Akira Kurusu x Reader Oneshots

Plot? What Plot? (not porn)

(A/N: who's gonna tell wattpad that the new theme sucks? 👀👀)

"You're clowning." Izumi said.

I sighed.

"You're not clowning." she began to frown. "I sense clowns."

"I wish I was 'clowning.' But I'm not. I'm going today. Can you watch for updates while I'm gone?" I asked, shrugging on my jacket. She nodded silently and I headed into the elevator. I pushed a button and it dinged, closing behind me.

I pictured what it would be like. He would look different, of course, it had been almost two years.

Had it really only been two years? And I was already going back. I rolled my eyes at myself. I thought I could handle this case on my own but apparently not.

The ride to the prison was unfairly long and I couldn't push my thoughts down. Almost like pushing down vomit but worse, in a way.

They let me in without a hitch, though I did get some surprised looks. I was going to see him of all people. The hunter going to reconcile with the hunted.

And then there he was, sitting in front of me, his wrists cuffed together and his smile broad. "I knew you had a soft spot for me."

"For your friends, too, if you're willing to tell me more." I settled into the usual banter too fast for my liking.

He rolled his eyes. "I thought we were over this. You didn't come all this way just to say that again, did you?"

"No." I smiled tightly.

Akira chuckled. "Your smile looks forced, doll."

"It is." I paused and shook my head. "Don't call me that."

"You'd prefer something else? Sweetheart?"

"This isn't what I came here to talk about."

"Sweetheart it is."

"I'd like to offer you a deal."

He frowned, genuinely surprised for a second before his expression shut down into one of irritation. "Sorry, I only accept apologies in cash." His voice turned sour quickly, his body shifting towards the door.

I sighed, knowing he'd be like this. When I offered a lightened sentence the first time, he cringed at the thought of working for the enemy, was even repulsed by it. I'd have to play to his interests. Good thing I know how prideful he is. He won't be able to stand what I've got to say and will, hopefully, be intrinsically motivated towards helping me and stopping this impersonator.

I continued on, ignoring his discomfort. "I need your help for this new case." He was silent. "There's someone new, (insert adjective) (insert noun) (this is now the name for the copycat) who's doing everything that you did, save a couple of things. A copycat, for lack of a better word. We've been working on it for months but haven't made any headway." I paused, trying to gauge his reaction. He was unreadable, his face a mask. He used to be so expressive? Did prison really change him so much in such a short span? 

I felt a poke of guilt at the thought.

Several beats of silence followed. He met my gaze and I tried to make my expression desperate. Not that it was hard.

He bit his lip (I struggled to ignore the action) and leaned forward across the table, his cuffed hands clasped together. The cuffs clattered noisily, briefly cutting through the boisterous sounds of the cellmates a couple halls away. "What's in it for me?"

I fought back a tiny smile. Thank God. "Freedom." He perked up at that. "With some restrictions, of course." And then came his deflation. I felt bad for not being able to offer a fully clean slate. But I shouldn't have to feel that way! Why does he have such a strong hold over my emotions? This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. "FBI custody and this," I paused to pull a small black device out of my bag. I twirled it around a bit in my fingers. "Cute little anklet. Goes well with any outfit."