omg doe brought up this AMAZINGGG idea abt the crime lord yan and his lawyer darling hello hey hi!!!!!!
this kinda got away from me because it is 3am but i nEEEEEDED to get this out bjsjsjjs i blame @carnivorousyandeere
i know i wrote the initial dynamic for his darling to be his lawyer, in that they’re on his side in court to keep him from getting sent to prison BUT BUT BUT hear me out T_T
lawyer darling who put yan kingpin away.
as in ,, you are the reason he was found guilty. you are the one, when the judge announced the final verdict, that his gaze turned to and that he smiled for, then. sentenced to death, before it was appealed to multiple life sentences; the beginning of the end of his empire.
you, you, you — the cause of his downfall.
after the infamous internationally documented case, your career soars to unprecedented heights. you’re the lawyer on every newspaper in every country, all the tv channels and glossy magazines. every law school wants you to speak at their graduation ceremonies. every firm’s reaching out to you. the whole world knows your name; you have everything!
—so why do you keep going back to the man who now has nothing?
the kingpin looks the same as he did that fateful day in court. only now, there’s bags under his eyes, and a five o clock shadow on his jaw; lips still curled in an easygoing smile. he laughs when he sees you, as if the two of you were merely old friends who hadn’t caught up in a while.
as if you’re not visiting him years later in the city’s most high security prison.
he grins. “come to gloat, have ‘ya?”
“you’ve committed countless crimes.” you state. “stolen lives and livelihoods. broken up families. killed good men. and still, all these years later, no remorse?”
“don’t get ‘yer panties in a twist,” he huffs, lazily leans back in the rickety prison chair so that he’s swinging it back and forth on its back legs, like a child. how absurd that even the garish orange uniform of a prison should suit him, “comes with the job description, don’t it?”
“i think about you,” you admit, eyeing the chains that bind his handcuffed hands to the desk in front of him. you look up, meet his gaze through the thick, dirty pane that separates you from him. keeps you safe. out of his reach, if only just.
a low whistle. “you sure know how to make a man feel special, y’know. been followin’ your cases. never put another one like me away, did ‘ya?” he grins. “i like that i’m special. makes me feel all warm ‘nd fuzzy inside.”
“wow,” you let out. “you really have gone insane.”
“always been a ‘lil crazy! like i said, part of the job description. though i’ve been thinkin’ recently,” he starts.
your fascination prompts you to lean closer. a sort of morbid curiosity that yearns to solve the puzzle of his twisted mind, slot the pieces you’ve already got in a way that makes them fit. you’ve got this weird feeling that you’re missing something. a big piece, maybe. one of the central ones.
“thinking about what?” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost conspiratorial. he leans in, too, all wide eyes—
—and then he jerks forward with the chains around the cuffs on his wrists pulled taut as he suddenly yanks them all the way, like a feral dog pulling on its leash. he looks like one, too, with that glint in his eyes.
“fuck!”
you barely even register that you’re on the floor until he laughs, low in his throat. he makes a vague gesture to your chair, toppled over on its side.
“oops.” he says, coyly. “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”
“liar,” you hiss, standing up to dust yourself off. this was stupid. why would you even entertain the idea of a civil conversation with a madman?
he gasps dramatically. “this is slander, your honour!”
“i’m leaving,” you scoff. “i don’t even know why i even came down here. you’re clearly fucking crazy.”
“and you’re no fun!” he pouts. “how ‘bout you stay just a little longer and i’ll make it worth ‘yer time, pretty please?”
“no can do,” you turn on your heels and reach for the door, fingers curled around the handle as you spare him one final glance over your shoulder— “have fun rotting in here for the rest of your life, psycho.”
—except the door won’t open. you try again, and again once more. the handle won’t budge. an awful sense of urgency overcomes you as you desperately shake the handle in a futile attempt to get it to just—
“funny ‘yer calling me crazy, ‘cus einstein once said real insanity is doin’ the same thing,” he beams. “over and over and over and over again, and expecting different results. door’s locked, lovely. ‘yer not getting out from there, ‘m afraid.”
you turn back then, still holding onto that door like a lifeline. he’s standing up, rubbing sore wrists that are, you realise with a sinking feeling, no longer bound by the handcuffs that kept him chained; on a short leash, like a good dog.
“what are you doing…?” your voice shakes, and it’s a far cry to the headstrong, unwavering lawyer who put the world’s most notorious criminal behind bars. “what the fuck—”
“i told you i’d make it worth your while t’stay,” he rolls up his sleeves, before pushing all of his hair (longer and greasier than the last you saw him) out of his face, features set in a determination you’ve never glimpsed before. familiar eyes twinkle with mischief. “and i meant it, y’know. the world’s very best lawyer came so far to see me! least i can do is greet ‘em properly.”
“‘cus see, the other prisoners wouldn’t be so nice. but i’ve been thinkin’ about you too.” he pulls his arm back and his fist comes flying at the pane. “don’t wanna have a conversation or nothin’ like that, nah, we talked enough.”
“you’ve been thinking about me, i’ve been waiting around for you…” bloody knuckles against cracks in the one barrier that is keeping you safe from him. you watch, helpless, as it threatens to break beneath the brute force of his trained fists.
“now let me just come over there,” he pulls his arm back again, ready to strike; knuckles raw and red, like the maniacal grin carved onto his pretty, flushed face. a deep blush and a shaky smile as those fists bring it all crashing down. “and show you how much i missed my faaavourite lawyer in the whole wide world.”
“—that be a good enough reason to stick around?” he asks slyly, before catching himself. “oh, silly me.” he shakes his head, apologetically, as he steps over broken shards on the floor, tainted with his blood. “doesn’t matter what ‘ya say.” a low hum when scarred hands reach out for you. “i waited so long for you…”
“… so, let’s make up reaaalllll good for all that lost time, okay?”
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