#LIKE HOW LONG THEIR TORSOS LOOKED? AND GOROS SHOULDER

[kekisu]

a redraw of my favorite official shuake art for my zines layout...

[manias-wordcount]

Can you do an akechi x pregnant reader. Because you how you did the mom-to-be fanfic I just wanted to see how akechi would take care of reader during the pregnancy :>

Breakfast (Goro Akechi x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘄𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗶 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀. 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘀𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴, 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗯𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗼 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝗱𝗼 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲. 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝘁. 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝘄𝗮𝗵 <𝟯

𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝗰: Mom-To-Be♡

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

You find yourself in an awkward position.

It’s just- he had been working so hard lately, and there was very little you could do. Work for him was backed up by the recent rise in the violence between two gangs. The station kept him working, long,  long  hours to ensure the safety of the people nearby. You thought they were being unfair- he thought it was reasonable. After all, the faster this case wraps up, the less he has to worry about when it comes to your safety.

Speaking of which, that’s just another thing that your husband has been so intent on taking care of for you. You can’t blame him- considering that you’re thirty-one weeks pregnant and have to waddle when you walk- he’s not too keen on letting you leave the apartment except for an appointment. It took some compromise and easing him out of this overprotective state for you to both agree that it’s best that you only go out when someone is accompanying you. You can go out for walks or a bite to eat, but things like friends and groceries have to find their own way back to you. Though you know if he had it his way, you’ve would’ve been put on bed rest since the first test came back positive.

Last night was one of the first nights he had come home early enough to eat dinner while it was still hot in a long time. It was the same old routine when he walked in. You remember smiling at him in front of your spot in the kitchen, leaning over the sink as best you could while he drops his briefcase on the group and pulls you into his chest. The sounds of the faucet still running and a rerun on a talk show- an interview from earlier today that you only caught the second half- fade away as you sink into his warmth. You tried to pull away first this time, but a sneaky hand wrapping around your torso and pressing you into his side tells you that he needs a couple more seconds. Something happened at work that he’s just not quite over yet.

When the hug ended, he still wasn’t too keen on letting you. He opted for eating dinner a little later so he could help you with the dishes, despite your insistence to let you handle it since he looked damn near ready to collapse. And honestly, you wished you pushed him away more.

Because if you did, you wouldn’t be in your current predicament…

A frown makes its way onto your face as you look up at the cabinet. You blink slowly as your thoughts start to catch up with your still fuzzy brain. The whole reason for you getting up early and turning off his alarm was to make him breakfast-to-go so he could spend a few more minutes sleeping in. But with the fish and the miso soup already packaged and ready to go and the rice finishing up in the pot, you thought it would be a good time to get everything out to start the coffee for him.

Only all the to-go cups…were placed on the top shelf…when he helped you with dishes…last night…

FiIghting back a yawn, your shoulders sagged as you looked around the room. There’s still a few minutes before you were planning on getting him up, and you hadn’t heard him stir yet. You knew he would throw a fit if he saw you doing all this for him. So, with no brunette in sight, you steeled yourself and put your game face, ready to seize the day.

It was a shot in the dark, but you did your first try to reach it by standing on your toes and stretching. But the size of your stomach and the weight of the baby easily proving to make things difficult. It took a few seconds of trying to find the optimal position- constantly stepping a little to the side or a little backward to make sure you got as close to the counter without actually having it press into your stomach.

And when you finally  did  get the distance away from the counter, you start to lean up, stand on your toes, and…immediately have to go back down. Not only was it heavy, but it was also incredibly disorienting. You could  feel  yourself start to lose your balance and figured that that was just an accident waiting to happen. With a sigh, you started to look back down and around the apartment kitchen for something to use. It was hard to see the whole thing since the light from the rising sun hadn’t quite made its way to your window yet.

There was nothing you insight you could use to knock it down. The counters were mostly clear besides all the stuff you used to pack his breakfast, and you knew making too much noise would ruin the surprise. That easily ruled out the idea of getting something to hook onto the to-go cup and make it fall into your arms. But then, your eyes settled on something. Possibly the answer to your current predicament.

The chair.

Or more specifically, one of the black kitchen counter height bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island.

You pursued your lips at the thought, but it is the most logical option. It’s been a while since you’ve needed to climb onto one. After moving in with him, Goro was always so careful in making sure everything was in  both  of your reaches- not just his. But how hard can it be? Crossing your arms over your chest, you started to  really  weigh your options. You doubt you’d ever have to stand on the chair. You could probably just settle for being on your knees and reaching up. All you had to do was pull it over to you, climb on top, reach for one of the cups and-

“Don’t even think about it.”

You didn’t even realize you were mindlessly reaching for the stool until a hand around your torso forces you to wake up from your daze. You make a small noise in surprise, but it ultimately goes unnoticed as you turn your head and watch as Goro easily pluck the to-go cup you had your eyes on from the top shelf.

“I wasn’t going to do it.” You whisper out like a kid caught doing something wrong. Your husband, in all tired glory, sends you a look. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are narrowed. It’s not the normal princely look that he puts on for the TV. No, it’s something more honest. And something a little more worth falling in love with. Even if it’s him scolding you. “I was just thinking…”

“Why aren’t you in bed? It’s still early.” He doesn’t bother with what you said earlier because you both know that’s a lie. You’re just glad he let you off without giving you a lecture and practically carrying you back to bed. He lets go of you momentarily to check on the rice and start his coffee. You didn’t realize it until he said it, but you do still kind of feel sleepy. It’s been a while since you’ve had to wake up early for anything so you were very much out of practice. Plus with a baby on the way, you’ve been trying to savor all the eight-hour nights and the cat-naps in the afternoon you can get your hands on. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes for a minute or two… “Dearest? Is something wrong? Should I call your doctor?”

In an instant, he leaves the coffee machine in favor of returning to your side. His arm finds your waist in an instant and his free hand checks the temperature of your forehead and your cheeks. You can’t help but smile sleepily at the concerned look on his face, finding his usual doting adorable yet not completely necessary as always.

“‘M fine, just a little tired still…” You answer with a yawn, staying to sway in place ever so slightly. Your quiet but casual tone causes Goro to relax almost immediately, but he still doesn’t let you go. Instead, he pulls you closer, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder while he traced small patterns into your sides and kissed your forehead. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“ Something nice for me is  staying safe and sound, yeah?”  He murmured, leaning down and burying his face into your neck. You felt his breath right against your skin, and you could no longer fight the feeling of needing to close your eyes. The heat of his body seeps through your nightgown as you fall into him. Intimacy between you too happens so often in what little time you’re allowed with him. And yet, you find yourself surrendering quickly. “Just let me handle these things for now , mmkay? You’re so fragile like this…”

“Goro, I’m not helpless…” Your whine is soft as you try to ease his worries. He makes a conflicted noise behind you and when he starts to mutter distractedly in his native language, you know he’s still not budging on his protectiveness. You suppose it should be expected. He was the one who was most scared of the idea of having a child together. After reading dozens and dozens of books on the process, he’s the one most scared about everything  not  going perfectly. “I can handle myself. Besides, you've been so helpful lately, I wanted to return the favor.”

“Hmm...” He starts with a hum, before moving to pepper your neck with tiny kisses. It’s hard to believe there was a time before you were both married and overly affectionate with each other. A time where he couldn’t even manage to speak to you without stuttering or slipping back into Japanese. Much less, look you in the eye. “Well, you can return the favor by being a good girl and going back to bed.”

You can't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation his lips bring, enjoying the way you can feel him smile into your skin. He only stops momentarily- freezing as he was caught off guard by the sound of your phone alarm quietly going off. You let out a sheepish laugh when you can just  tell  his eyes must have caught on to the title of the alarm stating your full intentions of waking him up late to surprise him.

“Oops?” You whisper as his arm unravels itself from your torso for just one second to reach out and turn off your phone alarm.

“Hmph.” He grumbled, the sound accented by a kiss now placed right behind your ear. “ Minx .”

“Goro! ” You complained, turning in his hold and facing him. You shot him an angry look but it hardly carried much of a threat considering that you’re  very  pregnant right now and not very mobile at the moment. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes and a smirk growing on his face. This wasn’t the charming, do-good prince everyone saw. This was sneaky the man you married. The whole who never seemed to be able to keep his hands off of you for long. And you knew if that if you gave into him now, there’s a chance he might not make it out to work in time. “Go! Go get dressed right now! You have work!”

“Maybe I should just call in today and work from home.” He dismissed you easily as he placed his hands on your hips and rocked your body gently. It’s incredibly unfair how he can just make you melt into him with the simplest of touches. “Say I needed to take care of my wife. Get a few things done for her while she resting after a  hard morning …”

Your eyes widen at his words, knowing the double- maybe even  triple - meaning behind them. An amused grin lights up his face at your expression, and suddenly your face is growing all too warm. You’re keenly aware of what you’re both wearing right now as your body presses against his. He, a pair of flannel pants and an old t-shirt. You, just a thin, cotton maternity nightgown. Cute, breathable, and  easy to take off.

“You’re impossible.” You grumble at him, not quite pulling away when he leans in close and kisses your nose. You’ll make him go to work.  But…  a few more minutes like this wouldn’t hurt, right?

“No, no…” He murmurs to you, his eyes darkening in a certain way that leaves you just a little breathless. His fingers find the edge of your nightgown, and you can’t help but bite at your lip. With the way things look now, you might be taking a  little  bit longer than a few minutes to get him out the door. “I’m just… appreciative  of the  delicious  breakfast my wife has out for me.”

And with that, his lips are on your and his hands working their way of stripping you of your little nightgown. And you really want to be mad at him. You really want to fuss at him. And most of all, you really want to demand a proper ‘thank you’ for making him this now  ignored  breakfast out of that snake-like charming mouth of his before you allow him to go any further.

But before you can even do anything he pulls back from you. Panting, yet admiring the view of your kissable lips and your messy hair. You know you look disheveled. You know you look like a mess. But one glance at his face, and you can tell he still thinks that you’re the most gorgeous girl in the world.

So when he leaned in close and mumbled a low “ Itadakimasu~ ” right into your ear, you let him do whatever he wanted. Because in the end, it’s safe to say that you got him his breakfast.

Mission accomplished on your part, wouldn’t you say?

[thepancakedetective]

Pinning Hell

Synopsis: Akira Kurusu has been pinning hard for his hot rival/friend Goro Akechi. He doesn't know how to deal with his feelings. And his friends are sick of hearing about it. So Futaba devises a devious plan involving blackmail. Rated M for Spicy.

Akira had no idea how he ended up in front of Goro’s apartment. Okay. He was blackmailed. Threatened over text by his mischievous ginger-haired friend. For a socially anxious shut-in, she was surprisingly vocal over text exchanges. 

Oracle (5:22 pm)  I hate to break this to you Akira.

Oracle (5:22 pm)  But if you don’t get your ass straight out of Le Blanc this instant, I am going to leak your browsing history to Goro. This includes the following: 

Oracle (5:23 pm)  “how to confess your feelings to your hot friend and not be rejected”, “how to know if your friend is gay”, “is quoting Hegel gay?”, “hot kinky gay bdsm” and so on.

Oracle (5:23 pm)  If you would like this to NOT happen head to this location and fucking confess your feelings pronto. Or ELSE!!! ((╬◣﹏◢))

Akira knew this was coming. Over the last few weeks Akira had barely seen Goro. Due to their conflicting schedules and Goro’s predisposition to overworking himself, Akira was currently suffering from Goro withdrawal. Goro plagued his every thought during work, school, and hangouts with his friends. And said friends were sick of his pinning. Now he was paying the price.

Akira’s hand hovered over the apartment door, torn between knocking or death because hey, he would rather be shot in the head than have his browsing history exposed to the one person he had been crushing on forever. The door handle turned before he had the chance to decide. A thoroughly surprised and alarmed Goro blinks back at him mouth agape. His work clothes peak out over a haphazardly worn hoodie.

Goro: W-what are you doing here?

Akira thinks to himself, okay be cool.

Akira: I was just taking a walk.

Goro squints suspiciously at Akira.

Goro: A walk that ended up right in front of my apartment door. A location, which mind you, I did not share with you prior.

Akira curses at himself. Now he looks like some crazy fangirl.

Akira: I have a good explanation for that.

Goro crosses his arms and pins Akira with a raised eyebrow.

Goro: Do come in.

Akira: W-what? Weren’t you just about to leave?

Goro sighs and opens his apartment door wider.

Goro: My business can wait. It looks like you have a more pressing matter to divulge.

Akira involuntary swallows hard. Was it too late to back out? As if sensing Akira’s hesitation, Goro pulls Akira inside and closes the door behind them. Akira glances back at Goro. Did he deadbolt the door?

Goro: Let’s take a seat.

Goro leads them to his living room couch. His apartment is well furnished just as Akira had suspected. What he did not expect was the ridiculous amount of Phoenix Ranger Featherman merch lining his bookshelf with figurines. They looked like they cost a fortune. Goro followed Akira’s line of sight. He coughs with a light blush.

Goro: A gift from fans. So Akira, to whom do I owe the pleasure for being graced by your unsolicited presence?

Akira’s mouth suddenly feels dry and he blurts out

Akira: Blackmail.

Goro studies him thoughtfully before giving Akira one of his signature Detective Prince smiles which nearly sends Akira into cardiac arrhythmia.

Goro: Oh? Well I do specialize in crime. How may I assist?

Marry me. Slay me. Step on me. Akira curses internally. Focus mind. Focus. Damn his lips look so soft and his lashes are so long. His traitorous mind was making speech a very difficult task. Goro smirks before ironing it out into a slight frown.

Goro: Your silence leads me to think that this blackmail is far more serious than I had first suspected. Perhaps we should notify the police.

Akira nearly jumps out of his seat in protest.

Akira: No, no. It’s really not THAT serious.

Akira tries to shrug nonchalantly, but instead looks like he’s doing a bad impression of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Goro taps his chin, seemingly intrigued by Akira’s skittishness. Goro leans forward and the gap between two closes significantly. He looks up at Akira with a half-lidded expression. It was getting very hard for Akira to think.

Goro: Then, do tell what it is on your mind.

Akira’s lips waver only half a second before responding.

Akira: You.

And he dives in to press his lips against the brunet’s. Goro’s breath hitches and his eyes widen, but there is no protest. No. Instead, he closes his eyes and kisses back hungrily. His fingers lace through Akira’s unruly raven hair and pull him closer to deepen the kiss. It was Akira’s turn to be surprised as he found Goro’s tongue pressed against his lips. Akira accepts the invite with an involuntary groan. This seems to rouse something in Goro who pushes Akira down and pins him against the coach. Goro’s eyes are glazed and heavy with deep wanting. Akira knew exactly where this would lead and just that thought sent shivers down his spine in anticipation. But, this was progressing way to fast. And Akira had to get a handle on the situation.

Akira: W-wait.

Goro pants, his breathing uneven.

Goro: D-did I do something wrong?

Akira shakes his head.

Akira: No, no! You did nothing wrong. I just need to figure something out.

Goro gazes down at him with mild confusion. Perspiration lightly lining the top of his brows.

Goro: What is it?

Akira bites his bottom lip.

Akira: Do you like me?

Goro rolls his eyes.

Goro: Do you think I’d be tongue deep in you if that weren’t the case?

Akira: W-well you never know!

Goro scoffs.

Goro: Any other questions to interrupt our make out session?

Akira: How are you so good at kissing? Did you have prior experience?

To this Goro’s blush deepens.

Goro: No…I didn’t. This was my first time. I’ve just been reading up on it.

Akira laughs as he imagines Goro pouring over literature and scouring the internet for techniques and tips for kissing. There must have also been videos.

Goro: S-stop laughing!

Akira: Sorry that was too good to resist. But yeah, for your first time that was amazing.

Goro smiles satisfyingly.  

Goro: Does that mean we can continue where we left off?

Akira: One more question.

Goro sighs in exasperation, but there is no malice. He gives Akira a look to elaborate.

Akira: Are we dating now?

Goro kisses the corner of Akira’s lips.

Goro: Only if you want to.

Akira: Hell yeah I want to.

Goro: So there are no more objections.

Goro snakes a few more kisses down Akira’s jawline towards his neck. His hands travel underneath Akira’s shirt tracing his well-defined torso. Akira is on cloud nine. And to think he was suffering for all these weeks and all it took was blackmail to get together with his crush. As Goro places a wet kiss over his clavicular prominence, Akira gets a thought.

Akira: Wait.

Goro groans against Akira’s shoulder.

Goro: I’m starting to think you get a rise in continually denying me of your body.

Akira: Why were you in such a rush to leave your apartment? I’ve never seen you wear that hoodie before.

Goro chuckles.

Goro: You wouldn’t believe it.

Akira: Try me.

Goro: I was blackmailed.

And it all suddenly clicks in place for Akira.

Akira: Oracle.

Goro: Oracle.

Akira: Browsing history?

Goro: Yup.

Akira: Wow. I don’t suppose yours included “hot kinky gay bdsm.”

Goro just stared wordlessly with a raised eyebrow.

Goro: I haven’t gotten to that part of my research yet. But…

Goro’s eyes shine with a mischievous glint.

Goro: I do legally carry handcuffs on my person for work.

Akira: I love you.

Goro laughs.

Goro: Let me show you the depths of my love.

The evening grew older as the two explored and deepened their bond together. It wasn’t until a few hours later, Akira noticed a few new messages on his phone.

Oracle (7:36 pm)  Did you do the deed peasant? Or shall I leak all your filth for the world to see?

Oracle (7:36 pm)  Answer me peasant!

Oracle (7:36 pm)  I can see your GPS location. Don’t make me tap into your mic fool.

Oracle (7:37 pm)  JGU@*(%#(FKKK

Oracle (7:37 pm)  I’m just going to imagine you two are having a very deep conversation.

Joker (11:21 pm)  The deed has been done and I am thoroughly satisfied. Goro says hi btw.

Oracle (11:21 pm)  EWWW. Freakin TMI DUDE. Tho I’m happy for you two. Too stupid and gay to realize how much you two were pinning over each other for like forever.

Joker (11:24 pm)  Thank you Futaba, what would we have done without you?

Oracle (11:24 pm)  Likely be suffering in pinning hell.

[kareofbears]

number one fan

At the best of times, a large group of teenagers in one area is a mild inconvenience to traverse with. In between rows and rows of filled chairs in a packed gymnastics stadium, it’s a nightmare.

Especially when someone unexpected is sitting close by. 

—

read on ao3 or under the cut :) 

(lovingly beta read by @mad4turtles)

At the best of times, a large group of teenagers in one area is a mild inconvenience to traverse with. In between rows and rows of filled chairs in a packed gymnastics stadium, it’s a nightmare.

“Man, it’s so effin’ crowded here,” Ryuji grumbles, half-shoving people out of the way. They learned early on to make him spearhead the group in packed environments, given that he’s the only one with enough guts to openly ask crowds to move out of the way. He’s like a pissed-off shepherd towing his sheep.

“What do you expect?” Makoto sighs, one hand gripping Haru’s wrist and the other clutching Ann’s jacket, kindergarten style. “This is something like the semi-finals, right?”

Akira shrugs, his shoulder rubbing against Ryuji’s from the sheer proximity. “No clue.”

“Didn’t she give you the tickets?”

“Sure she did, but it’s not like it came with some kind of gymnastics handbook.”

“Does anyone even know what type of gymnastics she’s in?” Haru asks, grip tightening around Makoto’s hand when a group of enthusiasts threatens to break them apart.

Ann’s eyes light up. “Oh, the one with the string twirling, right? She posted it on her Insta the other day, she looked so good.”

“She did! I can only imagine how rigorous her regimen must be.”

“Do you think she’d give me her secret? I wonder if she even lets herself snack.”

"I think so? She posted some desserts on her story recently."

Ryuji scratches his head. "There's more than one type of gymnastics?"

Makoto lets her head drop forward. "We don't deserve these tickets."

Akira turns his head back to the rest of them. "We're getting close to our seats," he says with a raised voice to combat the noisy crowd ('raised' only in the sense that it's slightly louder than his usual soft tone. Akira is a man of many talents, but voice projection is not one of them).

Someone from a step above them knocks their elbow into Akira's head, enough to make him stumble back a few steps, surprised.

Ryuji sends a glare at the stranger, eyes dark. "Hey, watch it, you motherfu—"

"And here are our seats!" Makoto claps her hands. "Let's sit before we do something illegal!"

Akira cards through Ryuji's hair, a silent thank you, I love you, but please calm down.

Eventually, he relents. "Fine."

Ann collapses into one of the bright red, plastic seats. "Thank God, my feet were killing me."

Haru joins her, grimacing. "Why are these seats so sticky...?"

"Because whenever they do a real good flip, the fanatics piss themselves."

"Ryuji, what the hell?"

"Sorry."

"Okay everyone," Makoto peers down at her phone. "Competition starts in two minutes. Settle in, but don’t go to the bathroom."

"Don't go to the bathroom?" Akira raises an eyebrow. "Are you Ushimaru?"

"I'm just saying that, given our position, we're basically stuck to our seats until everyone else leaves."

"For real?" Ryuji groans. "I really wanted one of those hot dogs they have, where they're yelling out 'hot dogs!' and shit."

"This isn't some American baseball game, dumbass," Ann snorts.

"I know that!"

Haru points past Ryuji. "If you're really desperate to go, you might be able to ask that man to move his tripod aside to make room for you."

"You're totally right! What a good senpai," he casts a grin at Haru before calling out to the man a few seats down from them. He's dressed bulkily for such a packed stadium: a thick black hoodie with the hood up, and a thick pair of black shades. To top it all off, he has an annoyingly big tripod in front of him with an expensive-looking camera perched on top. "Yo! 'Scuse me!"

Ryuji blinks as the man almost seemed to shift away from him. "Uh, hello? I just got a quick question."

To everyone's surprise, the man seemed to turn even more, his torso twisted in the opposite direction.

Makoto squints. “Maybe he didn’t hear you?”

“Whatever, it’s about to start anyway,” Ryuji falls back into his chair. “I’ll just ask him again when I actually need to go. Oh, look it’s her!”

Sumire stands with her coach, dressed in a bright leotard and a determined expression on her face, nodding along intently.

Ann leans forward over the railing. “Go Yoshizawa! Woo! Come on guys, we’re here to cheer!”

“Well, she did give us the best seats… it only makes sense that we make the most of them.” Haru says, before cupping her hands over her mouth. “Let’s go, Yoshizawa!”

“Hell yeah, Yoshizawa!”

“You can do it!”

“Gymnastics.”

“Akira, you suck.”

Sumire looks up, eyes brightening as she waves back enthusiastically in their direction. To their surprise, she brings her hands together to make a heart.

“That’s sweet of her,” Haru comments. “I wonder who that was for.”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Probably Akira.”

“It’s for Akira.”

“Definitely.”

“I don’t think so,” Akira frowns. “She’s never done that before.”

“Man, don’t try to be all humble—everyone knows she had a thing for you.”

“In the first ten minutes, maybe. Now she’s just a little sister,” Akira waves at Sumire. “Go back to cheering.”

“Good idea,” Ryuji takes a deep breath. “Give me a Y!”

“Y!” Ann yells back.

“Give me an O!”

“O!”

Makoto rubs her temples. “We really don’t deserve these tickets.”

—

The competition goes off without a hitch, Sumire taking first place with ease. If the people around them were exasperated with their cheering before, it’s nothing compared to how they screamed their throats raw when she accepted her gold medal. The stranger in the black hoodie kept throwing them dirty looks, but they didn’t care.

“I’m so thirsty,” Ann rasps, once the award ceremony wraps up. “Anyone have water?”

“Nope,” Ryuji stands, stretching his arms above his head. “I need the bathroom pretty bad, though.”

To their misfortune, people are still slowly filing out of their seats, too slow for their liking. There’s a gap in the crowd, but the only way to get to it is through—

“The man is still there?” Haru asks.

“It seems so,” Makoto says. “He’s probably a huge fan of the whole gymnastics scene, given the way he’s so careful with his camera.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I gotta go,” Ryuji says, before turning to the man once more. “Sorry dude, gotta move past you for real this time.”

And just like before, the man steadfastly ignores him. Akira narrows his eyes.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice dropping an octave lower. Everyone stiffens. The words he spoke did not belong to Kurusu Akira and is now owned by someone donned in a long, black tail-coat, armed with a knife as sharp as a tack. “Please move. My partner here is trying to walk past you.”

And still, the man doesn’t shift.

Ryuji places a hand on Akira’s forearm. “Chill,” he says, running his hand up and down in what he hopes is a soothing manner. Ryuji might be the one on a hair-trigger temper, but no one has anything on Akira if someone so much as looks at his friends the wrong way.”It’s cool, ‘Kira. If the dude’s busy, then he’s busy. We’ll just wait for the other side to file out, yeah?”

Akira smiles, just a little. “I love you.”

“Love you too, dude.”

“—but you’re too nice.” He rips his arm from Ryuj’s lax grip and saunters over to the man.

“Respect,” Ann mutters, impressed.

“Stupid,” Makoto rectifies, face palming

“Hi there,” Akira greets, faux cheerful in a voice they recognize as his customer service voice. “Still ignoring us? That’s cool,” he shrugs a shoulder. “We’re used to it. Not a problem—we know how to be heard.”

In one, swift movement, Akira stands in front of the tripod.

Ryuji covers his eyes, peeking through his fingers. “I’m dating an actual bastard.”

The man visibly bristles and looks up to send Akira a black look from under his hood.

“Can you—” he hisses, before cutting himself off. “I mean,” clearing his throat, he drops his voice to a low grunt, not too different from a child impersonating an old man. “Move, dammit!”

Haru frowns. “That voice…”

The man shoots her a dirty look, before quickly turning his sight downward, but it was too late: they’ve all already caught a glimpse of his panicked brown eyes.

“Alright, I’ll move,” he says in the same gruff voice. “Just leave me alone—”

Akira bends down slightly, squinting at the man who’s avidly attempting to pull down his hood even more.

Squirming in his seat, “Young man, you are being extremely rude and hostile and I don’t appreciate—”

Akira reaches forward to grab his hood and forces it back, allowing Akechi Goro’s hair to flow down on his shoulders.

They all stilled, frozen in shock. Eyes widened, mouths openly gaping. Only Akira’s expression remained unchanged; cool and filled with disdain.

Ryuji is the first to speak. “I really hope I didn’t just piss myself.”

“What—” Ann splutters. “What are you—why the hell—I just—”

Makoto’s hand are alternating between making a numbered list with her fingers and gesticulating wildly. “So you’re in a gymnastics competition, and you’re actively hiding from us, and you have a camera which is weird at best, why are you—”

“I truly want to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Akechi-kun,” Haru cuts in. “But I’m kind of struggling to find—”

“Bro, like, a camera? You weren’t even trying to hide how weird this—”

“I know a thing or two about creeps and—”

“Oh, would you all give it a rest, you damn dolts!” Akechi snaps. “Your insistent cheering from earlier is already giving me a migraine.”

Akira narrows his eyes. “You don’t get to talk to them like that.”

“I just don’t understand, Akechi,” Makoto’s brows furrows. “You could have avoided being caught if you had just moved out of the way before sounding the alarm bells through Akira’s head.”

Leaning back into his chair, Akechi shoots her an incredulous look. “I wasn’t going to do that.”

“Why not?” Ann asks. “Do you really just love pissing us off?”

“No, I didn’t even know you clowns were beside me until it was too late,” he shoots a glare somewhere down towards the mats. “I couldn’t have moved this camera because…”

Everyone leans forward, awaiting his response as Akechi trails off. He blinks slowly.

“Hello?” Ryuji asks, incredulous. “What the hell was that? Why’d you stop talking?”

“You know what?” He stands abruptly, words flying out of his mouth. “I don’t need to answer any of your questions like some kind of interrogation,” shoving his arms through his jacket. “I know my rights,” he plucks the camera off of the tripod and closes its legs with a snap. “I’m a detective.”

With a dignified tilt of his head, he turns to leave only for Akira to cut him off by placing a foot on the stadium chair. “Nice try.”

“Move,” Akechi spits through gritted teeth.

“Nope.”

“Not before you tell us why you were recording Yoshizawa-chan,” Haru smiles.

Ann points at Akechi like she’s about to challenge him to a duel. “We care about her too much to let this go, so fess up!”

Rubbing his temples, “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“Then explain yourself!” Makoto says.

“No.”

“Hold on, guys.”

Everyone turns to Ryuji, who’s squinting at Akechi. “We got these dope tickets from Yoshizawa, right?”

“Yeah?”

“So how did this geezer get his hands on his?”

Akira’s eyes twinkle. “Now that’s a fantastic question.”

“I’m sure you all had an absolute grandiose time finding a brand new way to annoy me,” Akechi drawls. “But you aren’t going to get a single word out of—”

“Goro!”

They all turn to the sound of a familiar voice, only to blink when Yoshizawa Sumire comes running towards them, dressed out of her leotard and into her black tracksuit.

Akechi’s eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “No, go away Sumire. I’ll—I’ll meet you downstairs—”

“Yeah, right! That’s what we’ve been doing, but then you didn’t show up. You got me worried! Thought the crowd ate you up.” Sumire rolls her eyes, before smiling. “Hello, senpais!” Bowing deeply, “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to us.”

Slowly, they all turn to stare at Akechi, who’s expression is contorting in a strange way—his lips are pursed, and his arms are crossed in a defensive manner.

“Um…” Ann blunders. “Yup.”

“It was our pleasure,” Akira covers for her, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Congrats on the win.”

Sumire lights up. “Thank you! Speaking of—” she turns to Akechi, hands on her hips. “Tell me you didn’t forget to record me this time. And please tell me I’m in frame. Last time was a mess.”

Akechi gives her a dirty look but nods all the same. “Of course I did, who do you think I am?”

“Hurray!” she claps her hands together. “Funny story, actually. At my last competition, I asked Goro to film me—”

“Sumire,” he hisses at her, but she ignores him.

“But people kept moving the camera and messing it all up! It was a miracle that I had one more competition before the finals came up—I seriously need that footage for practice.”

She laughs, light and trill; a perfect juxtaposition to Akechi’s dark, defeated expression.

“Okay,” Ryuji shakes his head. “What the fuck is going on?”

“What Ryuji is actually means to ask,” Makoto averts. “Are you two…”

“Friends?” Akira finishes. His eyes flicker between the two of them like he’s working out an incredibly difficult equation. “Are you two friends?”

“I don’t have friends,” Akechi insists, the same time Sumire beams, “We’re best friends!”

A beat passes.

“Would you all stop staring at me?” Akechi snaps, and they all immediately look away, but it was too late. They’ve finally nailed his expression, one so strange to see on him that it took much longer than it needed to:

Akechi Goro is embarassed.

“Wow,” Haru whispers.

Sumire peers down at her watch and yelps. “Shoot, it’s that late? Sorry, everyone, we have to leave. Goro treats me whenever I get that first place.”

“Does he now?” Akira remarks innocently. Akechi’s glare can wither flowers.

He drops his foot, allowing Akechi to stride past him a little too quick to be nonchalant.

“Oh, don’t forget this.” Akira swoops down to pick up the forgotten, handing it to Akechi. When their hands touch, he whispers, “Besties, huh?”

“I’ll fucking end you.”

“Third time’s the charm.”

Yanking his hand away, Akechi stalks off. Sumire sighs dramatically.

“Such a drama queen! But I should leave, too.” She bows once more. “Thank you again.”

“No…problem…” Makoto trails off when Sumire runs to Akechi’s side, casually linking arms with him.

Silence encompasses the group.

“That’s weird, right?” Ryuji finally asks. “Like, I’m not wrong for thinking that was really fucking weird, right?”

“Yeah, that was weird,” Makoto confirms.

“Really?” Akira muses. “I can kind of see it.”

Ann rubs her temples. “Whatever. That whole thing plus my dehydration just gave me the world’s biggest headache.”

“Ryuji, don’t you need to go to the bathroom?” Haru reminds him kindly.

“Huh? Oh. I don’t know, I think I’ve might have just moved past it.”

“Gross.”

“Shut up, Takamaki. Let’s leave, I hate it here.”

“Because you peed yourself?”

“I did not.”

—

“I hate you.”

Sumire doesn’t look up from her slice of carrot cake. “No, you don’t.”

Their usual cafe was near empty in thanks to the fact that it’s a Tuesday evening and barely anyone knows this place exists—only a barista is inside with them, trying his best to text on his phone in secrecy and failing miserably. She can feel his glare at her from across the table, though there’s no heat behind it. (There hasn’t been heat behind it for a long time.)

“No,” Akechi agrees. “I don’t.”

She glances up at him. He hasn’t touched his tart yet. “But you’re upset with me.”

His brows scrunch slightly as he rolls his answer around his head. This was to be expected.

“No,” he decides. “I’m not upset, either. But I honestly cannot for the life of me figure out why you would do that. I hate them, Sumire, and you know that.” Picking up his fork, he prods at his fruit tart absentmindedly. “You’re a good person, even if you aren’t nice—”

“Only to you I’m not.”

“—so you won’t do anything that would disconcert me in a legitimate way on purpose.”

Her shoulders tense. “Did it disconcert you?”

“It unsettled me, sure. But only because I knew where their tickets came from, and it certainly didn’t come from Takamaki’s profound interest in gymnastics.”

“Unsettled you?”

Akechi gives her an exasperated look. “You’re going to make me say it?”

“How about a deal?” she offers, smiling ever so lightly. “You say it out loud and I’ll tell you why I did it.”

Sighing, he heavily leans back into his chair. “I despise the idea of them seeing me… like that.”

“Like a human being?”

“Like I’m weak,” he corrects.

“Seeing you in a normal setting,” she settles. “With a friend?”

“You’re pushing it.”

Her smile widens. An odd setting is more accurate. It’s only in a gymnastics setting that she can really get a reaction out of him—rarely does he act the way he did. It’s his own brand of sweet that’s really grown on her.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she starts, setting down her fork. “But I don’t agree with what you said.”

“Shocker. Which part?”

“About you hating them.”

When she doesn’t continue, he kicks her shin lightly. “Don’t be cryptid.” Which is his way of saying talk to me.

Sumire kicks him back. “I’m not! I’m just thinking.”

She chooses her words with care. “You said something, a while ago,” she says slowly. “Like way, way back. It was kind of offhand, and you probably said it as a way to prove how much you hated them or something. But you mentioned that Akira—and the rest of his lovely friends—were the first people to really treat you like…a person.”

Akechi blinks, and she feels her eyes soften. Of course he thought (or hoped) that she’d forgotten a detail like that.

“And yes, lots of stuff happened in between,” she continues. “Lots and lots of stuff. Stuff I’ll probably never know about. But…I owe them, I think.” Sumire shrugs. “They took care of you before I could have. So I was worried that it bugged you when you lost touch with them.”

Akechi was quiet for a moment before he knits his brows together. “And that led you to try and cupid me with them during your semi-final?”

“When you say it like that—”

“‘Losing touch’ is very different from what actually happened,” he cuts off, leaning forward. “And just because they didn’t treat me like a famous asshole from television absolutely did not create some kind of fostered kinship.”

Akechi’s eyes never soften, never lose focus, but occasionally they can lose some of their steel. Warmth engulfs her as she watches it happen now. “For the record, no. It doesn’t bother me,” he hesitates. “Not…not anymore.”

Just as quick as it arrived, the moment passes. Straightening up, “And you? Does it bug you?”

She blinks. “What does?”

“That I make for a lackluster cheerleader.”

Sumire laughs, too loud for the near-empty cafe. Impossible. He may be a mess with words, would rather pull out his own teeth than confess vulnerability, but he’s shown up to every single one of her competition and sat through the entire thing. From warm-ups to the awards ceremony, it’s undoubtedly a grueling time to spend his day, and as much as he loves to complain about it, whenever she looks up from the mat, he’s always there in the exact same spot without fail.

She snags a strawberry off of his tart, making him click his tongue harmlessly at her.

“You’re more than enough.”

[crow-hearted-detective]

웃 – IDENTITY – How about switching with the (other) handsome detective for a day? For old times sake.

Magic Anon List

At first, the difference goes unnoticed.

The apartment is the same; his room is a disorganized mess, with the living room damn near pristine. It's missing Yusuke's painting setup, but that's easy enough to overlook. After all, when he has an exhibition he usually ends up taking all of his paintings and supplies with him. Goro doesn't remember him mentioning an exhibition coming up, but then again he's been struggling to keep track of time for the past couple of months. Maybe there is an exhibition today and Goro just forgot.

It's not until he gets to the bathroom and takes a good look at himself in the mirror that something clicks. The face in the mirror looks younger, thinner.

More tired.

All at once he's hit with memories that are at once his and yet not. Sleepless nights spent planning his next hit, constant calls from a demanding asshole... clandestine totally-not-dates with a certain handsome young thief.

That same thief, eyes glazed over and blood running down his face.

Goro nearly throws up in the sink.

Well now, this is interesting, Loki—the other Loki—purrs in his ear.

You are us, and yet not, Robin Hood remarks.

Goro turns on the faucet and takes a moment to splash some cold water on his face. What day is it?

November 30th, comes the reply.

...What year? he thinks to double check.

2016. Why do you ask?

Goro lifts up his shirt, checking his torso in lieu of an answer. This other him is remarkabaly devoid of any sort of obvious scarring. He has to admit he's a little jealous of that fact.

But more importantly he's missing a particular set of scars, and for that he's thankful. Maybe there's still time to—

To do what, exactly? What could Goro possibly do that this version of him can't?

Spill! Give us a preview of what's to come! Loki responds. Glancing into the mirror, Goro can almost make out Loki's form hovering next to his shoulder, eagerly grinning at the man temporarily trapped in his wielder's body. Just how close are we to achieving our goal?

Goro grimaces. Further than you'd like to believe.

Loki deflates, immediately taking on a sulky expression. How someone whose only discernable facial feature is a mouth can be so expressive is something that has always puzzled Goro.

But you're so single-minded and stubborn that you'd rather burn it all down than face that reality. He rubs his face bitterly. Robin Hood and Loki both refuse to look his reflection in the eye.

"You... I... we deserve better than this," Goro says. That bitter, resentful flame that fueled him for so long sputters to life in his chest again. But the thought of going against Shido fills his mouth with ash. He's done letting himself burn out for that man's sake. He's done letting that man use him, even after his defeat. Goro wants to put this flame to better use, but how?

What would you have liked someone to do for you when you were... ah... in our position? Robin Hood suggests.

What would he have liked... There are easily a million things that he would have liked someone to do for him, about half of which he recognizes are maybe a little bit self-destructive. He can think of a few things that he needed, though, things that he never would have thought of at the time.

Things that even a barely-adult him stuck in his own teenage form can still do.

"...Where did he leave his notepad?"

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  Would you consider writing for persona 5 since you like akechi x akira? If so can I put in a request for akira taking a nasty hit for akechi, but they're all out of healing items and are drained of energy. So they're desperately driving back to the entrance of mementos with akira in the back of the car and akechi holding his hands over the wound trying to keep him awake and realizing just how much he cares about Akira Of course dont feel obligated to write this!

Akechi operates daily on a plan. Every move taken, every word said all fit into a single, calculated, overarching plan that leaves no room for error, no room for emotions. Everything must play out crisp and precise, and this, Akechi thinks, his mind operating far too fast for his liking, this is not according to plan.

They’re fighting an archangel in Mementos, something familiar, something they’ve fought multiple times before, and Akechi didn’t mean to get distracted for just a breath of a moment, eyes briefly flicking to Akira when the leader stumbled after blocking a hit. He didn’t mean to avert his gaze, but in the second he did, the archangel turned to him, moving wickedly fast, too fast for Akechi to even begin to evaluate a counter-attack or block.

He only managed a gasp, a whispered “shit,” before something long, black, and flowing jumped in front of him, protecting him, taking a sharp hit from the archangel’s sword. No, Akechi concludes as Akira drops to ground in front of him, this is one-hundred percent not apart of the plan.

“Joker!”

“I’m out of healing items!”

“Me too!”

Their voices sound distant to Akechi’s ringing ears. He can just barely make out the desperation clinging to their tones, and without meaning to, he chases it, he moves with his racing heart until he’s crouched down, hands hovering over Akira’s limp form, unsure of how to act, unsure if he should assess the situation logically or emotionally.

“Crow, get him out of here! I’m calling Panther for back-up!”

That makes sense. Logical sense. It’s the best course of action, and Akechi clings to the clarity as he slowly helps Akira to his feet, arm snaking around Akira’s waist when the latter sways on his feet. Akira groans against the movement, his gloved hand moving instinctively to his abdomen, and Akechi follows the shaking motion, frowning at the blood that blends in with Akira’s glove.

He guides the leader back toward Morgana’s bus, helping Akira climb into the back seat with careful, steady hands. Even in the dim bus lighting, he can see the stark pale complexion that blends in frighteningly with Akira’s white mask, making the black around his eyes appear darker than before.

Akechi holds a hand up to Akira’s eyes, a defensive sign that Akira nods weakly at, and slowly, he removes Akira’s mask, frowning at the pain that pulls at Akira’s face and coats his eyes. Sweat’s beading at his forehead and sliding down his temples, yet he’s shaking slightly, and Akechi swallows back against a lump molding to his throat.

“You are a complete idiot,” Akechi mutters under his breath, pulling his attention toward the gash that’s ripped across Akira’s abdomen, blood pooling out past his red gloves. “Do you hear me? You are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.” His voice is shaking slightly, but he pushes past it, gently prying Akira’s hand from the wound to further inspect it.

It’s, as he expected, bad, really bad. The skin is broken, swollen and red around the edges. The blood loss is frighteningly impressive, and Akechi takes a small moment to consider that this should have been him, not Akira. He can heal on his own and still work through his extended plan, but Akira getting hurt... for him. That’s different.

He can hear the others running back to the bus after successfully killing the archangel, and Morgana revs the engine, a sign to hurry the others. He needs to put pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding, and it would be ideal for Akira to lie down. But that wouldn’t leave room for the others, so he scans the backseat bench for a moment before sighing.

“Can you scoot forward a little?”

Akira locks eyes to his, and there’s so much trust pushing past the pain that Akechi has to look away and clear his throat. His heart is still racing, though the adrenaline from before has been slowly replaced with a muted, gripping fear that he wants so desperately to ignore.

Akira slides forward, not without hissing sharply against the pain that Akechi can only imagine is unbearable, and once he’s on the edge of the seat, Akechi very carefully shifts around until he’s seated behind Akira, legs spread so that Akira has room in front of him.

“Lean back against me.”

Akira complies, leaning heavily against Akechi’s chest, his energy fleeting. Akechi moves his mask up away from his eyes, resting atop his head, and he slips both arms around Akira, pressing both, gloved hands to the wound. Akira hisses once more, a wince pulling at his face, and Akechi frowns when Akira’s head rolls tiredly to the side.

“Stay awake, Joker,” he mutters into Akira’s ear. “This is not your time to die.”

“What if it is?”

There’s no fear to Akira’s tone, no hesitation, just quiet acceptance that has Akechi’s muscles going rigid.

“It’s not,” he spits out. “Morgana,” he growls, and Morgana revs his engine again, harder this time, and the others come piling in soon after.

“How is he?”

“That’s a lot of blood!”

“Drive, Morgana!”

Everyone’s shouting, all worried for their leader, and for the first time, Akechi gets it. There’s a pit growing in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s pulsing along fear and anxiety, and right now, he cannot do a single, damn thing to fix the situation. That, he thinks, is the most frustrating part.

This should have been him, he reminds himself. Everything would be easier if he had taken the hit. He presses his hands tighter to the wound when he spots Akira’s eyes fluttering.

“I said no sleeping.”

“You’re... bossy.”

Akira’s voice is breathless when he speaks. It’s weak, yet it still holds a hint of familiar sass that only slightly eases the concern gripping at Akechi’s heart.

“That’s nothing new,” Akechi replies, pulling his attention briefly to the others, who are calling out quick directions, guiding Morgana back to the entrance. They are making good time despite the ride being rough. They’re getting closer, and Akechi’s heart is hammering against his ribs painfully.

“We’re almost there,” he whispers to Akira, who can only hum weakly in response.

His hands are beginning to shake against the wound, feeling for the first time tonight that they are working against a rapidly ticking clock. He’s never considered Akira dying before...

He shakes his head to rid his thoughts, for just a moment, of his plan. His eyes drift toward the entrance, and soon enough, Ryuji and Makoto are pulling Akira from his arms, helping him out of the bus, and Akechi looks down at the blood splattered against his Crow outfit, bright red painted across white and gold. He feels sick. It’s too much. Akira will--

“Akechi?”

Ann’s at his side, a gentle hand on his shoulder. He pulls his gaze away from his bloody gloves, unsure of how long he’s been frozen in place.

“Akira. Is he--”

“--Makoto and Yusuke have already started patching him up.”

Akechi frowns at this, looking over Ann’s shoulder to see Makoto and Yusuke working together to wrap a large bandage around Akira’s abdomen while Akira munches on a Devil Fruit. He tilts his head in silent question, keeping his eyes locked to Akira’s bare, bloody torso.

“We keep a small bag of supplies at the entrance. For situations like this.”

He nods and slips out of the bus, surprised out how weak he feels. His legs are shaking, but then he meets Akira’s half-lidded gaze and Akira, fucking Akira, smiles at him, a warm, soft smile that squeezes Akechi’s heart.

“Are you okay, Akechi?”

He only nods to Ryuji as he wills his muscles to cooperate and move to Akira. “I’ll escort you home.”

The others look toward him, a few questions come his way, but Akira mutters “okay,” and everyone falls silent. Makoto and Yusuke finish bandaging Akira’s wound, and they leave Mementos, exhausted, beaten, but alive.

It’s late when Akira and Akechi walk into Cafe Leblanc. Sojiro’s already gone for the night, and, Akechi thinks, that’s probably for the better seeing as Akira cannot walk without support. He helps Akira up to his room, frowning when Akira drops to his bed with a groan.

“It’s still bothering you.” They’re both back in their school uniforms, but Akechi can’t get the images of red from his mind. He frowns and crosses his arms, unable to pull his eyes away from Akira’s stomach, where he knows the bandaged gash is underneath his uniform.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will be,” Akechi scoffs lightly, running a hand through his slightly tangled hair. He sighs at the uncomfortable silence between the two, resting heavy in the air, pending words neither knows how to speak.

“I’d do it again.”

Akira’s voice penetrates the silence like a gust of howling air that Akechi blinks wordlessly at. “Excuse me?”

“You said I was dumb. For what I did. But, I would do it again. I would do it a thousand times over if it means you stay safe.”

Each word sounds so unbearably genuine. Akechi thinks he may no longer be able to take this, to handle Akira. The plan...

“You’re thinking too loud,” Akira gripes out, kicking off his shoes and easing his legs fully onto the bed with a wince. “I said I’ll be fine, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m not worrying,” Akechi bites out. A lie, but, well, lying is what he does best unfortunately. “Rest,” he mutters. The air in the room feels suffocating. He needs to leave. He needs to breathe, to will his heart to slow back down to a steady pace. “No Mementos until you’re well.”

He turns to the door, but Akira mutters his name, his first name, “Goro,” in such a quiet, almost desperate tone, and the small word is enough to have Akechi freezing, hand hovering above the doorknob.

A shaky sigh slips past his lips, and he turns to look over his shoulder, doing his best to keep his expression calm and composed despite his stuttering heart.

“Yes?”

“Stay. It’s late anyway.”

Akechi turns back to the door and considers the request. It is late. It would take a while to get home, and he’s exhausted, both physically and mentally. He’s not sure just how much sleep he’ll actually get with Akira slow close by, but then again, he doesn’t trust Akira to actually rest like he needs to. Sighing once more, he nods and turns away from the door.

“Fine, but we both rest.” He drops his bag by the couch before sinking down onto it, his muscles giving into the exhaustion gripping at his very core.

“I wouldn’t suggest anything but,” Akira responds through a yawn, and Akechi watches as Akira’s eyes flutter closed, still in his uniform and still in his glasses. That wound, Akechi thinks, must be taking more out of him than he’s letting on. Typical of his leader...

He frowns at his attachment as he lies down. He needs to take a day, he thinks, to reevaluate his plan, to factor in these new, growing emotions, to assess how to deal with them. But for right now, for just this one night, he’ll forget about everything other than what’s in the now.

[no-mo-rules]

scenario where akechi was saved by his phantom-thief lover and they were shot instead of him? maybe they lost their eye? in their last conscious moments they murdered the cognitive goro before they collapsed, and theyre rushed to the hospital once they leave the metaverse. maybe the aftermath of that, in the hospital? (sorry i really love ur writing esp for akechi so... expect more akechi reqs in the future... he best boy...)

Just as a heads up, I’ve actually written something super similar to this request on my ao3. To make this feel different, I changed some little things around here to there. Follow this link if you want to read the other story.

Goro Akechi is not sure what he’s feeling.

He knows it’s bad, that much hecan tell from the get go, but he hasn’t given it enough thought to categorise itinto pretty little boxes. The past few hours have been too chaotic to even try.There’s more time to think about it now, he supposes, while you’re asleep – andthe blaring thrum of his heart in his chest doesn’t sound through his body withthe force of a drum. He feels the cold skin on your hand, and it seems ill andsickly compared to the warmth he usually associates with trailing his fingersalong your palms.

It all comes back to the momenthe loses control of himself; when the difference between inflicting andreceiving pain thins to an incomprehensible, mid-battle haze until theadrenaline recedes along with the strength in his legs. He falls to the floor.

“Please don’t fight us anymore,”you say, standing over him. His initial reaction is to laugh in your face.

Humour.

It is funny, isn’t it? Becauseit’s long before your first confession that he’s wanted to do this. Eversince his birth, his life has been an absolute misery: his father abandonshim, his mother hates him, yells at him, uses his fear to control hisbehaviour in front of others, and eventually, he walks in on her hanging from a ceiling. He spends the first six years of his lifehungry and cold, and the next eleven after that lonely and scared.

Think about ratios here, hetries to justify; two days can’t change a man, even if it was two days ago that-

“I love you, Goro Akechi.”

Suddenly, the laugh in histhroat feels like a lump.

Fear is the second emotion. It comes when the Phantom Thieves crowdaround him, because he feels small; curled up on the floor and holding everywhere that aches like the same lonelychild from all those years ago.

“If everyone knew how much of acry-baby you are, they’d tell me to leave you,” his mother says, and walks outof the room to smoke a cigarette.

Right now, Goro Akechi isn’tcrying.

“Now that you know who I am,you should leave me,” he says. You’re staring down at him, and you don’t looklike you want to acknowledge his words. You just look kind of sad.

The resolute tone in his voicedoes nothing to portray the tremors inside of him. On repeat, like a brokentape recorder, all he can think is ‘please don’t.’ It’s pathetic, it really is,because it’s only now that he’s lost and grovelling at your feet that he wantsyour pity. By all means, you should leave him.

You really, really should.

He’s scared of your response, because even ifhe’s not scared of dying here, he is scaredof losing you, and he can’t imagine there’s any way to salvage yourrelationship when you’ve found out how he’s been pulling the strings.

“We’re not leaving you,” yousay.

Like water sinking into theearth, his dread disappears. He’sdumbstruck, because as much he was hoping (praying, begging, desperatelywishing) for this turn of events, he didn’t think it would actually happen.

“Why?” His voice is broken up.It comes out as tattered around the edges, far away from the confidence hetried so hard to emulate.

“You need our help too.” Youlook pained, and maybe a little unsure of yourself. “I want to help you.”

There’s something akin to joy, but it doesn’t last long. Before hecan say anything, his doppelganger comes.

He should know there’ssomething off about your face, about the way you’re standing slightly on yourtip toes with the muscles in your calves all tensed up and solid, but he’s gotother things to worry about. After all, he ison the receiving end of a gun.

He needs to play this right.

Fear comes again, and stays for a while. He fears a lot of thingsin that moment. He’s fears for your life, and it feels strange when justseconds ago he was so indifferent to it. It’s the driving force behind the wayhis face pulls into a grin that feels too tight for his face, and points thegun straight towards you. It’s the first time in his life he’s feared pullingthe trigger, and he fears the hurt expression on your face as he does it. Hefears the next decision he has to make, and that too, feels strange, because he’sso used to being ready to throw his life away. Maybe he’s been underestimatinghow much the human body wants to survive now that it’s come down to it. (Notthat it has a choice, anyway. He’s already made his decision.)

Acceptance is next. When he laughs, it’s because heknows there’s no way around it. This is the best-case scenario. They are thewinners, in every way. They’re kinder, more honest, and have more love to give.He swerves towards his doppelganger and fires the bullet.

The next few seconds are a madflurry of confusion. He can barelyremember them now, when there’s not so much as a painting on the blank, whitewall of the hospital room to distract him. He thinks maybe you’re the first oneto move, which makes sense, because if you and a bullet get to the same placeat the same time, then surely the bullet needs to be the one to go second.

There’s a shot, but that’sfine; it’s what he’s expecting. What he’s not expecting, however, is you comingout of formation to jump at his doppelganger with a knife aimed straight at hisgut, and the bullet to sink neatly into your skull.

There’s gasps, then panic. Pure, unadulterated panic.

Every part of him snaps.

“No!” He jumps towards you. Hisbreath comes out in short little gasps. With no absence in adrenaline, heshoves the other Akechi off and holds your body to his chest. Your eyes areopen, wide, wide open. You’re scared.

“No, no, no. Please don’t dothis,” he chokes out.

Blood drips down to where he’sholding your head in his hand. There’s already something wet on his face,blurry tears in his vision. “You’re not doing this.”

The rest of the Phantom Thievesstart acting quickly (and how typical is that, he thinks, that he’s the onebeing useless again.) Akira approaches him from behind and places a hand on hisshoulder.

“You hold her head,” he says.

The other Akechi coughs in thebackground, and spouts some incomprehensible mutter about betrayal, about howAkechi is worthless, and how the one person who loved him is going to pay for it. He’s dying quickly. You pulledthe knife out of his stomach as your fell back into Akechi’s arms, so the bloodfrom his stomach is coming out in little spurts that colour his khaki coat with a deep crimson. Spasmsgo through his legs as he coughs again, but that’s fine. He doesn’t matter. Youdo.

Ryuji picks up your legs, Akirapicks up your torso, and Akechi gently holds your head. He’s weak. Completelybroken, bruised, and everything hurts, but the adrenaline is still there. You’restill there too, and that’s what makes the difference. It’s all he needs, evenif the shaky tremors that run through his feet make every step feel wobbly.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispersinto your hair, and Ryuji looks at him with something that can’t be describedas anything more than pity. “Please, I love you.” (Like he’s trying to convinceyou to stay.)

“I still love you,” he says,taking your cold hand to his lips. The tick of the hospital clock feels too methodical. Fifteen minutes to twelve, it says, to remind him that everyone else has left long ago. “You’ll love me too, when you wake up,right?” The steady beeping line of the heart monitor doesn’t affect him. “Evenif this is all my fault.” The nurse that comes into the room and ushers him outcan’t stop him either, because he just waits outside and leans against the door until the nextmorning. “Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me,” he hums against the wall, overand over.

He’s not sure if denial is an emotion.