#admin iwa

So I finally got around to killing a new character from the lovely batch of Nationals competitors. 

“I know it hurts, Tadashi,” Morisuke murmured, gently dabbing at the freckled man’s forehead with a damp towel. “We’re done for the day, though, so you’re safe now.” Yamaguchi whimpered, and Morisuke glanced at the bandages carefully wrapped around his forearms, where Morisuke’s knife had drawn his blood just a few minutes before. “You’re coddling him,” Daishou sighed, frowning at the pair. Morisuke ignored him and set the towel aside to comb his fingers through Yamaguchi’s hair. “Maybe. But it makes me feel more…normal,” Morisuke admitted, smiling a little as Yamaguchi relaxed involuntarily. “There. That’s better, isn’t it?” Morisuke tilted his head, met Daishou’s eyes steadily. “Besides, you don’t use just punishments to keep someone in line. You have to offer a reward, too. Isn’t that what you did with the bowl cut kid?” Daishou nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough.” Daishou leaned over and kissed Morisuke’s forehead. “Speaking of Tsutomu, I should make sure Kenjirou brought him something to eat. I’ll be back.” Morisuke smiled and watched Daishou leave, then returned his attention to Yamaguchi, who was half asleep as the pain meds kicked in and his exhaustion from hours of pain took over. Morisuke’s fingers in his hair lulled him the rest of the way to sleep, and Morisuke’s smile grew as Yamaguchi’s breathing evened out. 

Tooru didn’t care what Hajime said. This was a good idea. Semi had told Tooru all the circumstantial evidence that pointed toward Shirabu’s cousin’s involvement with the disappearances in the area, and Tooru was finally going to get him the evidence he needed. “This isn’t gonna go well,” Hajime sighed. Tooru pouted at him,  but Hajime just crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. “Tooru, we don’t have a warrant. We don’t have probable cause. We’re trespassing. We shouldn’t be here.”“He’s right. You shouldn’t be here,” a soft voice murmured. Tooru whirled, blinking at the path leading up to the porch he and Hajime were standing on. The porch of the house in the middle of absolute nowhere that belonged to Daishou Suguru. The person who’d spoken was easily recognizable; he’d gone missing from Tooru and Hajime’s precinct weeks ago. “I don’t believe it,” Hajime whispered. “That’s…”“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” Tooru finished. “Guess we found our probable cause.” “You found nothing.” Tooru glanced over his shoulder, where a second man stood. “Tadashi is my boyfriend. We’re having a nice little vacation together, and he’s hiding from an abusive ex. Please leave.” “Who are you?” Tooru demanded. He didn’t look like anyone Semi had mentioned to him or shown him probably-illegal surveillance of. This man had nothing to do with Daishou, as far as Semi knew. “I’m Sakishima Isumi. Tadashi, come here.” The man with the freckles hurried past Tooru and Hajime, flinching when Hajime frowned at him. Sakishima’s arm curled around Tadashi’s waist protectively - possessively - the instant he was close enough. “Now leave before I call the police.” “You’ll call no one.” From around the corner of the house came a pair of unknown men, nearly the same height, but one was slender and well-groomed, while the other was more muscular and appeared to have blood splattered across his face. “Isumi, you know who they are. You know who sent them,” the slender one snapped. “I was trying to avoid -”“You’re weak,” the newcomer spat. “Kentarou, take the short one.” “I’ll report you to-”“Oh, shut up, Isumi. Neither of them is going to talk, as long as you and Freckles there do your jobs right afterwards.” Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a good plan.

“Who’s this?” Tadashi froze at the sound of a new voice. The last time someone new had been walking freely around the holding facility, it had been Shirabu, and he’d ended up killing the one person Tadashi knew what to expect from. Tadashi had spent the time since Sakishima’s death trying his best not to attract any attention from the rest of Daishou’s pack. “This is Tadashi. He belonged to a former member, but he’s kind of shared now. He helps care for the captives before they’re finished off,” Daishou explained. Hearing the pack leader’s voice, Tadashi immediately dropped to his knees, whether he wanted to or not, because Daishou filled him with so much terror that his legs refused to hold him up. “He’s cute,” the newcomer observed. Daishou growled, and Tadashi tried not to faint with fear. Angry Daishou was not a predictable Daishou, and that made him even scarier than usual. Someone touched Tadashi’s hair, fingers combing through the strands almost gently. “He’s so scared. Suguru, can I have him?” There was a pause, and Tadashi was swamped with terror. “Come on. You have that kid in that room back there - which we are going to have a long talk about, by the way. You’re mine, too, Suguru, remember? - so I want this one.” “I don’t like to share,” Daishou growled. “Neither do I. Like I said, we’re going to talk about that kid back there,” the newcomer countered. There was a moment, and then his voice softened. “Come on, Suguru. I’m not going to fuck him. I just need something to focus on in all this that’s not…well, all this. Let me protect him. Please?” “Fine. But first, you have to agree to use him for his…intended purpose,” Daishou said. “You wanted to learn about hurting people without killing them. He’s going to be your practice target. If he survives, he’s all yours.”

Eita stared at his computer screen in horror. There, in the video he’d been sent by Yamagata, was Shirabu, shouting at a bruised, bloody Kawanishi that he wasn’t acting right, he wasn’t himself anymore, he was supposed to do what Shirabu said but not lose his personality. And then Shirabu had Kawanishi by the throat, shaking him and shouting until Kawanishi was limp and lifeless in his hold. Eita was about to turn it off, to turn away, but the image shifted, to show Goshiki bound and blindfolded, with Shirabu sitting in front of him, feeding him. There was no audio on any of the videos, but it was clear: Shirabu had been involved in Goshiki’s disappearance, too. Eita choked back a sob. He couldn’t just grieve. He couldn’t just blame Daishou for everything that had happened, from Semi’s own torture to Shirabu’s and Kawanishi’s deaths, to all the disappearances. Shirabu had been responsible for at least some of them, too. Shirabu, who Eita had comforted after Kawanishi’s body turned up. Shirabu, who he’d felt guilty about arguing with about Miya right before Shirabu vanished. Shirabu, who Eita had searched for with everyone else. Shirabu was a killer. No. No, Shirabu wouldn’t be remembered this way. It would destroy the last of the hope the precinct had. Semi closed the video, filed the email away. Eita would bear this, hold onto this secret, and let the others remember Shirabu the way they wanted to: as a victim of Daishou’s games, instead of a willing participant. Except that when he walked into the station two days later, he took one look at the devastation on his coworkers’ faces, and he knew that they’d seen it too. 

Keiji followed Miya through the maze-like house in the middle of nowhere, confusion swirling in his mind but not showing on his face. “Here we are,” Miya announced, stopping in front of a door at the end of a short hallway. He knocked, and the door opened a moment later. Keiji gaped; there was his cousin Kyoomi, standing there in his usual casual outfit of jeans, a sweater, and his cloth face mask. “Atsumu, you’re back,” Kyoomi greeted Miya warmly, tugging down his mask and leaning down to kiss Miya, who hummed happily as he returned the kiss. “What…?” Keiji wanted to demand answers. If Kyoomi was okay, then why had he and Komori vanished? Why wouldn’t he answer his phone? What the hell was going on?“Keiji? What are you doing here?” Kyoomi asked, spotting his cousin and furrowing his brow in confusion. “That’s what I want to know!” Keiji replied sharply. “You and Komori just vanished! We’ve been looking for you for…shit, you’ve been gone for months, Kyoomi. What happened?” Kyoomi’s expression cleared, and his lips curled into a smile. “Atsumu brought us here to live with him,” Kyoomi explained. “Do you want to come in and talk? Motoya’s ankle is bothering him, so if you want to see him you’ll have to come to the living room.”“It’s bothering him again?” Miya grimaced. “I was just about to get him the heating pad and rub his foot for a bit,” Kyoomi said. “I’ll do that, while you and your cousin catch up. I’ll walk him out when you two are done, okay?” Miya added pointedly. Keiji didn’t like the significant glance Miya gave Kyoomi, but he couldn’t exactly figure out why it bothered him. After all, Kyoomi and Komori were both alive and well, and they seemed to be content. Keiji tried to tell himself that everything was fine, Kyoomi would have a reasonable explanation for all of this, but Keiji couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong here. 

Kenji wasn’t exactly a stranger to being tied up, gagged, and blindfolded, but not being able to remember who he brought home to have do the abovementioned things was a little disconcerting. He vaguely remembered a hot little blond with a tongue ring, but Kenji was pretty sure he’d been planning to tie up the blond instead of asking the blond to tie him up. “He’s awake,” someone growled. “I saw him move.”“Doesn’t matter. We have to wait until the boss gets here. He might be our catch, our kill, but the boss still wants to have some fun and test out the new kid.” Kill?? Kenji was NOT happy about this. At all. Were they serious? Or were they just trying to follow a terrible scene script? Either way, Kenji was not looking forward to the next chunk of time. Or, possibly, the rest of his life. “The cop? Like he’ll be any good.” The cop? They had a fucking cop?!“Supposedly he did okay playing connect the dots with the freckles on Isumi’s little toy.” Kenji grew more concerned with each word the two unknown people said.“Kenjirou did very well when I tested him on Tadashi yesterday,” a third voice said calmly. The other two jumped; Kenji heard their startled curses under their breath. “If you need proof…Kenjirou, I think the knife Kentarou’s clinging to so tightly would be a good one to start with.” There were footsteps, and then a pauses, then more footsteps. Then agony split the side of Kenji’s neck, a cut shallow enough that it was nowhere near life threatening, but long enough to hurt like hell. Kenji thrashed and cried out, his particular choice of words muffled by the gag. “What did this guy do, anyway? Daishou said you two have a type,” asked a fourth voice, much closer than the others. The tone was conversational, and the words were punctuated by another line of pain, this one along Kenji’s collarbone, the blade digging in hard enough to scrape bone, making him thrash and scream. “We do. We choose people who try to take Kentarou’s little brother home with them.”Kenji had known that little tongue ring would be trouble. He’d just thought the guy would be the nice kind of trouble. Not the serial killer kind. 

“Tsutomu, shut up or I’ll really give you something to cry about,” Suguru threatened. Goshiki had been sobbing since Yamagata’s death, all through Daishou dragging Goshiki out of the apartment and back to their rented car. Goshiki stopped for a while when he fell asleep - exhausted by so many ridiculous tears, probably - but when they were in the airport, Goshiki had started sniffling again. The pattern had repeated all the way home. Suguru was sick of it. “Suguru,” Morisuke chided, disapproval clear. “You know he still has a hard time letting go of his old friends.”“Well, he shouldn’t,” Suguru growled. “Tsutomu, go to your room. I’ll be there in a minute, and you better be ready when I get there.” Goshiki whimpered between sobs and fled. “Don’t kill him, Suguru,” Morisuke warned. “Too many people have seen us with him here, and I don’t want to move again just because you couldn’t control yourself.”“I’m not going to kill him,” Suguru assured him, wrapping an arm around Morisuke’s waist and bringing him closer so Suguru could lean down and kiss him. Morisuke kissed him back for a moment, then gently pushed at his chest. Suguru straightened. “Missed you.”“I missed you, too. Now go, punish him if you have to, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t incapacitate him for more than a day or two. I’ve missed him, too,” Morisuke added, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. Suguru grinned and kissed him again quickly before following Goshiki. When Suguru stepped into the room, Goshiki was right where he should be, kneeling with his head down, his hands behind his back, his clothes folded neatly on the bed on the other side of the room. Suguru almost praised him, but then he noticed that the tears on Goshiki’s cheeks were still wet, and his shoulders were still shaking. “I told you to stop crying,” Suguru growled. Goshiki trembled, his lips forming an apology he couldn’t give volume to because another sob caught in his throat. “Freckles!” Suguru shouted. There was a faint call of acknowledgement, and the sound of footsteps approaching the room. “Get my detail knife and heat it up for me.” Goshiki’s posture broke at the soft acknowledgement, followed by retreating footsteps. “Please, Suguru, I’m sorry!” Goshiki pleaded, lifting his head and moving forward, terror in his eyes and voice. Suguru sneered down at him. “You’ll take a beating, you’ll take a knife or a shock and accept it as your punishment, but you still don’t like fire or a hot blade, do you?” Suguru shook his head. “Get back in place. You’re lucky you stayed on your knees, or I’d lock you in the attic for a few days first.” Goshiki flinched and shuffled back, bowing his head again as he waited, renewed sobs making his whole body shake. Suguru watched him in silent disgust as he waited for his knife to be brought to him. When it was, Morisuke’s little assistant offered it to him without looking him in the eye, much to Suguru’s amusement. Apparently Goshiki wasn’t the only one who was terrified of fire. Suguru twirled the knife in his hand, feeling the heat from the blade despite the cool, damp wrapping around the hilt to protect his hand. “Spread your legs, Tsutomu. And hold still, or I’ll chain you down.” Goshiki obeyed with a wail, obviously fighting the urge to try to run. Suguru refused to praise him for it, because while earned, the praise might have relaxed Goshiki, and Suguru didn’t want that yet. If Goshiki relaxed and then jerked at the touch of the blade, it would mess up what Suguru had in mind. “If you move, you’ll ruin it, and I’ll have to break my promise to Morisuke,” Suguru warned. Goshiki didn’t know what promise Suguru had made to his lover, but Goshiki did know that Suguru hated breaking promises to Morisuke, and Goshiki should do everything he could do prevent that from happening. So Goshiki held as still as he could as Suguru settled in front of him and pushed Goshiki’s thighs a little farther apart. Suguru’s free hand gripped Goshiki by the top of his left thigh, limiting that leg’s movement, and twirled the knife in his other hand one more time before bringing it down to Goshiki’s skin. Goshiki screamed, his torso jolting involuntarily, as the blade split his skin and instantly cauterized the wound. He wanted to thrash, but long experience and the threat of worse pain combined with Suguru’s merciless grip on his thigh held him still. Then Suguru moved the knife. Goshiki didn’t know what Suguru was carving into the tender flesh of his inner thigh, and he couldn’t spare a thought to care that one of the few places on his body that wasn’t laced with scars was now going to be marked just as thoroughly as the rest of him. Suguru smiled to himself as he worked, leaving his mark in Goshiki’s skin for what felt like the thousandth time. He kept going, even when Goshiki actually passed out after the third burning cut and slumped forward so his upper body was leaning against Suguru’s, partially limiting his range of motion. Suguru just shifted his free hand from Goshiki’s thigh to his shoulder, holding him upright and out of the way as he finished. Suguru finally set his knife aside and shifted back to admire his work. “I was worried you killed him after all,” Morisuke murmured, sinking to the floor beside Suguru to study the wound trailing up Goshiki’s inner thigh, a stylized snake that would scar even though they were going to bandage it properly, it’s head almost reaching the point where Goshiki’s thigh joined his body, and it’s tail stretching to just above his knee. “I promised you I wouldn’t,” Suguru reminded him, turning his head to kiss Morisuke’s cheek. “I keep my promises to you, if no one else.” “Good. Then promise me you’ll take me up to our room and apologize properly for running off at the last minute back to Japan just to torment those cops one last time,” Morisuke replied, challenge in his eyes as he tilted his head up to study Suguru. “Tadashi can tend to Tsutomu.” Suguru nodded thoughtfully, then picked up his knife and stood, offering his free hand to Morisuke, who took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. “In that case, let me just put this away, and I promise you I’ll do whatever you want,” Suguru assured him. He turned to go, but Morisuke kept his grip on Suguru’s hand and tugged him back. Suguru raised one eyebrow questioningly. “One more thing,” Morisuke murmured. “Next time, I want some nice claw marks carved into his other thigh.” Suguru glanced back at Goshiki, who was slumped on the floor in a heap, whimpering every time his legs shifted and brushed his uninjured thigh against his now-marked one. “I promise,” Suguru replied.