Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11792568.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Persona_5, Persona_4, Persona_Series
  Relationship:
      Sakamoto_Ryuji/Reader, Kurusu_Akira/Reader, Persona_5_Protagonist/Reader,
      Akechi_Goro/Reader, Kitagawa_Yusuke/Reader, Hanamura_Yosuke/Reader,
      Morgana_(Persona_5)/Reader, Tatsumi_Kanji/Original_Character, Tatsumi
      Kanji/Reader, Kanji/Reader
  Character:
      Sakamoto_Ryuji, Morgana_(Persona_5), Kurusu_Akira, Akechi_Goro, Hanamura
      Yosuke, Kitagawa_Yusuke, Tatsumi_Kanji
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff, Angst, Porn, the_magic_3, Unrequited_Love, a_lot_of_confessing, is
      there_really_no_proper_tag_for_kanji/reader?, that's_so_sad_lol
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-13 Updated: 2018-03-24 Chapters: 21/? Words: 25829
****** Persona 5 Imagines ******
by ActuallyAndroid
Summary
     Reader-insert imagines from my tumblr blog @no-mo-rules.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** I Lied (Ryuji Sakamoto) *****
 
     “I lied…”

     “Wait, you lied? You didn’t tell her?” 
 
Ryuji rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. There’s no confidence in either the
way he avoids eye contact with Morgana, or the way he keeps glancing over the
bouquet of flowers on the table.
“I told her they were for someone else,” he mumbles, and even before Morgana
answers, Ryuji knows he’s in for it. 
“You did what?!” The cat jumps down from the stool at the front of the cafe and
up to the table, beside the flowers. “Why?” he asks, and there’s not half the
trace of teasing as much as there’s just genuine disbelief. It makes Ryuji
wince on the inside.
“I just panicked, alright! When she came up to me and asked who the flowers
were for, I told her they were for a friend.”
Morgana looks directly at him. There’s a little swish to his tail as he waves
it about, and Ryuji can’t help but feel like it’s counting down the seconds
till the both of them come to the conclusion he’s a certified imbecile: tick
tock, tick tock, tick -
“Wow. I mean, I know I joked about you being an idiot before, but even I could
have never predicted this.” 
Ryuji smacks his head against the table. 
There’s the scent of coffee about, but all it works to do is make him dizzy. He
doesn’t even like coffee. The only reason he keeps coming back here is because
he likes the way she looks in an apron. Hell, he even pretends to
like drinking it when she makes it for him - because maybe, just maybe, seeing
her go through all the trouble to prepare the blend just for him makes his
heart leap to his throat in a way that’s worth whatever bitterness his tongue
has to endure. 
(Besides, it smells a little bit like her, and that kind of makes it alright.) 
“You realise that you’ve really done it this time, right?” Morgana says, and
Ryuji can’t say he was expecting anything more encouraging. “Valentine’s day is
tomorrow, and she’s not exactly unpopular; her phone was blowing up all day.”
“Wait, it was?” He asks, and immediately deflates. “Oh man. I knew she was out
of my league, but…” he trails off, and deep lines wrinkle his forehead. Morgana
thinks this is probably what heartbreak looks like. 
“Yeah. Out of all those messages, she decided to hang out with you for today,
and you still managed to mess it up. Honestly, I can’t even say I’m
surprised.” 
Another bang rattles the entire table as Ryuji slams his head against the desk,
but he doesn’t even bother to sit up this time. Instead, he rolls on his
forehead to stare at the wall. His entire face is scrunched up, like he’s
bracing himself for a physical hit.
“Who else was there?” he asks, knowing it’ll hurt.
“As if I’d remember them all. Half of them were names I’d never heard of.”
Morgana leans down on his front paws to stretch. In truth, he’s kind of
enjoying this. Whether it’s because he treasures every chance he has at putting
Ryuji down (likely) or because there’s still unrelieved bitterness from when he
stared forlornly over her shoulder to look at her phone, wishing desperately
for a human body that would be more to her liking, (still likely, if he’s
honest) he can’t tell.
“Even Yusuke asked her if she was free to go to some kind of museum for the
day,” Morgana continues. “I didn’t even realise he knew what Valentine’s day
was.”
Ryuji looks surprised.
“Really? I’m getting competition from him?”
“Yeah,” Morgana says, like it’s obvious, “and Mishima.”
There’s a long groan that comes from Ryuji, out from where tangles of
frustration frizzle in his stomach. It helps a little at first, because he
feels himself get less annoyed, but they’re quickly replaced by long, stringy,
clumps of despondence.
Ryuji knocks his head against the table a couple more times for good measure,
but he can’t muster up the effort to put any force into it anymore. Morgana
catches himself enjoying Ryuji’s despair, and this time he’s sure it’s because
he feels the same thing himself.
He wants to drive the point home. 
“You can’t even take them to her and apologise. She’ll totally think the other
girl rejected you and she’s your rebound.”
It’s not necessarily true, but for the moment, it can be.
“I’m totally screwed,” he says, and Morgana thinks he can hear his voice crack
a little. 
“Yeah,” Morgana answers, and sits next to Ryuji. 
(‘The both of us are,’ he nearly says.)
 
***** “It's Six O'Clock in the Morning.” (Ryuji Sakamoto) *****
Ryuji hears the bustle downstairs as he stirs from his bed. It’s bright
outside, he can tell, but his head is swimming and something is telling him
he’s woken up a little bit earlier than normally. There’s a bit of a fumble as
he reaches for his phone, and when he unlocks it to find the screen flashing
with three bright digits (6:02) he buries his face into his pillow and groans.
Why are you up this early? He thinks, and double checks the other side of his
bed to make sure that the one bustling about downstairs is in fact you, and not
some kind of burglar. (Or worse, his mother coming home early).
He’s still in his boxers when he makes the decision to find out just what the
hell you’re doing, and he thanks himself profusely for having the foresight to
draw the blinds closed the previous night. When he finds you, you’re in the
kitchen, crouched over the cabinet and searching for something.
“What are you doing, man?” He asks, and you snap to face him like you’ve been
caught red-handed.
“I – I’m just-” you start, but whatever words you had fail you, you resort to
rubbing your arm self-consciously instead. “Sorry. Probab’ly shouldn’t be
digging around in your kitchen,” you mumble, slurring your words together a
little. There’s a woozy sway to the way you move, and Ryuji tries to figure out
whether he’s just imagining the way you’re resting your weight on the cabinet.
“How long have you been awake for?” He questions further. You hang your head
low, and he thinks that probably translates to ‘longer than I’m willing to
admit.’ Admittedly, last night was hard for everyone, and Joker’s decision to
split off for the day and put off sending the calling card was probably a wise
one. Akechi might not have been a good person in Ryuji’s eyes, after all, but
there was still something jarring about his death – about the way your eyes
widened at the second gunshot.
He walks a little closer to you. You make a poor effort of hiding something
that’s clasped in your fingers, and Ryuji questions you about it immediately.
He’s a little worried, if he’s honest, because you were kind of a wreck when
you asked (tears veiling your eyes) if he could take you home with him for the
night, and he can tell from the way his pulse quickens that he’s on edge.
“What are you holding?” He asks. You can’t help but feel like you’re being
interrogated. It’s with a bit of a grimace that you pull out a small bottle
vodka, almost finished to completion.
“Just a drink,” you say.
There’s a sigh of relief you don’t notice.
“Vodka? Seriously?” Ryuji leans down to where you’re crouched over on the
floor, and holds his hand out for the bottle. You clutch it a little tighter,
and refuse to hand it over.
“Actually, this one’s mine. I had it on me yesterday when I came,” you explain.
Ryuji is still holding his hand out, so you bring the bottle closer inwards.
“It’s not from your kitchen or anything. I came down to refill it, but I
haven’t even found anything to refill it with, so the stuff inside is mine
too.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says. It’s not difficult to tell he’s tired: his voice is
raspy and uneven, and he’s still rubbing away the sleep in his eyes with one
hand while the other is outstretched, waiting for you to hand the bottle over.
“We don’t have anythin’ like that at home, so you wouldn’t have found anything
even if you turned the house upside down.”
“Then why d’you want it?”
You can see him get a little annoyed, and you wonder why, because he didn’t
seem to get angry at you for going through his kitchen or leaving him alone in
the bed, so it doesn’t make sense to you that he’d be getting mad at you now.
“I just don’t want to see you with it,” he says. “I don’t think you should be
drinking right now.”
You’re a little woozy from the alcohol, and you can feel it’s warmth in your
stomach. When you don’t respond, he reaches over to you and tries grabbing it
from your loosely dripped fingers.
You react almost immediately. “I’m not handing it over,” you bite at him, and
his brows furrow angrily.
“It’s six in the morning. I ain’t letting you drink vodka.” He makes a move
towards you again, and you back away so fast you hit your hit your head against
the cabinet and yelp in pain. Still, Ryuji doesn’t relent, and he pins you
against it for as long as it takes to wrestle the bottle from your grip. When
he withdraws, you don’t say anything for a little while. You can still feel the
places in your shoulders where he pressed against you, and honestly, the force
he used comes at quite a shock.
Ryuji’s strong, you know that; He’s always been strong. But he’s also always
been gentle with you. There’s little of that gentleness now; it’s been replaced
by something more intense, something more determined. You try to think about it
through the haze, try to figure out why he’s looking at the bottle of vodka and
flipping it over like he’s holding a grudge against it, but all that comes out
is irritation.
“I just had a guy my age get shot right in front of me, Ryuji. It’s not the end
of the world if I have a little drink.”
He holds the bottle a little tighter, and looks at it like he’s trying to
figure out who’s right. When you claw in his direction to get it back however,
he puts it behind his back, out of your way.
He makes his mind up.
“Look, I know it was bad. But drinking ain’t a way to deal with that shit,
y’know? Just, talk to me or somethin’.” There’s something so sweet in the way
he tries to reason with you – something pained in his eyes when he looks at
you. He puts the vodka away on a counter somewhere, and uses his free hands to
hold yours.
“If you couldn’t sleep last night, all you had to do was wake me up. Like, you
know I’d never get mad at you for anythin’ like that,” he says, and you know
he’s being honest. Even last night, you can remember Ryuji as he pulls you into
him and gives you a pair of his pajamas - does nothing more than hold you
safely at the waist. (He does not even suggest anything sexual, even though you
remember as he awkwardly inches you away from his boxers when you lay next to
him, like he has something to hide.)
It’s sweet. Just sweet.
Something inside of you twists, and you have gather your courage by looking
down before you can meet his glassy eyes.
A bit of your hair hangs in front of your face, so he pulls it to the side and
behind your ear. “Just-” he starts, and there’s a lump in his throat that makes
the next word hard to vocalise. “Don’t use this shit to deal with your
problems, alright? I don’t want you to end up like him.”
The sincerity in the way he’s holding you keeps you quiet. Gentle, sweet Ryuji
is back, and gentle, sweet Ryuji leans down to press your forehead against his.
He kisses you on the lips, and he doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he can
taste the salt on his tongue.
“Oh man,” he pulls away, and among the tears he’s smiling, laughing, wiping at
his nose. “Tears and vodka don’t mix, huh?”
***** “I don’t want you to stop.” (Ryuji Sakamoto) *****
“What’ll it be, Haru?” Futaba asks. “Truth or dare?”
The girl in question thinks about it. She brings her fingers up to her lips,
and there’s tension in the air until Ann starts chanting ‘dare’ over and over
to her side. Haru is handling her alcohol quite well compared to everyone else,
now that you think about it. She hasn’t said anything out of line or made any
outrageous requests. You catch yourself wondering if she’s just a natural
heavyweight, or if she’s been clever enough to dilute her drinks with juice and
water when nobody was looking in her direction.
(Probably the latter, you think, because the bottle of fizzy pop has been
following her around wherever she goes.)
“Alright, we can go with dare,” Haru says, for the first time that night.
Everyone cheers, and she smiles shyly at the attention.
There’s a bit of a pause as Futaba tries to come up with a decent dare. It
looks to you like she’s trying to get her jumbled thoughts together, which
seems strange because you didn’t think Futaba had drunk enough to even be
tipsy.
“Ooh, I know! I know!” She finally exclaims, and the wide smile on her face
feels worrying at best. She brings two of her index fingers together, and with
puffed out cheeks and a big smooch, smothers them into each other.  “You gotta
kiss someone!”
“Kiss?” Haru repeats, and it’s clear from the way she stills that she’s
regretting her decision to pick dare. Ann ‘oohs’, and Akira sits up to pay
closer attention. He’s been drifting in and out since the tenth shot, but you
think all things considered, he’s also holding his drink well.
“Yes! Duh!” Futaba looks over at everyone else, and tries to decide who’s
sufficiently unprepared so that the whole thing will be funny. Yusuke’s already
had a little session with Akira as per Ann’s request, so the both of them are
out of the picture. Her eyes skim over yours before she probably decides it’s
not gonna be much fun when the person is sober. Ryuji isn’t drunk either, and
she skips him over to pick on the person next in line.
“Makoto!” Futaba smiles. There’s a cheeky glint to it. “Noir’s gotta kiss
Queen! Mission start!”  
At the sound of her name, Makoto blinks her eyes open. From what you remember,
she was planning to stay sober too, but the peer pressure got to her as soon as
you promised you’d be the one dropping people off. 
“A’rite,” Makoto slurs, and pushes her way into the centre of the circle. The
crowd cheers, and you whistle in between your laughs. She’s the most drunk by
far, up to the point where you can barely even make her words out. “I ain’t no
k’lljoy…” she mumbles. “Stud’nent Cooncil Presinet is roddy for acti’n!” She
leans in to wrap her arms around Haru before kissing her sloppily on the side
of her lips. Haru is frozen still throughout the whole thing. There’s a blush
on her face that goes all the way to her ears, and it stays even when Makoto
shuffles back to her spot next to Ryuji.
Futaba whoops again; even Akira is clapping from the side. Yusuke is looking at
them through the bottom of his empty shot glass. He tries to memorise the way
Haru’s blush is distorted by the glass in vain, before he points it at Ann, and
you realise with a little bit of dread that it’s her turn to pick someone. You
try not to make eye contact.
“Your turn, Ann!” Futaba reminds her. Her crossed legs lift off the floor in
excitement, and she rubs her hands together like she’s waiting for something
big.
“Alright, alright, how about…” Ann trails off. She fiddles with her hair and
flips it around. From the way she can barely sit up straight, you can’t help
but think that she should lay off the heavier drinks before she ends up like
Makoto. “Okay, I know,” she continues, and points at Akira, who isn’t paying
attention to the game at the time. Ryuji (who’s sat to his right) knocks him on
the shoulder.
“Dude, your turn. Truth or dare?” Ryuji prompts. He’s sat with his legs
outstretched, resting his weight on the hands behind him. You think he’s having
fun, but he’s definitely much more serious compared to everyone else, and it’s
clear he can’t really get behind the cheering. Not that you can blame him,
really. He’s refused every single drink since he stepped into the party.
“Aw, you don’t want me to pour you anything?” You remember asking. In your
memory, he rubs the back of his head shyly.
“Nah, I don’t drink,” he says. “Never have.”
(You wonder why.)
“Truth,” Akira says, resolutely. You know for a fact he’s avoiding dare because
he’s scared of what Ann is gonna deliver. She doesn’t think about it all, and
the complete lack of hesitation in how quickly a question tumbles from her lips
makes think she must have had one ready.
“You gotta say which one out of us you think’s the most attractive.”
Akira looks a little conflicted. It’s harder to see it on his face because he’s
good at holding his drink, but there’s a sway to the way he’s sat up that tells
you he’s probably going to pass out soon. He looks down at his drink, up at
everyone else, and then down at the drink again before he downs the shot all in
one go.
The crowd boos.
“Really? You’d rather do a shot than answer something like that?” Ryuji asks.
Akira nods towards him, and clutches the shot into himself.
You look to see who’s next in turn to pick, and honestly it horrifies you a
little. Makoto is sat next to Ann, opposite you, meaning you’re in the perfect
position to be picked. Whatever Makoto thinks of will definitely be terrifying
– and you pray she doesn’t pick you to be in her line of destruction.
Ann taps her on the shoulder to remind her that it’s her turn. When Makoto
phases back down to earth, she catches you staring at her. You feel your heart
freeze over.
“You -” She points in your direction. “You haven’t evun done anythin’ yet!”
“What? No way!” Ann makes a big deal out of it when she realises, and pretends
to inspect you before suggesting you should be made to do a dare to make up for
it. Ryuji’s the only one who doesn’t join in when the whole room ‘oohs’.
“Sure then, dare,” you say, because at this point everyone’s drunk enough that
you can convince yourself the night from now on will be forgotten.
Ryuji looks concerned.
“Just don’t make her do anything stupid.” He cuts in. It’s kind of weird to see
him be the responsible one, but you suppose it comes naturally with being
sober. “Remember, she can’t back out and take the shot instead. She’s gotta
drive and drop off all your sorry asses.”
You’re thankful he’s there, if you’re honest, because it’s never fun to be the
only sober person at a party. He doesn’t necessarily need to be this worried,
but you think maybe this is just his way of looking out for you.
“Ah pschaw… ya k’lljoy.” Makoto complains. Her enthusiasm seems to temper a
little, at least until Ann comes in and whispers something into her ear. The
two of them laugh between themselves afterwards, but Makoto can’t think
straight for long enough to keep it between them. She turns to the group and
shouts.
“Ann says Ryuji’s only say’n that coz he duzin’ wan’ hur ta kiss any-”
Ann clamps her hand over Makoto’s mouth, but it’s way too late. Ryuji’s entire
face feels like it’s on fire.
“Bullshit, I just know you guys are gonna give her something stupid because she
can’t choose to take the shot,” he tries to justify himself, but even Akira is
laughing at him before he finishes the sentence. Makoto is the last one to stop
chuckling, and something inside of you twists when Ann leans down to her ear
and whispers something else. The two of them giggle, exchange a couple of ‘are
you sure?’ before Makoto finally gives you your dare.
“So ya need ta… uh…” She stops for a second, looks around, and her eyes land on
Ryuji. “Ya gotta give Ryuji a boner!” She says. The whole room starts laughing
again.
“Hey, hey!” Ryuji shouts. He shifts in his seat. “What kind of dumb-ass dare is
that? Do a different one!”
You’re also laughing.
“It’s alright, Ryuji.” You say, and he stills a little, although the blush his
face remains. 
“Yeah Ryuji, we’re just kidding,” Ann waves her hand about, and Makoto pushes
in front of her to land in the centre circle again.
“Unless ya wanna!” Makoto slurs at you, and Ryuji gets angry again.
“Stop pressuring her!” He yells, but you just laugh.
“Actually Ryuji, I’m fine with it as long as you are.”
An equal split of ‘oohs’ and cheers rings about the room.
“What?” Seriously?” Ryuji asks. There’s something in his voice that makes you
feel like he can’t believe you’re being honest.
“You heard her Ryuji!” Ann shouts. She and Makoto start clapping, while Futaba
joins in with a few of her own cheers. “She’s up for it if you are!”
“Well yeah, I heard, but-” He gulps, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I-” he looks away for a second, “I am. It’s just,
are you alright with it? We’re both sober so…”
He doesn’t seem to know whether that makes it alright, or not alright, and the
tone of his voice reflects his indecision.

“Yeah, totally. It’s just a dare, isn’t it?”
You hear a snicker off the side from someone.
“It’s not just a dare to Ryuji!” Ann shouts.
“Hey! Stop spouting bullshit!” he shouts back, and Akira laughs at him again.
“Come on Ryuji, relax,” you laugh too, and stand up to dust yourself off before
you sit in his lap.
Everyone cheers again.
“Hold on, hold on!” He says, as you adjust your seat a little.
“No problem,” you say, and start getting up.
“I didn’t say get off!” He shouts again. Everyone is in a constant fit of
giggles as he pulls you back down to his lap by your wrist. “I just, needed a
second.” You laugh again. He’s being very awkward about this, but it’s
endearing and cute more so than genuinely frustrating.
“Are you ready now?” You ask, just to tease him a little.
“Yeah.”
Suddenly, he pulls you in towards his chest. It’s you that everyone laughs at
this time round, as the shock on your face gives way to demure embarrassment,
and you hide your face in his chest shyly. There, you can feel his heart thrum
against your ear like a drum; if his nervousness was ever unclear, it’s obvious
now. Stroking your hair calms him down a little, so he resorts to it as his
bravery stews. You think maybe he’s afraid to make the first move.
“Get spicy guys! Stop with the sappy cuddling!” Futaba shouts. You hide your
face further into his chest out of embarrassment as you comply, trailing your
hands down from his stomach to his trousers, and he kisses your neck down to
your shoulder in return. It doesn’t take much palming to find his dick, but it
still surprises you feel it against your fingers.
It’s already hard.
Not just half-hard either, there’s definitely a full erection hiding inside of
his boxers. The cheeky glaze to your smile when you look into his eyes and lift
your eyebrows is unmistakably cocky. Ryuji swallows when he sees it.
“What’s this?” You whisper up at him. He doesn’t answer even though he’s
staring straight at you, he just keeps looking until his eyes flicker down to
your lips. It’s then that he finally grasps at enough courage to pull you in
for a kiss instead – and he makes the most of it, wrapping his arms around your
waist, pulling you so far into him that you’re pushed into his hips.
More cheering comes, but it’s all background noise.
Your legs are wrapped around him when he pulls away, but even then, he still
hovers over your lips. One of his arms is behind him, supporting the weight of
the both of you as he leans back, while the other is still snaked around your
waist. His erection is pressed against your ass, so you decide to have a little
more fun with it. You grind into him, but even the gentle rocking you start
with causes him to hiss and bury his face into your neck again. Every little
thing you do drives him crazy.
He curses under his breath.
Eventually, you ease off, and he looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if
he’s made some kind of mistake. You let your fingers trail over his face, down
to his lips.
“I think we’re done here,” you say, loud enough for everyone to hear, as you
gesture down to his trousers.
Cheering again.
“Wait,” he says, and holds you against him by your waist. He’s staring at you
like there’s no one else in the room, and it makes you a little dizzy. “I don’t
want you to stop,” he pushes out, and his eyebrows are scrunched in a way you
can only describe as pleading.
The room erupts: Futaba shrills, Yusuke claps, Makoto grabs hold of Akira and
uses his weight to prop herself up so she can use her hands as a megaphone.
“Whoo! Get a room!” She yells, and it’s so slurred there’s no way you could
confuse her for anyone else. Ryuji looks at them all a little bitterly, but one
glance back at you is all it takes for his expression to soften.
“Fine,” he says. You stand up to get off him, but he doesn’t let you walk away.
Using his hand to keep you caged, he picks you up and lifts you over his
shoulder so suddenly that you shriek. “I’m using your bedroom, Akira” He says,
turning towards him. There’s more cheers, and Futaba pretends to wipe a tear at
her eye.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Akira says. It’s all the confirmation Ryuji needs before
he turns around, waves at the others with the back of his hand, and carries you
up the stairs.
***** Patience (Akira Kurusu) *****
There’s something restless about Akira tonight, you think.
It’s the little things: blanking when you’re trying to speak to him, washing
the same plate for five minutes, asking Sojiro when he’s deciding to close the
shop multiple times (to which Sojiro replies with “just the usual,” each time,
and it makes you question why Akira’s even asking in the first place).
You want to ask him if maybe he’s tired; he’s spent the entire day in mementos
after all, and it’s admittedly a lot of running about even when car Mona is a
possibility. But the first thing he says to you after Sojiro leaves (early for
some reason, despite his initial insistence) makes you think otherwise.
“Do you want to stay up for a bit longer?” He asks. The barista apron is still
tied around his waist. It strikes you that he hasn’t changed out of it since he
sat down to read a book at the table you were doing a crossword on. “I’ll make
you some coffee,” he continues, to convince you.
You nod, because tomorrow is a weekend and you haven’t really got anything
better to do anyway.
The two of you talk about the Phantom Thieves for a little while, but
eventually, the conversation trails off to Sojiro. His kindness in adopting two
kids who were nothing more than strangers to him is not lost on you or Akira,
especially considering the sketchy backgrounds behind both of you. It's a lot
of trust to give to someone who many other people would say doesn't deserve it,
and there's not a day gone by that you don't try to show your appreciation for
it.
The conversation tires at two in the morning, when your second cup of coffee is
long finished. Akira suggests the both of you retire for the night - so you
agree. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep on his mattress, which you
can't help but notice is shuffled a little closer to where you bed is pushed
against the wall. To you however, sleep does not come with the same ease. You
know for a fact you shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee, but Akira’s
blends tend to prove too good to resist, and today was no exception.
You shuffle about in your bed, and sigh. Akira notices.
"Can't sleep?" He asks, simply. Hearing his voice surprises you, because he
hasn’t said anything for at least fifteen minutes, and you were convinced he
was asleep. When you turn flip around to find him staring at you, you become
well aware that's not the case.
"Yeah. I wonder why," you say, but your voice is laced with sarcasm.
“Too busy staring at me, probably,” he answers. You snicker under your breath.
This sort of back and forth has always been a staple of spending time with him
– so you feel confident as you tease him back.
“Yeah, as if. You’re the one that was staring when I turned around.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. There’s a stretch of silence that feels
comfortable enough to sleep to, so you think maybe that’s the end of the
conversation. He speaks again, however.
"We could talk for a bit longer," he suggests.
"We've been talking all night."
There's a little bit of quiet again. You can only hear the wind outside, and
even that is nothing more than a steady background hum, coming through the
small crack where your window is opened to the backstreets.
"We could always do something else," he suggests again. It feels oddly
persistent, and there's definitely something devious to his tone. You try to
look at him more closely, but it’s too dark to clearly make out his expression.
(You don’t have to see his face to know he’s grinning, however.)
"Like what?" You ask, and the way the words clog up in your throat makes them
hard to vocalise. There's been nothing of real substance between you and Akira,
but you've seen little hints here and there to suggest he wants something more.
Like the way he looks at you when the two of you are alone, in long bouts of
silence. Or the way he'll always make an effort to stand just a titch too close
to you for comfort. Up until now, you had thought it was all unconscious.
(You don't think that anymore.)
Akira sighs. It's not a tired sigh; it's not an annoyed sigh either. It's the
kind of noise someone makes before they stand up after sitting down for a long
time, which is why it doesn't surprise you when he sits up from his mattress to
look straight at you and gestures for you to come over.
“Come here and find out.”
“Wait, really?” You laugh, if only to hide your nervousness. “So that’s been
your plan all along then? Spike me with the strongest coffee in the shop and
take advantage of me when I can’t fall asleep?”
A dull light comes in through the window. You assume it’s the moon coming out
of hiding from beneath the clouds, and the gentle sweep of pale white
illuminates Akira’s face. Again, there's a deviousness to his grin and hunger
on his face; the same expression he always wears in those long bouts of
silence.
"Is that a problem?" He asks.
You're not sure if it's a problem, honestly, but you shake your head anyway.
There's an alluring pull in his eyes that you can't quite ignore, like he's
been prepping himself for this and this part is him just reeling you in.
“I feel used,” you say, but you’re only joking. “Here I thought you just wanted
to make some coffee for me.”
Akira’s smile falls apart at the ends, crumbles into something more neutral.
“We don’t have to do anything.” he says. It sounds weirdly earnest coming from
him. “But you always look like you’re having fun whenever we flirt with each
other. I thought maybe you’d be interested in this too.”
You think back to all the times the two of you have exchanged snarky responses,
all the times he’s ‘accidentally’ touched your arms, shoulders, back, and all
the times you’ve leant in. All the times, he’d push, and you’d push back.
 “I am.” You tell him.
 “Then what are you waiting for?”
“Good question.”
It’s the last push that staves your hesitation for just long enough to stand up
and make your way to his mattress. It doesn’t do much more however. The
nervousness comes back quickly, and you sit right on the end – away from where
he’s sitting. It must be funny to him, because he laughs at you.
“Are you scared of me?” He asks.
“Should I be?” You joke.
The moon has long since went into hiding, but even without it, you know he’s
grinning again.
“Maybe.”
He shuffles closer to you, bringing the blanket trailing behind him. You’re not
looking at him when he presses his chest against you, but you can tell his face
is near your neck because he’s close enough for you to feel his breath trailing
on your skin.
"I've been waiting for this," he says, and to be perfectly honest you don't
doubt him. With patience, he picks up your hair, gently (lovingly) and moves it
out from your shoulder, where the bare skin he exposes flares with goosebumps.
He moves closer to you. “Have you been thinking about this, too?”
You nod, as if he needs the confirmation.
It doesn’t take long for him to press his lips against your neck. It’s not much
in terms of contact, but it’s so quiet that it’s the only thing you can
properly notice, and your skin feels it a thousand times over.
It seems natural to push your body closer to his, and he sits up to accommodate
you into his chest. There's something analytical in the way he runs his hand
down your body, to rest just at your waist where your pyjama top ends. You know
what he's trying to do, so you let him – pulling up your top over your
shoulder. A gentle hum of appreciation comes from his lips as he trails his
hands upwards.
You feel yourself shiver.
“Sojiro thinks we’ve been doing this for ages, doesn’t he?” You ask.
Akira chuckles. It has a softness to it, even though it rumbles at the edges
with vibrations so powerful you can feel them. (But maybe that’s just because
his lips are so close.)
“Yeah. He keeps telling me to be responsible and not take advantage of you.”
His fingers rest on your breasts and knead them gently. Everything he does is
slow, deliberate. “Even tonight,” he whispers, and he’s suddenly right by your
ear, “he warned me that if you said I so much as touched you without your
permission, I would get kicked out without a second thought.” With that, he
makes a show of cupping your breasts.
“Did he know?” You ask, as he moves downwards: down, and down, and further down
still, until his hands rub circles into the waistline of your pyjama pants.
“What do you mean?”
“About tonight. Did you tell Sojiro anything?”
He chuckles again, and it sends that Godly rumble down your neck.
“Not at all.” His fingers slip just under the waistband, but don’t move any
further. They stay there, tantalising your skin with a gentle circular motion.
“But I imagine I probably made it very obvious. This has been on my mind for a
while, after all.”
Unconsciously, your hips tilt towards him, and he laughs at you.
“Just a little longer,” he whispers. “I want to make you wait, too.”
You feel dizzy.
It doesn't take much to notice he's enjoying the way your hips rock with his
motions. You think maybe he's thought about this exact moment before, because
everything he does feels too deliberate to be based on something as petty as
impulse.
"I want to see what it looks like when you break." You gasp as he inches lower
and lower, because at this point any sort of stimulation is going to send
tremors through you "Come on," he urges you on, "use my hand." Quite
mischievously and contrary to his words however, he holds his hand in place.
Eventually, you get frustrated and try meeting his fingers in vain by craning
your hips, but he just lifts his hand off you and laughs. "Not so fast. I can't
touch you without permission, remember?"
"You've got my permission." You say, resolutely, and try to loophole your way
around his games by putting your own hand into your pants, because you just
really need any form of stimulation at this point. Before you can however, he
grabs your hand and holds it behind your back.
"Shh, just a little while now.”
His lips latch onto your neck again and suck on the skin. You know he wants to
leave a mark with how long he stays there for, and a part of you looks forward
to seeing it on yourself tomorrow. Quietly, his hand slips into your pants
while you’re distracted, but you waste no time in rocking against it, trying
(really trying) to angle yourself to get any kind of pleasure from it.
“Good, good.” He kisses the bruise.
Eventually, he seems to get his fill. He withdraws and moves further back onto
the bed, and you turn around to figure out what made him stop. However, his
expression is blank. With patience in excess, he gestures for you to lie down,
and crawls to your side to hover over your body. It's still too dark to see him
properly, so he becomes a shadow that looms over your body, caging your head
with both of his arms on either side.
There's another moment of stillness. You turn your head away from him, and he
takes the opportunity like he was waiting for it, levering himself down with
his arms so you feel his body on top of yours. He's at your neck again, kissing
first, then trailing down to your shoulders and ending by nipping on the skin
at your collarbone. You’re distracted again, so you’re not prepared when his
hand finally moves to your clit, and it actually makes you jolt.
He laughs again.
"About time." You want to make it sound annoyed, but all that pours out is
relief.
“Yeah,” he agrees, and kisses you on the lips.
***** Sense of Humour (Yusuke Kitagawa) *****
You’re not so sure this is a good idea anymore.
A gently crumpled piece of paper sits on your lap, overturned, folded,
unfolded, and then re-folded again. On it is the title ‘couple strengthening
exercises’ and several points beneath are listed and crossed out: go to a place
you’ve never been before, cook something together, say something nice, and
finally (one of the only points that is yet to be crossed out) give them
something to improve on.
Yusuke has the same piece of paper in front of him.
“Surely there must be something you think I could improve in,” he says,
and sure, you can think of some points, but you know what he’s like with
criticism; you don’t want to spend the next couple of days on an adventure to
improve the shortcoming you point out. He can be quite a perfectionist, after
all, and he holds a lot of stake in your relationship. Nothing less than
perfect will suffice.
“Hm, nope. Nothing’s coming to mind.”
Yusuke sighs and brings a finger to his chin.
“When I proposed this exercise, you seemed very enthusiastic. May I remind you
these couple strengthening activities are an important part of cultivating our
healthy relationship? It would be a shame to give up before we’re finished with
them.”
You nod, because you appreciate that he’s taking your relationship so
seriously, it’s just –
“A lot of relationships that end prematurely do so because of a failure to
communicate. I wouldn’t want our relationship to end in the same way,” he
explains. It feels a little touching, because you realise the only reason he’s
going to such lengths in the first place is because he cares so much about you.
With a drawn-out sigh, you give in.
“Well, maybe you could appreciate my sense of humour a little more?”
There’s a pause, and Yusuke returns to being deep in thought.
“I – I see. I think I might need you to elaborate,” he says, after thinking
about it. You resign yourself to spending the next couple of days reassuring
Yusuke that ‘it’s not a big deal’ and that he ‘you were just exaggerating’.
“Well, a lot of the time you just don’t laugh when I want you to. Sometimes I
feel like you don’t even realise I’m joking.”
He’s thinking again.
“I see. That is entirely possible,” he mumbles. “Perhaps before you make a
joke, you should make some sort of loud noise? That way, I’ll know to laugh at
the end.”
You laugh.
“Not sure that would work, Yusuke.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him fiddling with the sheet of paper
nervously. It makes you feel bad, because you know for a fact he’s taking this
a hundred times more seriously than you could ever hope to.
“Is there anything else you could suggest? I’m willing to try any of your ideas
as long as they have a chance of removing obstacles from our relationship.”
“Don’t worry about it Yusuke, it’s not a big deal.”
His face scrunches in a way that looks no less anxious than his hands.
“But if there’s something to improve, surely we should begin work on it? It
seems unfair to ask you to overlook such a flaw for the course of our
relationship.”
“Honestly, it’s really not that important. I’ve come to accept that some jokes
are just harder for you to pick up on.”
Suddenly, he shuffles forward and grasps your hand in-between both of his.
“It is important,” he says resolutely. Determination flares in his eyes in a
way that’s equally as endearing as it is overwhelming and intimidating. “I
refuse to overlook anything that has a chance of putting distance between the
two of us.”
If you had to pick an emotion to describe the way he’s holding onto your hand,
it would probably edge around ‘frantic’ and ‘desperate.’ It’s rare that Yusuke
doesn’t shower your conversations with sincerity when they trail off like this,
but it always manages to surprise you. He’s got the future in mind when it
comes to you, that much is clear. Still, you can’t help but laugh.
He recoils from you a little like he’s not sure what’s happening, but you pull
him back. You use your other hand to clasp his own, and lean into him to give
him a kiss that he returns gladly, if not without confusion.
“Don’t be stupid. As if I’d ever leave you over something as stupid as that,”
you say, honestly.
He’s inclined to believe you.
***** They're so Cute When They're Asleep (Ryuji Sakamoto) *****
“They’re so cute when they’re asleep," Ryuji says.
“But they’re unbearable when they’re not,” you mumble back at him. You’re
tired, everything hurts, and you can’t even moan about it properly in fear of
waking them up. Ryuji’s still got energy to spare, surprisingly, even after
doing most of the running about. Either he’s gonna be unwakeable tomorrow, or
enthusiasm loads your body with more adrenaline than you initially thought.
“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t love ‘em. Like look-” he starts, and points
to the twins. “We made that. Me and you together.” The bright shimmer in his
smile feels glaring even in the darkness of the early morning; it sends jitters
all the way down to your knees and makes you feel weaker in a way that’s not
tired – but satisfied.
You turn on the bed to lie at your side and give him a kiss.
His enthusiasm ebbs away by the time you pull back, but the smile is still
there, halfway between gentle and absolutely unmovable.
“Man, this was the best-case scenario,” he says. You flash a confused eyebrow
up at him, and he curls his arms around you to pull you into his chest before
he elaborates. “When I first started - y’know, being interested in you, I had
no idea I was in so deep.”
There’s still the lingering smell of cologne on his tank top despite the fact
the two of you had no plans to leave the house for the day. It’s a soft
reminder that even despite the daily grind that marriage and having children
entails, Ryuji still tries hard for you. It makes you consider putting yours on
tomorrow.
“I talked about it with Akira, because we used to talk about stupid shit like
girls all the time, but I think he noticed something was up. Like, the only
girl I’d ever talk about was you.”
The dumb grin on his face only gets wider.
“So Akira took me aside and he was like, man, what’s the best-case scenario
with this girl? Is it like a weekend thing? How long would you stay with her?”
He tightens his arms around you and pushes you away, if only so he can look at
your face. There’s genuine excitement in his eyes.
“Do you wanna know what I said?” he asks.
“Weekend,” you answer (but you’re just teasing). Ryuji’s smile does not falter.
He leans down with more reservation than you’d expect from his enthusiastic
stupor, and places his lips against your forehead.
“Nah,” he says calmly. He strokes your jaw to your cheek, and runs his thumb
along the curve of your lips.
“I said forever.”
You cuddle into him tighter, and all you can register before he starts running
his hands up your sides is cologne. 
***** Stay Awake (Akira Kurusu) *****
“Stay awake.”
With a shiver up your spine and a flash of light flaring your eyelids in a way
that makes them flinch, your eyes open.
God, your shoulder is sore.
It aches as a dull throb that’s made worse every time you devote attention to
it, and you know for a damn fact it’s dislocated. The pop when the officer
stood on it was absolutely sickening; you felt the thing all the way down to
the tips of your fingers. Even though you tried (really, really, really tried)
there was nothing you could do to stifle the yelp that stumbled out of your
throat when the sear of hot pain flushed your entire body, or anything you
could think of that would prevent the wet line of tears in your eyes from
retracing their path against your mottled skin at how it ebbed back with every
heartbeat.
Akira’s been a lot braver about this whole thing.
Admittedly, he’s probably been roughed up a little less. Sure, when you look at
him out of the corner of your poorly adjusted eyes, he’s got bruises all over:
purple marks spread across his face like the clouds in sunset, not one, but two
black eyes, and his knocked-out tooth is still somewhere on the floor. But if
you counted your bruises and pit them against each other, you're convinced
you'd be miles ahead of him.
He’s smiling. It’s not a happy smile.
“I’m sorry,” he says, for the umpteenth time.
You shake your head, even if you shoulder flares up in pain again because of
it. It’s difficult to think of anything else, and the pain is bringing you
constantly to the edge of blacking out, but you both know what happens if they
catch you sleeping. Just imagining the rag they bring in for waterboarding is
enough to straighten your back like you’ve woken up from a nightmare.
“It’s fine. I’ve told you,” you mutter. You’d like to think it is. There are
some things that probably could have changed your situation; making your
relationship as much of a secret as Morgana suggested it be could have done it,
as well as renouncing Akira when the time came to be questioned yourself,
instead of supporting him to the point the police were suspicious enough to
look through your phone for messages.
But Akira deserves better than to deal with this alone. They’re trying to break
him by fucking you up in front of his eyes, and even if it’s definitely more
effective than anything they’ve been doing to him (which is probably why he’s
coming out of every session without any broken legs or dislocated shoulders)
you’ve managed to fool him into thinking that the whole thing bothers you about
half as much as it actually does. Besides, it was your choice to get all
tangled up in this anyway. It’s not like you were dragged into the Phantom
Thieves kicking and screaming.
He looks like he wants to say something. The unfocused haze in his eyes dulls
in and out of his vision; it makes you think he’s probably about to black out
too. When he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off.
“If you wanna say something about the guy that threatened to shove his dick
down my throat in front of you, save it.”
It’s so sudden and blunt that Akira is taken aback for a second. Again, he
reconsiders his options. You know for a fact he’s always this cautious, always
choosing responses like his finger is hovering over a list of positives and
negatives. It makes you feel better, because that’s what he’s always been like;
never one to step out of line or say something inconsiderate.
But you’re not in the mood for his soft, careful words right now. More than
anything, you’re just pissed.
“I’m gonna bite his balls off if he even tries,” you growl and spit at the
floor. Blood comes out with it.
He knows you’re lying, and you know he knows you’re lying. Anything like that
would make your life one hundred times worse than you could probably even
imagine, which is a scary thought considering the position the two of you are
in already. Still, it makes him feel better. He laughs, coughing somewhere in
the middle, and fights with the drowsiness greying everything to the background
to focus on you.
“Okay,” he says.
You want to hold his hand, but your arms are bound behind your back.
***** I Need You (Goro Akechi) *****
Goro Akechi used to be out of your reach.
Distinctly, you remembered something far-away in his eyes every time you
gathered the courage to look into them, like despite all the pretty words that
tumbled out of his lips and the grace in his smiles, there was a part of him
you could never quite affect.
At first, you assumed it was a good thing. Like maybe he was just too clever
and ethereal for everyone else, an angel garbed in yellow fabrics that
undulated like ocean waves every time he moved his fingers, a crown of gold
twining around his forehead in pretty branches that caught the light in a way
that topped his hair with a halo. Always smiling. Always humble, beautiful, and
too inexplicable to really be completely understood.
Not literally, of course. If you were to speak without flowery metaphors or
pretty imagery, Goro Akechi was a well-mannered, nationally acknowledged
detective who you assumed to be out of your league the first few times you
talked to him in Leblanc.
He was at first, at least. It’s not really the case anymore.
Currently, he’s is hunched over the crappy single bed that you’re tied to,
dressed in a pair of smart, black pants and a white shirt that’s been
unbuttoned down the second hole. He looks a little pathetic, if you’re honest,
but it might be because you know for a fact he’s barely had the patience to
take off his blazer and tie before rushing downstairs to where you’re locked in
his basement. (And have been, for the past three and a half weeks.)
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking a little out of breath. “I know I was supposed to
wake you up two hours ago, but I couldn’t leave work early tonight without
looking suspicious.”
To tell the truth, you’re finding it hard to care. It’s all more or less the
same to you whether you’re tied up on the bed or sat on a chair with handcuffs
chafing your wrist.
Goro Akechi, on the other hand, seems to care a lot.
“It’s Sae’s fault. She’s always holding me back and asking me questions
nowadays. I’m going to start putting my foot down and telling her I’ve got
things to do.”
You’re not sure who Sae is. He’s said her name before, and you think at one
point you probably cared enough to ask, but it’s been long since then.
“Alright, I’m finished,” he says, when you hear the click of handcuffs. You
don’t move, so he laughs a laugh that seems broken around the edges and hollow
on the inside.
“Are you tired?” He asks, playfully. “But you’ve been asleep all day.” 
His words are gentle, indirect: he says room, as opposed to basement; ties
instead of chains, sleepy in place of drugged, making love as an alternative to
rape, sleeping instead of being tied in one position for 10 hours of the day.
“Come on, I’ll help you get up,” he says, where he should be saying ‘I’ll lift
your limp body for long enough that you can sit on a chair.’
There’s still something unreachable in his eyes when he looks into the mini-
fridge in his basement. He picks up a yoghurt tin, and maybe if you cared
enough you’d appreciate that it was your favourite flavour.
“Since you’re feeling lazy today, I’m gonna feed you, alright?” He asks,
smiling down at you. It strikes you that the same faraway distance that has
settled in his eyes has spread to his smile.
It’s got worse over time. (Or maybe it’s always been like that. Not that you
can remember.)
“What would you do without me?” he asks, as you close your lips around the
spoon he’s holding out in your direction. Something breaks in his voice at the
end. You don’t acknowledge it, and he feeds you in silence, little by little,
spoon by spoon, until the whole thing is nearly finished.
“You need me, don’t you?” He asks, at the last spoonful. It hits an odd spot
between serious and playful, like he’s trying to make it light-hearted but
something inside of him gave up at the last second.
You don’t respond. As he waits, his face crumbles.
“Come on, tell me you need me. I know you do.” he continues, a little more
pleadingly. The smile is still there, but barely and barely – hanging on like
it's grasping onto the end of a thread. Still, you say nothing, and it too
eventually fades to a straight line.
It’s a while before the next thing happens. Goro Akechi unravels slowly, the
same way he’s unravelled every day for the past three and a half weeks. His
brows furrow, and he sinks to the floor and covers his eyes. Every single time,
you’re ready to hear him sobbing, but every time, all you hear is silence.
Four minutes later, he gets up, and there’s not even a trace of red around his
eyelids.
“Come on, I’ll give you something to drink,” he says. The smile is back,
settling as a pretty, distant curve on his cheeks that reaches even his eyes.
You can tell he’s lying to himself, but it’s too much of an effort for your
drowsy mind to process or analyse properly, and takes too much strength for the
scraps of motivation you have left. 
If you cared enough, you might have assumed the distance in his eyes that was
so fascinating to you, so far-far away from anywhere you could hope to affect
it (like the sun, looking down at the earth) was out of his reach, too.
***** “I really need to see you smile right now.” (Yusuke Kitagawa) *****
Yusuke is standing over the letterbox. He’s been there for a few minutes,
fiddling with the envelope in his fingers like he’s scrambling together the
courage to tear it open.
“What’s that?” You ask, from behind him. He jolts in surprise when he hears
you, but his hands immediately stop fiddling with the envelope, and his grimace
relaxes to something a little more serene. There’s quiet for a little while, as
he looks it over one more time.
“It’s from the gallery,” Yusuke says, and understanding flashes across your
face.
“Is there anything you want me to do before you open it?” You ask. There’s
hesitation in your voice, like you’re not sure what you’re supposed to be
doing. “I could make you some tea or something.”
Nervous jitters coil you fingers together. Yusuke thinks about it, but
eventually looks upwards and shakes his head at you.
“I could do with seeing your smile right now,” he says. There’s a moment
wherein you’re too flustered to react properly, but it passes relatively
quickly. Yusuke isn’t trying to tease you, after all, he’s just a blatantly
honest man who’s told you on more than one account how relaxing he finds your
smile.
You comply, mustering the brightest and most infectious grin you’ve ever
managed.
“Is that good enough?” you ask hurriedly, and when he replies with “why
wouldn’t it be?” you drag him over to the couch by his arm.
The two of you sit next to each other, and you lean over to him to thread your
hand through his. He shows his appreciation for it by grasping it tighter. The
two of you take a deep breath in.
“On the count of three,” you say.
He nods.
“One, two,” and a beat of silence before “three.”
The envelope is torn and the letter is folded open, to face Yusuke. After a
couple of seconds of reading, his face scrunches.
“What is it?” You ask, but you can tell it’s not good news from the way he’s
glaring at it. He does that little thing where he looks at you like he forgot
you were there again, and when he turns to face you, his expression relaxes so
dramatically you could accuse him of putting it on if you didn’t know him
better.
“Not this time round,” he says, not half as disappointed as you expected him to
be. Out of the corner of your eye, you just manage to see the first line of the
letter apologising for having to reject his submission before he folds it up.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, but the face he’s making tells you there’s no reason
to be. There’s a satisfied smile on his face, the kind of love-drunk look that
boys give in romance movies when the girl isn’t looking. But you are looking,
and you’re confused as to why he looks so happy when he should be bothered that
his work didn’t get approved.
“Don’t be,” he explains, and you can’t see you didn’t see it coming. “It seems
like I can’t even be bitter about it.”
“How so?”
Another beat of silence. This one is a little longer.
“The joy at having you with me prevents it,” he says, and turns to face you
directly. “I really believe you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”
He pulls a large strand of your hair towards his face gently, and presses it
against his cheek.
“What a powerful emotion,” he says, like he’s still in disbelief over it.
***** If You Can't Sleep (Ryuji Sakamoto) *****
A month into the relationship, Ryuji hasn’t mentioned sex.
The two of you kiss, sure. A lot, even. Things have edged to the point where
Ryuji has had his hands on your waist, trailing down until they rest just above
your ass, and they might have even went further had his mum not decided to call
you both down for dinner at that point in time. In general, he’s quite handsy
whenever the two you are alone (and sometimes even when you’re not) but things
haven’t moved past that.
It stands to be understood, in that case, that the first time he asks you to
sleep over you get excited. It’s a Friday. There’s nice weather. The two of you
go out for some ice cream before going back to his house and playing some old
retro games on the floor in his living room. Ryuji’s mum looks at him and
smiles when he asks her if it’s alright for you to spend the night. She seems
to know where this is going, and by the way she looks at him you think maybe
she knows that it’s about time, too.
She just so remembers she has to step out for the night.
Nothing happens for a while. Not when his mother leaves, or when the two of you
sit down topsy-turvy in his bed. Not when your toes brush against each other
and not even when the lights go out. It’s a little underwhelming, and you can’t
help but feel like maybe you said something that put him off, or maybe you look
uninterested. Things have gone quiet, like he’s getting ready to go to sleep,
and you’ve already given up on getting any sort of action when he speaks up.
“Are you asleep?” He asks, softly.
“No,” you reply, straight away. There’s a bit of shifting on your side, as you
try to prove your point.
The pep talk he tries to give himself lasts for about ten seconds too long, up
until the point you’ve convinced yourself he’s just falling asleep again.
“If you can’t sleep, we could…” He starts, but trails off. Bravery gives up on
him halfway through, and he concludes that maybe he’ll never have the
initiative to finish the question. Maybe he’s right. He’ll never find out,
anyway, because in that moment, you finish it off for him.
“Have sex?”
There’s sputtering from his direction.
“I – uh, I mean… yeah, I guess so.”
You sit up and laugh. The lights are off so you can’t see his face, but you
wish you could. There’s no way his expression isn’t absolutely delectable.
Quickly, so you don’t have time to convince yourself otherwise, you come out
from under the blankets and throw yourself over to lie next to him.
“Honestly, I thought you’d never ask,” you say, and he must feel either
embarrassed or guilty because he looks away.
“Man, you must think I’m such a loser.”
“Why?” You laugh again.
“Uh, cause I’ve totally chickened out every time I wanted to ask? Isn’t it
obvious?”
You think about his response for a little while, because sure, you could start
telling him all about how you think it’s cute, and that he shouldn’t worry
about it, but at this moment you’ve only really got one thing on your mind.
“Are you chickening out now?”
You think you hear him swallow.
“Nah,” he says. The word itself is tense, strained, and too late to feel
natural. Still, when you sit up, he follows, and his hands go to your shirt
immediately. You’ve been admiring the form of his muscles from how much the
tank top reveals them pretty much all day, but even now, when it’s so dark you
can barely see them past a faint outline, you can’t stop staring.
He pulls your shirt over your head. You do the same.
“Oh man,” he says, like he’s in a daze. “You’re just -” he starts, but doesn’t
finish, and for a second you think he’s short-circuited. “I wanna touch you so
bad.”
You don’t react. This time you’ve short-circuited. Ryuji must be waiting for
your response, however, because he hesitates.
(Not for long though.)
“Sorry, I just can’t help it,” is all he says, before his hand goes to knead
your breasts. You do the same, but to his pyjama pants, and he immediately
curls over your hand and groans. It’s so sudden that you can’t help but laugh,
and his face is red when he looks up at you.
“Hey! You can’t just do that outta the blue!” You would accuse him of
overreacting, but to his credit, he does look very flustered. You withdraw your
hand. “What if I’m not ready and I….”
“You what?” You can’t help but tease. “You cum or something?”
It works, because you honestly don’t think he’s ever looked so embarrassed in
his life.
“Why d’you have to go out and say it?”
“Wait, for real? You’re gonna cum just from that?”
“I’ve been thinking about this all day, y’know!”
“Yeah, but still.”
He groans again, but this one is less sexual and more embarrassed. You liked it
better when it was sexual, so your hand goes back to his pants without even
thinking about it.
“Oy! What did I just say?” He yells, grasping your hand in his own
“Then be prepared for it next time.”
You try to use your other, free hand to slip under his pants, but he grabs that
one too. There’s a moment where the two of you don’t say anything, but the look
in his eyes is so intense that you think the goosebumps you get from it have
become a permanent addition to your skin.
He’s predatory.
“Then you better get prepared, too,” is your warning, before he pins your arms
above your head and starts kissing your lips, your neck, your collarbones, and
then you feel his weight as he presses his waist to yours.
***** Peaceful (Akira Kurusu) *****
A sheen of cold sweat coats Akira’s skin when he jolts awake. He doesn’t notice
it at first. He doesn’t notice you, either, and the sensation of the blanket
resting on his chest hazes out into a static of sound and the cold, blank face
of the interrogation room, into the dread that comes with hearing the click-
clack of shoes from outside his door, into the impulse that tells his muscles
to brace themselves for an incoming hit to his ribcage.
Into pain.
Your weight is what he recognises before anything else. You’re strung over his
lap, legs hanging off the side of the bed and out from the blanket. The only
word that he can affectively assign to it is peaceful, which is a far cry from
the ugly mosaic that brings his time as a prisoner together into a chaotic
mess.
He takes a deep breath.
The sweat on his skin is next to come to his attention. Apart from the
uncomfortable stickiness in his arms, he can tell it’s there because it
reflects the pale shade of the night sky that streams in through his windows.
“You’re waking me up with your moving about,” he hears you say. You’re rubbing
your eyes, head still nestled into his lap.
“Sorry,” he says, and it takes him a while to continue. “I had a bad dream
again.”
His delivery is monotone, but you can recognise more in his form that gives way
to emotion; the pace to his breathing is fast and a little on the clipped side;
his eyes are unfocused, glazed to the point he’s looking somewhere you could
never hope to meet them.
(And he’s sweating. A lot, even.)
“Aw, you poor kid.”
It sounds condescending. Totally unhelpful, completely derogatory. But you’ve
done this many times before, and this is always what works best. Akira shakes
you off his lap with a grimace on his face, and for a second (to an outsider)
it might look like he’s annoyed.
When you start laughing however, he laughs along with you, and the mood lifts.
“You can keep calm from now on, you know. They can’t hurt you anymore,” you
say. This one sounds comforting, and like a pattern that repeats itself that’s
how it always goes: get him out of his rut, and then be the pillar he can rest
against.
But there’s a hesitation to his serene smile that you can’t quite read. Sure,
you can say that, but there’s still the time the two of you were followed by a
man in a suit who trailed no closer than twenty steps behind, like he was
trying to stay hidden. Or the time a police car just so happened to make all
the same turns as the car you were trying to pass your driving license in. It’s
not so much a panic or an impression of danger as much as it is just a constant
state of unease.
But even all that kind of misses the point. They can lock him up all over
again, electrocute him, load his muscles with needles and drugs until he loses
all the feeling in them, but that’s not what he’s scared of.
“I just hope they don’t mess with you.”
This time, you notice the depth to his serenity. It’s a little overwhelming.
Getting reminded that Akira’s slow tenderness has a lot more behind it then he
often communicates tends to be.
You laugh again.
“As if. The Phantom Thieves would get together again and punch right back.”
It’s that kind of optimism, he thinks, that keeps his restless nights peaceful.
***** Jealousy Headcannons (All) *****
Akira:
[Jealousy over you with Ryuji]
Akira keeps it bottled up pretty well. Ryuji is his friend, and he feels kind
of slimy getting in the way of the one chance Ryuji has at a decent
relationship. Still, that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.
Despite the fact he feels like it would be too conceited to do something as
reckless as confess, he still places emphasis on being close to you physically.
Suddenly, he has to sort out his items at the same table you’re sat at, and if
just so happens that you’re standing standing next to Ryuji, then it might just
so happen he thinks it’s best to stand between you two, and well, if you’re so
close, it’s not his fault if his fingers just so happen to brush over your
arms, right?
You’re kept well-separated from Ryuji when the Phantom Thieves ever go on
missions. Ryuji finds himself benched most of the time, and even though it kind
of pains him (he feels like maybe he’s being made redundant) he doesn’t pick up
on a thing due to his inherent trust in Akira’s leadership. However, Akira does
it so consistently that eventually Morgana points it out, suggesting it might
be a good idea to put you on the team with him because of how your abilities
mesh.
Akira disagrees. When Morgana asks him to explain or to elaborate, he just
pulls out the leader card and tells Morgana that he knows that he’s doing in a
tone that edges on passive-aggressive. 
His jealousy lasts long enough for Morgana to figure it out. Morgana tells him
that he should just suck it up like a man and confess, because in the end, it
should be your choice anyway.
Morgana:
[Jealousy over you with Akira]
Considering his body, there’s not really much he can do. Sure, he wants to
whisk you away and carry you to someplace secret, and of course he feels
compelled to give you the prettiest and most flowery confession known to man,
but he knows for a fact he’d never be taken seriously.
There’s a lot more frustration concerning his hunt to find a human body. He’s
also constantly making passive-aggressive comments whenever the two of you are
together, and Akira finds he makes more and more excuses to leave. Every time,
he ends up getting annoyed over it and takes his anger out on Ryuji.
Ryuji:
[Jealousy over you with Yusuke]
There’s a complete lack of tact to how Ryuji approaches his jealousy.
Potentially, it could be blamed on the fact he’s never really had issues with
it before (he hasn’t been in a relationship for a while, after all) but the
bigger problem probably lies within his personality. He’s in denial, because
even despite his confidence, there’s a heavy coat of insecurity that claws at
his insides whenever he sees the two of you talking.
(Like, maybe he’s kind of brash, and maybe he’s too impulsive. Maybe guys with
a pretty face who can keep their cool like Yusuke are more attractive to girls.
Not that it matters. He doesn’t really care about it anyway.)
Ryuji’s insecurity and jealousy get the best of him, and he becomes aggressive.
He’s always bad-mouthing Yusuke when the boy isn’t there, always bumping into
him whenever they walk past each other, and always muttering a
spiteful ‘Sorry,’ like it was Yusuke’s fault all along. (It wasn’t.) 
It get so bad that eventually Yusuke himself confronts him about it, because
doesn’t it make sense for Ryuji to tell him if he has a problem with anything
he’s done or said instead of being bitter and aggressive about it?
Ryuji doesn’t really know what to say however, because it’s not like Yusuke’s
actually done anything wrong. He’s just annoying, and Ryuji doesn’t like the
way you look at him and laugh at everything he says.
“It’s nuthin’. Just forget about it.”
Yusuke:
[Jealousy over you with Akechi]
Similarly to Ryuji, Yusuke has never really had a problem with sharing, so it’s
not necessarily a familiar feeling. That being said, he’s quick to pick up on
what it is, and there’s not really much floundering about when he reaches his
conclusion either.
He pulls Akira to the side and politely asks if he could help create a
situation where the two of you are alone, wherein he immediately tells you that
you are ‘special’, and that he feels ‘a sharp pang to his chest’ whenever he
considers the possibility of ‘someone else taking possession of you’. (Even if
his heart is beating one hundred miles a minute, his expression and behaviour
does not let it show.)
Very politely, he asks if you have any romantic relations with Akechi, and
probably asks you to elaborate and describe your relationship with him. It’s
all very straightforward and mature; Yusuke doesn’t waste time getting angry at
anyone.
Akechi:
[Jealousy over you with Akira]
There’s not a single side of him that doesn’t give up on you immediately. He
considers you to be part of the unreachable life that Akira was lucky enough to
be given but that Akechi will never have, in the same way that Akechi is
jealous of how much Akira’s team-mates rely on and trust him. Unlike everyone
else, he finds the twisting in his stomach much too familiar, and the need to
physically take you away from Akira is something that crosses his mind more
than once.
He considers you to be understanding and kind on a level that he’s not really
experienced prior to meeting you. In the same way that a dog vies for the
attention of its owner, Akechi is always trying to be in the centre of yours,
and a lot of that comes from being more open to you about his screwed up
childhood than to anyone else. Your pity is valuable to him.
His confession is beautiful. A lot of emphasis is placed on how valuable you
are to him as a person, about how he looks up to you in a way akin to how
someone looks up to a celestial being or a religious figure, and how your
inherent brightness and kindness turns the daily grind of his normal life into
something that makes him genuinely happy. It comes of as a little strong, but
even then, it’s still a very muted expression of his true feelings towards you.
If you refuse him, he doesn’t take it well.
***** “I’m not wearing a dress.” (Akira Kurusu) *****
Akira is washing the last of a couple dirty plates from the day, talking to you
from behind Leblanc’s counter as you sit by a table, swirling the remaining
sips of coffee sat at the bottom of a plain, white mug.
“Would you really not be able to fill in for me just this once?” You ask, as
politely as you can. “I promise to make up for it. I’ll do anything!”
It’s a moot argument, really. Akira knows for a fact he’ll be agreeing to it by
the end of the hour at worst, if only because there’s no physical way he can
say no to you. Besides, you’re giving him the eyes (the cute ones you save just
for him) and his resolve is no match against that.
“You work as a maid,” he says. “I can’t fill in for you.”
It’s only for the sake of his own dignity, that he even bothers carrying this
argument on for any longer; it’ll still be a couple more minutes before the
sight of you holding out the maid outfit for him will stop being embarrassing.
He wonders if he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your middle finger.
If so, then he can’t help but think that you’re a cruel mistress.
“Please!” You insist. “No-one will notice! All I do on Saturdays is sit in the
back and wash the dishes anyway.”
To your credit, you do seem frantic. The idea of not attending a close friend’s
wedding (where you’re supposed to be the bridesmaid) because the place you work
at won’t give you a day off is depressing at best, and kind of heart-breaking
when he thinks about how much you were looking forward to the whole thing.
He leans on his elbow and props himself up to look at you.
“Just don’t come to work.”
“I’d get fired, I’ve told you.” You reply quickly, but the pleading enthusiasm
in your voice is dissipating into a solemn acceptance, like you’re coming to
terms with the fact you’re going to have to tell your friend there’s just no
way you can make it. You put the outfit onto a table, and push it away from
you. “And I’m barely making ends meet as it is.”
There’s a long silence after that. Akira’s thinking it over, you know that, but
you’re also thinking it over, and the more you think the more depressed you
get. Because sure, maybe you are being unreasonable; even if the boss doesn’t
come in during the weekends, it’s pretty likely the people that work with you
will notice your absence and Akira’s sudden appearance. Besides, as cute as
you’re sure he’ll look in a dress, you’re not convinced he’ll be able to look
like a girl the entire day. Someone’s bound to notice that he’s way too
masculine for a woman eventually.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” You sigh. “I’m sorry. You just felt like
my last resort. Everyone else will be at the wedding.”
You’re not sure why exactly he feels like the last resort; it’s only barely
that you’re closer to Akira than any of the other Phantom Thieves, but it’s
probably got to do with his inherent reliability, the ability to somehow always
be there for you, regardless of the problem. Akira is still thinking, which
makes sense considering the bomb he’s about to drop.
“I feel like it’s probably my fault. I should have called in sick straight away
instead of asking them in advance. Now they’re gonna know I’m just skipping
work for –"
“How about you quit your job and come live with me?”
Your hand stops playing with the mug.
“What?”
Akira walks out from behind the counter and sits in the seats opposite yours.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about paying rent that way. Sojiro would fill the
fridge and I’d cook meals for the both of us.”
Quite honestly, you’re blown away with how sudden his offer is. There’s nothing
in his face that would hint he’s just joking (not like you really need to look
at his face to know; he’s not the kind of person to make light of things like
this) but the whole thing still feels like a massive prank. You laugh.
“Are you serious?”
You can’t take your eyes off him, but he’s not frightened by your eye contact.
He nods at you once, and then just stares back.
“That’s – I mean, wow. Thank you. But… I can’t accept that offer. People would
get the wrong impression about us.”
His reply is immediate, and comes to surface without the need for any
consideration.
“Impressions don’t matter to me,” he says, and it doesn’t come as a surprise to
you. Akira’s not the kind to care about prattle or gossip. Never was, and
probably never will be.
 “I believe you,” you say, and you’re telling the truth, but there’s still
something nagging at you. “I just – I think you’re being too generous with me.
I can’t leech off your hospitality forever, you know. Like, what if you get a
girlfriend down the line? Do you think she’ll be alright with you sharing your
room with another girl?”
There’s a bit of quiet that makes you feel like maybe you’ve convinced him to
reconsider. He’s got that depth to his eyes that tells you he’s mulling things
over, like he’s weighing the pros against the cons to make sure his final
decision is the right one.
“You said you’d do anything if I filled in for you, right?”
With a bit of hesitation, you nod. Akira doesn’t reply for much longer than you
expect him to drag out the silence for, which is probably the first sign that
the next thing that decides to come out of his mouth will be deadly.
“Would you come live with me, as my girlfriend?”
The way you jolt in shock almost spills your drink.
“As a girlfriend? You want me to be your girlfriend?”
“Yeah,” he replies, simply.
You go back to swirling the coffee around in the mug, and it makes you feel
somewhat better – like you’re at least partially in control of the situation.
The black liquid has been reduced to a transparent brown against the bottom of
the mug, and It swishes against the walls: right to left, left to right, up and
down, until you’re ready to continue.
“You’ve picked kind of an unconventional way to tell me that.”
Akira doesn’t reply, and you’re grateful for it; he seems to realise you’re
going to need a couple more seconds to swallow such a sudden confession. When
you look up at him to judge his face (not that you particularly need to, it’s
more out of habit than anything else) he meets your eyes, and their gaze stays
with you even as you look away.
There’s been signs, that Akira wants something more from your relationship.
He’s more doting on you than he is on the other friends he hangs out with,
always ready to help, and he’s never refused you when you send him a message
asking him if he’s free to meet up. Now that you think about, it all those
little compliments add up too. But this… This is still too sudden.
You take a deep breath.
“If you come to work instead of me,” you start, and another deep breath comes
and goes. “I’ll be your girlfriend.” You try to distract yourself by looking
away to the maid outfit. “But… I can’t move in with you.” Even though Akira’s
face barely changes, you think it’s safe to assume he’s disappointed from the
way his shoulders droop. “I don’t want to depend on you and Sojiro,” you try to
explain. “I’m really grateful for the offer, but I just wouldn’t be able to
live with myself if I did nothing to contribute in terms of money.”
“Sojiro wants you to move in too.”
Again, you’re floored. It’s not easy to predict what Akira’s going to say at
any point in time, because he doesn’t tend to tell people what he thinks about.
But this? This goes beyond what you’re used to with him.
“He does?”
Akira nods.
“I’ve already asked, and he thinks you would keep my out of trouble.”
The whole situation is funny enough that you can laugh about it, so you do. It
comes out as a cute little chortle that makes Akira smile too.
“Yeah, you could probably do with some of that.” You say, because the amount of
times Akira’s been caught up in troublesome situations goes well above what you
consider average. The last deep breath of the evening coils for a few full
seconds before you finally push it out.
“Would it really be alright?”
Akira nods, and there’s no hesitation to it. You think about it properly, now
that you have the time, and you can’t help but find the idea somewhat
endearing. Quitting a job and leaving your shitty boss behind is probably
enough to make the whole thing feel like a too-good-to-be-true dream, but
coming to move in with your boyfriend (wow, it feels weird to say that about
Akira) seals the deal with a pretty bow and a cherry on top. There’s only one
thing that you’re kind of sad about.
“Suppose there’s no need for you to wear the maid outfit anymore,” you say.
There’s disappointment in your voice, he can tell, so he gathers it from the
table and pulls it towards him.
“I don’t mind wearing it if it’s just for you,” he says.
What can he say? He just likes seeing you happy.
===============================================================================
Bonus: 
***** Yosuke's Wife (Yosuke Hanamura) *****
“Yosuke.”
He hears your voice. In-between then soft hum that slips out of his lips and
the warmth of the sun on his chest as he faces the window looking out towards
his garden, there’s a warmth to the whole situation that makes him genuinely
happy. When he turns to look at you, he’s smiling.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Are you gonna help me out? There’s still some vegetables I need to dice after
this.” You’re mixing herbs and sauces into a bowl in preparation for today’s
dinner. Guests are coming over later during the evening, so the two of you have
been stuck in the kitchen preparing dinner for better half of the last three
hours.
“Course,” he replies. He rolls upwards the sleeves of his jinbei (it’s been a
lazy day, so neither of you have bothered to dress out of your sleepwear) but
before he can get to work, the transparency of your thin pyjama pants distracts
him. A shiver of adrenaline that rushes through his chest climbs to his lips
and tugs them upwards. He thinks he can just make out the outline of lace
underneath.
“Are you wearing your nice underwear today?” He asks. It seems to embarrass you
a little.
“I might be.”
And again, the adrenaline makes another round through his body. Vegetable
dicing falls to the wayside as he puts his head on your shoulder and presses
his waist into you. You’re not facing him, so it surprises you at first.
“You’re not planning on getting together with any of our guests, are you?” When
he laughs, you hear it right by your ear; it’s teasing and sweet, but there’s a
thin layer of insecurity that peeks out from under his good mood. That’s
alright though. You’re his; he lucked out this time.
“You know it’s for you, don’t even test me.”
He hums by your ear again. Satisfaction pours from him in all angles.
“Sorry, just wanted to hear it.”
Without warning, he picks you up (one hand tucked under your knees and the
other under your arms) like he did on the day of your wedding. He kisses you on
the lips when you yelp in surprise, and shoves you onto a clean counter.
“It feels so good to think of you as my wife,” he says, and then whispers your
name into your skin. “I love you.”
“Yosuke,” he hears your voice say his name again, but this time it’s broken up:
split down the middle with a pretty little crack that sends his hands to your
ass without thinking. He kisses without pausing for breath, spurred on when you
let your sighs fill his ears.
“Yosuke!” He hears again, and sure, things are hot, but aren’t you getting a
little too excited? He hasn’t even started touching your properly. Still, he
continues, moaning into your skin when he presses his groin to your leg as it
hangs down from the counter.
One more moan comes out of your lips before you scream his name for the last
time.
“Yosuke man! Wake up!”
And he does. Suddenly, there’s no sun streaming in through the window looking
out to his garden. There’s no warmth in his fingers either, and he finds them
curled around a scrunched-up blanket (rather than your ass). A deep sigh
rumbles from the bottom of his chest. The one time a dream is to his taste,
he’s abruptly woken up from it. Typical.
“Dude, what the hell were you dreaming about?” Kanji’s looking over him, and if
Yosuke wasn’t in such a crappy mood, he might have noticed the blush around his
cheeks.
“Probably just a nightmare,” Yosuke says.
Teddie laughs from beside him, and when Yosuke incredulously turns to his
direction, he finds Yu struggling not to laugh himself.
“What are you two laughing about?” He questions, and he’s got a bad feeling
about it. Teddie is the one to answer him.
“Ah, sorry! Sensei and I were just wondering what kind of nightmare got you to
say, ‘It feels so good to think of you as my wife.’”
Embarrassment flushing his skin pink, Yosuke turns around to face away from all
of them. In vain, he tries to tell them to shut up.
===============================================================================
For the next three weeks, they’re still teasing him about it. It gets to the
point that whenever the girls aren’t there, Yu, Teddie, and Kanji (yes, even
he’s in on the joke now), both refer to you solely by calling you ‘Yosuke’s
wife.’
“Hey Yosuke, how’s your wife doing?” Yu asks, with a straight face that’s blank
from all emotion. Yosuke groans.
“Yosuke! Your wife will be here in a bit,” Teddie remarks. Yosuke rolls his
eyes.
‘My wife looks so good in her summer clothes,” his brain comments, and at that
point Yusuke buries his face in his fingers and completely resigns himself to
the fact that repetition is enough to drill anything into his head. ‘Keep it
together man,’ he thinks, and curses the dream that started the whole thing.
Funnily enough, he still remembers it with more fondness than is probably
appropriate.
===============================================================================
He’s tired today. Working overtime at Junes is never explicitly fun, per say,
but it’s definitely not made better by the fact he’s forced to do it lest he
wants to pay outrageous overdraft fees later down the line. (Giving Chie his
credit card number was not a good idea. It shouldn’t really be a revelation,
now that he thinks about it.) 
Yosuke can barely see the shadow in front of him past the haze that tells him
to close his eyes and fall asleep on the spot, which is kind of an issue when
his weapons of choice are based almost entirely on how accurately he can chuck
them at his target.
It’s not a shock to Yu when Yosuke misses, but he still hears you curse under
your breath. With his head hung low, he shouts a quick ‘Sorry,” and retreats.
“It’s fine! I’ll cover you, Yusuke!” You say, as you run in. With a quick swipe
that seems definitive from the get-go, your hit slices right through the shadow
with a critical. There’s a pretty wonder to the way dark smoke billows from the
core of the cupid, framing your form with black swirls that dissipate into the
air.
He sighs, the kind of noise that someone makes after realising they’ve screwed
up. If it wasn’t for her, the enemy would have survived the round, and it’s his
fault because he’s the one half asleep in the middle battle. He considers
lifting the mood with some sort of self-deprecation, and quickly settles
something that follows the line of ‘how come the girls are more badass than
me?’
He’s still tired when he speaks, however, so what comes out is a little
different.
“Man, how come my wife is more badass than me?” He says to Yu.
You stare at him.
Yu bursts out laughing.
It takes Yusuke a second to realise that now he’s really screwed up.
“Wait, no! That’s not—I mean, I just—”
“Wow Yusuke! You’ve finally shown her your true feelings!” Teddy shouts, and
there’s an unassuming joy to it that makes Yusuke feel ten times as hopeless.
“That’s not it!” He yells, and turns to you. “I meant to say girl! Like how
come a girl is more badass than me?!”
“No, he meant wife, trust me!” Kanji shouts, somewhere from the side where
Naoto just so happens to be.
To his relief, you don’t look like you’re starting to think any less of him;
the only thing he can really read from you is an honest confusion.
“Is this some kind of inside joke I’m not familiar with?”
“Y-Yeah! That’s it!” Yosuke laughs, and it’s both too loud and too forced.
“Just an inside joke. Nothing you need to worry about,” he says.
It’s only when you shrug and leave that he lets his countenance drop. The slump
that comes to his back is almost automatic, and he’s looking down in a way that
makes Yu thinks he could be crying. It makes Yu feel a little bad, so he goes
up to Yosuke with a couple comforting lines prepared in his head.
But Yosuke is definitely not crying.
“Say your last words, guys,” he says, brandishing his blades.
***** Cordial (Akira Kurusu) *****
“Why do you keep saying that?” Akira Kurusu asks.
It’s a Sunday. The weather forecast this morning claims there’s low chance of
rain, so she doesn’t pack an umbrella. She regrets the decision now,
considering how quickly the pale pool of grey in the sky darkens to an ominous
black while she makes her way to Leblanc, and she realises that if it doesn’t
let up soon, she’ll have to go home drenched. Still, at least she has a roof
over her head, and Leblanc’s not a bad place to get stuck in the middle of a
rainstorm; there’s something inherently calming about sitting with a hot cup of
coffee while the pitter of raindrops trails paths of water along the window.
When Akira greets her, he keeps a polite level of distance. She’s not
surprised. It fits the kind of half-friend, half-lover routine that they’re at
right now, barely close enough to really invite to each other’s homes. He looks
happy to see her, but she thinks it’s probably just her imagination.
“Sorry for barging in on you like this,” is what she says, when she first comes
in. Akira’s soft smile hardens into something a little less pleasant –
something more confused.
“I was the one who invited you,” he says. “It’s really no trouble at all.”
She nods at that, but the implication feels too foreign and raw for her to
really understand it. She takes a seat, and everything about her movements
feels overly polite: her legs are neatly together, and she’s taking up as
little space as possible on the edge of a seat, even when the entire café is
empty.
“You can sit at front, you know.”
He watches her back straighten in genuine surprise, until her shock melts away
to something a little sadder - a little more subdued.
“You haven’t had enough of me lately?” She asks, and laughs, even though she’s
getting up to sit at the front table like he’s asked her to. Wordlessly, he
begins preparing coffee, but there’s a certain slowness to the way he does
things that shows he’s thinking about something else entirely.
“Not really,” he says, eventually.
She nods again.
The rain outside gets worse, turns into something a half-way between a drizzle
and a shower. It’s a good thing too, because giving the silence free reign in
this situation would be awkward at best.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she says, when he hands her a mug. It takes him a
little too long to pour his own afterwards, because the place where their hands
touch makes his fingers feel all funny and tingly, like he’s losing control on
his own skin.
“Ah, sorry,” she says.
“It’s alright.”
There’s thunder, and then rain again. Even though it’s far too hot, she takes
the first sip, and through the burning in her tongue she feels a little calmer.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
There’s a wistfulness to the way she says it, but Akira chooses to pick up on
the genuine way her eyes crinkle instead.  His smile is subdued, but it’s still
undoubtedly there, and honestly, he’s a bit embarrassed that’s all it takes to
make him feel smug.
“Me too.”
There’s that surprise again, making her way through her face and pulling her
features together defensively. Her face scrunches, like she’s unhappy with
something.
“You don’t have say stuff like that to be nice, you know.” She laughs as she
says it, but he doesn’t really find it funny; his face falls, and his
expression crumbles away into something that shares the gaping feeling of
sadness in this chest with disappointment. “I’m sure you can probably think of
some more interesting things to do.”
“I’m being honest,” he states firmly, but all it does is make her face scrunch
up a little more. He takes a sip of his own coffee, and it too, is hot against
his tongue. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
He can tell he’s hit the target right on when she flinches. When she puts the
mug to her lips, it’s more to delay the inevitability of having to respond to
his question than it is to taste the coffee.
“Well, wouldn’t you rather hang out with someone else? Ann was asking about you
today.”
He, on the other hand, doesn’t do anything to delay his response.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Her grip on the mug tightens; she’s rubbing small circles into the side of it,
trying to figure out what she should do with her hands that it still
looks natural, because this conversation is still normal, right?
“Ann’s a lot more fun to talk to though.” And then a little quieter, she adds,
“She’s really pretty, as well.”
The sadness ebbs through his chest again, fills his lungs with genuine pity.
Because here he is, barely convincing himself she can’t hear his heart thrum
through his chest with how much he feels his pulse everywhere on his body, all
because of her, and she doesn’t even think she’s worth his time.
“I like talking to you more.” It feels a little on the sudden side when he
pushes it out. He wants to make her feel good; there’s something inside of him
that tells him she need to know more of what he feels towards her. “Besides, I
think you’re pretty too.”
It’s hard to maintain eye contact with her when she looks up, several shades of
doubt messing with the serenity on her face. When she looks away, he has to
release the tension through a long, drawn out breath.
“Should have gone to Specsavers,” she laughs. He doesn’t laugh with her, and
this time she can’t even ignore it, because the rain has eased for a few brief
seconds and left space for silence that’s louder than anything else Akira can
say.
They stew in it for a little while.
“Why do you keep saying that?” He asks, although it’s more of a statement than
it is a question. From the way he says it, she can tell it’s been on his mind
for a while, and she can almost feel it shoot straight through the centre of
her body.
“It’s funny?”
It’s more of a question than it is a statement.
(Because really, it’s not funny. Never was, and dancing around it is getting
tiring.)
“Sorry,” she says, instead of expecting Akira to believe her. “It’s probably
getting annoying, huh?”
There’s more thunder. As the rain comes back threefold, Akira can’t help but
think it’s kind of fitting. It’s not a pitter anymore – and it’s not a shower,
either; it’s a full storm. A flash of lightning colours the edges of his vision
white.
“I just…” She continues. There’s a lump in her throat. He doesn’t want to cut
her off, so even if his first instinct is to deny her insecurity, he stays
silent. “I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.” Her fingers are still around
the mug of coffee, but she hasn’t drank from it for a while.
“If I told you, it would probably scare you away,” he says. It feels like he’s
made his intentions clear with just that sentence, but he knows for fact
there’s no way she’ll read in-between the lines.
“Please, I want to know.”
Maybe it’s not really fitting for the relationship they’ve got going on right
now. Not when Akira has barely recovered from when he kind of confessed to her
three days ago, with vague words that might have worked had she had enough
confidence to pick up on their actual meanings.
‘Love’ is a strong word to describe what he’s feeling. It’s a little on the
intense side for a half-half relationship that’s lasted barely two weeks. But
well, he’s running out of other ones. He’s already said ‘I want to protect
you;’ he’s already said, ‘I don’t want anyone else to have you;’ and he’s
said ‘I like you’ more times than he can remember. He wants her to understand
it this time around.
“I love you,” he says.
She doesn’t say anything, but the storm rages on.
***** Relationship Pros and Cons (Ryuji, Mishima, and Akira) *****
***** Akira: *****
     Pros:
     Impress all of your friends; he’s debonair inside out, from his
     classy appearance to his good manners and the cat in his bag. Lined
     with muscles (shirtless training cutscene, anyone?) and he can
     probably pick you up without trouble. 
     He’s likely to make the first move because of his inherent
     confidence, so there’s no pressure for you to make your flirting
     particularly obvious. The sex is consistently fantastic; he loves
     teasing you to bits, and he’ll do it in and outside the bedroom with
     a big smirk on his face while he laughs -  a beautiful sound that
     never fails to make your knees weak. 
     The flirting is a blast, too, because if you’re up to returning his
     one-liners and seductive murmurs when the others are just a touch too
     far away to hear, there’s a lot of fun in back and forth. Buys a lot
     of gifts, and they’re always exactly what you want. He’s using a
     walkthrough.
     Cons:
     Doesn’t speak all that much, so expect more silence than conversation
     in your relationship. Because of his confidant building
     responsibilities, he won’t be able to spend much time with you once
     yours have been maxed, and he will be spending a lot of time one-on-
     one with other girls that are likely to develop feelings for him
     along the line. If you’re not the jealous type, you’ll probably be
     fine. No promises though. Harem playthrough is always a thing.
     Also constantly getting into trouble. Someone please keep him in
     line, because he’s always getting stepping out of it and into shady
     situations.
 
***** Ryuji: *****
     Pros: 
     Incredibly sweet. He’ll never go out drinking and come back late in
     the night, and despite all his initial flirting about with girls on
     the trip to Hawaii, he’s a strong believer in a healthy, married
     relationship. Has experienced what it’s like to have an abysmal
     father figure, so you can guarantee he’s going to put the full effort
     into making sure he turns out better.
     His relationship with his mother is adorable beyond words, and he’s
     not ashamed of showing his affection for her by buying her cute gifts
     - even if the idea would be a little unmasculine for someone else. If
     you make a good impression on him, you can bet it’ll be the same for
     you. Will do anything for you, including putting his life on the line
     for your sake. 
     When he gets the hang of it, he’s a lot of fun in bed, if not a
     little serious. The actual dirty talk and foreplay could be better,
     admittedly, but he has the muscles and the energy to plow into you if
     need be, and it will feel great. Above average size.
     Cons:
     Can be a little on the traditional side. He’ll be willing to
     compromise in terms of chores given a reason, but he is of the
     opinion that the woman should do things like cooking and cleaning. If
     the both of you are working, he’ll be a little more understanding.
     Doesn’t know how to dress, and is likely to be loud or embarrassing
     if you want him to meet your friends. That being said, he’s tripping
     over himself to make a good impression, so he’s receptive to any
     comments you give him. (Apart from his shirts. You can pry his tacky
     shirts out of his cold, dead hands.)
     Will grope, just because he’s got the confidence and because he
     really, really, wants to. He’s on the high libido side of things, so
     he’s always up for blatantly staring at your ass or giving it a
     little slap when he thinks nobody is looking. (Keyword: thinks. His
     situational awareness is deplorable.)
 
***** Mishima: *****
     Pros: 
     Tries very hard. Incredibly obedient. You’re his first girlfriend of
     any note, so he’s willing to do almost anything to make you happy -
     which includes indulging any weird or indulgent kinks, and making him
     pay for all of your shopping sprees. (Please don’t take advantage of
     him, he will let you.)
     Is incredibly gullible, and will take anything you say seriously, so
     he’ll be very fun to tease. Also that smile, Jesus Christ.
     Cons:
     Lasts like two minutes tops in the first time, but at least he’s
     willing to eat you out if you ask. (And will do so gladly.) He needs
     to be lead initially, because he’s just not sure what to do to make
     you feel good, but when emotions get the better of him he can
     sometimes take the reins.
     Very needy. Constantly showing you off in a way that grates even on
     your nerves, like he’s just happy to have a girlfriend and he’s fine
     rubbing it in everyone’s faces.
     A lot of nerdy fanboy talk about the Phantom Thieves (and their
     website). Even if you tell him to tone it down, chances are he’ll get
     started again very soon after. 
     Constantly fishing for pity and compliments. He’s got insecurities
     that run deep, so hearing nice things about himself is pretty much
     the only way he can get validation. There’s inconsistency in his
     confidence, like when he’s telling you about all the great things
     he’s doing, he’s trying to convince himself of them as much as he’s
     trying to convince you.
***** Double-Texting (Yusuke) *****
Two sets of vibrations, bzz, bzz, run straight against his chest. 
Yusuke bolts upright.
He grips onto the phone like a lifeline as he unlocks the screen, so tightly
that the joints of his fingers turn white with pressure. Honestly, he’s hyper-
aware of the way his heart throbs in his throat, and it makes him feel like
some sort of child that can’t control his own emotions. He kind of hates it,
hates the way his own body is getting excited and the way his legs curl inwards
into himself, because it feels thoughtless and primal and not at all
restrained.
But then the screen opens to a picture of you, and he doesn’t hate it for much
longer.
‘Is this good enough?’ your text reads, with a cute little heart emoji at the
end that makes his heart twist.
As he requested, you’re in your underwear - a pretty lace set that he bought
for you (to model in, even if he hasn’t once asked you to put them on in that
context). If he looks close enough, he can see through the fabric, just a
little. It makes his hips rock into the bed subconsciously.
‘Yes. You’re beautiful,” he types, and messes up the spelling on all three
words, before haphazardly correcting them and hitting send. He stares at the
image after the text is sent like he’s hypnotised, and he clicks on it to
enlarge it, zooms in, saves, saves, saves.
‘Gorgeous.’ A double-text.
His fingers run over where your waist dips into your navel. The flatness of his
screen comes at a surprise, because he’s so lost in his thoughts he’s really
expecting to be met with the soft curves of your skin instead. 
‘I want to touch you.’ Triple.
The buzz of a reply jolts him out of his stupor. He pretends to take no notice
in the how loud of a sound it is when he gulps, but he can feel the exaggerated
motion in his throat and honestly it makes him feel hungry in more ways than
one.
‘What else would you do?’
His fingers are on the keyboard before he can think.
‘Taste.’ The text sends prematurely, cut off at the end. Yusuke winces inwardly
at how desperate it looks - because the way he leapt to answer it feels
animalistic even to him. 
Taste? Taste what? He has to clarify.
‘I want to taste you.’ Double, again.
‘I want nothing more than to bury my face into your thighs, to taste your
orgasm on my lips. I want your tremors as I push you over the peak. I need to
have you right now.’
There’s no reply for a while.
For a moment, he starts thinking like maybe he was too much all at once, showed
too many of his cards in one message and scared you away. But he can hardly
help it. Seeing you is always enough to get him to start babbling, words
tumbling out of his mouth one hundred miles an hour. It’s like seeing a
beautiful sculpture in a museum, and being unable to stop yourself from ranting
about just how exquisitely crafted it is, how the curves feel so real and
touchable and how you want (need) to feel them against your fingers.
Bzzt.
He jolts and stares.
It’s another picture. This one more revealing: he can see more of your skin
from underneath the underwear, and if he looks close enough, then maybe, just
maybe, there’s a little patch where you’re seeping through them.
His hand comes down to palm himself almost automatically. He’s barely thinking
anymore. It’s all feeling when he ruts against the bed, adjusting his hips to
rub against the mattress. Heat runs all the way up to his cheeks and he feels
almost sunburnt with how hot everything is.
‘You’re perfect,’ he texts, as he cranes over a pillow.
‘Perfect.’ Double, for the third time.
***** Day 1 (Akira) *****
***** Day 1: *****
We had a new kid today.
He sat in the chair to the left of mine. There was nothing outwardly scary
about him at first, really: black hair, tall, wide-rimmed glasses, kind of on
the lanky side; introduced himself to the class by saying ‘nice to meet you’ in
a cute, demure way. Everything you’d expect from a normal transfer student.
Suppose I shouldn’t be judging books by their covers, though, because there've
been rumours floating about him left and right.
Even before the first time I saw his face, I'd been told he was in the middle
of probation after a short sentence in prison, and that he was infamous in his
old school for being kind of a troublemaker. I knew for a fact he had a
criminal record, because Mr Kamoshida told everyone in his P.E class to watch
out for him, (‘girls especially,’ he said, looking at a few of us in turn,
‘should do everything to avoid being alone with him,’) so I was kind of
inclined to believe the rest. 
Missed the first two lessons on the first day, too. Kawakami told us he was
ill, but I thought that was bullshit.
***** Day 3: *****
He still hadn’t received any of his own books by today. 
Kawakami had been asking if I could share mine with him until they arrived, but
honestly, I was starting to get kind of annoyed with it. Not necessarily
because I thought he’d try anything in class, but because I kept thinking that
the less contact I had with him, the better. I don’t really want to be involved
with people like him; unless you're looking for trouble it’s best to stay out
of their business. 
***** Day 4: *****
Today, he caught me staring. To be frank, I just didn’t feel safe when he was
out of my line of sight, so I’d actually been staring at him a whole lot. It
was probably inevitable that he would catch me eventually.
As soon as we made eye-contact, I looked down and didn’t look at him for the
rest of the lesson. Honestly, I sprinted out of that class when it was done and
did not look back, cause I was convinced he was gonna confront me about it. You
can probably imagine I nearly shat myself when he ran out after me and tapped
me on the shoulder. Totally thought that was the end; like amen, you did good
in this life, thanks for coming everyone. But he just looked at me in a kind of
awkward way with his hand in his pocket and gave me my book back after telling
me I left it behind.
My heart was still hammering in my throat, so I apologised and just grabbed it
off him before running off again. Kind of felt like an idiot though. He was
just being nice.
***** Day 7: *****
Positive I heard cat noises coming from beneath his desk today. I looked at the
guy that sat behind him to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, but he just
shrugged.
***** Day 10: *****
I knew it! He totally had a cat in his desk! 
I saw it jump into his bag as he was leaving the lesson, and then its tail
popped out for a second. I imagine no-one has snitched on it yet because
they’re afraid of him.
***** Day 11: *****
Me and a friend met in the library for a study session. A couple minutes into
it, the transfer student popped in. Honestly, as soon as he appeared, the room
erupted into gossip; every single conversation turned to him. My friend tried
to get us to leave cause she was scared, but I just went back to studying and
told her she was being stupid. I think I've kind of started to feel bad for
him. 
Realistically, I know he probably did something in his old school to get a
criminal record, but it’s hardly fair to leave him out of a second chance,
especially with how ridiculous some of these rumours are getting. I mean, kill
streak? Really? In what world would a serial killer be allowed to attend school
like a regular student?
***** Day 20: *****
He hasn’t answered a single question in class incorrectly so far. I haven’t
seen him in the library for a while, though. 
I wonder where he studies.
***** Day 23: *****
Today marked the first rain I’d seen for three weeks. Rudely started out of
nowhere in class, while I was totally unprepared: no umbrella or anything.
After school, I popped down to the diner for a coffee because I didn’t feel
like walking home in the rain, and I saw the transfer kid studying in the
corner alone. 
Kind of wanted to say hi, but his criminal record scared me off. Besides, I
didn’t really want to ignore Kamoshida’s advice. The kid seemed fine in school,
but his behaviour could've been different with no teachers to keep an eye on
him. Instead, I just got some coffee and left as soon as the rain let up.
***** Day 24: *****
My classmates kept talking about him right in front of his face. I’m positive
he heard, but he just kept his head down. 
I haven’t even seen him touch a single person since he came here.
***** Day 28: *****
The past few days, the history teacher has made it a point to keep asking the
transfer student increasingly ridiculous questions until he gets one wrong.
Today, I saw this really dumb, smug look on his face after he finally pressed a
wrong answer out of him. Had the balls to tell him to study more, too.
I got so annoyed with him that I turned to the student and said there were
other people in the class as well. The teacher must have been eavesdropping
though, cause I got told to stand outside and had to see the principal after
school. The transfer kid looked kind of surprised. 
Kind of got the vibe he wasn’t used to having people stand up for him.
***** Day 29: *****
Got caught in the rain today. Really wouldn’t mind normally, but I had a
Yakisoba pan in my bag and I didn’t want it to get soggy. I waited under the
school roof for like half an hour doing absolutely nothing at all, until
transfer kid walked out with an umbrella. I must have been eyeing it a little
funny (to be honest, I was just angry I hadn’t packed mine again since the last
time it rained) becausehe turned to me and offered his.
I was kind of shell-shocked, so I said no. He asked me if I was sure, and when
I said I was, he just smiled and told me not to get sick before leaving.
By God, his smile was cute.
***** Day 31: *****
I got sick. He was right; I should have taken that umbrella.
***** Day 32: *****
Everyone avoided me today cause I kept sneezing in class. I think they’re all
bitch-ass losers afraid of a cold, but whatever.
***** Day 33: *****
My parents called in sick for me so I could study in the diner instead. It was
a super dreary day, and I knew for a fact I was gonna get caught out in the
middle of the rain again, but I just kind of accepted it this time. I was
already ill, so I didn’t really care.
Roughly after school time, the place filled up with other students. I was safe
for a little while. Surprise, surprise, no one wanted to sit next to the girl
that kept sniffling. At least, until the transfer kid came in. There weren’t
any spare spaces apart from the ones opposite me, and felt a bit bad because I
knew for a fact I’d taken his usual spot. When he looked over in my direction,
it seemed like he was gonna decide to give up on studying in the cafe and
leave, but when I smiled and waved at him, he changed his mind and sat down.
Looked a little surprised, but I think he was glad. Seemed like he didn’t want
to sit next to me in case I found him scary or something.
We had a short conversation about schoolwork, and I got a coughing fit
somewhere in the middle. To his credit, he didn’t look disgusted or anything
(he even asked if I was alright) but I still felt a bit embarrassed, so I asked
him if he had any reservations sitting next to the sick girl. He just laughed
and asked if I had any reservations sitting next to the delinquent. I think we
shared a bit of a moment.
Found out his name, too.
***** Day 34: *****
Today, the history teacher was being even more of an ass to Akira. Getting sent
out again would have been kind of a pain, so I just googled the answers and
mouthed them to him until the teacher got bored and picked on someone else. He
looked grateful.
***** Day 36: *****
The diner was full today when I tried to go. Looking up ‘study cafes’ brought
me to this cute little one in Yongen-Jaya called ‘Leblanc.’ The owner seemed
kind of crabby, but it was quiet and I managed to get a lot of work done, so I
think I’ll be coming back.
***** Day 39: *****
I was the only person in Leblanc for almost the entire day. It was so peaceful,
I think I dozed off, cause I solved a couple of maths equations and next thing
I knew it was almost seven in the evening. The owner looked kind of
embarrassed, too, like felt bad about not having the heart to wake me up.
I'd just started packing my stuff away when someone else came in. I thought it
was kind of weird at first, cause I was pretty sure the cafe was scheduled to
close in not a whole five minutes. So imagine my surprise when it turned out to
be Akira, still in his school uniform, iconic black and white cat in his bag
and everything.
In a weird way, it was kind of nice to see him. I hadn’t talked to him since
the start of the week, and it was kind of a shame after that little moment we
shared in the diner. He seemed happy to see me too, cause he smiled when I
waved at him. The cute grin disappeared when owner of the cafe approached him
and whispered something in his ear, though.
Akira replied in a really hushed tone, but I could still lip-read something
along the lines of: ‘wrong idea’, and ‘just a friend,’ before the owner gave
him a sly smile and announced he was closing up shop early. He asked me if I
wanted to stay for a bit longer, and I didn’t really, but I felt rude leaving
when he was offering, so I ended up saying I would prefer to study for a bit
longer if it wasn't any trouble. He said that it was no problem, and that Akira
would lock the door when I was ready to leave.
I think he could tell that I looked unsure, so the next thing he said was to
reassure me.
“Akira over here lives in the attic and helps me out sometimes,” he said,
hanging the keys to him. “He’s more reliable than he seems though, so don’t
worry.”
(Nice guy, really. Shame he was kind of grumpy to his other customers.)
Akira seemed kind of awkward when we were left alone. It made me feel like
maybe it was because I was half-invading his home without proper acquaintance;
this was kind of his door-way, after all, and I was staying way past my
welcome. Besides, thinking about it now, I'm positive the owner only let me
stay cause he thought I was waiting for Akira the entire time.
It was up to me to break the silence then, and although I thought about asking
him to show me round the attic, I decided against it. It was his room, after
all, and asking to see a guy’s room so late in the evening would have sent all
kinds of messages. So I asked him about his life in school instead, and ended
up feeling super bad. Honestly, I'd never seen a smile that was so shattered.
He rubbed the back of his head and said, “yeah, it’s been rough.”
Got so annoyed at everyone. In that moment, I didn’t give single crap about
what he’d done in his past. I just wanted to tell everyone in school to lay off
and give him a break. Maybe it was kind of stepping out of line a little, but I
told him that if anyone was ever giving him shit, he should come to me and I
would stand up for him. 
Over time, he opened up a little more about his criminal record. He told me the
full story of the apparent ‘assault’, and it honestly just made me furious. I
was angry at everyone who was talking about him behind his back, angry at
everyone who was blowing the rumours up, and angry at Mr Kamoshida for making
things seem more dire than they were. Angry at myself, too, for believing in
that bullshit. I told him I was gonna go out of my way to correct people if I
ever heard them talk, but he just shrugged and told me he was used to it and
that I shouldn’t worry or (and I quote) I "could be dragged down with him."
Right, as if I was just gonna take that. Next person who talks shit gets a
lecture from yours truly. 
***** First Date (All) *****
Akira:
     Quite predictably, the first date takes place in the cozy comfort of
     Leblanc’s bottom floor. Akira seems excited to make some coffee, so
     you let him. He dons his apron, takes his spot before the table and
     says he’s going to prepare the coffee ‘with love’ this time. You
     don’t really understand what he means until he hands you the coffee
     with a cute, latte heart poured onto the surface with milk.
     The hands in his pockets suggest a relaxed posture, like he’s that
     it’s not a big deal, but there’s an intensity to his gaze that you
     pick up on. He’s waiting on your response. It’s kind of humbling, so
     you decide to go a little out of your way to show your appreciation
     by giving him a kiss on the cheek.
     (He stares at your lips after you pull away, and you can only guess
     at why.)
Ryuji:
     For your first date, Ryuji offers to take you to his house. ‘It’s my
     mum’s idea,’ he says, when you eye him over suspiciously. ‘She wants
     to see you. I swear it’s not cause I wanna try anything or nuthin’.’
     He’s brushing profusely as it is, so you make a conscious decision
     not to tease him about it further. It kind of seems like he’s telling
     the truth anyway, because his mum is really, (almost overly) happy to
     meet you when you get there.
     “Oh, it’s so nice to have you here!” She says, enthusiastically.
     “Ryuji just wouldn’t stop talking about you.” (From the corner of
     your eye, you can see Ryuji getting embarrassed.)
     The two of you retire upstairs to his room after dinner. The evening
     spreads over a couple rounds of video games and the first few
     chapters of a manga you randomly pick of his shelf, which he lets you
     borrow and read in your own free time. True to his promise, Ryuji
     doesn’t try anything. But he looks like he might be expecting a kiss
     or two when he’s seeing you off to the stop, and you can’t help but
     indulge him a little. The smile on his face blinds everyone he passes
     on the way home.
Morgana:
     Assuming he’s finally got his human form, he takes you out someplace
     super classy. It’s the entire package: full course meal, opening
     doors for you, pulling out your chair, kissing you on the hand, etc.
     He’s been waiting on this for a while, so he’s ecstatic to finally be
     able to realise it. Every single part of the night feels deliberate,
     and he really does make you feel special as a result. The whole thing
     is seeping with effort. 
     The first kiss happens on the end of a date, as is custom, but
     Morgana can barely keep his hands to himself. As soon as it starts,
     he can barely hold himself back, and he’s just holding you closer and
     kissing you more and more. This has been a long time coming, so you
     don’t blame him when he pulls away and starts apologising frantically
     for his behaviour.
Yusuke:
     Instead of taking you to his studio or an art museum, he decides he
     wants to indulge you instead. The two of you go to a cheap ramen cafe
     (emphasis on cheap, he barely has the money for himself). You know
     what his financial situation looks like, so you offer to pay, but he
     refuses. Insists on paying for your cup of tea too, and even if it’s
     not a lot of money you really appreciate it, because you know it’s
     probably a lot of money for him.
     He brings his sketchbook, and you go through it to find that a lot of
     it consists of pictures of you in a variety of different styles -
     referenced from the photos he’s taken of you. He tells you that his
     favourite picture of you is still currently in progress, but
     requesting to see it nets you nothing more than a hand-wave and an
     embarrassed look, as he insists he’ll “show it to you when the time
     is right.”
Akechi:
     Akechi has money to spare, so like Morgana he tries to impress you by
     taking you someplace fancy. Will mention multiple times that you can
     order anything you want, while just so happening to emphasise and
     suggest options from the more expensive side of the menu. (What? Can
     he not get a little showy?) 
     Akechi makes everything feel naturally effortless, but don’t be
     fooled. His heart is beating a million miles a minute, and he is
     terrified of screwing up or oversharing. If he feels a little more
     reserved or less open than usual, that’s not a reflection on how the
     date is going; it’s just that he’s scared of making the wrong move.
     As a result, he doesn’t even try to hold your hand. 
     Things like making a move to kiss you are completely out of the
     question. (Of course, unless you initiate.)
***** Sukeban (Kanji Tatsumi) *****
Sukeban (スケバン/女番/スケ番) means delinquent girl or boss girl in Japanese. Sukeban
only refers to the leader of a girl gang, not just any member.
===============================================================================
There’s been news of a Sukeban.
Outfitted in a scruffy sailor blouse cut to expose the waist, embroidered kanji
littering the back of her uniform, loose socks, groomed, thin eyebrows, permed
hair, and an unknotted, yellow scarf at her neck. All boxes ticked, really,
even aside from the constant behavioural issues associated with her gang.
Kanji’s had plenty experience with biker gangs before, so it’s nothing new to
him at first. He used to break them up left and right back in the day, which is
impressive considering he’s been at it alone since Middle School. Never lost a
fistfight one-on-one, he used to boast (flashing his fists) and no-body wanted
to mess with him after that. At least not for a while, anyway.
He doesn’t have any bones to pick with the new girl gang in school. Their
outfits catch his eye when he sees them in the hallway, sure, but they don’t go
out of their way to cause trouble for anyone he cares about. (Most importantly,
they don’t wake his mother up by revving their motorcycles late at night.)
They’re just kind of passive, with their pretty, embroidered uniforms and
occasional petty crimes.
At least until they’re not.
His first real encounter with the gang’s Sukeban, (if her brightly dyed and
permed hair is anything to go by) is when he’s walking home late on a Monday
evening after getting held back, just outside of the school’s back entrance.
She’s holding some sort of weird canister, green, with a cross through the
middle, and standing with her back to him.
For a minute or two, he just watches. He’s positive she hasn’t noticed him yet,
and the whole situation seems kind of shady. He can’t figure out why she’s even
here in the first place, because it doesn’t seem likely that a girl known for
spraying graffiti in her lunchtimes would suddenly want to stay back after
school to study, but he hadn’t seen her getting told off at the principal’s
office when he was there, either.
It’s only when he sees her take out a small box, about one and a half inches in
diameter that the thick smell of petrol reaches him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He yells.
There’s no hesitation in the way he tackles her to the ground, grabbing the box
of matches before she has the chance to retaliate. The whole move scores him a
kick in the groin when she finally gets her bearings, but at least he’s got the
matches, and she hasn’t set anything on fire. Which is, probably good, really.
Dealing with arson would be kind of a pain.
“Fuck are you?” She responds, as he keels over. Predictably, she he doesn’t
look happy.
It takes him a moment to get to grips with the pain, but she doesn’t seem
patient enough to let him just sit there. She makes another move like she wants
to kick at him, and he barely manages to defend his face with his arm when the
sole of her sneaker smashes against it.
“Oy,” she prompts again, voice pitched all the way to fury. “Give me back my
matches,”
“In your dreams.” He shoves her foot away, but she doesn’t stumble. He barely
has time to stand up by the time she launches a sucker punch right at his
abdomen.
It lands, and he grits his teeth in pain. She’s got a good punch, he’s got to
give her that.
“Hey! Just, just calm down a second!” He yells, and it kind of works. Her next
attack is stalled long enough that he can get his breath back and move into a
better defensive position.
“Just give them back!”
She leaps at him, trying to aim the next punch straight to his face.
“Oh hell no.” He shoves her off, and this time it’s got enough power to it push
her back a couple of steps. The two of them stand, roughly two metres apart,
braced in fighting positions.
It’s the first time he can really get a good look at her face (without her shoe
in the way, anyhow), and catches him a little off guard, admittedly. Her hair’s
bleached to hell and back and messed up like nothing else, and her sparse
makeup only serves to make her look more intimidating, shaved eyebrows redrawn
to look sharp and thin. There’s nothing pretty about it, which is why he’s
confused when the first thought that pops into his head is how pretty she is.
It’s hardly the right time, but he feels himself get embarrassed, and that in
and of itself is kind of embarrassing.
“You – are you tryin’a fry everyone in there?” He stutters, but it comes enough
in time with his panting that he can convince himself it’s just part of the
recoil.
“What you on? No-one’s in there anymore.” She looks genuinely confused, so he
lets his guard drop a little. Honestly, he’s kind of confused too. Does she not
realise some clubs go on until six? Or that there are students still doing work
in the study area?
“You for real?” He asks, just to make sure she’s not shitting him.
Now she’s the one caught off guard. His blunt way of speaking is ripe with all
kinds of disrespect that would get him tossed about and burned with cigarettes
with the kind of people she’s used to, but he shows no signs of caring. What’s
worse, is he doesn’t seem to be doing it just to piss her off.
“For real? You saw people in there?”
He nods, once, twice, and then lets his guard fall completely.
“There were at least ten kids in the study room, yeah.”
She too, takes a deep breath, and kicks at a plant to relieve her frustration.
“Fuck’s sake.”
Kanji takes the chance to shove the matches into his pocket, down to the bottom
where he’s sure she won’t be able to reach them. Honestly, knowing she didn’t
realise there were students still in the building makes him feel a little more
at ease. It’s easier to deal with an arsonist than someone who’s not afraid of
literally committing mass murder.
She points a long, painted fingernail at him, and his body crouches in reflex.
“You,” she says at first, and he stares at her. “If you tell anyone about this,
I’m getting your ass hung on a stick.”
He wants to laugh, wants to look challenge her. Wants to flash his two coiled
fists in her face and say ‘Go ahead, I’ve never lost a fistfight one-one-one,’
but his throat constricts and he finds he can’t really get the words out.
“Depends,” is the best he can do for now, and finds he has to swallow hard
before the next words even reach his tongue. “You plannin’ on setting fire to
the school again?”
“That a problem?”
She’s totally testing him, he can tell. He’s dealt with people who don’t know
when to stop before, so he regains a little bit of his confidence, which is why
his voice comes out with no tremors, no hints of hesitation.
“Yeah.”
She launches herself at him again.
It’s a move intended to surprise. To hurt and intimidate him off disagreeing
with her, but he’s prepared for it. He deftly sidesteps out of the way,
grabbing her foot from where she tried to kick at his stomach and spinning her
around, only to throw her to the ground.
He has never lost a fistfight after all. That’s not a streak he’s about to
lose.
The girl tumbles over herself, curses, and there’s a satisfying thump when she
finally meets the earth, forehead smashing against the grass.
He’s about to tease for her it, tell her to eat shit before she gets herself
hurt, but something stops him in his tracks. Her skirt has ridden up to a
little bit above her thighs, and barely (just barely), it feels like he can see
a flash of bright pink where her underwear should be.
Pink. Her underwear is pink.
“Y – you -” he stutters about aimlessly, and it’s a little embarrassing how
quickly his entire face flares up.
She tries to twist around to face him. It’s a little messy, given how hard she
hit the floor, but there’s still a glare on her face that looks undoubtedly
intimidating.
“What you want?” She does her best to get up, but her hands must be twisted or
something because they don’t even manage to hold half the weight of her body.
He’s got a good throw, she has to give him that.
When she looks up at him through her gritted teeth, she’s expecting to see him
ready to launch on her and kick her while she’s down (it’s what she would have
done to him, anyway) but he’s cowering, nowhere even near where she is right
now. What’s he suddenly so scared of? As if she can do much more than kick at
his legs from the position she’s in.
“Your – your skirt.”
She looks down at her skirt.
“You scared of my skirt?”
“No! It’s just…” He’s not even brave enough to peer at her from beneath his
fingers, which feels both as confusing as it is alarming. She pulls her skirt
up further to look inside, in case maybe some snake or spider crawled into it
while she wasn’t looking, but she’s cut off by a strangled gasp.
“Don’t pull it up further! Fix it!” It’s then that she sees the blush all over
his face, and she can’t help but burst out into a fit of laughter so intense
that her head almost slams against the ground again.
“You’re taking the piss.”
“H – hey! You want just anybody to see you out here?”
More laughter again. If Kanji wasn’t embarrassed before, he sure would be now.
“Man, how old are you?”
He seems to catch on that she’s not nearly as bothered about the whole thing as
he seems to be, so he brings his hand down – although he’s still not quite
meeting her eyes.
“F – Fifteen.”
This time when she laughs, his whole face scrunches up in anger. He’s
thoroughly uncomfortable now, and he hates the way she’s making him feel like a
child. She’s the one that’s one the ground right now. She shouldn’t be the one
making fun of him.
“There somethin’ wrong with that?” He asks, and it’s clear that he’s irritated,
but she just waves it off.
“Nah. Sorry man.”
The smug smile on her face rubs him the wrong way. She tries to get up without
using your hands, and it takes a couple of tries, but it works in the end.
“You got a good toss for a fifteen-year-old.”
Her skirt falls back down by the time she gets up, so at least he doesn’t have
to worry about that anymore.
“I’ve had practise.” He still seems half-prepped for another brawl, but she
thinks it’s probably just because he’s still embarrassed.
“Yeah. I bet.”
The way she stumbles in his direction is not at all threating, so he doesn’t
feel the need to get into a defensive position. Still, it surprises him when
she holds her hand out, outstretched, in his direction. He finds he can’t
really get his thoughts together fast enough to respond before her patience
runs out.
“Come on. Shake it,” she prompts, and the amused smile on her face crumbles.
(Just a little, but he supposes even in defeat she’s impatient.)
When their hands finally meet, she gives him a firm squeeze.
“You won against the Sukeban today.” Her voice is equally as firm as her
handshake. When she withdraws, even though she’s bruised up and her hair is
even more all-over-the-place than it was before, she still stands with her back
straight and proud, and it’s inevitable, really – the rush of pride that Kanji
feels at knowing that he honestly did defeat the leader of the biggest gang in
school.
(Even if her smile still makes him feel like she’s not taking him seriously.)
“Turf’s yours,” is the last thing she says, before she smiles, winks, and
stumbles away.
Kanji’s still blushing.
***** Touch Starvation (Goro Akechi) *****
He shivers when you touch him.
It’s a consistent, subtle flash through his body (almost not there at all, to
the point you don’t notice it in the first few weeks of your acquaintance), and
it tenses his skin, stretching it taut like a canvas against the sweep of your
fingertips.
Two glasses of wine sit on the dark ebony of the coffee table in front of you,
pushed just out of reach and filled up half-way with some imported, deep-red
wine. You distinctly remember a smug glint to his grin when he first offers it
to you, flashes the Dom Perignon label as he pours it at your affirmation,
first into your glass, and then into his.
Despite the affluent design of the building’s interior, (and exterior; the
tasteful combination of redwood and seamless, stone veneer is a clear enough
testament to the depth of Akechi’s pockets even before he leads you inside) you
do not feel intimidated by the upper-class opulence of the home.
It’s thanks to him, that much is clear, and the laid-back jokes that trickle
out of his mouth - still smooth and silver-tongued, but with a warmth not too
dissimilar to the buzz of alcohol in your stomach.
Perhaps when you first stumble in, a little woozy from sake and beer, you’re
struck by a far-away sense of loneliness from the overly-spacious entranceway
where Akechi takes his shoes off. The décor is sparsely distributed,
minimalistic to a degree that follows the guidelines of a catalogue more
closely than it does an actual, lived-in residence (like Akechi doesn’t live
here as he just comes to sleep) but the feeling is gone as soon as you look at
him.
The genuine politeness and well-to-do-ness of his smile distracts you quickly;
it’s so bright, so, subtly exaggerated that it almost feels artificial, and he
gestures into the living room, gives another shy (but gently smug) grin when
you double-take the expensive velvet couch that he suggests you sit on while he
takes out something else to drink.
That was an hour and a half ago.
It is now some dubious amount of time after mid-night, but with the blinds
drawn shut and no clock in sight apart from a blackwood sympathique on the
unused fireplace that outlines its face with three, gold, one-winged angels
(who’s clock hands you can’t reliably read from this angle, anyway) there is no
way to tell.
You’ve drank most of your glass, and combined with the alcohol from before,
your head is swimming to the point you can’t close your eyes without an ebbing
wave sea-sickness. Akechi must notice, because he suggests for you lay on the
couch to rest if you’re feeling tired.
“On the velvet?” you ask, a little surprised, but he just laughs at you.
“Of course. Please, pay that no mind.”
The alcohol is enough to stave your reservation to lean back and put your feet
on the couch, and you curl up, head almost against Akechi’s lap. You don’t see
the bittersweet reverb to his smile, like the remnants of an echo that he tries
his best to abandon into invisibility, until you turn up to look at him.
His hand hovers over your hair unsurely, in the middle of an ungraceful unravel
from a clenched fist into an outstretched palm.
It withdraws quickly.
“Ah, sorry,” he says. “There was just something in your hair.”
You lift an eyebrow up at him, because for the first time during the night,
you’re not convinced with his smooth little deflections. Maybe it’s the
alcohol, but you feel brave enough to lift off the couch just enough to place
your head on his lap, turned away so that your hair splays out in front of him.
“Can you run your hand through it?”
He pauses, for one, two, three seconds, like he’s struggling to grab hold of
the situation, and then softly, his hands brushes against your scalp.
It feels so immediately good that you hum, and when you do, his hand shivers.
“Is it nice?” he asks, in the same teasing tone he’s used for most of the
night, to distract you from it.
You nod, gently, and reach around to his side to pull his other hand into
yourself. (Another shiver raptures him.) It’s a little cold, so you press it
flush against your cheek to cool your face from the alcohol glow. His other
hand stops for a little while, with a ­delay that seems longer than last time,
and you’ve just managed to convince yourself that you’re being rude when it
starts again, more slowly and tenderly than last time.
He does this for a while. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes pass of you pressing his
hand further into yourself, warming it up against the plush of your lips and
falling slowly asleep while nestled into his lap, when something soft and small
thumps against your hair.
Albeit still blanketed in a mist of drowsiness, your eyes open, and you become
just aware enough to notice the hand in your scalp has completely stopped,
still like stone. You shift onto your back to look up at him, and notice very
quickly that something is wrong, because his bottom lipped is tucked in,
shivering. Something else thumps against your hair, and with a start, you
realise what it is.
Tears.
He’s crying.
“Akechi?” you ask frantically, because your heartbeat skyrockets, and your sit
up to face him in a whirlwind. His hand hovers uselessly where your head used
to be, up in the air like it’s frozen, so you tug it into yourself with the
other hold it, clasped in-between yours.
Another shiver runs through him, so visible that even in the dim light of the
night you see (and feel it) clearly.
“What’s wrong?” you ask again, rubbing circles across his palm with your thumb.
He shakes his head.
“Akechi, what’s happening?” you repeat, patient but all the more nervous, pulse
still rickety and uneven like a drum that can’t keep to the rhythm.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Huh?” For a second, you’re too surprised to react. Your hands still where they
hold his, and the slow circles halt altogether.
“Don’t touch me,” he repeats, this time overwrought and with such deep sadness
that you’re caught off guard again. There’s no aggressive bite to it, but it
sends an icy ripple through your body all the same, and you withdraw your hands
quickly. Did you misread the situation? Were you too fast? Too bold?
“I’m sorry,” you exclaim, the words running into each other in a frantic race.
“I didn’t know. I just thought, I thought that since you wanted to run your
hands through my hair, you wouldn’t mind if I –”
“No, no, no,” he whispers, undulations chipping long fissures into his voice as
it cracks, shatters and splits apart into whimpers. His hands hide his face,
and he cries into them. “You don’t understand.”
“I don’t?”
For a while, the only sound is the steady ticking of the black-wood
sympathique, and the quiet sniffling as he cries into his palms.
“I want to touch you,” he says, eventually. “And I want you to touch me.” His
hands come off his face (barely, but just enough that you can see beneath them)
and you notice his skin has dried his tears into pale roads that you follow
with your eyes, as they pave paths of pallor through the hill of his cheek and
below his chin, where all traces of them disappear. “I want it so much.”
Reflex throws your hand forward. You want to reach out, to touch his face and
swipe his hands away (as they dig their nails into his fragile flesh) in place
of yours (that would gently soothe it), but you still don’t think you
understand enough.
“Then…” you begin, and swallow. “What’s wrong?”
His hands move further from his face, still gently cupped as they encase it.
“Don’t you get it? I shouldn’t want it.”
“You shouldn’t?”
“Whenever you touch me, I –” He’s trying his best to speak, but he only has the
tattered leftovers of his voice, like the strings in his throat are frayed,
splintered. “I don’t deserve it; I’m impure.” It’s stressed on the last word,
and another sob rocks through his body. “You’re so perfect, and when you touch
me, it’s too much. Too much good. I don’t deserve it.” You hear him gulp as he
looks down at your hands (full of need), and it feels like your heart is
splitting.
“Why do you think you’re impure?”
A laugh breaks through the middle of his tears, more sad and unhinged than
genuinely entertained.
“Don’t laugh at this, please,” you say, and you notice it sounds about two
steps away from tears, too. “Why are you saying these things about yourself?”
Akechi is surprised at the tone of your voice. He blinks, once, twice, like he
can’t understand why you’re so upset at what he’s saying. Slowly, you reach
out, take his hands away from his face, and he doesn’t resist, even when you
curl one of them against your cheek. (Another shiver.)
“Look, I don’t know where this is coming from. I had a great night. I was
having a good time, and I thought you were having a good time, and you’ve been
so nice to me the entire time, opening every door and pulling out that chair,
and just – just being so kind.”
He shakes his head, but you’re not having it. You just hold his hand tighter
against you and bring the other one into your other hand.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. I like it when you touch me. It feels nice.”
He swallows, hard.
“But –”
“No, stop it. Look at your hands.” You tilt his palms towards him. “They’re
soft, and clean, and I like it when they brush against my skin.”
He doesn’t look away from you, even for a second, equally entranced as he is
lost in your eyes, and the way you curve compliments (words, that normally, he
would bear no resemblance towards) to suit him, make him better than what he
is.
“Just – touch me,” you say. “See for yourself.”
You let go of his hands, slowly, gently, like you’re pushing a lantern onto a
lake, watching the water ripple around where it dips just beneath.
He reaches out, tentatively, drawn back towards your face, and up through your
cheekbone, until he runs his hand through your hair.
Tick, tock, the sympathique goes, and the two of you say nothing, not when you
reach out to his face and watch him lean into it, or when another shiver and
another round of tears recurs through his body. Not when you draw into each
other, and you kiss his tears away, or when you shift even closer to press
flush against him, and he melts into you.
There’s little of the smooth, debonair man who you saw first on television,
with his perfect, natural smiles, and perfect manners. A side of him prior
unknown to you (and everyone else) shakes against your hand, ripe with
insecurity you want nothing more than to still.
“More skin,” he eventually mumbles, as he’s gasping into your jawline after a
long kiss that stole his breath.
“Huh?” You’re woozy from his lips and tongue, even the velvet of the couch
fading into a hazy, grey cloud.
“I want more of your skin,” he says. “Against mine.” He gives barely a pause
before he’s on you again, melding into every part of you, one leg fitting
neatly between your legs, and the other hooking against you, pulling you even
closer. He moans into your mouth, whimpers and gasps cutting intermittent
between kisses, long and short, most rough, some not.
At the next break, when the two of you surface for breath, you nod to show you
understand him.
“Yeah,” you say, and begin by clasping the hem of your top and pulling upwards.
“Me too.”
End Notes
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