Synopsis: With the emergence of highly intelligent and evolved kaiju, Hoshina has his hands full after being tasked with heading a newly formed investigative unit.
Complex and twisted as these cases turn out to be, your role as the team’s assigned forensic analyst is a crucial one … along with concealing your growing infatuation with the charming Vice Captain under a polished and professional exterior.
Contents: Mystery, investigation, suspense, romance, humour, fluff, canon-typical violence, possible depictions of sex, multi-part.
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
" ... I saw you as another god
I could play with in this
maze of leaves and lovely blood,
performing hieroglyphs for you
with my teeth and agile feet
and dead hens harmless and jolly
as corpses in a detective story ..."
~ Fox/Fire Song by Margaret Atwood
Part 1 (Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7)
All his life, he’d been climbing.
He remembers the smooth rungs of the bright yellow frame in the playground, tongue experimentally searching the gap where one of his front teeth used to be as he found his way to the top.
He remembers climbing the stairs of the stage under bright lights, the squeak of his sneakers as he approached the physical education teacher, bowing before accepting the prize for athletics.
He remembers late nights, coffee’s bitter aftertaste on his tongue, ignoring the pounding behind his brows as he squinted over well-thumbed textbooks in the university library.
Higher and higher, and he’d never stopped to look back, not even when he’d come home from another late night at the office and his wife’s letter lay neatly folded on the table, conspicuous in her absence.
Had he failed, somewhere along the way? He supposed he’d never know now.
He’d always done his best to keep himself in good physical condition, but this particular climb was a strain.
Mud clung to his work boots, turning each stride heavier. His hands fared no better, slick and gritty with damp earth, grazed and sore from the number of times he’d slipped on his journey upward.
This hill must be conquered, that was certain.
He was so close, almost there. A few more feet of clumsy scrambling, a leap across a half-concealed gap between the rocks, another quick stretch of aching limbs as he clambered, hand over hand, and he was –
Here.
Where he was supposed to be.
The wind was cool on his damp, ruddy cheeks, lifting his hair from the nape of his neck in blessed relief.
He wanted to reward himself, to sit down, to take a well-earned break, but something prevented him.
There was another purpose to be fulfilled, one far more pressing.
He gazed down at the domed rooftops of the temporary barracks below, and smiled.
The long climb was finally at an end.
Hoshina Soshiro considered himself a simple man.
Linking cramped fingers across the nape of his neck, he felt the satisfying stretch of stiff shoulders, a soft sigh escaping him.
After a long, dull afternoon sifting through applications, he knew exactly what he needed. The training room had his name written all over it (not that it usually didn’t), and an hour or two spent refining his technique, maybe a little something extra in the department of footwork, and he –
“Hoshina, there you are.”
Oh, well.
The thought was nice while it lasted.
He stood and saluted as Ashiro Mina entered, closing the door softly behind her. She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
“At ease. And I’m sorry for coming by when you’re swamped with all of … this.”
She had the grace to look slightly guilty. Ashiro was an exemplary Captain, in every other way besides paperwork.
Hoshina cracked his knuckles.
“What’s on the menu, Cap?”
She hesitated and he raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, so it’s somethin’ big.”
“How do you – never mind. Look, you were there for the briefing at Ariake Base last week.”
“Yup.”
Ashiro’s fingers were tapping out a rhythm against her elbow, one he knew signified some serious thought.
“Hoshina, it’s … concerning. These reports about smaller, more intelligent kaiju. I doubt any of them pose the same threat as Number Nine, but … I’m not satisfied with our current operations.”
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, expression growing serious.
“You got a plan?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about this since the briefing. What we need to tackle this isn’t brute force. We need specialist input. A team that targets these cases and eliminates the threat, but also relays important feedback on the kaiju back to us. Investigative, combat and analytic potential, all rolled into one compact unit.”
Hoshina frowned, unable to control the stiffening of his posture.
“Cap, surely you don’t mean – “
“I want you to head this subdivision of the third.”
Trust Ashiro to lay it out with such blunt expectation. He regarded her for a moment in silence before leaning back in his chair, uttering a soft whistle.
“Now, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m Vice Captain of – “
“Hoshina, I’d never ask you to give up your position, and you know it.”
Her voice was gentle, and he felt a twinge of annoyance at the fact that he needed that reassurance. She knew exactly what she was asking of him.
He twirled his index fingers, tracing patterns in the air, a conductor of a deadly undercurrent.
“So, when I’m off, gallivanting around, sleuthing and stuff, who’s gonna be running operations over here?”
“Shinomiya.” Her answer came with no trace of hesitation. “She’ll be in line for Captaincy of her own division within a few years, and it’ll be good for her to learn the ropes. She’ll be here on temporary assignment, until your investigations have run their course.”
He didn’t even have a counter to that. If there was anyone who’d be competent enough to take up the reigns of administrative and command duties, it would be Shinomiya. She didn’t exactly have people skills, per se, but she more than made up for it in other ways.
“Ahh. Looks like I’ve already been repla – “
“Stop that.” Ashiro levelled a finger at him. “I’ll give you ten minutes to sulk.”
“That’s it? Only ten?”
“Hoshina, heading a subdivision doesn’t usually carry the kind of responsibility I’m thinking of here. Sure, you’ll still be part of the third division, and report back to me as always, but this unit will function independently. What I mean to say is that … “
Her hand came down flat on the tabletop.
“I’m essentially appointing you Captain of an investigative unit. You’re the only one I can trust with this. No matter how I look at it, you’re the one with the ability, skill and experience handling kaiju who’s a perfect fit for the job.”
He blew out a petulant breath.
“Really know how to sell it, huh?”
Ashiro smiled ruefully.
“I shouldn’t have to say it, but you know that I’ve already been through every other possibility. Why else would I choose not to have you at my side for now? You’ll always be my second in command, Hoshina, and right now, this is what I need from you.”
He cracked one eye open, arms still folded.
“Say, who’s gonna be joinin’ me in my detective era?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Please don’t call it that.”
“We’re going to what?”
Kafka was all but vibrating with excitement, while beside him, Reno did a slightly better job at containing his enthusiasm.
Ashiro shot Kafka a look and he straightened immediately.
“Yes, Captain Ashiro. Understood. Can you … give us more details of our assignment?”
She slid a folder across the desk towards them.
“Vice Captain Hoshina will tell you more about his expectations, since he’s in command. From my side, we’ve created a small, highly specialized unit for tracking down, neutralizing and gathering intel on highly evolved honju. There have been a few cases that the Metropolitan Police have indicated they can no longer handle, because of clear kaiju involvement. I took the liberty of getting hold of those files. They’re all with the Vice Captain.”
Reno frowned.
“The Metropolitan Police? Then … “
She linked her fingers beneath her chin and nodded.
“Those cases were initially flagged as homicide. Perpetrated by a human.”
Ashiro could tell how this news affected Kafka, from the faint line of worry that had appeared between his brows.
“Hold on, Captain, are you saying the police couldn’t tell the difference between a kaiju and human killing at first glance?”
“That’s exactly it. I think you can guess why I’ve chosen you for this team, Kafka. Nobody else can give insight into both the human and kaiju side of things quite like you and Hoshina can.”
Only someone looking very closely would have noticed the determination that had filtered into Reno’s posture. Ashiro knew full well that from the moment she’d assigned him to this squad, he’d appointed himself as Kafka’s unofficial handler.
Time to rectify that.
Reno had more than distinguished himself based on his own merits.
“As for you, Officer Ichikawa … “
She watched his eyes widen slightly as his attention shifted to her.
“Your handle on a Numbers weapon so early in your career has shown your clear sense of focus, dedication, your meticulous effort and level-headed decision-making skills. I’m sure you’ll be an asset to this unit as an investigative field officer.”
Kafka shot Reno a none-too-subtle look of pride and grinned.
“He sure will, Captain. It’s just going to be the three of us then?”
“Not quite. Officer Izumo is currently on another assignment, but he’ll be joining you for your first official meeting tomorrow.”
Reno’s face brightened even further at this news.
“And in addition, you’ll be provided with an analyst from the Metropolitan Police, who can also serve as an operator. For emergency assistance, if required, Okonogi can always step in.”
Having received their briefing, both officers saluted before Ashiro dismissed them.
Leaning back in her chair, she found that the sight of Kafka’s broad, dependable frame in her office had eased her worries somewhat.
There had been many occasions, over the past week, when she’d wondered if she had made the right decision. It wouldn’t be easy on her in terms of losing Hoshina, even if temporarily, but she was now more certain than ever that her placement of her strongest, most capable soldiers was the correct one.
Gaze returning to the solitary profile sheet on her table, she pursed her lips.
It seemed that the Metropolitan Police had given their own choice of analyst equally careful consideration. She could only hope that the team slid into smooth formation.
Considering some of the cases they’d been tasked with, they’d need to hit the ground running.
As you packed the detritus of a career into cardboard boxes, Igarashi sidled up to your left.
“You should just give me those. For safe keeping.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on. What, you think I’ll steal them?”
The look you gave him was answer enough.
“I spent good money on these, and they’re going nowhere other than back to my apartment.”
He poked with sullen defeat at the small figurine of Ashiro Mina.
“What if your new colleagues find out about your collection? Think they’ll fire you for being some kind of fangirl?”
Snatching the remaining figurines away from him, which included a Vice Captain Hoshina with some rather detailed work on his abs and legs, you placed them carefully in a case you’d brought along separately.
“Your jealousy is showing. Now be a good boy and get on cataloguing that evidence.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The truth was, you’d probably miss Igarashi, along with the rest of the motley team that had become regulars at the forensic unit over the years.
The opportunity you’d been handed, however, was nothing short of a dream come true.
Forensic science examined the world through the lens of a microscope, magnifying the mundane, the unseen, the details passed over by others. It was easy, over time, for the lab to turn into your universe, your unshakeable fortress of a million minute traces. Here, everything was known, and everything was safe, all according to protocol.
This laser-pointed focus was what had led your team, headed by your own initiative, to look into the Tokyo Metro Murders a year ago.
The heavy mutilation of the bodies, all belonging to maintenance crew working on the lines, had immediately led to the idea of subterranean kaiju emerging to take care of disturbances. But the analysis of the evidence and DNA collected from the worker’s clothes and bodies suggested purely human involvement, made to look like a kaiju’s work.
Your own analysis had been instrumental in altering the course of the investigation, and the suspect had eventually been apprehended.
While you were far from the most lauded forensic scientist in Tokyo, this particular case had seemingly caught someone’s attention. You’d been recommended, based on the techniques you’d pioneered, for a specialized unit, investigating cases where the involvement of more evolved kaiju was suspected.
It so happened that this unit was a subdivision of the Japanese Anti-Kaiju Defence Force, and you’d be working alongside some of the more well-known names in the force, a prospect that you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around.
All things considered, you were an adult and a professional, a respected scientist in your field.
There was no way the idea of meeting the incredible Vice Captain Hoshina, and potentially Captain Ashiro, along with two of the most promising officers who’d been plastered all over the television, would be intimidating, or cause you to break out into muffled shrieks reminiscent of a pterodactyl in breeding season.
Oh, no.
Never.
You’d just have to make sure that your extensive collection of figurines was stored away safely, just as your true feelings would be tucked neatly behind the dignified form of a woman dedicated to science.
Now was your chance to prove your worth, on a stage larger than any you’d ever found yourself on before.
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── .✦ tagline: Two cases. Ten years apart. One truth that was buried to protect the wrong men.
── .✦ pairing: kth x oc x jjk
── .✦ genre: noir, investigative, fwb, exes to lovers, smut
── .✦ wc: 5.38k
── .✦ date: 22/01/2026
── .✦ notes: cross-posted on Wattpad and ao3
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Fuel to fire - Agnes Obel.
Hadleigh seemed void that day, which was out of the ordinary because Hadleigh was such a small village that just two families of five were enough to warm up the room.
It was so small that a single bus line was enough. It had standard hours, allowing the townspeople to plan their days better.
Hadleigh was so small that it had a single wide road running through it from the nearby town to the town square by the church. Any other road was smaller, wide enough for cars to come and go at a reasonable speed.
The main road went down from the town square up to the football court on the other side of Hadleigh.
It’d be more correct to define Hadleigh as a random spot in the mountains, an area littered with houses and shops.
Hadleigh was the type of village that made everyone neighbours, despite how distant the houses were, because the distance was never big enough.
Sabine knew this.
Whenever she looked out the window, she’d face the side of a tall mountain and could see houses scattered on it like random coloured patches on a cat’s fur.
What amazed her the most was that sometimes she could look at those houses and feel like she was right there, like they were that close, but they weren’t.
Sabine knew this.
Everything in Hadleigh was seemingly close just as it was seemingly distant.
Hadleigh was a village amidst nature, and connecting with nature went beyond fingers grazing leaves or taking in the smell of spring while running in a vast field.
It was fascinating to see this reality reflected even amongst the villagers. It took Sabine some time to realise that the connection went way beyond hugs and kisses.
That day was one of the many days Sabine had spent in Hadleigh.
It wasn’t the brightest or the gloomiest. It was standing at the threshold between a grey, windy day and a blinding sunny day.
Sabine was cooped up in her seat on the bus, heading home after an unusual day in school.
During the ride, she appreciated how her mates understood her silent message, the one she left when dropping her school bag in the seat next to her.
Sabine, that day, wanted to be alone. This wish of hers was never hard to fulfil because she didn’t have a horde of friends running behind her, even on her best day.
Her legs were against her chest, her chin on her knees as she closed herself off, feeling too exposed despite her clothing.
There was something about Hadleigh that she’d grown to dislike. She was unsure at first, but now, she was certain about it.
She didn’t like how divided it was. Hadleigh had no in between despite being a village set amidst a wide bed of clean and unharmed nature.
In Hadleigh, there was good or bad, right or left, white or black, no in between. Ever.
In Hadleigh, in was never out and out was never in. In and out never existed. You had to choose unless someone else would take on the task, and at that point, you couldn’t complain about the outcome, just take it.
Sabine disliked, no, she hated, that she’d gone back on her words, her choices. She should’ve stayed out, never in.
Out meant a carefree life, like being forever stuck in the blissful beauty of childhood.
In meant you had to care. Had to because there wasn’t a choice, especially on what to care about.
In meant secrets, a waterfall of secrets. A cruel and merciless avalanche of secrets that poured down on your head, suffocating you, burying you, caging you until you accept it, metabolise it, and agree to do exactly what it implies.
In meant secrets, and secrets meant truth, and it goes without saying that truth could mean pain sometimes, many times actually.
And Pain was a stranger to rejection or acceptance. Pain didn’t discriminate, let alone listen to people’s opinions. Pain was the puppeteer; everything else was a puppet with no autonomy.
But Pain still gave people a choice, though, because people knew where Pain was and where it wasn’t.
And Sabine mentally repeated that she’d been that one dumb example of what happens when you step into Pain’s territory.
She should’ve known better.
Pain was punishment, the consequence of a single action or a series of actions. Pain came in many shapes; the punishment was never an isolated case but a wide spectrum of events.
Sabine hoped hers had come to an end.
The bus took the usual turn onto Hadleigh’s main road, the meters shrank, and within moments, it came to a halt at the stop at the town square.
It’d be wrong to say that the driver had developed the patience to wait for everyone to unboard the vehicle. It wasn’t a matter of patience but rather routine: every weekday, by three, it’d stop at Hadleigh’s stop, and all the high and middle school students would get off, spreading like split water into every nook and crevice of the village as they headed home.
Sabine, just like on any day, was one of the many drops to compose that water.
She slung her bag on her shoulder and decided to dive in, blending in with all the students, the ones she knew and the ones she could just recognise.
The pathway between the seats was slim, so the flow of students was almost static until she got off the bus and out in the open.
She knew the town square like the back of her hand. She knew where each secondary road led to, which neighbourhood or natural reserve.
The bus was parked, engine off, as the driver eventually got off to grab a coffee at the café by the elementary school.
Sabine remembered that store really well because teachers ordered coffee from there, making the waiters walk across the square with a trail of little mugs.
The elementary school faced the church, which faced the park, a place that held many memories in Sabine’s mind.
It’d been a long time since she’d last played there because it was the go-to spot right after school when she was still in elementary school.
She crossed the road and walked on the cobblestone in front of the church. For some reason, as if sensing impending doom, Sabine paid closer attention to her surroundings that day.
She took notice of the bench her older brother always sat on, waiting for the moment she’d run up to him and tell him that she was tired and wanted to go home.
That moment always came late, and sometimes, he’d have to anticipate it by a few minutes because Sabine was restless, especially around the people she liked, her friends.
She walked past the bench, the slide and the set of swings. The latter reminded her of all the afternoons she spent playing with Ophelia: she’d sit in her lap — sometimes, they’d switch — and they’d swing together, simulating a church bell with their tiny legs.
On point, the church bell rang three times while Sabine turned right, going up the few stairs to the back of the building.
As she did so, she took notice of the presence behind her. It didn't surprise her, though, because Hadleigh was only so big, and the neighbourhoods were only so many.
She also couldn’t ignore the familiar voices ringing behind her in the distance.
She proceeded, one foot in front of the other as she turned left into an arched stone pathway.
This led to another of the many secondary roads in Hadleigh. On her left was a wide expanse of green, and just as usual, she saw the same three horses munching on the grass.
They noticed her, but she pretended not to notice them that day because she’d heard the set of familiar voices ring again behind her, and stopping to play with the animals didn’t seem like the right choice.
She’d made enough bad choices lately. It was time to change and go back to the old ways, out.
Stones and leaves cracked under her weight, a sound that was usually comforting now reflected the haste in her movement, something that only increased the distress within her.
She’d already mentally attached a face to each voice she heard, but falling victim to hope, she glanced behind when she turned the corner again.
This only proved her fear.
Being out of their sight for the moment, Sabine ran down the stairs and onto the asphalt.
On a normal day, she’d leisurely go down each step, listening to the peaceful sound of the river flowing past her.
On a normal day, she’d be admiring yet again the work done on the stairs, analysing how each log of clear wood was placed to form the railing and the edges of each step.
But that day wasn’t a normal day; she could feel it in the air, on her skin, and taste it on her tongue.
The road was one of the many leading to the litter of neighbourhoods that brought Hadleigh alive.
As per habit, she walked on the left side of the tarmac, keeping away from the slightly taller wall of stones and leaves on the right.
On a normal day, she would’ve mentally replayed the first time she’d screamed her lungs out because the dog in one of the compounds running along the way decided to run up to the gate and bark.
She’d got used to that scare after so many years, but that day wasn’t a normal day, and when the dog ran up to the gate and barked, oddly, Sabine flinched.
She knew the animal wasn’t the real culprit.
The set of voices was approaching at a steady pace. She could differentiate each tone, each giggle, each snort, each chuckle. She could mentally imagine the face they’d make as they did so. But she couldn’t imagine why they were following her.
Maybe she could, and just didn’t want to believe it.
One of the voices called for her, her name falling from their lips so smoothly. Another giggle followed, tone rich in joy but with stains of mockery here and there.
The same voice asked her to stop in her tracks, but she knew where Pain lived and had no intentions of knocking on its door. Not anymore.
She could see it in front of her, a few steps away. It was like a hole through the woods, like a cave.
It used to scare her once, but now, she looked at it like it was her last hope. Without wasting a second, she ran towards it, turning left to glide through the trees.
This was another of the many secondary pathways in Hadleigh. It wasn’t anything as official as a road made of asphalt, but years of footprints had killed the grass enough for nature to open up and let men through.
This pathway was the last section of Sabine’s shortcut to home. Once out of the thick rows of trees, she’d be walking amidst a wide field a few meters away from her front gate.
But before she could reach there, despite seeing the light, something, someone, a hand, reached for her wrist.
The rustling of her clothes, the thumping of her heart, and the crackling of the branches under her feet shielded her ears from hearing them run after her as soon as she increased her pace.
The touch was soft, but the look in their eyes wasn’t. She looked at each one of them, her mouth moving on its own accord as she begged.
But Pain was like the devil: once you made a deal with it, you couldn't go back.
Sabine had been naive enough not to realise that she’d stepped into its den and uttered the words that sealed her path and marked her destiny.
Pain was good at its job, riddled with profound professionalism. Nothing could make it waver, not the shaky sound of her voice as she pleaded for her life, not the glossy look in her eyes as she searched for mercy in the pair looking at her.
This pair of eyes, though, didn’t belong to Pain. They were a lot familiar, once in shades of warmth, love, and passion.
Now, they were cold, like they’d been gouged out, leaving only deep, black holes in the face.
The only warmth came from the liquid trail running down her neck once she hit her head. She knew it’d stain her clothes and her school bag, but she was too weak to care.
All the energy she had left in her was used to look for warmth. All in vain.
Even as she was lifted off the ground, body eerily cradled in their arms, Sabine still felt cold. As they walked with her in their hold, Sabine could feel the breeze blow on her head through her hair.
It was cold. Everything was cold, everything except the liquid running down her neck.
So she reached for it, or so she believed. Her arms dangled weakly, moving passively with each step they took.
The warmth she sought came with lots of promises, as if Pain had finally decided to have mercy on her and pay her back.
Maybe it was the throbbing in her head that caused her senses to be this weak, because Pain was never merciful. It had one job, and it never slacked.
The warmth Sabine was reaching for was an illusion, one of the many consequences that dealing with Pain brought.
She felt light and heavy at the same time, body in the embrace of a strong breeze. Still cold.
It frustrated her, and she wanted to become whiny, maybe drag herself around like a child because she was desperate for some warmth.
Maybe it was the throbbing in her head that made her forget where she was.
Despite it being at the threshold between human life and nature, Hadleigh was still all about good or bad, right or left, in or out, white or black, no in between.
Hadleigh wanted you to make a choice and live with it, or let others do the job for you and live with it regardless.
Maybe it was the throbbing in her head, because it suddenly stopped, and Sabine finally found the warmth she’d been seeking.
Her body was weak. She couldn’t move.
Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see, which wouldn’t be the first time anyway.
She’d been blind all this while, and only recently came to terms with the truth.
Just like Eve in the Bible, Sabine had eaten from the forbidden tree despite all the warnings.
Now, she lived with the consequences, but while Eve was simply kicked out of the Garden of Eden, Sabine was thrown down to her end.
⋆｡°✩ ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅
Souvenir - Selena Gomez.
Ophelia’s body was on fire. It began with little sparks, but those are always enough when fuel’s around.
The liquid running down her throat seemed to cling to the flesh with claws, ripping through it with no mercy, but Ophelia didn’t care enough.
For her, pain was nothing but a fleeting feeling, like a demon in need of a vessel to exist.
Her body was her own vessel, not anyone else’s. What would happen with this vessel was hers to decide, and she always made sure to have fun in the process, as if laughing in Pain’s face.
She loved stepping on toes and touching sensitive nerves anyway.
The little sparks responsible for the fire had multiple origins, and Ophelia had a hard time determining where each one came from.
The liquid she’d just swallowed burned her throat, no doubt, but the hands running down her sides caused more damage, and that night, she’d chosen to be a bit masochistic.
Her hands were up in the air, head snapping left and right, and her hair was everywhere.
The music blasting through the speakers did not spare the ears. Just like Pain, its terms and conditions were clear and lacked flexibility.
You can’t really walk into a club and complain because the music’s loud, can you?
Even if that were possible, Ophelia wasn’t the type, considering that it was the whole point of her coming.
Her arms fell on Taehyung’s shoulders, wrapping around his neck and closing the little distance that made them two distinguished people.
They swayed and jumped with the beat, and if they weren’t screaming, they couldn’t hear each other despite the proximity. Any form of communication had to be physical, hence his touching her body.
As if bothered by the loose-fitting nature of her off-shoulder top, Taehyung’s hands stopped at her hips, fingers grazing the slip of exposed skin above her knee-length capri pants.
They hooked on the hem of her bottoms, pulling her impossibly close, and she just let him, enchanted by his moves and the music.
He leaned closer, and she took in the scent of his cologne, waiting in anticipation. “Fuck. If I didn’t have to drive tonight, I know I’d be fucking wasted.”
“Oh, you aren’t?” she giggled, hands now on his chest, nose so close to his. “I couldn’t tell.”
Experience had taught her just how nice his chuckles sounded, something breathy but not too much, a sound deep and husky in a way that she didn’t simply like or love: it surged heat all through her body, melting her nerves.
She could almost hear the smirk in it, picture the expression he’d sport on his perfectly carved face, and imagine the peculiar glow his eyes would have.
The gleam would appear right on cue as if something she’d said or done triggered it, as if she were the source of light he was looking at, which wasn’t wrong either.
Because of this, despite the music, she could tell exactly how he sounded when he chuckled at her words.
“Isn’t it a good thing?” she asked, eyes focused on his with her bottom lip between her teeth.
The sound came again — her favourite — and he didn’t break eye contact, enchanted by the glint in her blue eyes.
She giggled again, proud of her deeds. She was always his trigger.
They worked like fire and fuel: she the latter, and he the fuel, the element that could widen a blaze that could never be put out.
Around them, colleagues and friends were busy choosing between drinking, dancing or doing both.
To the eyes of other clubbers, they certainly appeared as another group of citizens who’d decided to dive into the bliss of a Saturday night, the world’s favourite day.
Music and drinks went hand in hand with nine-to-five workers seeking a break from the unforgiving pace of their work hours. But being humans, a species unable to live without music, there wasn’t any need for an excuse.
Having one, though, was simply the cherry on top, and there wasn’t a better excuse than a job promotion.
Taehyung and Ophelia’s unique dynamics had paid off in the best way possible, and as the Bellport Police Department dream team, they had gone from ground officers to detectives.
The occasion called for celebrations — the reason for the fire to seek fuel even more.
Ophelia had spent a few more minutes getting ready for the night. She’d chosen a pair of capri pants, a specific one, because her ass looked great in them. Her off-shoulder top revealed she had no bra underneath, but also skin she wanted seared with kisses.
It was late August, and naturally, the club was scorching hot for everyone. But Taehyung alone particularly felt the heat because he was standing right in front of the source, hands sliding down her back without fearing he’d burn his fingers in the process.
The goal was something more, something bigger, hotter, than the small blaze atop a match.
In fact, just touching wasn’t enough. Feeling how her back curved along his palm wasn’t satisfying enough. The rough material of her pants was too much of an obstacle, something he believed was unfairly too resistant to the heat, the fire — more resistant than he ever could be.
He wasn’t drunk, and not because he had to drive them home or because he just didn’t feel like passing out and waking up with a rock band playing in his head.
In fact, overdosing on alcohol was never really a problem, but it simply wasn’t strong enough to make him withstand Ophelia’s charm.
If the effects initially made his vision blurry, as soon as his eyes landed on the woman, time slowed, the background faded, and he focused solely on her.
What else would you focus on when you find a blaze burning in a dark forest? He wasn’t to be blamed.
She was a nymph and he a mere lost soldier, who didn’t know better — even if he did, he’d willingly block it out and let her do her magic on him.
Because of that, he followed her as she pulled him through the crowd, looking at her the same way a sailor looks at the North Pole after hours of blind sailing on open sea.
Their friends and colleagues were just another random tiny star in the night sky that she could easily outshine.
His hand was clasped in hers as she grabbed their belongings and led the way out of the club.
He meekly followed, numb even to the drastic change of temperature when they’d stepped out of the building, because where their hands met radiated him with heat that would normally make him overstimulated on a random summer day, but instead simply pulled him in as if it was a cold winter night and he, in profound need for warmth.
With this as a premise, it’s a surprise to no one that he could barely register his surroundings, not until the car came to a random stop. Not until he was in the backseat, lost amidst the scent of her perfume and the intoxicating intensity of her kisses.
The moon was their only source of light, but it was hardly a problem since they knew each other’s bodies as if the ability was intrinsic to their nature.
Her fingers ran through his hair, breathless gasps escaping her the more he kissed her neck, lingering in her most sensitive spots.
Too needy for his touch, that fuel, how exactly she’d got out of her pants escaped her, but she didn’t try to think about it. There was no mental space for it anyway.
His hands traced paths on her body like she had a map written on her skin that could lead him to where she wanted him the most.
Her nipples were hard as if his touch was deadly cold against her burning hot skin, leaving only goosebumps in its wake. But the real heat was lower, at the level of their crotches, where her hips wouldn’t stop moving.
Their lips met once again while she quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, but he barely gave her the chance, pulling on her top and leaving her just in her underwear.
She cupped his face, connecting their lips yet again, and he finished what she’d started, shirt soon discarded in the space next to them and hips already bucking up to get rid of his bottoms.
Just as he’d predicted, just as she’d wished, just like fuel to fire, they both gave into each other, diving into the ocean of their passion but still burning in the process.
Her hips moved on their own accord. An arm wrapped around her frame while his free hand groped her breast, heartbeat restless.
They moaned in each other’s mouths. Moving like a spreading wildfire, their kisses, already passionate, turned messy as if they had no time left, as if the night was steadily running to an end and the light of the day would expose truths they’d rather keep hidden.
She propped her feet on his lap, back straight, and the pace increased. His face was cradled in her hands still, lips clasped in kisses they could never grow tired of.
“Oh, God. Lia.” He just sat back, breathless and with hands now on her butt as he let her take him whole — body, soul, energy, and sense.
His moans and grunts were the only proof that his brain hadn’t completely shut off yet. His head was thrown back against the seat, eyes curious to watch her as she moved on him and study her silhouette, the way the moonlight illuminated her body from the side, but the pleasure was too strong for him to fight off.
He wasn’t weak, though. He just didn’t want to fight, never would. So he just let her take him whole like the fire she was.
“Fuck, Tae.” Her moans were close to sounding like hiccups. His name was seemingly the only word she knew as her body moved on its own accord, the sinful dance tattooed in her system.
The greater the blaze became, the harder it burned, the louder their moans became, the faster the pace got, until he was moving her body on his own, fingers digging into her hips, and her legs almost giving out under her restless pace.
He grunted, eyes rolling to the back of his head, as the pleasure drew closer to cutting his senses short. She tried moving still, but the moment he adjusted their position to thrust into her, her moans died in her throat, and she hid her face in the crook of his neck.
Now, it was her turn to let him consume her. Everything he did to her, the kisses on her neck, his lips around her nipples, his hands running along her body like they needed to feel everything, made her feel alive.
The more he did, the more the fuel poured out, the better she felt, alive.
He hissed, bottom lip caught between his teeth and hands gripping the flesh of her ass if it were the only thing reminding him that he hadn’t evaporated yet.
They kissed again, but it was brief as they approached their orgasm at a steady pace, just like fire burning flesh.
First-degree burn, just like the kisses on their skin, the hickeys on their necks and on her breasts, and her nails digging his biceps, leaving temporary marks he’d want to turn into tattoos, maybe even scars.
Second-degree burn, just like the prints his hands left on her ass cheeks when he spanked her or gripped hard, or the bite marks she left on his shoulders to stop her voice from coming out too loud.
Third-degree burn, just like the sensitive spot he was constantly hitting as though he were on a mission to scar her in the best way possible.
But nothing scars deeper than a fourth-degree burn, heat searing past the fat, past the muscle and down to the bone, the same way the pleasure made their nerves short-circuit.
He grunted, hissed, groaned, whined, hips thrusting up a few more times on their own accord, while her gasps, shallow breaths, and thinned out moans would die in her throat because her body was too busy uncontrollably shaking as the pleasure washed over her, like a shower of water on fire.
Just like a parable, after the high came the down, but Ophelia was a fire that could never be put out, and he was a leaking tank that could never run out of fuel.
It was always just a matter of time before its trail would find the blaze again.
⋆⭒˚ 𓍝｡⋆
Nightcall - Kasinsky
Speeding along the empty late-night road, the once calm wind outside screamed against their ears and faces as the windows were left open.
The car was silent. The radio softly played in the background, filling up a space Taehyung and Ophelia were too tired to occupy with small talk.
The woman rested her arm on the car door with her elbow just a bit out of the window. His position was similar, but one hand was busy keeping the steering wheel steady.
The high hadn’t worn off yet because a wildfire always leaves smoke after it’s quenched. But it also carries silence as if nothing had happened before it burned, as if the couple hadn’t given into their deepest desires in the most carnal way possible just moments ago.
There was no need to check herself in the mirror because whenever the temperature got too high with Taehyung, she’d always end up looking like a different person.
Exactly, her wavy hair was all over the place, a few strands clinging to her forehead because of the traces of sweat.
Her capri pants and off-shoulder top suddenly felt too heavy for the weather, as though she hadn’t had dinner and danced in it across the evening into the night.
Her feet weren’t slipped under the strap of her heeled sandals. The shoes were just there, keeping her soles from coming in contact with the small rug of Taehyung’s car.
She was tired, lazy, worn out, but satisfied, and her smile was the objective testimony. She didn’t even try to hide it. The silence didn’t help her case either.
“Funny.” She turned to face him. On cue, the sound of her voice had him snap his head in her direction. It wasn’t a problem anyway. It was way past two in the morning, and the road ahead was empty.
“We get promoted to detectives and decide to celebrate it by having sex in the car.”
He laughed, again a sound she liked way more than she’d ever admit. His eyes were back on the road, head shaking in disbelief.
“Do you think they’d, I don’t know, de-promote us if someone discovered it?” Just like her, he was back to being fully dressed, but he’d left out a few buttons.
“Tae, it’s demote, not de-promote, and no, I don’t think so. They love us too much at the PBD. Can’t risk losing us over—”
“Public indecency?” he chuckled.
“It’s only public indecency if we do it in public public,” she argued, leg now across the other.
“Lia, do you hear yourself?” He laughed yet again, and she insisted with her takes, laughing along with him, but their fun was shut off the moment his foot abruptly hit the brake, the car screeching and tyres drawing lines on the tarmac.
She barely had the time to scream his name and ask what was going on when her eyes landed on the girl standing in their headlights, palms flat on their car.
Her brown hair was messy, wavy strands caught in the material of her poor attire, the gloss on her lips and the sweat on her forehead.
They barely had the time to inspect anything before the girl rushed to the backseat door and jumped inside, screaming at Taehyung to drive.
Normally, Ophelia would be very suspicious of such an act; in fact, she’d heard multiple cases of people stopping to help supposed victims along the road only to turn around and find out that their car was being stolen.
But she couldn’t help but wonder why a girl dressed strictly in her undergarments would risk jumping in front of a moving car, screaming for help.
So she checked on her, asking about her well-being, and trying to understand what could have led her to make such a risky decision.
But the girl wasn’t compliant. She was mentally and physically closed off, knees under her chin, arms around her legs, and her head constantly checking behind as Taehyung drove off.
Ophelia tried to make sense of her body language, tried to push aside the part of her brain that was giving her a single explanation for the situation. She tried not to think about the worst-case scenario.
But what else would you suspect when a young girl, left in her undergarments, rushes into a random car at an odd hour of the night?
In fact, thinking about it, Ophelia stopped fighting back, mentally accepting the situation for what it was, what it could be, what she feared it’d be, what she was certain it’d be.
𓍝
(prologue) ⬅ | ★ | next chapter ᯓ☆
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The detective allowed themself tense shoulders and whitened knuckles, if only to properly play the game.
Body language could make and break this meeting, and they needed to be a collection of fearful memories on display for the villain, an offering, appeasement, something else here and there.
If anyone other than the villain noticed the act, they were obviously choosing not to say something, going about their individual days, drinking coffee and politely nibbling on microwaved pastries.
But those people didn’t matter, not when there was something else much more pressing at the table.
“This seems a tad…” The villain sitting across from the appeasing detective took their time looking for the word. “incompatible.”
The detective only spared a sweeping glance at the rest of the cafe. “For you or for me?”
Chuckling, the villain raised their coffee cup to their lips. “Tricky, tricky, tricky. Always is with you.” They took an appreciative sip, eyes never leaving the detective. “What is this act you’re putting on? It’s good, believable, but not enough of a constant for me to place any value in it. I don’t appreciate attempts at flattery.”
The first thought was to argue, because why wouldn’t it be? The detective was a professional, their job was to unearth, discover, and find the final truth, the one answer.
Sitting in front of an anthropomorphized file of contradictions with the ability to lie, could, arguably, make the detective jumpy, twitching to argue and argue and argue until that final truth was revealed.
“Maybe it’s not an act.” The detective finally said, not exactly an argument, but a halfway concession, relaxing their muscles, loosening the vice grip on their coffee. “Maybe I’m scared.”
“But not of me.”
“Should I be?”
The villain offered a closed lip smile, one motion away from baring their teeth.
“I don’t so much mind you, my dear detective friend.”
“I don’t care for flattery, either.” The detective said.
“Good thing it wasn’t flattery. You would notice if I were to compliment you.” The villain watched them, particularly their relaxed hands.
The detective managed to rid the urge to move their hands then and there, stayed completely still even as the chill creeped up their spin.
“No, no, not flattery.” The villain continued. “Merely acknowledging the truth. We have a good deal going for each other.” They leaned forward. “Which is why this meeting worries me, why I was unconvinced of your taut facade, your attempts of appeasement.”
The detective straightened, knowing well enough that the villain was mocking their strategy.
“You were hoping to…what? Beg for some sort of help?”
“No.”
“Ask for something, then?”
The detective stayed silent, looking away as the villain stared them down, goading them on in their silent way.
The two did have a good deal going on, and if the detective was wrong, this could ruin that.
But they weren’t wrong.
“There have been whispers, Villain.”
“There tend to be, yes, old friend.”
“About something, someone, coming.” If the villain wanted to respond, the detective wasn’t going to give them a chance. “Now, you know me, you know us, our usual deal. I play both sides of the fence, just barely. Lately, during some of my data tracking for the heroes, I’ve noticed a disturbing pattern.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been forced to wonder something, I have a question for you. All I need is a simple yes or no-”
“Going to stop you there.” The villain set down their cup, fixing the detective with a colder, less amicable gaze. “I do know our usual deal, which is why I’m insulted now. You wanted information, pertinent, valuable information about something disturbing, and you were hoping to bargain with your fear?”
“Villain-”
Their eyes widened, the table under their fist began to crack.
“Careful.”
The detective couldn’t hide any body language from that, flinching at the tone of voice, tones, that the villain had - a million low voices all merging into one, horrific growl that sent shivers wracking up the detective’s spine, hurting their very bones.
“My guilt!” The detective spat out, ignoring the building bone nausea. “It wasn’t fear. You’re right. I’m not scared, not yet, but I’m guilty, and I will be terrified depending on your answer. If this ends up a yes, then I’m prepared to offer you something that I cannot take back, Villain. I’ll trade in something terrible for the rest of us, if it means I have the smallest chance to prepare.”
Those wide eyes narrowed, but the cracking table at least stopped, and the million low voices returned to one.
“Do tell.”
“Answer me first.”
“Tricky, tricky, trick.” The villain relaxed into their chair, amused now. “I’ll decide if it’s worth answering, Detective. Seem fair? Ask your silly yes or no question.”
Another sweep around the coffee shop, everything going according to how the detective had set up.
“Normally, your type gets quiet, goes under radar before a bigger stunt is pulled. I keep track, alert the proper channels, make sure not too many civvies are in a particular high risk zone at a given day. Some contacts in other big cities have reached out, said it’s been too quiet, everyone’s been too quiet.”
The villain’s amusement had already been fanned like a flame, crossing their arms and watching the detective lay it out for them as if it was some soap opera.
“I’ll spare you too many details, but I have reason to believe something big is being planned for here.” They held up a hand, watching the villain’s eyebrow quirk up. “I just need to know, yes or no, is this happening? Is my home going to be razed down for a personal vendetta? A final heroes vs. villains?”
The villain looked the detective up and down.
“If you knew the answer to that, what would you do?”
“Let you and yours duke it out with the heroes. Take the place if you want, it’s only a place, but I’d like to minimize civvy death count, Villain. I’d get in touch with those channels and start mass evacuation. I’d start it now.”
“And now the fun part.” They leaned in again. “What could you offer me in exchange for this answer? What could bring you of all people to guilt? You, whom I almost respect?”
The detective swallowed, and placed their bag on the table, letting the villain take a look inside.
Body language would make or break this.
“Power dampening cuffs. A prototype. I can’t guarantee they work. But I’m sure if you and yours worked together, you could figure something out.”
For the first time, the villain seemed surprised, hardly giving the prototype cuffs another glance.
“Detective-”
“I can’t guarantee they work.” The detective repeated. “But in this squabble of yours that may or may not be coming up, you could use these, and they would help, I know they would.”
“Hm. And you’ll let me walk out with these and the current schematics if I answer you? What if I lie? You make the wrong call, and I still have these. Maybe I will lie, maybe I want to see you be horribly wrong at such a cost.”
“You don’t.” The detective wasn’t wrong. They weren’t.
“Why’s that?”
“It would be no fun for you. You couldn’t almost respect me if this was the end of our partnership, my too easy failure.”
There was so much the detective was betting on, and knowing the villain was one of them.
The villain was a villain through and through, conniving, powerful, selfish, dangerous. And sometimes, those traits, the selfishness, carried into these little deals of theirs.
No, the villain wouldn’t want this to end without a bang. The villain would want to string along the detective until there was no more use of them.
“In a way,” The villain said, standing and grabbing the bag. “You’re right. It would be no fun. I don’t just want these, though. I want something else.”
“Answer the question, I’ll see what else I can do.”
The villain stared down at the detective for a long time. A minute. Two. Three. Or maybe it was only three seconds, stretched out into the fraying ends of a perfectly planned meeting.
“Yes.” The villain finally said. “The answer is yes, something is coming.”
The detective stood, not too quickly. “Thank you. I appreciate that. What do you want? Codes to inaccessible areas? You can have them as soon as-”
Reaching across, the villain grasped the detective’s shoulder. “The ramifications of razing this city down, as you so put, were lost on me. How could you and I keep this up if you’re running off, evacuating with the other saps?” They watched how the detective’s eyes flitted to the villain’s hand. “What I want, Detective, is to keep having fun.”
“Villain, there’s not much you or I can do to continue this deal of ours if there’s all out super war-”
“You play for heroes and villains, or, excuse me, just barely.” Their hand tightened on the detective’s shoulder. “Let’s see what sort of fun we can have with that.”
Before the detective could open their mouth, the villain smiled, and the two disappeared.
Traces, 2025
We mark everything, almost everything we do is traceable, landmark of our movement, behaviours, actions.
I am attracted to what’s left behind, to the remain of traces made by all of us, from broken/smashed bottle in the abandoned areas, prints of shoe soles, thrown objects in our day-to-day basis, whether deliberate or accidental.
Marks.
Evidence.
Investigation.
Traces.
Traces of us, humans, and traces of the animals, insect, each of us leaves unique marks, traces of movements, in human cases is a mixture of accidental and deliberate approaches.
Like water flow, tides in and out, each time bringing or taking something, making the movement one and only, unique.
The Case of the Poisoned Well/Spring- Some Thoughts on Running Candela Obscura (Session #10)
The last time I led a game of Candela Obscura, the player characters (PCs) didn't have a good time. Hunted by a demonhost, they delved into the ruins of Oldfaire in order to stop a powerful former operative of Candela Obscura intent on a dangerous ritual likely to shear the veil (or Flare) between our world and other realms.
This villain tied into the backstories of several PCs -- stopping him was cathartic for them all, and offered closure to their storylines while acting as foreshadowing to some of the conflicts that will, I hope, shape the latter half of the campaign and its finale.
The session also had some fantastic set pieces, psychological horror, and the most fun use of bloodbending as a weapon deployed since, well, y'know...
The players loved it all, which was fantastic - but after a session so emotionally heavy and so pregnant with danger, I thought it'd be nice to have something with lower stakes to deal with, at least for the characters.
I came up with a fun little scenario:
In the village of Shrike deep into the Briddleborn Mountains, an old man ailed and died after drinking from the local well. The villagers sealed the well up and drew water from the local mountain spring. A few days later, most of them likewise fell ill. The village was forced to seek aid from Newfaire - which is where the Circle comes in.
Unlike so many of the assignments I've prepared and ran for my party, this one didn't have a villain directly responsible for the villagers' plight. Rather, a lot of it can be blamed on a series of unfortunate events and on the foolishness of a pair of smugglers who moonlight as grave robbers and looters.
The twist to the scenario was as follows: the well and the mountain spring are both fouled up, both accidentally. Some manner of dangerous bacteria has infiltrated the well - something like Legionnaires' disease, if you need to put a name on it. This is what kills the Old Man.
Meanwhile, the mountain spring's wasting disease is unethically outsourced through bleed, courtesy of the hiding spot the pair of looters use - a system of caves up the mountain, beginning with an aptly named cavemouth called by the villagers the "Demon's Maw", from which the mountain spring comes forth. The smugglers are wary of being discovered, and so hide their Oldfairen bounties in wooden chests underwater in the spring - and what a great way that is of turning that entire watersource into a bleed-y nightmare!
It was incredibly fun to let my players figure out that there was not one but two sources of disease at play here. A lot of the session went by without dice rolls, because the party has both a doctor and an occultist. With a game like Candela Obscura, I don't ask for players to roll dice unless they're doing something time-sensitive or likely to fail. An experienced doctor examining a body through an autopsy in the scenario of an RPG is unlikely to fail; when the player was asking all the right questions, I was more than happy to give her the right answers.
I also let the players improvise how they reached the village on the donkeys they stole (it's...a long story); they all came up with fun little ideas, but the occultist's bizarre behaviour gave me wonderful narrative means to reinforcing the dangers of the mountain spring. The occultist, Vanessa, picked up several dead animals, which came into play in the autopsy in a satisfying (and wholly disturbing) way.
There was some conflict, mind. The cursed artifact that was polluting the mountain spring with bleed, an emerald staff-head in the shape of a caduceus, is a sentient thing: when the party's occultist spoke with it, its initial reaction was hostile. But thanks to some excellent thinking on the player's part and some help via a Drive point from another player character, the spirit of the caduceus was mollified and agreed to undo the bleed it had caused by poisoning the mountain spring.
Through the conversation with this sentient spirit, I even teased out some clues and developments for the remainder of the campaign, and heavily hinted at one potential antagonist. All in all, a welcome session with lots of laughs (which I didn't discuss here), less personal tension, but also with the opportunity for the members of the Veritas Circle to do a great deal of good.
My point is, a session without an immediately apparent antagonist can work great for you and the players both, and you should try it after your campaign has gone through some dramatic peak or other.
If anyone wants to run this adventure, let me know - my notes are a little more extensive, and I could either work on them a little more or just post them as is.
Truth or Deception: Sarah Buzzard's Murder Interrogation
In a small, dimly lit interrogation room, Sarah Buzzard sat across from two seasoned detectives, her face a mask of tension and fear. The murder of Mark Reynolds had shocked the community, and now, Sarah found herself at the heart of the investigation, facing questions that could determine her fate.See more...
