senses.

She opened her mouth to say a word, but nothing came out. Absoutley nothing. The only thing she could do is cry. She doesn't even know why she was crying, or how she got there in the first place, but the tears rolled down like a waterfall.

„I'm so sorry,“ Were the only words Adriana said through tears before she stormed out of the apartment.

-

This was his second pack of the day. Actually, maybe even third. He couldn't be bothered to count at this point. With the flick of the lighter he inhaled the deadly smoke once more.

Thankfully the weather was calm tonight, maybe too calm for his liking.

With the year being over, the department had an annual meeting about how everyone was progressing in their path, or in other words, public bullying. At least it seemed like that to Chris.

After an underwhelming review that Hank announced to the whole department about Chris, he decided to try to get his mind off of things with a short walk. That short walk turned into a two-hour sitting session by the sea with a pack of cigarettes and two bottles of cheap beer. He thought of inviting Changbin, but by the end of the meeting he figured he would rather let him celebrate with his girlfriend rather than drink his boredom away with him; after all, the other cases Changbin had been assigned to, other than the ones with him, had been successful.

They did find some information, but nothing significant to the case, but more about Adriana's father. They decided to snoop around and ended up finding some news articles about her dad. He was a highly respected man, a business owner. Neither Adriana nor her mother were mentioned anywhere in the articles, but a weird piece of information did get noticed. Supposedly, he died at the start of last year, and by the looks of it, nobody knows how. There were no signs of struggle on his body, and no culprit in mind. In the pictures of the funeral, there were no family members, or in other words, no Adriana. The articles suspected it might have been either an alcohol or drug overdose.

Nothing about her mother was found either, and despite Chris's attempts to gather Adriana's phone number from the records, she was never picking up his calls.

He came to a point where he didn't even know what he was searching for. Was it information to catch the killer, or to frame Adriana? Probably not the second one. Firstly, he didn't want to think about that even being a possibility, and secondly, it was absurd to think a flower from the local and only flower shop in town would automatically make the owner the killer. As sure as Changbin was that something might be up with her, to Chris all he heard from him was nonsense.

He took a sip of his beer, deciding to focus on the sound of crashing waves rather than the shit his mind was trying to come up with.

Taking a deep breath, he scouted the beach. The moonlight above made the sand light up like thousands of diamonds. Furthering his gaze, he caught a glimpse of a silhouette sitting on a bench, a couple of meters away from where he was laying on the sand. The light breeze combed the silhouette's hair as the moonlight drew lines of their nose and chin. She looked like a painting from that far away.

The silhouette's hands made their way to her face, seemingly to wipe something off. Tears, perhaps.

She stayed still for a moment—a moment that felt like days—before catching her face in her hands and bursting into tears. The sobs wouldn't be so loud if it wasn't the dead of night, and awfully quiet to begin with.

He decided he would rather leave her alone, figuring his presence would just be a bigger burden for the girl. That was until her voice managed to say something in between sobs. Hold on.

„Adriana?“

She didn't seem to stop crying, but she lifted her head towards the voice. A familiar feeling of shame washed over her once she realized whose eyes she had met. The shame that always manifested itself when she was crying in front of someone.

„You alright?“

It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn't. She was choking on her own tears, for fuck's sake. He decided to get up, step by step coming closer to her. The only thing she could reply with was her head shaking no.

„I get that we're not friends or anything, but you can tell me if you want.“

He was now sitting next to her, closer than usual.

Keep your mouth shut

With a sniff and a wipe of her tears, she cleared her throat. „It's just my mom.“

She didn't understand why she was saying that. Maybe deep down inside, she thought he would view her differently, maybe even as crazy. Even if she really wanted to, she couldn't form the words to explain to him what had just actually happened. It was like something was screaming at her, threatening.

„You miss her?“

She didn't answer, but rather burst into tears once more. Not because they were mentioning her mother, but because she couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth.

He felt his heart shatter at the sight of her. He couldn't shake the urge to reach out for her cheek, to wipe away the tears that escaped her light eyes. Maybe that was crossing the line. Maybe this wasn't the right time. He could potentially make the situation even worse. He quickly pulled back the hand that had started to reach for her tears.

Her head started to pound. She couldn't understand her behavior, and it made her want to scream at the top of her lungs. His presence was so calming, but her mind was like a storm. She really had hoped he could be someone she would let her walls fall down for, the one that would know her more than anyone, even Lila.

„Yeah, I miss her, a lot,“ she croaked out.

His eyes stayed focused on her, watching how her chest moved, how she wiped her cheek every now and then, and how her gaze never left the scene in front to look at him.

„Come with me.“ He extended his hand for her to take. Finally taking her gaze off the ocean, she looked up at him. She tried to focus on his features through her blurry vision, how his dark hair perfectly complemented his pale complexion, how his eyes creased at the corners, and how his lips curved slightly upwards.

Soon, her soft fingertips made contact with his. He pulled her up from the bench with a light tug.

Maybe it was an act of loneliness from both sides, or maybe it was that they found peace in each other, but for the whole walk across the beach, neither one of them disconnected their hands from one another's.

-

Chris led Adriana to a secluded spot above the beach, almost like a cliffside that looked over the shore. The place was well hidden behind some trees, and it seemed quite tricky to get to, but he managed to help her climb all the slippery and stern pathways.

The place itself was made of smooth, weathered rocks, their surfaces polished by years of relentless waves and wind. They formed a natural seat, comfortably wide and just the right height to sit on and dangle your feet above the beach. Patches of moss and tiny, tenacious plants clung to the crevices, adding a touch of green to the grey stone.

Empty bottles were scattered around them, remains of past visitors who had discovered this hidden gem, and also the remains of their own. The only noises heard were their own laughter, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore below.

Chris opened another beer and handed it to Adriana, who took it with a tipsy smile. "Cheers," he said, clinking his bottle gently against hers. The moonlight above made the moment feel almost surreal, casting a silvery glow over everything.

Adriana took a sip and sighed, her shoulders relaxing a little. "How did you even find this place? I feel like I should deserve a medal for even climbing all the way here."

Chris shrugged, looking out at the vast expanse of the ocean. "Needed a place to clear my head one day so I wandered around and stumbled upon it."

She nodded, staring at the horizon. "It's peaceful up here."

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the weight of their own respective burdens momentarily lifted. The tranquility of the place seemed to work its magic, easing the tension that had gripped Adriana's heart.

Chris glanced at her, his gaze softening. "You know, I don't wanna push your buttons or anything, but why aren't your dad and mom buried together?"

Adriana's eyes didn't well up with tears this time. It took her a moment to form her words, but that only made the boy's body tense up.

"My dad was an asshole."

He stayed still at her words, not wanting to disturb her train of thought.

"He was pretty, let's just say, agressive-" She took a deep breath before continuing. "He killed my mom in a burst of anger."

There it was again, that heavy, unsettling atmosphere. The train of words suddenly woke up Chris's tipsy mind, making him feel like he just got slapped in the face with a cold wet towel. "I, I'm so sorry for asking."

"Chris, it's fine. I'm coping, see?" She tried to crack out a smile while picking up the half-drunk bottle of beer, wiggling it in front of his face.

As she put the bottle back down in its place, she kept her eyes to it while carefully placing it down, "He got home drunk one night after going out with his business partners for a few drinks, some were the ones that got killed not long ago. He got mad at my mother for some stupid fucking reason and slashed her throat with a pair of kitchen scissors."

Chris felt a wave of nausea mixed with sorrow wash over him. It was his job to listen and see these kinds of situations, but now that she was there in front of him talking about her own family, it felt like a completely different situation. It's like his professional part of the brain that was supposed to be intrigued by those stories got turned off, and replaced with pure sorrow. "Jesus, Adriana... that's..."

"Yeah," she interrupted, her voice steady despite the heaviness of her words. "He never got to pay for his actions, well, he did pay with his money. He bribed the police, there was nothing I could do about it."

Chris didn't know what to say. The weight of her story hung in the air between them. He wanted to comfort her, to say something that would make it better, but he knew there were no words that could heal those wounds. Instead, he just squeezed her hand gently.

Adriana looked at him, a stern expression still glued to her face, despite feeling her jaw relax by the sudden contact. "I guess someone took the situation into their own hands, one day I just got a phone call that he died, I don't even know how. I couldn't really be bothered to give a fuck either."

Chris stared at her, his mind racing. He wondered if her father's death was linked to the recent murders. There were too many coincidences, too many connections. "Do you think... do you think the same person who killed your dad might be involved in these recent murders?"

Adriana shook her head, her eyes distant. "I don't know, Chris. Maybe. But whoever it was, they did me a favor."

He nodded in response, emptying out his sixth bottle of the night. "Did he hurt you?"

"That night? No. But he did do some things when I was little." She felt the words come out so naturally. It wasn’t usual for her to talk about what she went through with her father, but the mix of booze and quietness made her speak before she could think, yet still managing to avoid bringing up the reason that resulted in them sitting together like this.

The boy’s ears perked up. Like a bullet his head shot towards her, eyes widened like an owl. “No fucking way-„

You're giving us away

A searing pain stabbed through Adriana's head like a hot needle, causing her to cry out and clutch her head in agony. Panic started spreading through her body like venom, distorting her vision and making her ears ring. The world around her spun uncontrollably.

"Adriana!" Chris exclaimed, his voice filled with concern and urgency. He knelt beside her, gently trying to support her as she trembled in pain. "Adriana, what's happening? Talk to me."

Get away from him

Adriana's mind felt like a chaotic storm, every step pounding in rhythm with the searing pain that lanced through her head. Despite Chris's desperate calls, she couldn't stay still. Her body moved on its own accord, driven by a force she couldn't name.

Chris watched in shock as Adriana bolted away from him, her figure disappearing into the darkness between the trees. "Adriana, wait!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet and running after her. It was like a demon possessed her. Did he once again step over the line he swore he would not cross again?

He followed the path she had taken, his heart pounding with worry and confusion. "Adriana, please," he called out again, hoping she would hear him, hoping she would stop.

Despite his efforts, she was long gone.

“Shit.”

His fingertips found their way to tug at the strands of his brown locks. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? His slow steps brought him back to the scattered bottles.

A tiny purse laid on the cold ground, the ground where Adriana was sitting just minutes before something took over her.

[jovenshires]

smosh girlies week: day six → a smosh murder mystery (alternate universe pt. 1)

ian hecox: businessman, underground criminal, and now, dinner host. or at least that's what the invitation to his ex-wife, amanda lehan-canto, claims. they didn't part on the best of terms - last she checked, she lost everything in their messy divorce. she isn't certain why she'd be his first choice for a dinner companion. but that uncertainty is enough for her to get in her car and drive all the way to jones shrive - all the way to the manor she left nearly five years ago. after all, amanda, a now-retired private eye, would never let a mystery go unsolved. upon her arrival, she meets a colorful cast of characters - a lounge singer with a penchant for gambling, a police officer living far above her means, and a mysterious outsider who doesn't seem to even remotely run in ian's circles. she also meets the nosey, rambunctious reporter, angela giarratana. (she remembers the scathing article she wrote on ian - and the humble retraction the next week. it seems like she's not the only one who doesn't fit the mold of the guest list.) and, of course, the enigmatic, larger-than-life host himself, who doesn't seem to have a good explanation for all this. and before she can ascertain a reason, tragedy strikes. suddenly the house devolves into mystery and madness, and everyone becomes a suspect. amanda is quickly thrust into the spotlight, and to clear her name, she must solve her greatest case yet: the murder of the host himself. ian hecox.

[merakiui]

We've talked about Prisoner Floyd, but now that Promising Young Man Riddle is behind bars, let's hear about Prisoner Riddle. Just when he thinks he can never find someone to replace his former teacher, here is...

Jailor Darling who is the highlight of Riddle's day. The few minutes you stop to chat with him behind his cell bars while you do your rounds stay in his mind long after you go.

Janitor Darling who secretly chats with the charming prisoner Riddle. Maybe she even indulges him in impossible daydreams like "someday when your out of here we'll start a new life." If Riddle is lucky, she'll sneak a strawberry tart in among her cleaning supplies.

Councilor Darling who is in charge of Prisoner Riddle's psych evaluation. Riddle always has had mommy issues, so women in positions of authority just make him want to submit.

AAAA YES YES!!!! All of these are so good,,, I think Riddle would fall for you if you're someone he can have an intellectual dialogue with! It was one of his favorite things to do with his professor. He just loves chatting about academic subjects with someone who will understand, and you're just that kind of person. Not only are you sweet and treat him like another human (and not as the man who killed his classmate in a fit of rage), you also take time to genuinely have a conversation with him. Riddle adores it! He falls head-first into another obsession, and you quickly become the highlight of his days.

In Riddle's mind, the prideful part of him is fully convinced he's different than the rest of the people in here. Sure, he's wearing a jumpsuit just like everyone else and he's serving his sentence dutifully, but he's different. He's delusional, and whenever you talk to him it feeds into the narrative he's crafted that he truly is better than the other prisoners. To Riddle, a murder of one is much better than the other heinous crimes and kill counts other prisoners have committed.

When you stop by to conduct his evaluation and have a chat, Riddle desperately wants to exchange thoughts on various subjects that interest him (psychology, criminal law, your favorite sweets, etc). You try to keep him on track because you have a job to do and you can't indulge him all the time. You need Riddle to talk about what happened; he needs to answer the questions you're asking. Riddle does that; he's obedient most of the time. It's in his blood to be a good student, after all. But sometimes he just can't help it. He wants to pick your brain in the same way you pick his, asking you what you think of his crime. Not from a psychological or professional viewpoint, but from your own personal perspective. He's genuinely curious.

I feel like Riddle's case would have a cult following almost...... he was so composed and articulate during his trial, looking just like a pristine businessman in his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. :) so put-together and respectful,, it does hurt when his mother refuses to look him in the eyes when she sits there in the audience. It does hurt when she refuses to visit or even write to him. It does hurt, but it feels better when he's sat in front of you and you're telling him he can be honest about everything.

And this time he doesn't have to worry about someone else trying to win your heart. This time, it's just you and Riddle. You may have other patients you see, but Riddle knows none are more fascinating or intelligent than him.

[celestialspecial]

In Cold Blood (pt 1)

Synopsis: A slew of murders have you and the other detectives scratching their heads, but the killer himself seems beyond fascinated with you.

Warnings: This is probably my most warning heavy story- mentions and graphic descriptions of blood/gore, death, murder (serial killer!billy is a giveaway), weapons including gun/knives, home invasion mentions, eventual smut lets just say EVERYTHING IS 18+- read at your own discretion

Tag list: @vermillionwinter , @nerdyreaderpapi

You turned a corner, feet hitting the pavement as fast as they could. Water splashed up from a puddle but it didn’t slow you down. The buzz of traffic didn’t calm your racing heart as you skidded to a stop down a corner alley.

How had this happened? You were so sure of yourself. So careful. At least that’s how it felt. 

It had started innocently enough, well maybe innocent wasn’t the correct choice of words.

It had started with the death of a local businessman. He’d been found in an alleyway, shoved between trash bins. Multiple knife wounds scattered across his torso and neck. You’d been called to investigate the scene with the other officers.

It had left your mouth dry, the other officers you worked with were rarely left speechless but this….this did it. The brutality of it was unmatched from anything you’d investigated before.

Then a few weeks later there was a woman found murdered in a similar fashion, body left in Central Park for anyone to find. Then there was another and another. It made your stomach turn. 

Then you found yourself volunteering to be on the case. To figure out who the bastard was. Why they were doing this. And to put them away for as long as possible. 

The longer you researched and devoted your time and energy to figuring out how to catch the murderer the less it made sense. There was no rhyme or reason or outright motives that stood out to you. Just a building body count.

That’s when you got the first call.

You’d been working from the office late one night, pouring over the latest crumb of evidence you’d been able to scrounge up. A blurry cctv blip of footage capturing a large figure in a black hoodie up over their head leaving the building where the last victim was found.

The noise jolted you from your seat, the blinds drawn in your office and the steady hum of the fluorescent lights overhead wearing away at your eyes. It was late. Very late. No one you knew would be up at this hour. Not unless it was an emergency.

You didn’t recognize the number. So not a friend or relative popping up on caller ID. You let it ring another few times before sighing, with a roll of your eyes and sliding to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Detective Archer.” You felt your body freeze at your name being used. The voice crackled on the other end. Deep. Male. But it was edited somewhat, like he was speaking through some sort of device to conceal his voice. 

“Who is this?”

“Ah ah ah that’s on a need to know basis.”

“And I don’t need to know?” You pushed away from your desk standing to walk over to your closed office door. Peeking through the blinds to see the still empty office.

“I’m not in your office if that’s what you think.” Your blood ran cold as you froze in place, fingers just pulling away from the door.

“Are you…watching me?” Your eyes flitted to the windows on the right side of your office, rushing over and drawing the blinds closed.

“Always.” 

The word hung on the phone line, heavy silence.

“You’re him.”

“There’s a lot of “hims” out there, I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He was taunting you.

“The killer.” Laughter rang out in the other end.

“It took you a little while there, detective. Here I was thinking you were the top of your class.” 

“Why are you calling me?” You moved back to your desk wondering if there was some way you could trace the call from your cell phone. 

“To ask what your favorite scary movie is.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re gonna get.” 

“Come on Detective, play a little game with me.”

“Is that what you think this is?” You hissed into the phone. “A fuckin game?” Your heart pounded in your chest. Rage bubbling up and leeching into your voice.

“It is to me.” 

Then with that the line went dead. You swore, tossing your phone onto your desk falling back into your seat. 

Hands scratching your head, fingers twining furiously through your hair.  Eyes squeezed shut as you’re cursed once more before calling your boss and the rest of your team to alert them to this new development.

Another victim was found a few weeks later, a single stab wound to the chest right over the heart.  A Large Bowie knife was left in the body, with a swath of paper folded and held in place by the weapon.

You talked with witnesses and scribbled into your notes after consulting with another officer before turning on your heel to head back to the office. 

Knowing tonight you’d drink a pot of coffee and review how out of character this kill was from the previous victims. Was this even done by the same person? Did you have another murderer out there to watch out for? It made your head spin.

“Detective, I think you need to see this.” A cop named Thomas motioned you over to him holding out the piece of paper just removed from the victim.

You took the now unfolded paper from him eyes roving the page. A large red heart was drawn on it with blood. Whether it was the victims or someone else’s you couldn’t be sure, but that wasn’t the thing that worried you most.

Inside the heart was writing, scratchy red ballpoint pen spelling out in large letters, “Archer.”  A gift, a love letter, a taunt, you weren’t sure which one it was but it made your blood run cold. 

Hot water poured over your skin in the shower, hoping the scalding heat would strip away the knot in your stomach. Whenever you closed your eyes all you could see was the heart, teasing you.

The paper had been placed in an evidence bag and was now being tested but you couldn’t shake the visual from your head. Turning the water off and reveling in the steam before you wrapped a towel around yourself stepping into the bedroom.

All your scattered notes and random photographs littered your home desk and you were starting to feel pathetic at your lack of purchase on this slippery case. How many people needed to end up dead because you couldn’t do your fucking job?

Then the phone rang. A million thoughts ran through your head before you said fuck it and answered. 

“Hello?”

“Did you get my gift?” 

“You’re sick you know that?” You flipped on the tracer you’d installed on your phone after your last call. 

“Detective, I’m wounded. I gave you a lovely gesture of our relationship.”

“The only relationship we have is going to be when I arrest your ass and put you away for the rest of your life.” 

“I love when you flirt back with me.” 

You rubbed your brow absentmindedly, hating how limited you felt. How you felt like back in training being ridiculed by higher ups. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“I enjoy talking to you, Detective.”

“No. Killing people. Innocent people.”

“Who said they were innocent?”

“Who says you get to be judge, jury and executioner?”

If you stalled long enough it’d give your tracer a better chance of locking onto where the call was coming from. Giving you a shred of further evidence.

“You look very nice tonight.”

Your fist subconsciously gripped your towel tighter to your chest. The curtains in your apartment were drawn, and you had checked the lock over four times out of habit.

“How do you know how I look?” You wedged your phone into the crook of you neck, holding it in place as you reached into the end table pulling out your gun and checking the chamber was full.

“Are you close to catching me, Detective? Have I been occupying as much space in your mind as you do mine?”

You padded slowly down the hall, weapon held firm, pointing into each room as you passed. The heat from the bathroom emanated into the kitchen and you swiveled around the corner poised for an attack.

It never came. 

He was toying with you. He wasn’t here. 

“Why would I be in your head?”

You heard a thump back in your bedroom and the hair on the back of your neck stood up at the sound. The line was silent as you waited for a response, slowly inching back towards your room, gun held aloft.

The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your chest as you eased into the doorway, ears straining to hear any other movement. In a rush if adrenaline you tossed the phone onto the bed throwing open the closet door.

It was empty. 

Keeping with your agitated pace, falling to the floor and checking under the bed only to see it bare as well. Angrily snatching the phone back and biting into the mouthpiece.

“Where the fuck are you?!” 

At that you heard footsteps back from the bathroom, thumping through your apartment and your front door being thrown open, the alarm blaring. 

Scrambling to catch up you stumbled into your living room and were greeted by the open door leading into the hallway of your apartment complex broken open, the chain lock busted and scraping back and forth as it hung limply.

The line went dead and you immediately dialed 911, waiting for a familiar operator to answer as you relayed your predicament. When you heard confirmation they were on the way you rushed back into the bathroom to grab your robe.

There on the mirror was drawn a heart, like that from the note found on the victim. The condensation beaded up as it bled in various water droplets from the remaining steam from the shower. 

The months continued on, all leads turning up nil. The tracer you had used only led you to a discarded burner phone in a trash bin by soho. The murders had briefly slowed down.

The phone calls however had not.

Their length and timing varied but it was always the same voice. Slightly skewed but a man’s voice all the same. It had helped you rule out a female suspect. 

The continued goading wasn’t the main thing grating on your nerves. No it would be much simpler if that was it. The true horror was how you began to wait for the calls. 

You refused to use the term, enjoy. But they no longer caused your blood to run cold in the same way. One day to your absolute dismay after a long stressful meeting you actually felt your shoulders unclench when your phone rang.

“Long day Archer?” 

“How can you ask me that when you’re the source of my stress?”

“Am I?”

Besides the phone calls there was the disturbing hints of affection. A bouquet had appeared at your desk at work one day. No note, but you didn’t need one to know who it was from.

Then a bottle of expensive wine was left on the steps of the precinct with another card bearing only a simplistically drawn heart inside.

The bottle was immediately taken in as evidence and dusted for prints. There obviously were none. No matter what you did he was always ten steps ahead. 5D chess in the most infuriating way. 

“How was the wine?”

“If you’re so aware of my every move you’d know I didn’t drink it.”

“Shame, 1913 was supposedly a good year for that merlot.”

“I’m growing tired of our Hannibal Lecter and Clarice dynamic.”

“Who says that’s what we are?”

“WE are nothing.”

A tsk’ing crackled over the line.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Then what are we?”

You put the phone on speaker as you pulled out a container of chinese food leftovers from your fridge. Popping the lid off and shoveling it into a bowl before sliding it into the microwave.

A chuckle came from the other end. You hated how it didn’t feel gross and malicious like it should. 

You continued on, mind listing a slew of options as you watched your food rotate in the microwave.

“Phantom and Christine. Michael Myers and Laurie strode. Billy Loomis and Sidney Prescott.”

“You never did tell me your favorite scary movie.”

you sighed dramatically as the oven dinged and you removed your food, returning it to the counter, pulling your hair into a messy bun.

“You do look stunning Detective. I’m shocked someone of your caliber went into law enforcement.”

“I think it’s unfair you know what I look like and yet Ive never seen you before.”

“Nice try Archer.” You couldn’t suppress the small laugh that shook your shoulders a tad. 

“It was worth a try.”

Walking into work the next morning you were immediately greeted by another detective, John Lawson. His cheeks were ruddy and he seemed to be out of breath.

“What’s going on?”

“We have a photo of our killer.” 

You felt your stomach flip, either from excitement or nerves.

“What?” 

He took out a printed sheet of paper, it showed a dim alleyway and a victim from the other night slumped in the background. 

Sure enough there in the foreground was a man, in a black hoodie, black pants and military boots. The hood pulled up over his head and underneath the hood a stark white mask, covered in a multitude of scratches and cracks that seemed to be painted on.

He was staring straight at the camera, knife glinting in one hand, the other raised in a mock wave.

“Smug bastard.”