Dedication: To Jenn, because she dared me to do it (kind of, this turned into a monster that was never supposed to happen).

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. I do not profit from this story.


The Tale of an Unstoppable Force and an Immoveable Object

Chapter One: Kill Me Now

You know, everyone wishes for something. A lot of people wish for money. A lot of people wish for better sex. A lot of people wish for happiness.

Right. Well I'll tell you one thing: Fuck. That. Shit.

Money can't buy you happiness is a load of bullshit. I'm one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country. When I was twenty-four, I practically built an empire. When I was twenty-eight and a half, I sold it to a multi-billion dollar company for a lot more than my darling empire was worth and still managed to make sure I got twenty percent of the profits each year. No liability. No fault.

That's right bitches, I'm set for life.

Suck it, Sesshomaru.

Better sex? Well the problem for those wishing for it is that they obviously are the ones that fail. I mean, come on. If you can turn a woman on to the point that she practically wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you like a rabbit, sex can't get any better. I get women on a daily basis – if I want to. I go to a club, a bar, a random office building; I flash a smile, give a compliment and then bam. I leave them on their toes for a bit; giving subtle signals and underlying hints of sexual desire until finally they can't take it. They need to have me, want to have me and all I have to do is say, "How about you stay the night with me?" It's not my fault when I say stay the night they think stay forever. So really, all of the vases and plates and cups that have been thrown at my head are not my fault.

Stupid women.

Oh, and suck it, Sesshomaru, you tied-down, pussy-whipped half-shit of a brother.

What was the third thing? Oh right, happiness. This? This right here is happiness. Money, women, a dog named Bang and a bottle of Jack, a bottle of Vodka, a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of tequila...

So why, you must be asking, am I standing on the very edge of my balcony, staring down at the streets thirty-two storeys below me?

Suicidal? Nah. Not I, the great and all powerful Inuyasha Taisho.

But really, what the hell was the point of living anymore? There was nothing for me to do. I already had more money than I would ever need. I never had to work another day in my life, as long as I wasn't stupid.

So where did that leave me?

Apparently, it left me on my balcony.

And that's when it happened. I'm not really sure how to explain to you how everything suddenly got so complicated since I still can't figure the shit out myself. All I knew was that one moment, I was peacefully sitting on the railing of my balcony, enjoying the lovely downwards view, and the next cops were surrounding the building, screaming at me and making a ridiculous scene.

I looked to my sides and then up, wondering if there was anyone else they could be screaming at. I mean seriously, me? The richest man in the country? Attractive beyond all measures of hotness? Why the fuck would I be suicidal?

"Hey you! Get back on your balcony!"

Huh? I looked around again, the voice not too far from me. Where the hell could it be coming from? Slowly, I tilted my head downwards and to the side, just barely being able to see the balcony one level below and to the left.

And there she was.

I'd like to say that she was some ugly broad with acne all over and hair like a bird nest. I'd also like to say that she was five-hundred pounds with massive Dumbo-like ears and a nervous twitch.

But no.


The woman who was yelling at me, telling me to get back on the balcony was probably one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen. Black hair flowed to her waist, wavy in some spots and straight in others. She had very deep brown eyes, almost black, and her skin was flushed on what was probably usually pale skin. Pink round lips, French manicured nails and not a lot of makeup made this woman, by far, on the top of my new To Do list.

To Do:

#1: Tap that.

But that wasn't it. There was something about the defiant, angry way she looked at me. Like, this bitch was really pissed that I was sitting on my railing. Well, what the fuck? It's my railing, isn't it? It's not hurting her that I'm there, right?

Fuck yeah.

So why is she so angry at me? Women are never angry at me. They are just temporarily frustrated because of their own stupidity and thinking (as mentioned before) "stay the night" meant "marry me". Or whatever I said before.

"Get back inside you idiot!" the woman screamed, glaring at me still.

Wow. Her eyes were something else. "Wench, you feeling well?"

If anything, her scowl deepened. "Excuse me? You're about to kill yourself but you ask if I'm feeling well? Get off the balcony, why don't you? It's not worth it. Whatever problems you have – alcohol, depression, drugs and the like... There's help out there. I can get you help."

You mean like throw me in the loony bin? Hahaha. Right.

As if.

"I'm not suicidal," I said simply, shrugging and leaning down a bit further. Maybe I could get a view of her ass.

"No? Then why sit there?" she demanded.

"What's your name?" I countered, giving my smirk that always won the ladies. I mean, come on, just because she was thinking I'm clinically insane didn't mean it stopped working. My charm was i-rres-istible. That's right; so damn good you can't even say it as one flowing word.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Get off the balcony and maybe I'll tell you." Suddenly, there was a loud slam of a door and I frowned, watching the woman's expression change. "Hey Sango!" she yelled. "Come here and help me get this poor guy off his balcony."

Sango? Like, Sango Houko?

Aw, fucking shit.

"There's a guy on his balcony, oh my goodness!" a feminine voice exclaimed. I knew the sound all too well. When she came out I was so going to get an earful...

A tall woman with dead straight black hair came out, tanned face following the direction of my mystery woman's beautiful eyes. I knew it was only a matter of time.

"Jesus fucking hell!" she yelled, hand slapping her forehead. "Inuyasha – fuck – will you get down! Goddammit, you're fucking lucky I'm such a good personal assistant that I can potentially get this smoothed over but DON'T PUSH ME ASSHOLE!"

I didn't speak, because I sure as hell knew it wasn't over yet. When Sango got pissed, man, she got fucking pissed. Like, the top of Mt. Everest would explode because of her fiery wrath.

"You know him?" the woman asked, and I was slightly hurt. Who the hell didn't know me?

Sango scowled, far deeper than my mystery woman ever had. "Yeah, I work for the jerk-off."

Pleasant Sango. Thank you for helping me get that much closer to her pants.

Wait a minute.

"Sango? You live a floor down from me?" I asked, deeply confused. I mean, seriously? My fucking personal assistant lives below me and I never knew? No way. This must be some stupid prank shit. I mean, come on. First, someone calling the cops because they think that I, Inuyasha Taisho, am suicidal? Second, the hottest woman to walk the earth is talking to me. And third, my personal assistant lives a floor below me; her balcony literally right beside mine.

Sango Houko rolled her eyes, scowl still in place. It would probably be there permanently for the next, oh, I'd say week or so. Give or take a couple days, depending on how hard Miroku hits on her. "Yeah, dickwad, I live here. I'm the one that told you about the space you're currently residing in. As I recall, my words to you were 'Inuyasha, oh master of all, there is a very large bachelor pad in one of the most expensive buildings in the city. Since I know you're such a connoisseur of stupidity and money-blowing, I immediately thought you'd want it'. And, remember the day you checked it out? You came into my room here – yes, right here – and I fed you food. Remember?"

"First of all," I answered, trying to process bit by bit. "I don't appreciate the sarcasm. Second, you never called me master. Third..." I frowned, "I thought you were just showing me another option of living space."

Sango raised her hand again, this time not slapping her forehead but dragging it down her face slowly. "I should be the one jumping off the building."

I rolled my eyes at her because she was so dramatic at times. Sango was many, many things. She was efficient. She was perfect. She was without a doubt one of the best assistants I had ever had. She did things on time and if she couldn't make the deadline, she'd let you know. She was a perfectionist with a mild form of OCD. And she swore almost as much as I did. She didn't take shit. She loved to kick ass.

But she was also a prude when it came to being sexual with other people. She dressed like a woman that wanted to be fucked, but when it came down to it, she still yelled cooties at human contact. This was probably the reason she was still my personal assistant, because she ignored all of my attempts at getting in her pants (I know, it was practically the apocalypse).

"You know," Sango stated, pointing below us at the ridiculous scene of cops and flashing lights, "the cops are still trying to get you back on the balcony."

I would've responded if a) I cared and b) mystery woman wasn't staring off into the distance.

"Hey, you, wench," I called, smirking again just in case she looked. I still had a chance to woo her, even if Sango wasn't helping the matter. "What are you looking at?"

"Isn't that Miroku?" she whispered, and I blanked. Wait, how the fuck did she know my personal assistant and my financial planner? And Miroku was...?

Of course. He was out on his balcony, waving at me with this shit-eating grin. His teeth were so perfectly white, cavities were blinded away. His hands were waving and I could tell that he was laughing up a shit storm. Of course it was my luck that my personal assistant lived a floor below me and my financial planner lived in the apartment building directly across.

"Oh, fucking joy," Sango hissed. "Miroku knows. Awesome."

"Uh, hold on, Sango," I said, shaking my head. I tried to get a look at mystery woman, but she was waving back at Miroku. "You, wench. Hello? I'm talking to you?"

She turned around, face in a frown. "What? It's obvious you're just an idiot and not actually suicidal now so... What?"

"What's your name?" I asked again, smirking. Come on charm, pull through. Come on. Home run, baby. Home run!

"Inuyasha, look out!" Sango yelled, eyes wide and pointing behind me.

Of course, it was too late.

The next thing I know, I'm yanked violently from the balcony ledge and thrown to the ground, guys armed to the tee with bullet-proof vests and masks glaring at me. "Don't move! Don't move!"

Right. Like I'm going to move. I've got fucking Bubba on top of my legs.

I ain't going nowhere.

To Do:

#2: Figure out Mystery Woman's name.

#3: Figure out how the fuck she knows my personal assistant and financial planner.

Okay, so after suffering a very long talk from the Chief of Police about proper living (yeah, I don't know what the fuck he's smoking either) I was free to roam around my bachelor pad, as Sango so adoringly called it.

Speaking of which...

I made my way into the kitchen, my hand running across the marble countertop that perfectly matched the ebony cupboards and appliances. I found my cell phone where it usually was and picked it up, wasting no time in selecting Speed Dial #1.

It rang forever, but finally, Sango's cheery voice filled the other end. "What the hell do you want Inuyasha?"

Isn't she just a big bundle of sunshine?

"What's her name?" I couldn't stop thinking about it. Well, her to be exact. The woman for me. I mean, she was beautiful and well taken care of, gorgeous, had a nice voice, sexy, well-dressed, attractive... I had yet to see her ass, but I'm sure it was an apple bottom, which is the perfect shape.

"Whose name?" Sango asked from the other end. There was a loud crunching noise and I pulled the phone from my ear, grimacing.

"What the hell are you eating?" I demanded. Could she be any more like a cow right now? "You sound like Bugs Bunny with a carrot."

"Well, I am eating a carrot, thank you," Sango replied swiftly. "Whose name?"

Oh damn. I almost forgot. Again.

"The girl! The wench! Nice face, black hair, pretty..."

Instantly, Sango began laughing. When I say laughing, I mean crazy, you-need-to-get-a-straight-jacket laugh. I could only imagine the orange, masticated bits of carrot flying out of her mouth.

"You won't get into her pants," she said as a way of answering, still laughing. How was she not choking to death right now? I'd say it was because of a good gag reflex, but she's a prude and I have serious doubts about her giving blowjobs. There's potential, but really, I severely doubt it.

"I don't think that's her name," I snapped, getting irritated. "What's her name?" I mean, come on. How hard was it to get a fucking name?

Sango continued to laugh. "You need a life."

And then the phone went dead.


Oh well. I'll call Miroku. She knew him, right?

Speed Dial #2, pressed.

"Heyyyyyyyy, Inuyasha! Buddy! Whazzupp?"

Of fucking course. My luck. "How much have you had to drink, numbskull?"

Miroku giggled on the other end. It was a bad habit of his to become less and less manly the more drinks he had. It was like, for every ounce of alcohol, his testicles shrunk an inch. Eventually, they just shrivelled up and disappeared.

Not that I've really thought about it in depth or anything.

"Hmm. Imma thinking 'bout... Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuuuuuuuuuuf, DIX!"

I tried not to growl or throw my phone out the window. "Why the fuck are you talking in French?"

"Comment t'appelle tu?"

"Miroku, if you don't stop, I'm going to fucking come over there and kick your ass," I muttered. "You don't speak French. You are not French in any way, shape, or form. You've had ten drinks?"

"Naw. Imma thinking...thirty. Potentially." Miroku giggled again.

"That's it, I'm coming over," I lied, sounding angry because usually Miroku bought it. "When I get over there, you better have all the alcohol gone and a bottle of water in your hands. We have a lot of financial shit to do tomorrow."

We didn't, but that was beside the point.

"No, you are not," Miroku said triumphantly and I frowned. A drunk Miroku was never triumphant. A drunk Miroku was funny, clumsy and ranted about Sango's ass for hours on end, but he wasn't triumphant.

"How do you know?" I asked, walking from the kitchen to my living room. I jumped on the large, overstuffed sofa and rested my head in my one hand, the other cradling the phone. "I'm getting my keys right now and I swear, you dumbass–"

"Nope. You are wrong sucker! You wrong." Now he was putting on a stupid accent and trying to sound tough. Lovely. Why the fuck did I even call him again?

"I'm in the elevator as we speak," I continued, grabbing the remote. When this conversation was over, I'd check the news. Maybe I made TV? I wouldn't be surprised. There were a lot of cops out there earlier, but there were probably a lot of reporters too. Suicide was always overplayed and exaggerated by the media. Not like they had any right to do so.

"Buddy, I have a fucking telescope now. I can see you."

Oh. Dear. Fuck me. Lord.


No way.

No no no no no no no no no no no way.

I jumped up and raced to the balcony. I had very large bay windows that showed off my living room and part of the kitchen. It couldn't be though. He wouldn't have dared.

"No you don't."

"Yes you do. I mean, I DO," Miroku shouted, making me pull the cell away from my ear. "You see, you always threaten to come when I'm drinking but you don't. So now, I know fo sho. THAT, and I can watch you try and FAIL with women, because you suck. But I love you man. I love you."

I was ignoring that because I was afraid any more would make my dick fall off.

Out on the balcony, I squinted my eyes, trying to see across the street. It was dark out now, well past dinner time, but the street lights illuminated the busy intersection where we lived a fair bit and I could see...

Bloody fucking hell.

Mother of god.

Kill me now.

Miroku had this massive, motherfucker of a telescope.

And it was pointed at me.

From the other end, Miroku waved. I didn't have to see him perfectly to know he was wearing that shit-eating grin again.

"You're dead," I stated, slamming the phone shut and ending the call. What a bastard. Why the hell did I even call him anyways? It wasn't like I had plans or something...


Mystery woman's name.

...Fuck it.

And yet, I swear even from the distance, I could hear a giggle.

To Do:

#4: Fire and then kill my personal assistant and my financial planner.

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