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flokali · 4 months ago

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♤ Mystery | Akechi Goro

Warnings: Yandere Akechi, stalking, harassment, manipulation, gaslighting, breaking and entering, belittling of MC, delusions of grandeur from Akechi, etc. Ask to tag!

Includes: GN! Reader, college aged Akechi and MC, hints at the data-mined ending for P5R so technically not canon complacent, MC is paranoid and is gaslighted like crazy <3

A/N: Commissioned by a lovely anon for "Fics for Gaza"! Thank you for being so patient with me (TT); link to the og post and their blog @ficsforgaza in case you want to check it out! Mister Goro “Mansplain, Manipulate, Manslaughter” Akechi strikes again…

After years of working as a detective, Akechi knew how to avoid being caught.

– “Dear detective,” the letters he’d pen always began the same way.

With a pristine pair of gloves and a printed-out note, no trace of his handwriting or fingerprints would be detected no matter how hard you tried to find them. He made sure to use common stationery, the type that could be found in any store purely to make it harder for you to trace back to him. He hopes you appreciate the effort he’s put into this little game he was playing with you.

The clues he did give you, which he did because there was no fun to be had if you weren’t at least suspicious that he was the anonymous sender, were calculated as if to taunt you just enough to confirm his identity to you but vague enough that you couldn’t reasonably go to anyone else to accuse him without losing respectability and keeping your reputation of a sensible investigator.

– “[…] but, if you want me to give you a clue you can just ask. I’d much rather you be on the right track, I’d truly be offended if you confused me with some idiot on the street.”

It was a balancing act that would have been tiring to most, but to him, it was nothing short of intoxicating. After a lifetime of being forced to put on an act, it felt nice to have an outlet where he could let out all his pent-up emotions, especially when it came to you.

He knew you well enough, the last few years of his time as a celebrity had been spent working exclusively alongside you. It was hard for him to find someone suitable enough to share the spotlight with. He enjoyed your presence enough that he didn’t want to go through the process of checking if there was anyone better, though he sincerely doubted that was true; he knew you better than you knew yourself and he had long since decided you were staying by his side as his assistant. That’s how he knew that he was driving you crazy and that, soon enough, you’d reach your breaking point; he was looking forward to it.

– “Have you considered quitting? It looks like you’re not doing too well these days, maybe the stress is catching up to you.”

What he was doing was undoubtedly cruel, but Akechi thought he was more than justified in his actions; you would probably hold it against him at first but, in the long run, you’d realize he was right. He was certain his therapist would scold him and tell him he was undoing all of his work, but the man knew you better than anyone; he was doing you a favor by helping you resign.

You were not made for this line of work; if he couldn’t handle it, why should you?

You two had been working together for years before he quit the limelight, he was annoyed to no end to have to stand next to you, there was no doubt in his mind he was better than you, and he was right, but soon enough he grew to tolerate your presence and even enjoy it.

You were honest and barely held your tongue when it came to him, from the beginning you had stood out as someone who truly enjoyed their position. He can’t understate how deeply he resented you at first, he found your attitude annoying and pretentious but soon learned that you genuinely did mean it when you said you were doing this for yourself – he hated that, and for a while, his feeling only doubled down onto the negatives but soon enough he grew to appreciate your honesty and a friendship began to blossom. You grew to become one of the only people Akechi thought highly of, even if he didn’t truly enjoy his work as a celebrity being by your side made it tolerable. It was something he realized after working with his doctor; he cared for you, even if he’d denied it at first, you were someone he treasured deeply and he didn’t want to see you get hurt the way he had been. Why couldn’t you see that?

– “I don’t enjoy seeing you so miserable, detective, your fans probably don’t like it much either…”

You were talented, no doubt about it, but you had always been second best to himself, and that’s how it would forever be. Everything you did was compared and eventually overshadowed by his accomplishments, you could solve a case in a day and he’d come and do it in half. Everything you could do, he could do better; way better, in fact, so much better people often forgot you’d done it first or at all.

You weren’t bad or stupid, far from it, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be on stage with just anybody, but if he was Sherlock, solving the big cases and taking the spotlight, you were Watson, destined to sit back and assist him - only ever getting the spotlight when he wasn’t around (though that has proven to not always be the case as even now it is as if you lived in his shadow).

– “I truly don’t get why you insist on being a detective when you’re so mediocre at it, seriously, when was the last time you solved a case by yourself? You’re wasting everyone’s time.”

It was that very nature of your relationship that had led him to believe that, when he eventually left the role of detective for something that he would actually enjoy, you would follow him. After all, all of your teenage years had been spent together, working in tandem, why would he expect you to turn your back on him and the life you two had known for superficial stardom? You always spoke of helping others and he had found a way to do it in a truly significant way that allowed you two to be free and live honestly, away from the media.

Akechi’s time working on the Phantom Thieves’ case had given him new insight into the life he had led up until that point, as much as he wished he didn’t have to credit them with much - the months after they had disbanded had left him rethinking his choices. To you, and by proxy anyone outside of himself, his therapist, and Ren, his decision would have seemed sudden and maybe even brash; but he thought that, once you heard him out, you would join him.

Sure, the relationship between you two was friendly, years of knowing each other and working together had left you two with a great friendship, but it was nowhere near close enough to make you pack up and leave everything you had worked for behind because he had a sudden realization. At least, you would think that’d be clear to him but alas it wasn’t. He had constructed an image of you, but for all of his smarts, it was too incomplete to truly understand you.

– “When will you go to the authorities about me? […] Is it a lack of clues? If you leave it to the professionals I am certain they’ll do a better job trying to track me; even I’m getting tired of this.”

He had been blindsided by his ego and forgotten that you were just as complex as he was, that simply because he had realized this life was not for him it didn’t mean it wasn’t for you. Akechi's understanding of your relationship was tested when you finally broke the news that you and he were fundamentally different people with equally different goals.

He had invited you over for lunch when he’d broken the news, the brunette made sure you were one of the first to know so you could come out together and announce your retirement at the same time. He had been so sure you would agree with him it was almost offensive how predictable he thought you were.

It was a high-end restaurant, you two had come here before during your breaks from work, but it had still shocked you to receive the invitation since it had been some time since you two hung out as friends and not coworkers. The last few months had been filled with work and much self-reflection on his part and soon enough you two had graduated from high school without actually talking to each other outside of work hours or the occasional friendly text. For a long time, Akechi had made it clear you weren’t friends and it took you years of knowing each other for him to finally acknowledge how close you two had gotten, but even then you were the one initiating most hangouts; maybe his odd behavior should have been your first clue something was up.

He had sat you down and let you order, making sure to get you comfortable before unloading the news onto you. He was aware you would be surprised at first, but he was certain of today’s outcome.

“I think it’s time I quit,” he had said after the waiter had brought over your drinks, he took a long sip of his water before continuing, “This is a waste of time and I see no reason to continue, after… everything that’s happened, I realized I’m sick of this.”

At the time, you were unsure how he wanted you to react; you weren’t angry, a bit surprised and confused, yes, maybe even sad, but you were in no way about to praise his choice and follow in his footsteps.

“I am surprised,” you managed to say, dabbing at your lips with a napkin, the news had shocked you enough you had choked on your drink but you were quick to reassure him before he could make any snide remarks, “But, if it’s what you want to do, then I’m happy for you…”

An awkward silence followed your words as if he were waiting for you to say something else. He was not expecting you to agree immediately, you needed to hear him out but he didn’t want to look too desperate.

“Um,” you look away, his burgundy eyes were a little too intense, “what made you realize you wanted to quit?”

“There is nothing at the end of this road,” he answered as if he had been expecting you to ask, it felt practiced, “it’s all the same and can we truly say we’re doing something important? All we do is run around, solve people’s problems, and get congratulated, but are we really solving their problems? We temporarily give them peace of mind but it’s always a trivial issue that would have been solved with or without us. I don’t want to continue wasting my time doing what others want or need me to do for them, I’m tired of being used… I want to do something only I can.”

“I didn’t think you saw it like that,” you muttered, you seemed deep in thought at his words, “it’s a new perspective, even for you.”

“I guess so,” Akechi agrees with you, “but I stand by it, I can’t lie to myself and say that what we’re doing is real work or that I enjoy it.”

“I can’t say I necessarily agree,” you conclude, you take a sip of your drink and go on to continue your thoughts, “even if what we’re doing isn’t solving their whole lives, it’s something. At the end of the day, if you can lighten their load and inspire them to keep going and working hard, even if it’s over small things that won’t matter in the grand scheme, isn’t that better than nothing? If they find strength in seeing celebrities succeed, then that’s better than being hopeless.”

“So you’d rather do the bare minimum, hoping you inspire someone rather than being an active participant in change?”

“You make it sound like I’m stupid, Akechi,” you eye him wearily, “sure, I’m not going out there and solving wars, but if my work can inspire people to keep going, letting them know there’s always a n answer, isn’t that encouraging them to work towards the future? If I can inspire someone to help another, that’s enough for me – change doesn’t have to come from direct actions, sometimes it’s a chain reaction.”

“And you think you can set it off?” He scoffs, he’s aware he sounds rude but you’re preaching nonsense as far as he can tell and he’s never been fond of unrealistic optimism.

“Are you implying I can’t?”

“I just don’t think you have what it takes, I don’t think anyone has what it takes, to hope someone sees you and is inspired into action is too reckless – you may as well print a poster and call it a day,” he glares at you, seemingly annoyed at your naïveté, “if you want to make a real change, you can’t be tied down to fantasies.”

“So what am I supposed to do, quit?” You ask flabbergasted and feeling insulted, you’re well aware that your work isn’t the pinnacle of hard labor but you’ve given your all to get to a place where you can at least show people that there’s a future where justice can exist.

“I think so,” you are shocked, “I think you’d do much better elsewhere rather than wasting your time, become a real detective or even a damn lawyer; we can’t play pretend forever.”

To you, the rest of the conversation was a blur; you only remember leaving early and feeling as if he’d spent the last hour discrediting everything you had done while trying to convince you to quit and do God knows what he’d try to rope you into.

The only thing you can say with confidence that he said to you had left you feeling small and disappointed, as if he had confirmed your biggest fear; that you would always be second best:

“If I couldn’t do it, what makes you think you can?”

He genuinely did mean it too, you could tell from the way he seemed honestly surprised you thought you could outlive his career. You think he tried to assure you he didn’t think you were stupid, something about how he’d poured all of himself into the role and couldn’t accomplish his goal and how he was hoping you’d realize that it was impossible before you were burnt out too, but all you can remember is the way he looked at you as if you were a stupid child having your ABC’s explained to them.

Akechi realizes now, months later and after a lot of self-reflection, that his approach was inadequate and that, in the long term, it had done more damage than good. Alas, time cannot be turned back; if he wasn’t able to talk you out of it, then he’d have to show you that you were wasting your time.

Between you two, he had always been the better one; so why would you be the one it works out for? If he couldn’t do it, then you certainly can’t either.

That’s why his first note was an apology, his first clue to you.

– “I am simply an admirer of your work, even if there are many flaws in it…”

The idea of anonymous letters had come to him when reminiscing back on his time following Amemiya and his gang, the warning notes they’d give out to their targets that would taunt them and leave them skittish, wondering if it was a joke or not and worrying about the absurd possibility there was merit to their threats. In his case, he needed to play things out differently; he didn’t want to make you suffer, he truly wanted to make you see the situation the way he did – the correct way if you will.

And so, for the last year, you have been receiving his notes.

You had told no one about them, too embarrassed to admit you were being affected by them and too proud to ask for help. After all, what would you say? People would probably tell you to figure it out yourself,

you were supposed to be a detective after all; how come you couldn’t find the identity of your stalker?

– “[…] Do you actually think you’ve caught me? You just fired a makeup artist for no reason, if you keep acting irrationally you’ll get a reputation; I suggest thinking more about who you accuse next time. People will get suspicious if you start acting so… erratically.”

Though you’re almost certain you do know who it is, it’s been near impossible to find any tangible proof that you could take to the authorities. You were struggling and Akechi knew. It was only a matter of time before you were forced to come to terms that you simply didn’t have what it took to succeed, Akechi tried telling you in a nicer way but you just didn’t listen. If you can’t even catch him, a man you’ve known for years, what makes you think you’ll catch a real criminal? You had known him for years and hadn’t caught onto his most dangerous actions, a bunch of letters wasn’t going to be any easier for you.

It’s surprising to both of you how long you put off calling him. You were almost completely sure he was the one behind the letters, he’d been so nice – as he would say, even if you don’t agree – to leave clues, but stalling the inevitable was more of an ego thing on your part. From mentioning things you had told him in private, recalling moments that should have been between the two of you alone, it almost feels like he had documented everything; and yet he didn’t leave DNA or even a single fingerprint, everything he used was so carefully picked out you had no way of tracing it back to him.

You didn’t know what he’d say, maybe he’d laugh at you and scold you for taking almost a year to realize or maybe he’d try to deny it and make you feel stupid for even suspecting him. Akechi always had a way with words, especially the closer you two got, that made you feel smaller in comparison to him. But at this point you didn’t care, he’d been taunting you for months and you were at your limit.

– “You haven’t been sleeping well, I see you frequenting that cafe more often; it’s not healthy.”

You would find his handiwork everywhere you went; outside of your house, near spots you’d often frequent, and sometimes you’d find them in places you had been to only hours before as if he were watching you and waiting to strike.

They were always so long too, Akechi had no qualms in explaining in great detail every single misstep you’d made, for their almost daily frequency you had to admit he was dedicated to an over six hundred word count. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so creepy.

To be honest, you probably would have lived through it for a while longer if he hadn’t crossed the line even further; you’d found one of his notes inside your house.

As of the last few weeks you had been going above and beyond trying to catch him, he had been right; your work had been suffering greatly due to the stress of finding his stupid notes all around you. You had seen the headlines, wondering what had happened – some discrediting your life’s work, others lamenting your decline in quality, others simply attributing your achievements to him of all people. He was proving his point and it annoyed you to no end.

You barely got any sleep as you desperately combed over the letters, everything that pointed to him was circumstantial and would not serve to prove anything to anyone, much less the authorities. You both knew that it was only a matter of time before it became too much.

You had to take a break, eventually going into hiding and hyper-focusing on trying to find any concrete evidence. At this point, those letters were all you thought about from the moment you woke up to the moment you fell asleep. And he still had the audacity to taunt you, leaving his handiwork outside your doorstep every day to remind you of why you were isolated at home at all times.

– “Does this not feel a little pathetic, detective?”

You had been toying around with the idea of confronting him, giving in and forgoing your pride and just begging him to stop. You hadn’t seen him in a year and after your last conversation you had no real intention of trying to mend any bridges but you needed to know if it was him as you so desperately believed or if you really were going crazy.

For a moment you thought you were dreaming when you woke up to one of his scarlet envelopes sitting on top of your nightstand; you immediately recognized it. You almost don’t believe it even as you peel the seal away and unravel the note, but it’s one of them – it couldn’t be from anybody else. No one knew of them other than you and the sender.

You basically jump out of your bed and scramble to get your phone, too emotional to even spare it a once over, your hands are shaking with frustration - you feel flustered and annoyed, and you swear to whatever is listening to you that if the brunette didn’t answer your call you would drive over and make the most embarrassing scene you could muster. Akechi was currently attending university and you were more than willing to go to his campus or even his place, in public surrounded by strangers or not, and demand he give you answers. If it wasn’t him, then you had no idea who it could be and you didn’t know what scared you more.

The way he wrote, the way he teased you, the way he seemed to always be a step ahead of you, it all screamed Akechi. His condescending tone from that dinner echoed in his words even if only written; why did you get to live out your childhood dream if he could not? What had you done that he hadn’t? What did you have that he didn’t that make you better than him? He didn’t want to be a celebrity detective, but he was better at it, so why would you - someone worse than him - get to continue?

From every possible angle, Akechi Goro was better than you, and yet, for some reason, you were the one advancing in their career, you were the one the public began to favor over himself; seeing you live the life he had given up better than he had pissed him off. He thought you were friends, maybe even closer than that, you were partners – the only other person in the world who knew the isolation and expectations that came with stardom — and yet you abandoned him for the very thing he despised.

He’s still pleasantly surprised to see your caller ID flashing on his phone, though Akechi knew you to be stubborn and a part of him was hoping you’d be able to withstand his teasing a little more – especially now that he knew how to sneak into your home –, he had been expecting a call from you. He almost felt bad when he picked up and heard your clearly panicked voice.

Almost; this whole ordeal was too fun for him to feel too badly about his actions.

“Akechi,” you try not to show how disturbed you are in case your hunch was right, “we need to talk, now.”

“Hello to you too,” he ignores the sense of urgency in your words, “aren’t you going to ask me how I’ve been? It’s been a while since we last talked.”

“And you know why that is,” you scoff, “I didn’t need you to continue telling me I suck at my job and that I should quit because you were illuminated by the heavens.”

“It was one conversation,” you can’t see it from over the phone but his reddish eyes seem to gleam in delight, he lets out an airy laugh, “and you cut me off before we could see eye to eye, you make me sound like some sort of evil lunatic.”

“Yeah right,” you roll your eyes, unconsciously clutching at the red envelope in your hands - his degrading demeanor only serves to further antagonize him in your eyes, “let’s cut to the chase, what have you been doing lately.”

“And what is it to you?” He laughs, sitting down on his couch as he answers your question, “If you need to know, I’ve been taking a break.”

“Got a lot of free time on your hands now?” But was it enough that he could be pulling this off? Even without work, he’d been studious and hard working, his schedule always packed; would it be possible that a workaholic like him could honestly take a break?

“Not really,” of course not – your heart feels like it had stopped, maybe you’d been wrong –, “I’ve been in therapy and working on getting into some real work, between that and keeping up with new hobbies there’s not much spare time.”

“Hobbies?”

“Yes, like writing,” you wouldn’t have pinned him as a writer, “I thought I could do something with all that mystery experience and write a novel, might as well put that work to use.”

“I guess so…” There’s an awkward silence; he’d been incredibly nonchalant during the conversation, answering all of your questions with ease.

Maybe you had been wrong about him, but if it’s not him then who

“And what have you been up to? I saw you were taking a break.”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” you didn’t think he’d keep up with your public appearances, “I have been dealing with some personal stuff…”

You both don’t speak after that for a few painfully awkward seconds.

“So you’ve been in therapy?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… good.” Akechi has to muffle a chuckle at your inadequate response.

“No offense, I do enjoy conversing with you but I doubt this is what you meant when you said we needed to talk,” the young man halts your train of thought, “so, why did you call me?”

“Because,” you think about your words, you need to at least ask him about it, you don’t want to sound crazy but there is no way you can breach the topic without sounding slightly off, “you… it’s you, isn't it?”

“Me? You’re not making much sense, I am what?”

“You’re the one sending me these… letters,” you look at the one in your hand, “it’s got ‘Akechi’ written all over… You know all these personal details and how to get under my skin and who else would be able to sneak in undetected into my room and keep this up for so long? You –”

“Someone snuck into your house?” He feigns surprise, cutting you off mid-rant; he can tell it took you off guard.

“Y-yes,” you mumble, unsure if he was trying to fool you; you had no evidence other than a gut feeling and knowing the guy for years, “and it… it has to be you, there’s no way it isn’t… You’re the only person who could pull this –”

“These are quite serious allegations you’re posing now,” his voice slowly loses its playful tone, “breaking and entering, sending letters too… Do you even have any evidence?”

“Maybe I do…” You stutter out.

“A good detective shouldn’t lie,” he smirks over the phone, your fingers are trembling as he continues talking, “You can’t just call me out of the blue and accuse me of such things, we haven’t talked to each other in months and this is the first thing you say to me?”

“The letters mention things only you would know and it’s all so well done,” why can’t you be more coherent – you want to tell him to shut up so you can finish your train of thought; because if it’s not him then who else, “and you’ve been trying to convince me –”

“I haven’t even talked to you in months, how am I trying to convince you of anything?”

“During that lunch, you said –”

“Come on, it was one conversation and I admit I crossed the line,” he doesn’t let you finish talking before rebutting every single thing you said and it’s starting to rile you up, “but that’s not proof.”

There’s an awkward silence that follows, he can tell you’re getting worked up. You’re panicking, you had spent the last few weeks trying to find any possible clue about Akeshi’s involvement in this mess and yet you had come up with nothing of substance.

“This has really been messing you up, hasn’t it?” His voice is deceptively soft as if he cared about the torment you’d been facing.

“I…” You’re unsure of what to say; you had so many things thought of what to say to him, but it had all been under the pretense that he was the one responsible for what was going on but you had nothing on him other than a hunch and bitter feelings from your last conversation.

“I have been keeping up with your work,” he takes your silence as an invitation to continue talking, “You’re not doing too hot, huh? Is it because of this?”

“...” He can hear you shuffling.

“If you’re struggling, we can meet up,” he suggests, “I could help you, you know?”

“To quit?” You laugh but there is no humor in it; maybe he had been right, you dully think, after he’d left you’d naturally garnered the support he had once had but it had felt undeserved, your work had been stagnating due to the letters and general feelings of inadequacy as you were made to replace the role Akechi once had.

“To help you with the letters,” he sounds legitimately annoyed and you flinch internally, “Clearly you can’t do it yourself, how long has it been going on for?”

“A couple of months…” You trail off, you feel like a child being scolded by their mother; left to desperately scramble for any excuse for your poor behavior.

“Months, are you actually being serious right now?” He doesn’t give you the time to respond, you can hear him shuffling, “And you haven’t found anything?”

“Not really,” you gulp, “which is why… I thought it could be you.”

“I’m quite hurt you’d think me capable of that,” you can’t make out what he was feeling based on his tone but his words seem to indicate he was truly shocked at your accusations; guilt begins to form in your gut, “sure, our last conversation was… rough, but I would never dare hurt you, I only want to help.”

His words further cement your feelings of guilt, maybe you’d seriously misjudged him. No, you definitely had; in your years of knowing him he’d been condescending and irritable, but he’d never hurt you. You were the one who’d been overreacting, you had stormed off on him, you had cut him off, you had accused him without evidence and even now, as he offered to help you, you couldn’t help but doubt his words.

“But you,” scrambling to find the right words you desperately try to communicate your concerns but the more you finally voice them to someone the less sure you are about them, “if it’s not you, then who? You… you’re the only one who I wouldn’t catch, right? Because…”

Maybe he had been right, you think, ever since he quit you’d been left trying to live up to the legacy he left behind but you had failed. You’d let yourself become overwhelmed, chasing after a dream you simply didn’t have the chops to live out, and even went as far as to accuse one of your friends of hurting you over a conversation that he seemed to have forgotten.

“I have not received a single assignment that has required me to harass my ex-colleague,” he’s probably referencing his therapy treatment, you think, “I have come far enough to realize I have been childish in my past, which is why I would never do something like sending you cleary distressing notes.”

He continues.

“I am genuinely concerned for you,” he sighs, “which is why I am offering to help you.”

“I…” You’re unsure of what to say, you had been hoping he’d admit to being the man behind the letters, “I just want this to end.”

“I’ll go over, okay?” You vaguely hear him moving around, “Have everything ready, we’ll work this out and, once we’re done, we can talk about your future.”

You hum in agreement, too worn out and exhausted to argue.

“I’ll see you soon,” he’s putting on his gloves as he speaks and slowly opening the bag he’d been carrying, “goodbye.”

“Bye…”

Once the call is ended you throw your phone into the bed and collapse on top of your mattress. You close your eyes tightly, clutching at the papers in your hand. You had shoved the letter back in before reading it, you opened your eyes slowly and glanced at it. You sit up, the springs in the mattress mask the sound of a creaking door and reopen the envelope.

The letter was like all the ones before it, teasing remarks, poorly covered insults, and the spare compliment sprinkled in there. Your brain doesn’t even register what it says, too used to its content to care. You’re about to put it back in when you notice a strange discoloration on the back, you frown. Gently you move the paper against the yellow light from your bedside lamp. The letters are smaller, significantly more rushed, and harder to decipher; you fidget with it as you begin to make out what it says; at least, you try until you hear footsteps echoing through your hallway. You freeze, seemingly losing all mobility as they begin to draw closer and closer until they’re practically at your bedroom’s door.

There is someone in your house, you realize.

Gloved hands grasp at the doorknob and all you can do is watch in horror as a tuft of light brown hair comes into view.

– “I’m still inside.”

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