#Persona x reader

[frickingnerd]

love triangle with the phantom thieves

pairing: ren amamiya/akira kurusu x ryuji sakamoto x yusuke kitagawa x gn!reader x ann takamaki x makoto niijima x futaba sakura x haru okumura

tags: non-phantom thief!reader, loner!reader, protective!phantom thieves, wholesome fluff, supportive!phantom thieves

a/n: the phantom thieves truly are the reader protection squad!

the phantom thieves had their eyes on you from the very start, when it were just ren, ryuji and ann! even back then, you had already captured their attention and would slowly make them fall in love with you as the months passed by

you were more of a loner yourself, which was why you were always kind to the three of them. ren and ryuji were unjustifiably labeled as delinquents, while you knew all the rumors about ann were unfounded!

your kindness was what made the three of you fall in love with you and they always tried to find time for you, even when they were busy as the phantom thieves!

as yusuke and makoto joined the phantom thieves, it didn't take long for them to get to know you too! after all, ann, ryuji and ren wouldn't shut up about you, so they already heard a lot about you, before they finally met you

yusuke was drawn to you immediately, mesmerized by your beauty, both inside and outside

meanwhile makoto was a little more reluctant, unable to see what the others saw in you at first. but that would soon change…

by the time futaba and haru completed the phantom thieves, the love triangle situation had gotten even more complicated

for futaba, you were the one person outside of the phantom thieves that she got along with, leading to her growing attached to you and falling for you, just like her friends had!

and for haru you were a great support as well, during the difficult time after her father's death. so much so that seeing how kind you were finally opened makoto's eyes too to how special you truly were

despite all of the phantom thieves having fallen in love with you, there was barely any jealousy between them! sure, each one of them wanted to end up with you, but their main concern was your happiness! if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you…

so instead of fighting amongst each other, the phantom thieves worked together to protect you and make you happy wherever they could! you might not even notice it most of the time, but they always kept an eye out for you, taking care or anything that could threaten to trouble you…

it also made it hard for other people to approach you, as you essentially had an entire group of bodyguards constantly around you. only that you never realized how this looked from the outside and just saw this as friends hanging out together!

perhaps you were a little too oblivious at times, as you didn't even seem to realize how madly in love they all were with you. but none of the phantom thieves wanted to confess to you, as they were all happy with the way things were. as long as they got to keep you in their lives, they were content!

[n30n-l1ghts]

Okay, I need to rant. Fuck AI. And I mean seriously. FUCK. A.I. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir here, but more people need to be talking about this, and there’s no point in me saying that if I’m not willing to talk about it too. AI has done nothing but ruin our communities and defile the art that millions of hands have spent millions of hours creating. Fanfiction is a work of passion. Drawing is a work of passion. Voice acting IS A WORK OF PASSION. AI has no passion. It takes the soul out of the things we love and cherish. It steals what we as a collective community have lovingly crafted, and it shatters it to a thousand pieces, spits on it, curses its family, and throws it in a flaming dumpster to be eaten by rats. It is despicable and disgusting.

I won't lie, or pretend I’m a perfect saint. I myself was a user of Character AI until somewhat recently. And as ashamed as I am to admit that, I feel it’s necessary to own up to my own faults. But after seeing the damage it causes, I can’t in good conscience even consider touching that site. Many of us write because it is our passion. Many of us because it is our job. And many of us because it is our *friend*. AI steals the writing of your favorite creators WITHOUT PERMISSION and mashes it together like Frankenstein’s fucked up monster to create storylines that aren’t even fucking coherent. Not only that, but Character AI uses whatever you respond to it with to teach itself as well, which means that the company has access to whatever you chat about, and free reign to do whatever they want with it. They also make absurd amounts of money from it, which in comparison, fanfiction writers, who spend countless hours writing stories for our favorite characters, more often than not charge nothing. And the ones who do charge, tend to have reasonable, if not highly lenient prices for their labor.

Which leads me into another side rant. SUPPORT WRITERS THAT YOU LIKE. It’s really not that hard, it takes two fucking seconds of your time and it makes someone's day. Reblog. Share with your friends. Like. Comment. Just let the writer know that you saw it, and that you liked it. The amount of fanfic writers I have seen get completely discouraged from writing because of lack of engagement is astounding. I’ve seen several posts on Tumblr or Twitter or Bluesky talking about creators that were incredibly popular but never knew it due to lack of engagement is appalling. If you can rant about your love for their work on Discord, you can rant about your love for their work in the comments. Just fucking copy paste it. Tell them how much you love it. Show them support. Especially the ones that don’t charge. Because for those of us that don’t, our only payment, is your feedback. Even constructive criticism is greatly appreciated by damn near every writer I can think of. Because even that shows that you read it, absorbed it, and thought about it enough to have something to actually say about it.

The same thing goes for artists and voice actors. You see a drawing or animation you enjoy? Comment. Like. Share. You see a character in an anime or a game and you love their voice? Go check out their voice actor, maybe they do some other cool stuff, and you might just discover your new favorite series or streamer. A perfect example is Alejandro Saab. I became a fan of his through his astounding performance in several series dear to me, and lo and behold, he’s also a streamer I enjoy. Same story with Aleks Le, or Ray Chase. Yuri Lowenthal, Lizzie Freeman, Landon Mcdonald, Zeno Robinson, the list goes on. But seriously, it’s not that much effort to just show a little love to the creators you enjoy. The people who breathe life into the series’ that we all hold dear. AI does not breathe that life. Using AI, and supporting those companies, will destroy those pillars of our community. And if that happens, the AI would crumble too, it would have no new information to use. SO really, what’s the benefit? I’ll tell you. There is none.

Stop using AI. All it does is bring harm and slowly kill our community. It’s disgusting, appalling, and downright fucking egregious.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

[cinnamonest]

Ataraxis

"Failed Escape Attempt" prompt - Akechi Goro (Persona 5)

Finally completed this amidst my myriad of hospital visits this month. Prolonged viral anaphylaxis works hard but the spirit of degeneracy works harder 🙏

warnings/notes: dark content, noncon, fem reader, implied significant age gap, captivity, electronic monitoring/shock collar, asphyxiation, abuse, vague suicide references, bro has THE mommy issues of all time, mild stockholm, somewhat detailed backstory for reader (in which reader is a bit of an enabler)

----

Ataraxis - a state of tranquility, calmness, or peace of mind, free from mental stress or anxiety.

You hesitated. Your pulse was running fast, trepidation freezing your hand in place, just before you could touch the door.

No. You shook your head rapidly for a moment, trying to drive away the panicked thoughts. You couldn’t afford to waste time worrying about what-ifs, fueling your hesitancy. You’d done everything that you were supposed to in order for this to work. Gotten the doors unlocked, the wires cut, everything — you had to go through with it.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, pounding as you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and reached for the door handle, turning it slowly.

You wished it was an apartment that opened directly to the outdoors — that you'd feel the sun, breathe in fresh air, the moment you opened the door — but you were met with a hallway, and the number of the neighbor directly across plastered on the door. Light still poured in from the hall, into the otherwise dark apartment only dimly lit by a TV running off to the side of the room.

Regardless, undeterred, after a mere moment of hesitation, you took a step forward.

And then, your body seized up.

Your knees hit the ground, but you didn't even feel the pain of impact, every nerve overtaken by a sudden overpowering sensation, overwhelming your senses.

Gasping for air, your feet flailed, kicking outward as your hands and elbows desperately dug into the ground, all in a frantic movement to scramble away from the door. As you stumbled back, you practically threw the door itself forward, and it slammed shut.

After moving a short distance, just enough for the blast of overwhelmingly discomforting sensation to come to a sudden stop, your body turned onto your back as you collapsed onto the floor, shivering, each breath ragged and heaving.

For a moment, all you could do was lay there and tremble, grasping at your throat, the focus point of the shock, metallic prongs pressed into your skin beneath the layer of leather that clung around your throat. Your vision spun, and no coherent thought could even be formed in your head, the panic and discomfort consuming your capacity for thought.

Even as the sensation faded, there was still a twitching throughout your body, muscles in your arms and legs and extremities tensing over and over against your conscious volition. You weakly reached up, wiping away the trail of saliva that had spilled down the side of your face.

Your chest still rose and fell heavily, back arching against the ground it laid on with each inhale. Your eyes stared wide open at the ceiling — discolored, where some fixture had been ripped out and caulked over, you'd noticed before — vision fuzzy from tears, dizziness, and the trembling that overcame your body, mind spinning on the brink of consciousness.

And with that, even through the disorientation and disequilibrium that kept your consciousness spinning, you could still make out one particular thought, a realization that came as a harsh blow — failure.

A near tangible emotion that you could physically feel as its weight settled onto your chest.

And then disbelief — that can't be right that can't be right — you'd done everything you were supposed to, everything had gone perfectly as you'd planned.

Countless weeks down the drain. All that time spent in preparation for this very moment, not only nullified, but now undoubtedly turned against you for your own detriment.

And if the feeling hadn't brought you enough despair, if the frustration and dismay alone hadn't been enough to bring you to tears that began to well in your eyes, your body stiffened again as an acute sensation of discomfort ran through body once more. You glanced upward.

And then, an intense cold sprouted in your gut, rapidly seeping through your blood, a chill that ran through your bones and flesh.

Pure, unadulterated dread.

The electronic eye, the circular lenses poised directly at you from the corner of the ceiling, burned into your flesh. You could feel the sense of observation through the proxy of the device, transmitted over distance and invisible waves no differently than the image the camera would project to the phone screen on the other end.

Your trembling hands slowly reached up to your neck, fingertips grazing the leathery material secured so tightly around your neck you could barely slide your fingers beneath it, just enough to feel the metallic prongs on the inner side that dug into the flesh.

That was the whole point of it all, the effort, the risks, the time and patience, accumulating every little thing you'd need for this one moment.

Everything had been so methodical, had to be executed with perfection and painstaking effort.

And yet, all for nothing.

Your legs were still trembling too intensely to stand. You weakly propped yourself up on one elbow, weary eyes scanning your surroundings in the small apartment, until you saw the shape of the small device where you’d left it sitting on the edge of the bed. You shuffled your way over to it, dragging yourself along the floor.

Slowly, summoning your strength, you pushed your elbows to the ground and forced yourself to sit upright, before lifting yourself up on shaky legs, just to practically fall down onto the mattress, reaching out to grasp the phone in your hand.

He was busy. He had things to do. He might not have checked any notifications that popped up. Maybe.

The flip phone was inconvenient on your end — a long since outdated piece of technology, incapable of accessing the internet, and easily restricted with built-in parental controls used decades ago, impossible to circumvent despite many attempts. It was capable of receiving and sending calls to a single number, as well as receiving texts from the same number.

The cold sheets began to warm under the heat of your body as you nestled into them. With the pillow close to your face, you could hear your own shuddering breaths in greater clarity, see your own fingers gripping the sheets with such force that the flesh around your finger joints went lighter.

You glanced at the tiny screen on the front of the closed phone.

‘11:52 a.m.’

Your heart skipped a beat — it was much closer to the daily call than you had hoped. You must have been lying on the floor longer than you realized. You only had a few minutes to prepare yourself.

Yes, he wouldn’t call you the very second he saw what you’d done. He would just stick to the usual schedule. He liked routines.

You sat fully upright, leaning back against the wall one side of the bed pressed against. You drew your knees up to your chest, hugging your arms around them, eyes glued to the small screen.

‘11:53 a.m.’

You could do nothing but sit there and wait.

The helplessness and futility quickly turned to despair. The full weight of your failure began to set in.

It had taken so long to execute the plan in full. You weren't even sure exactly why it failed — your own error, a backup battery of some kind, maybe.

Not that it mattered now.

Your mind raced over each little step taken, all to culminate in futility, but any structure to your thoughts simply fell apart into bitter defeat.

You were brought out of your thoughts by shifting of numbers on the screen, several minutes having passed.

‘11:58 a.m.’

You could feel each beat of your heart, the pressure of blood circulating through your head and your throat. Your stomach churned.

‘11:59 a.m.’

You sat still, staring with wide eyes, unable to do anything against the unstoppable force of the passage of time.

'12:00 p.m.'

No sooner had the numbers shifted, that the phone screen lit up brighter, and the device began to vibrate.

Your stomach tightened, a cold, stiff feeling seized your limbs and every muscle tensed as the phone rang. A name popped up on the little front screen.

‘Goro’

He'd been the one to put the number into the device, to assign that title to the contact. At first, you’d assumed he didn’t want to bother painstakingly typing out any more than necessary on the device’s old 12-digit typing system.

Or maybe keeping you physically separated from the world was not enough — if you couldn’t exist in the outside world, if you had to be separated from it, naturally, you couldn’t use the same name for him as everyone else, all those people on the television and the voices on the other end of the phone.

A confliction of instincts twisted in your gut — an impulse to answer it immediately, knowing not doing so could not go without repercussion, yet at the same time, you reflexively shrunk back, as if repelled by the sound, clutching your hands to your chest at the immediate revulsion to the mere thought of answering.

And it rang, twice, three times. Your mind ran blank, staring wide-eyed at the screen.

But between conflicting instincts, you knew what you had to do.

Thus, on the fourth ring, snapping out of your momentary stupor, shaking hands latching on and flipping the top upward, the word that came out in a wavering voice was—

“…Goro?”

Your voice came out rougher than you'd hoped, an obvious rasp from the strain.

If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead—

“Good afternoon.”

The voice that came through the other end was bright and cheerful. The same voice that he used on talk shows and public addresses. Composed, amiable, fairly upbeat, without any trace of negativity.

And then, he added,

“What have you been up to today?”

It was such a light-hearted tone, you thought for a moment, with some desperate hope, that he hadn't noticed. Maybe it hadn't triggered a notification. Maybe he just didn't see it.

Or maybe it was a test. Maybe he wanted you to be transparent. You didn’t know. There was no way to know.

The lingering exhaustion from all the strain left you somewhat dazed, and you hesitated as you slowly summoned an answer.

“Oh, I just… I watched some TV earlier…” You tilted your gaze over to said television as it continued to run silently off to the side of the room, a mere distraction kept on for some semblance of stimulus. “They… they were talking about the phantom thief people on the news again.”

He sighed. You tensed for a moment, worried that perhaps it was something that would only frustrate him, knowing the matter was a bit of a sore subject.

But instead, it seemed to be merely a part of the flow of conversation — he accepted your so-very-forced and awkward shift of subject without resistance.

“It’s all anyone ever talks about, recently.” You heard a shuffling sound, presumably shifting his posture. “The average person is only invested in the matter as a form of entertainment. It's distant enough from them personally that they can afford to treat it as such.”

“O-oh, right…” Struggling to think of something else, to further steer the topic away from yourself, you continued, “…Are you at school?”

“No, I'm at the station. The police called me in to help with something new, but…” he sighed again before continuing, “it turned out to be incredibly simple, and they’re already done with it. I don’t know why they thought they needed to take up my time with this…”

His voice got a little lower as he spoke, irritation breaking through the winsome charm that characterized that public-facing voice of his. Within a moment, though, it snapped right back to the correct gentleness as he continued—

“On the bright side, I only have a few things left to do, so I can come back to you a little sooner than usual.”

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your shirt, your shoulders going tense.

“Oh, good…”

Your mouth felt dry. Your mind scrambled to think of anything else to say, but a heavy fog drenched your thoughts away, leaving nothing but a blank slate, unable to generate anything coherent.

There was another moment of pause.

"You sound a bit out of it. You're not feeling faint from earlier, are you?"

You blinked, the very daze of brain-fog he referred to making you slower to take in the words.

"I... What?"

He didn't miss a beat, nor falter in his tone, as he clarified—

"From the shock, I mean."

Your body tensed, shrinking back as if the words had truly been the gut punch they felt like. Your jaw hung ajar, your mind scrambling for a response.

Quiet seconds ticked by. Your shoulders rose and fell with harsh, short breaths.

"I… I guess a little…” You fidgeted nervously, fingers further curling into the fabric of the shirt that covered your upper half.

The voice on the other end remained upbeat and gentle even still.

"Ah. Well, try not to walk around, okay? The lingering effects can make you uncoordinated for some time." After a pause, he added, "I wouldn't want you to fall over and hurt yourself."

Your mouth felt dry. You shifted around in place.

“Oh… okay…”

You swallowed. Your eyes darted around the apartment.

You turned your bottom lip inward, biting down on it to alleviate your nerves, only for the sharp pain to stop you as soon as the pressure touched the spot where the flesh of your lower lip was already busted. One of many sore, bruised spots that littered your body.

The discomfort at the following pause of silence was nearly tangible. Your natural instinct was to shift away from the matter as quickly as possible, shame and fear and uncertainty forming a hard knot in your stomach, but no words came to mind.

Sensing that you weren't going to continue, he spoke again.

“Well, in that case, I'll see you soon—’

“H-hey, wait…”

Your voice was undoubtedly audibly uneasy, but he still replied with the same soft tone.

“Mm? What is it?”

You opened and closed your mouth, once, twice, struggling to collect your panicked thoughts coherently. He waited, patiently, not saying a word.

“…About that.” The single phrase was all you could manage.

"Ah, right.”

At that point, his voice was too upbeat, so unfitting the turn of conversation, that the reality of it being forced was no longer deniable, a fact that made your stomach churn.

As the pause lingered, he added in an equally calm, matter-of-fact tone, “well, if there's anything you wanted to say, now would be the time to tell me. It’s only fair to give you a moment to do so.”

You would have preferred bitterness and vitriol in his tone, accusations, promises of consequence. Anything else. The unease and uncertainty of the pretense of normality, of nothing being wrong, felt crushing.

“It…” You swallowed. “That, that was an accident, I just, I got too close and…”

It felt as if your throat closed up, unable to say anything more.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Suffocating, so heavy it was tangible, physically weighing down on your chest.

As the moments of quiet passed, you could very faintly hear sounds on the other end, people walking, distant unintelligible chatter from other people passing in the near vicinity.

Finally, a voice came through — several decibels lower than moments prior, a flat and empty tone; quiet, but spoken more closely to the receiver, ensuring that the words were directly in your ear.

“…You don't actually expect me to believe that, do you?”

You remained frozen in place, eyes wide, hand now curled into fists so tightly your knuckles paled.

He waited. There was no need to ask if something was the matter or wonder about a poor connection, the way one might normally do when met with silence on the other end of the line. There was only tension, dread, a mutual knowing.

You swallowed again before you spoke, barely above a whisper.

“…No.”

There was a soft, lighthearted laugh on the other end, a transition back to the same gentle voice as before, as if he’d never deviated from it.

“Ah, that’s good. Truthfully, I'd feel a little insulted if you thought I was that gullible.” You heard some background noise, a shuffling sound, perhaps standing or shuffling positions. “Well, anyway, as I was saying, I’ll be back a bit early. I’m already allowed this day off from school, so there’d be no point in going back when I don’t have to.”

Your lower jaw hung ajar, tongue dry and stiff. The television off to your side changed subject matter on the screen, the new set of colors shifting the hue that the dim light cast onto the walls.

“Oh, great! I…”

You swallowed, barely able to feign a happy tone, struggling to form any further words over the feeling of your stomach turning in on itself.

You knew that your attempt at faux cheerfulness to your voice was not convincing either of you. He knew the true emotion you felt in your chest and your gut, you knew he knew, he knew you knew he knew. Whether you kept the act up regardless out of some fear or desire to appease, or simply a lifetime of conditioning to the politeness norms of human interaction, maybe both, you weren’t certain. It was just the norm you’d settled into, the act that kept things at a peaceful equilibrium — until those inevitable moments that it fell apart, and the great pretend-act came to however long of a halt it would.

Another set of seconds ticked by. Far too long of a pause to be socially acceptable, far out of the bounds of normalcy, yet he merely waited for you to finish once more, neither acknowledging nor expressing any confusion or concern to the duration of your pause, letting you compose yourself to finally reply.

“…I’ll be right here.”

It was the only thing you could think of to say, though you felt a sharp sting in your chest of self-directed frustration at the recognition of the wavering of your own voice.

His response, unlike yours, was immediate, and the bite of the words made every muscle in your body tense.

“Well, I would certainly hope so.”

In the mere moment your breath hitched, there was a chime tone indicating the end of connection.

Even with the call ended, you merely sat frozen still, staring at the shifting colors that bounced off the wall. Slowly, your hand descended from your face, arm lowering down to your lap as your shivering fingers finally forced the phone shut with a heavy snapping sound.

You set it down on the bedside table, and you found yourself sitting still, trembling, eyes wide open as you were left with nothing to do but wait.

He was a fairy predictable person. To a significant extent, you knew how he'd react to certain actions and words and gestures, based on moods, circumstances, good days and bad days.

The issue was not a matter of not knowing what to do — but knowing there was nothing you could do. There was no deescalating, no appeasing, no way to atone for a given transgression. The one thing you'd learned very quickly was that if he was upset, there was no way to soothe it on your own, you simply had to endure whatever came your way.

And that knowledge brought despair.

You found yourself slowly letting yourself fall to your side, curling up into yourself as you came to lay on the mattress.

There was a pinching discomfort against your side. The fabric of your shirt had bunched up, digging into your skin where you lay on top of it. You shifted, lifting your back enough to pull it down and straighten it out. It was deliberately oversized, designed for wearing around the home, so that and equally soft shorts were all you’d needed — perhaps not changing was another oversight in your plan, you realized with a twinge of bitterness.

You had to admit you were well-taken care of in many ways. He’d given you quite a lot of clothes to wear, so you picked that which was comfortable to wear when all you did was lay down all day.

Although, he’d never bought anything — rather, they all came from an aged-looking box pulled out of the closet, everything perhaps a decade or so outdated. He did insist on you wearing them, refusing to retrieve anything of yours even if you asked.

Just like he insisted you needed to have your hair a certain length, to wear the specific perfume he'd hunted down just to buy for you, to follow a handful of oddly specific regulations, all of which were met with defensiveness and dismissal if you inquired as to why.

You preferred to not think about the matter.

The TV colors shifted again, this time to a drastically increased brightness. Your eyes squinted at the slight sensation of burning, long since adjusted to darkness. The windows were covered up now, and the lamp in the corner had run out of battery, seeing as it was very specifically cordless.

You pulled the covers over your head, and let your face contort with the oncoming tears that welled in your eyes. You curled up into a ball, bunching up part of the sheets and tugging them close to your chest.

Your shoulders jerked with miserable sobs, and you bit your quivering lip, this time even disregarding the pain, as the despair took hold. You wiped at your eyes, flinching as the touch sent more ripples of pain from the swollen, sore right side of your cheekbone where a bruise had formed from the events of — when was it, the day before yesterday? The day before that? You weren’t even entirely certain, the days had long since all begun to bleed into each other, lacking any distinguishable beginning or end.

You had no recollection of falling asleep, but the next thing you were aware of was your body jolting at the sudden sound from the door that woke you.

There was a metallic rustling. Normally, at that point in the routine, you would hear each in the series of locks turned with a click, one by one — only now, after the first, he seemed to realize each had already been unlocked, yet another part of your earlier attempt that, you now realized with a twinge of dread, you’d forgotten to even try to cover up.

Thus, the door merely slowly swung open, the flat door handle — implemented to replace a traditional knob — shifting to the side.

Slow, heavy footsteps on the cold tile.

"I'm back."

It wasn't cheerful, but it wasn't angry. A flat tone that sounded more exhausted than anything.

It felt as if your stomach were going to lurch up out of your throat.

You pushed yourself upward on your arms, and forced a weak, wavering smile.

"Ah... Welcome home…”

You closed your eyes, rubbing at them with the heel of your hand to ward off residual sleepiness, hoping your eyes weren't visibly puffy. You sat upright and pulled your knees up to your chest, making room for another body on the small bed.

Setting the briefcase down on the floor, he then held up a convenience store plastic bag for a second, giving it a slight shake to draw attention before setting it down on the countertop.

“I got something for us both. Whenever you want it.”

“Thanks.”

As if it weren't the case each day — you'd offered more than once to cook something out of sheer boredom, but that meant giving you knives, and the idea was swiftly rejected, and he certainly couldn't do it himself, thus you both lived off of convenience store food.

You could hear the rustling sound as he took the layers of clothing off. The thumping of shoes as they were pulled off and placed on a rack. The suit jacket went on a hook near the door, but everything else was loosely set on top of a set of drawers, until he was down to briefs and an undershirt.

It was almost a bit odd, he looked out of place — someone normally so poised and formal, who so carefully crafted every detail of both his appearance and demeanor to appear intelligent and charming, qualities to endear himself to the masses, yet executed to such a degree of perfection that he seemed nearly untouchable — and here and now, taking on such a flawed, mundane form.

His posture went more lax, his eyelids seemed to fall, and the removal of the outer shirt had messed up his hair just a bit. As if in the act of taking off layers of clothing, he was stripping himself too of the public face.

Your eyes glanced over at the drawers — the clothes were merely strewn loosely on the top, accompanied by an empty water bottle, a plastic wrapper from something he'd brought home the day prior. Little flaws, the casual messiness expected of normal young man.

You'd found it almost amusing, the first time you'd set foot in here — for someone who was such a perfectionist in every other aspect of life, so obsessed with image and impressions and maintaining a flawless presentation, so determined to put up that aura of maturity so far above what was expected or even normal for his years — it was all shed off behind that door, like a snake to its skin.

You, too, were a part of it, one of the many testaments to the imperfection only allowed in this little haven away from the ever-watching eyes of the world.

And now, slowly making his way over to the bed with weary, dragging footsteps — hair disheveled by the undressing, the absence of the stiff material of the uniform that always made his shoulders look a bit more broad, up close and in person with no camera and screen and lighting to hide the textures of the flesh of one's face or the ever so slight darkness under his eyes, and with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes of a spirit worn down by a long, busy day — was a very normal, very human teenage boy, not so different from any other after all.

You looked up at him and forced a weak smile.

His eyes, however, were shifted downward from you, glancing at the sheets. Whether it was just tiredness or unwillingness to look you in the eye, you weren't certain.

You'd somewhat expected him to confront you the moment he opened the door, be it with direct aggression or passive coldness, or perhaps to continue the feigned act of pleasantness.

But instead, you received only quiet stillness, a neutral expression — and that was somehow far more frightening.

Instead, the mattress shifted and creaked as he climbed on, quietly pulling the blanket up to move beneath it. You wriggled backwards to make more room for him.

He moved to sit beside you. Not touching, but with the close proximity only people who were close to one another would be comfortable with.

And he'd stay that way, if you did nothing. Trial and error had proven that as well. If you did nothing, he would never move, would never get closer, waiting for you to do it with increasing irritation the longer you took.

You had to initiate these things. He never told you when you were supposed to give affection, never asked for touch or comfort, leaving you to try to decipher what was desired.

Of course, if you tried to provide those things at the wrong time or for the wrong reason, you'd also be in the wrong — then, you were being manipulative, hiding something, trying to distract. You were often deemed to have acted incorrectly regardless.

This was, thankfully, a repetitive, daily routine, so you were fairly certain you knew what was correct.

Fighting back a sense of dread, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his frame, making a soft sound as you gently pulled him back. He went with the motion easily, coming to lay down with you, facing each other.

You shuffled your body upwards and forward, reaching a shaky arm over his back, wrapping it around his frame and pulling him in so that his head rested against your chest. Only once you had done so was the gesture reciprocated, and you felt an arm reach around your waist.

You wondered if he could feel how hard and fast your heart pounded.

You tried to break the silence, finding some stimulation to be more bearable than pure silence.

“…How was your day?”

You felt his heavy breath against your chest. He exhaled, and with it, his body went lax, tension leaving his shoulders as he slumped further into the bed and against your body.

“Difficult.”

The word came out muttered, audibly laced with exhaustion and frustration.

“…Well, it’s over now, at least. You should rest.”

Your attempts at words of comfort were not the best, distracted by your nervousness and unease. You attempted a soothing gesture, running your hands through his hair, then down his back, repeating the motion over and over. You felt even more tension leave his body, practically melting into the touch.

It had taken him a long time to get used to that. A single graze of your fingers to his shoulder used to make him stiffen and recoil.

But over time, that defensive reaction faded, then he started leaning into the touch, and then he started to lean forward when your hand pulled away as if trying to bring it back, and soon he would sit closer, lean in further, fix his gaze at your hands — all but begging, yet never actually asking nor initiating, always waiting for you to be the one to close that gap.

But even though he seemed content, you didn't get a response to your words. That only made your nervousness increase.

Was he waiting for you to acknowledge it? You weren't certain. That sort of seemed like what he'd do. You just didn't know, couldn't be certain, and it ate further away at your nerves with each passing second.

As your eyes flickered over to the television again, you raised your eyebrows with recognition when the face on the screen registered. You attempted to stir some extent of conversation again.

"Hey... you're on TV."

"Mm." He didn't bother to open his eyes, much less turn back around to see.

Deciding from that response that it was better to not push further, you closed your eyes. The changing visuals of the television took form as shifting colors behind your eyelids.

Pressed up against each other, the back and forth movements of your bodies with each breath in and out was soothingly rhythmic, lulling you into momentary tranquility and ease. The atmosphere was so quiet, so gentle, you thought for a moment that perhaps the matter could simply be forgotten, that your mutual desire for peacefulness and rest outweighed any residual negative emotion.

Then you felt his fingers start to curl.

Slowly, they arched upward, the tips of his fingers pressing into your back, fingernails digging into the flesh through the fabric.

Your eyes shot open, and your heart began to speed up once more.

“…Goro?”

He didn't answer. His arms fully locked into place against your back, pulling himself ever closer to you, your collarbones digging into his forehead. He held you so tightly, with such strain, you felt his arms begin to tremble.

You squirmed in place, dread now returned in full force. You scrambled to find words in an attempt to deescalate.

“Hey, hey— listen, I'm sorry, I just—”

“Don't say that.”

His voice was a low, but firm murmur, barely audible and muffled by your shirt. You went stiff, toes curling, every muscle taut. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“Don't…” His chest rose and fell against yours as he took a heavy breath, “say you're sorry.”

You could do nothing but lay still, tense and frozen, wide-eyed as you felt his hand move, circling back to your front side.

You could hear his breaths become ragged, heavy. He slowly raised himself up, propped up on one elbow, coming to loom over your wide-eyed, trembling form.

“You have… no right…”

His hand latched onto your jaw, a painful, crushing grip, voice taking a sudden turn to a sharp, fierce hiss.

“…to say that shit to me.”

Your heart pounded. You inhaled a sharp gasp and squirmed, a natural reflex to the spike of panic surging through your veins. You grasped at his hand and pulled, to no avail.

“A-ah, no, I really—”

“Shut up.” The words were spoken through clenched teeth, a quiet, hissing voice. His hand squeezed your jaw tighter, pain rippling up through your face. “You want to placate me. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No,” you shook your head rapidly, eyes squeezing shut as fearful tears began to accumulate. “I don’t… I don’t know what else I can—”

“I have done,” his words of interruption were interspersed a heavy breath, “everything I could possibly do, to help you adjust to this.”

You could feel his nails dig into your flesh. Every part of you wanted to flail, to kick and struggle out of pure defensive instinct, to ramble on with apologies, but what little rationality and willpower remained kept you still, knowing from past experience that that would only make things worse. Instead, you lay still and tense, trying to control your own rapid breaths.

“I got you things you like to do,” he continued. “I got you things you asked for.”

Your toes curled, your hand gripped at his own locked onto your jaw. Your body felt cold.

“G-Goro—”

“But that's not good enough, is it?”

You managed to swallow, feeling the upper part of your throat shift under the pressure where the heel of his hand made contact.

“No, no, it's—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up. I told you to stop trying to placate me.”

His grip was crushing.

You couldn’t even finish a single sentence.

It was a futile effort. You knew full well that once he was upset, there was nothing you could do about it, no compromising, no appeasing.

Any attempts at such were helpless, pointless. The only way forward was to accept and take whatever would come.

Yet, it was only natural instinct to still try, to rush to attempt to fix what was wrong was only the logical, immediate impulse; you didn’t know what else you could do, and that only made the futility of it that much more crushing.

Thus, all you could do was tremble, whimper, lip quivering as you waited in trepidation.

“Then what… what do you want me to…?”

His eyes were dark, hair casting a shadow over them from the rapidly shifting colors of light that projected from the screen onto the rest of his face. A huff of offense at the question caused a segment of his hair to shift. His grip relented.

He sat upright, one hand up to grip at the side of his face in a gesture of frustration, eye glaring at you from the gap between his fingers.

“What do I want?” His voice was at least lower, a touch calmer from the momentary outburst, even if still frustrated. “I want you to follow the simplest of instructions, and you continuously prove incapable of that.”

“I…” You swallowed, pushing yourself upward with your forearms presses to the mattress. “I really just—”

“All you have to do,” he continued, fingers held to his face rigidly curling, “is stay in here, and do whatever I tell you to do — which is not much, mind you.”

“I, I know, I know!”

He scoffed.

“You certainly aren’t acting like it.”

You kept quiet, wanting to respond, wanting to placate him to any extent you could, but unable to think of anything to say coherently, overwhelmed and panicked. At your silence, he gave a heavy sigh and fixed his gaze to the wall, turned away from you despite his words being directed at you.

“You don't have to worry about anything. You don’t have to do anything.” He huffed again, eyes closing and grasping at the bridge of his nose in a gesture of irritation. “I have done nothing but make life easier for you, and you refuse to even attempt to understand that. Is it truly so hard to simply stay put?”

“N-no, no, I just—”

At your denial, his head snapped back to face you, voice turning to a nasty snarl.

“Then why the—”

And he cut off as he turned his gaze back to you.

Your huddled form was shrunken back away from him, curling in further on yourself, as you always did in reflex to such harshness. Eyes wide in fear and, as you could tell from your blurring vision, tears were visibly welling up in your eyes.

His momentary narrow-eyed, wrinkled-nose expression of disdain fell as quickly as it had appeared. He turned his head back away from you, hanging down to face the floor.

Everything went quiet. For a few moments, only silence hung in the air.

And then, he sank back down onto the side of the bed, slowly, softly, shifting so that he sat with his feet over the side to rest on the floor. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He tilted his head to rest his forehead on his hands, clasped together.

You sat fully upright as well, weakly reaching up to rub at your jaw, now throbbing in the absence of constriction.

You waited in the quiet, curling up into yourself, knees brought up to your chest, a reflexive defensive position. The uncertainty of the consequences of anything you might do kept you still. The awareness that trying to move away was a bad idea kept you firmly in place.

Likewise, there were no words that came to mind that you were certain would not earn a negative reaction, and thus, you waited in stillness and silence, mind drifting as you glanced over at the screen once again. Taking in the face displayed in the light, mouth moving silently, smiling and gentle and calm, barely recognizable, as if that of a stranger — but it was not.

Nor was it as if the one on screen was entirely a mask or a mere act, but a part of him just as much as the “other” part was. You often imagined such what-ifs in your head — if the adoring public could see this, see you, to know what things were like behind the door.

You wondered if anyone else knew the person beside you now. You now saw that side more often than the other one — a dependency that formed over time, you assumed, like an addiction, you were only viable thing to expel stress and frustration into, and thereby the only source of catharsis available.

And while there were still good days, days that almost felt like nothing had happened at all, like you just so happened to be here and everything was still normal — there were so many bad days. One unpleasant possibility had long since begun to seep into your mind, one that you found yourself mulling over with increasing frequency and dread.

And something about the moment of vulnerability brought that matter out of you, defeat and despair pulling the words out of your mouth.

“Do you still like me?”

The question felt so childish to ask, it made your face feel warm.

Quiet seconds passed.

His face turned to a mild scowl, you could see the corners of his mouth pull taut, though he didn't pull his head out from his hands.

“…Why would you even ask that?” His voice was still defensive, but far quieter than the outburst moments prior. “Why do you think you're here?”

You winced, sheepishly wringing your hands in nervousness, but managed to swallow and continue nonetheless.

“I thought maybe, you'd decided you didn't now, but just… didn't know what to do with me.”

He scoffed.

“Don’t be absurd.”

Despite the words technically being positive, his tone was laced with frustration, irritation, rather than any actual reassurance towards you.

There was a discontentment in his voice and what you could see of his face — perhaps to some degree, he wanted to say something else, but for whatever reason remained silent.

You were afraid, so very afraid, and yet the words came out anyway. Your spirit was worn down, your exhaustion even seeping past your fear.

“You don’t… act like it much.”

His hands shifted, clasping tighter, muscles tensing.

His voice was increasingly calmer, but still laden with a blatant tone of pretentious irritation.

“Maybe if you stopped being difficult, things could be different.”

More silence. You fidgeted in place.

“…Is that… what you want?”

“Clearly it isn’t what you want,” he muttered, “even though this was your fault to begin with.”

You closed your eyes at the harsh words, knowing all too well exactly what he meant. Knowing it was inevitable that this would lead down the same trail of dialogue that it always did, a conversation that had been had at every opportunity. That even if you said nothing, it would go that way anyway. Every time the matter came up even tangentially, he had to be sure to remind you. You waited a few seconds in silence, and sure enough—

“Don't forget that, either. You chose this.”

His voice was quiet. Cold and somber, placing so much weight on so few words.

A familiar line. In the beginning, he'd said it constantly. A reminder drilled into your head, over and over, so much that you often found yourself close to believing it.

“You just had to go out of your way and do everything you did,” he continued, in spite of a lack of response from you. Even with his face partially obscured by his hands and hair, you could see his nose wrinkle with an expression of disdain, his voice laden with bitter anger, as if describing some immense transgression.

Had you not been in this position, desperate to calm him and dispel any negative emotion within him, you might have argued against such a notion. But instead, you merely swallowed, before forcing out a reply.

“…I’m sorry… I wanted to help…”

“I was perfectly fine.” His fingers arched as he tightened his grip where they interlaced. “I didn't need help.” He gave a frustrated huff, hair shifting with the exhale. “You deliberately went out of your way to be—”

He cut off, mouth slightly ajar, struggling to verbalize the feeling itself, and thus, after a moment, he finished in a low mutter, perhaps self-aware of what a weak choice of words he had nothing better than to settle on, or even of how ridiculous it sounded that he was framing it as a wrongdoing.

“…to be nice.”

Such a simple, plain word, it sounded nearly unfitting from a individual normally so very articulate. The softer mumble of the words themselves was almost as if spoken in defeat, reluctant.

He leaned his head further down against his hands, spreading the palms apart so that they came to cover his eyes completely as his forehead rested against them.

You couldn’t formulate a response — in part from the intensity of emotion and exhaustion, but in even larger part due to the sheer absurdity of the matter, the way your kindness was framed as a wrongdoing, as something from which the outcome you now found yourself in should have been expected.

You sat still and slack-jawed, eyes scanning the sheets as you tried to process your thoughts, think of anything to say, try to appease him, but he spoke again before you could.

“You talked to me first,” he added, as if that fact proved some sort of important point.

Yes, if only you had known, in that moment, the chain of events you would set off, the consequences of a single act of considerateness.

Being a desk worker at the police station, it was inherently a responsibility to greet and help anyone who came walking by, but you found it particularly endearing when you saw some poor high schooler wandering around, now what felt like ages ago, brows furrowed in confusion and eyes scanning each of the directories and room numbers, blatantly lost.

Are you looking for somewhere in particular? I can help you.

You’d watched him stiffen and fidget, even if he managed to maintain that smooth, confident aura to his voice, smiling sheepishly, but accepting your offer for directions.

You'd thought it was cute.

“And you went out of your way to talk to me every single day,” he muttered. “You chose to do that.”

Yes, you’d begun a regular routine, one you thought little of. You greeted him when he came in, wished him a good day when he left.

Truthfully, that was something you did for every regular face that came through the building each day. In hindsight, you often wondered if he had believed it was uniquely reserved for him.

That had turned into conversations, when he started to linger — though you doubt you could get him to admit he had done so, even if he was self-aware that he had. Conversations that were first brief, but gradually grew longer.

A mature and capable sort of character, almost unbefitting of someone his age, yet there was a distinct sort of neediness that seeped through the cracks, whether or not he was aware that it was increasingly evident. The distinct desperation for positive attention so characteristic of a teen, that no amount of effort could conceal completely.

Only exacerbated by his life situation, you assumed — though, you'd only learned about that as a jarring startle, dumped onto you one afternoon as casually as if talking about the weather, and already having moved on to another matter before you could sputter out some kind of sympathetic response, and you'd never had the gall to mention it thereafter.

Regardless, you were certain that, be it conscious or subconscious, that information had played a role in your efforts to show him kindness.

Now, the same boy sat just an arm’s length away, scowling as he recalled those moments like some transgression against him.

He lowered his head into his hands, palms covering his eyes and most of his face, elbows pressed to his thighs.

“You didn’t just stop at that either,” he continued, a passive-aggressive note to his voice. Not as blatantly vicious as it had been a few minutes ago, but the malevolence was clear nonetheless.

That much struck you with uncertainty, confusion. He’d told you plenty of times how this was your fault, but normally left it at some notion that you’d essentially forced his hand by showing any semblance of kindness, not going into much more detail. You looked up at him, weakly forcing out an inquiry.

“…What… what do you mean?”

He huffed in frustration, as if your ignorance to your own wrongdoing was so glaring it was offensive.

“You just had to keep doing things for me,” he replied. “You bought me lunch when I forgot mine.”

You felt like you were doing something good, at the time. He was ever so grateful, and kept apologizing for the inconvenience.

You blinked, dumbfounded, processing the words, the treatment of the act as a wrongdoing, left in a stupor as he continued even still.

“You let me eat with you. Every day.”

He had asked once. There was no reason for you to say no. He was the one that then began showing up each day.

“You bought things for me, do you not remember that?”

You’d noticed it was well into the winter, and he kept walking in with nothing but a uniform. How you'd fretted and fussed — ah, I don't ever really buy clothes for myself, he'd said — and thus you soon ended up getting him a nice coat and a scarf for the cold. He lacked the figure in his life that would normally do so for a boy his age, after all, so you'd told yourself.

That incident itself was the first time you'd ever felt something strange about him. The way he'd stared with some unreadable, but unpleasant expression as you handed the intended gifts over. Something like confusion and pain. It had only lasted for a split second, before he smiled and thanked you, but you noticed it all the same.

One of his hands reached up to his head, pulling at his hair in frustration.

“You went out of your way to ask me how I was doing. Every day.”

His tone gradually rose in audible bitterness as he continued, fingers curling further into his hair.

“You kept asking me about my life. You kept saying all those things.”

You told him you'd seen him on the talk shows. Tried to complement it, said he was such a good speaker, told him how smart he was.

At the time, your words seemed to make his eyes lighten — just ever so slightly, any hint of reaction carefully restrained by conscious effort to maintain composure, but visible even still. You’d found he would subtly slip small mentions of achievements into conversation, like a quiet plead for praise, one more noticeable than you believed he realized.

Now, his head finally rose and turned towards you, eyes narrowing as he finished, practically in a snarl—

“I never asked for any of that.”

You winced at the harshness, shuffling your legs closer to your chest, leaning away from him.

The words themselves might have hurt in isolation from the context they were inherent to, were it simply a matter of your kindness being met with such negative reaction.

But the anger hurled your way did not erase your memories of how it all went over at the time.

You remembered the way he’d started to look in your direction as soon as he entered the building. You remembered the time you found him standing around your desk at the end of the day, when you’d left to print something off, apparently not wanting to leave without seeing you — though he must not have realized you were able to see him waiting there the whole time, since he passed it off as a coincidence you’d run into each other at the right time when you came back.

You remembered the time you told him—

I saw you on TV last night! You did a really good job out there!

The slight widening of his eyes and soft smile and so very humble reply, visibly happy nonetheless.

When he mentioned exam scores, successful cases, any sort of accomplishment — always in an off-handed, casual way, a clause wrapped within a larger sentence, as if to disguise the words themselves as inconsequential — you were more than happy to play along.

Aw, good for you, I'm proud of you.

You really are so bright.

That’s quite impressive.

One by one, every little word of praise and encouragement, every time you bit the hook of sentences that seemed to be prodding you to inquire further, the ever-so-slight effect it seemed to have — you’d thought it all so endearing.

Once again, you'd told yourself, if he didn't have the usual figure most boys his age had to tell them things like that, there was no harm in you doing what you could to substitute that, however slightly you could.

Thus, even now, whatever mess of emotions made him react so negatively, the words didn’t sting like they might have otherwise.

But the vitriol and harshness still stung. Your head hung downward. You stumbled over your words.

“I… I was just… trying to be nice, because—”

“Because you felt bad for me. Don't think I don't know that.” His gaze jerked back downwards, angled at the floor. “I didn't ask for your pity.”

You shook your head.

“I wanted you to be happy.” Your voice nearly cracked with the desperation that poured out of your chest. “I wanted to make you happy.”

Those themselves were words that would make most people pleased, you imagined — but he bristled, eyes darting downward to the ground, giving a tsk of irritation before he replied, a hissing voice filled with bitterness.

“I never asked you to do that either.”

With another huff of frustration, he propped his elbow onto his thigh again, this time resting his chin on his hand, keeping his gaze to the television. Not really watching or absorbing it, of course, but it was something to look at that wasn’t you, something that kept him from having to meet your eyes. You watched the colors bounce off his skin, illuminating his scowl.

“…But you just had to go and do it anyway, didn't you.”

As if that kindness were a crime, a transgression. Some wrongdoing you'd committed, for which penance was due.

His head tilted forward further, his fingers curled against his face, nails digging into the flesh.

“Then one day you just casually say you’re switching jobs and moving away like you’re talking about the goddamn weather.”

His expression contorted with vitriol. He spoke through clenched teeth, a voice so quiet you could hear the breath within it more than the words themselves.

“What makes you think you can just walk away after all of that?"

And then, his eyes closed. He let out a quiet, heavy sigh — this time not a short one of frustration, but a slow exhale, his body shuddering with the release of whatever tension it relieved.

"...I'm sorry..."

They were the only words you could summon. There were no other words that could properly address the blame being cast upon you, and anything else would be futile anyway.

Thankfully, that time your apology wasn't met with snapping anger, instead a callous sigh.

“...I suppose it was unreasonable to expect you to consider anyone but yourself.” There was an unmistakable passive-aggression to his tone. “Even now, you had every intention to get me locked away for the rest of my life, when I've done everything in my power to improve your quality of life here."

“No, no, I wasn't.” You shook your head, panic resurging at such an accusation, however accurate it may be.

“Obviously you—”

“I wasn’t going to do that.”

You forced the words out, forcing as firm of a tone as you could manage, fighting against your nerves.

It wasn’t often that you interrupted him. Which clearly came as a shock to him as well — you saw him slowly lift his head, eyebrows raised as his gaze turned towards you, so taken off-guard that he didn’t even respond with immediate offense as you might have expected.

Your gaze met his. The still-running glow of the silent television screen cast an overlay of shifting color onto the whites of his eyes.

The foreboding look that formed over his face made you look down, unable to keep eye contact, but you squeezed your eyes shut as you forced the words out regardless. You had already dug whatever grave you were going to lie in, there was no point in backing down.

But it was merely a passing second — by the time the colors reflected on the sides of his eyes had shifted with the change of screen, his eyes darkened, his expression grew solemn.

“I just wanted fresh air,” you continued, “to walk around.”

You hoped it wasn’t as obvious of a lie as it felt.

“I— I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” you continued. “I wasn’t going to. It’s, it’s just…”

You shook your head, eyes watering. Your hands curled up into fists against your thighs.

“People weren’t made to live like this.”

A long silence followed. Seconds ticked by. You stared down at the sheets, vision blurred by tears. There was a lump in your throat, you swallowed and fought the urge to break down. That would accomplish nothing.

At least a minute had passed before he finally responded.

“You think I don't know that?”

The words were cold and blunt. As if you’d said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. There was some degree of sadness within how quietly they were spoken, perhaps even remorse, but it was clear and unyielding.

And within that response was an unspoken statement in and of itself — that no amount of appealing to any inhumanity of your situation was going to change it.

Your jaw clenched. You swallowed before you continued.

“Then… then you have to realize this can’t last forever.”

“…”

The silence made your gut twist on itself, but desperation pushed you further.

“It, it doesn’t have to be by myself, o-or for forever, I mean, you can come with me, we can go walk outside…”

“I thought I told you to stop asking.”

You winced, but the words only made fury race through your heart. Against your better judgement, pure emotion overcame you, and your voice began to raise.

“I-I know! But you just said—”

“It doesn't matter.”

He spoke that time through clenched teeth. A warning tone.

“At some point you have to—”

“Shut up.”

Something in you broke. Your trepidation of your words, the fear of upsetting him — none of it mattered. You had nothing to lose.

“At some point you have to let me GO!”

No sooner had the word left your throat, than his hand slammed down on it.

Your vision blurred with rapid motion as his body lunged for yours, as your back hit the mattress. You instinctively put your forearms to the surface in an attempt to push yourself up, but within a mere moment, he was on top of you, weight slamming you back down.

There was a sharp sting of soreness — his hands fit perfectly against the ring of bruise you perpetually sported around your neck, a testament to the frequency of these very moments, the nature of the way things were within the small space cut off from the outside.

“I said shut up.”

His hand squeezed down hard. Reflexively, your body jerked forward, but he easily shoved you back down again, far superior strength making any struggle futile.

The grip on your throat and the fear pounding in your chest made your eyes blur with tears. Reflexively, perhaps against better judgement, your hands shot up to grab onto his, fingernails digging into his flesh.

His face loomed over you, shadows cast all around. You could still see his narrowed eyes, illuminated by the screen’s light, staring down at you, cold and angered.

His breaths were ragged, labored. He spoke through clenched teeth.

“And you know what?”

His shoulders heaved with the depth of his breaths as he paused.

“I know you knew.”

His nose scrunched with the expression of disdain.

“You’re not stupid. You knew what you were doing to me.”

The words made a knot form in your stomach.

You heard him swallow, felt his hand tremble against you, be it in fury or pain, you weren't certain.

“You made me act like an idiot every time I saw you. You couldn’t have not known.”

That much was true.

It was never as obvious at it would have been with any other boy his age — most were not as guarded as him, would not have put in the effort to always seems so nonchalant as he did, would not have held themselves back from their own enthusiasm and eagerness in the way you sensed he did.

But it was obvious nonetheless, over time. The double-texts, the lingering by your desk, the split-seconds facial expressions of joy and disappointment he’d make before correcting them to the pleasant neutrality of the perpetual mask forced on him by the public eye — but every now and then, it slipped nonetheless.

But that was normal. A common thing in a young man that age.

It was fleeting, you'd thought. It was innocent. It was harmless. It wasn't anything to take seriously. You weren't encouraging it, just being kind. It wasn't as if you didn't appreciate him.

Nothing bad could come of it.

The tightening grip pulled you out of your reflection on your actions. His breaths came out heavy, labored.

“And you didn’t stop me from coming to you. You could have told me not to.”

His eyes bore into yours, a sharp and intense stare, locked together. To look into his eyes and all the fury and contempt they contained made your chest feel tight, made your skin feel cold, sent a chill running through your blood and you wanted so so so badly to look away, yet found your own eyes fixed on his, unable to look away even if you tried, as if his eyes held onto yours in the way his hand held onto your neck.

The corner of his mouth twitched. His grip grew tighter, cutting off your airways entirely. You stiffened, and began to struggle. Your eyes squeezed nearly shut. You squirmed against his hold, but his hands did not relent.

His words were cold, bitter.

“You never said ‘stop.’”

His grip grew tighter.

“You never said ‘no.’”

It felt like it would crush your throat.

“You could have. I would have listened.”

His voice turned low and dark.

“But you didn't.”

Your heart pounded against your chest as your panic turned to desperation, as you realized his grip wouldn’t relent.

“You made it worse. You made me keep coming back.”

His shoulders shifted forward with the force of his grip.

“You chose this—”

His eye twitched.

“—every goddamn step of the way.”

The fear that ran through your blood pushed aside your concern that a reaction would just make it worse, instinct taking over the forefront of your processing.

“Goro—”

Your voice came out as a choked gargle. You clawed at his hand. He huffed in frustration.

“Stop moving, you—”

He cut off as his eyes settled over your form. Your spine turned with your squirming attempts to free yourself. Tears leaked out of your eyes and streamed down your face. Your struggles pulled your thin clothing tight against your form, your body writhing, back arching.

His expression shifted, his mouth pulled taut.

You saw his chest rise and fall with heaving breaths. His head tilted downward towards his body.

“…”

His hand released your throat. You gasped in cold air, body heaving with deep breaths and sputtering coughs, slumping down as relief washed over your body, reaching up to rest your fingers on your throat, wincing at the sting of each breath.

You could hear his heavy, panting breaths.

And then, he leaned forward again, hands grasping at your waist, pulling you closer.

It wasn't difficult to remove what was left between you — only a single layer of clothing each. You didn't have anything beneath the outer layers of clothing — it made things easier, you supposed, that way.

Nonetheless, you felt his fingers hook under the waistband around your hips, jerking downward. In one swift motion, your shirt was pulled upward too, breasts spilling out from underneath.

You laid still, tensing, shifting, but not outright fighting, largely because such resistance would only make things far worse.

And in part because — even now, in spite of everything — the thought of hurting him brought an ache of guilt to your chest.

Still, out of reflex, you found yourself shuffling backwards, elbows pressing to the mattress to pull you back, overwhelmed by the sudden shift of atmosphere and rapid pace of action.

“Ah, wait—”

Without even the slightest semblance of gentleness, his hand shoved you back down, flat onto your back.

“Hold still.” His voice was blunt, but not as strongly laced with emotion as it had been moments prior, too distracted by his current task.

The rumpled mound of blankets and sheets cast more shadow over the lower half of his body, but you could make out his other hand moving, hear the faint sound of fabric shifting against skin. You heard a string of repetitive curses come out of his mouth, faint whispers hissed out in a tone of irritation, as if angered by the urges themselves.

With another harsh jerk to pull you closer, he leaned his body downward, burying his face against the crook of your neck. That, too, was routine, expected, something he always did. He never let you see his face, could never look you in the eye throughout. Maybe it was a craving for physical closeness, maybe it was a loathing of vulnerability that the connection of your gazes would bring, maybe both.

You closed your eyes.

It burned. You were too tense, it was too sudden. The friction on such sensitive skin made you inhale a sharp gasp.

You felt him shudder against you, heard it in the way he exhaled, breath hot on your skin.

His hands grasped at your waist, pulling your body forward and, consequently, further impaling you on himself.

The positioning of his head brought his mouth close to your ear, letting you hear each ragged, labored breath, a brief soft muttering so slurred you couldn’t make it out, despite the proximity.

Your hand reached up, resting on the back of his neck. Even now, in spite of everything, the bruises scattered across your skin and the sore sting on your throat and the greyness of the walls that tormented you day in and day out as you struggled to recall how many days had passed since you’d been anywhere else —

— you couldn’t bring yourself to be anything but gentle.

He, on the other hand, was anything but.

Rather than a rolling motion, his hips merely slammed into your body back and forth, the movement intense, quick and harsh, driven by emotion and frustration.

Still, with each movement, he rubbed against your insides in such a way that made pleasure jolt through your body.

And it grew faster, faster, more forceful. The creaking of the bed grew harsher, an aggressive motion that lurched your body back with each movement, only for his hands to jerk your body back close to his, fingernails digging into your flesh.

You could melt into it — at this point, it was a mastered skill, letting go of any fear or despair and succumbing only to the feeling within you flesh, primal and simple, a sensation that existed outside of circumstance and emotion.

A warm pressure that built and built higher and higher, made you clench down on him, made you arch your back, made noises spill from your mouth that in turn made him move even harsher still.

You found your arms wrapping themselves around his back, clinging to him tightly. The only thing you had left, the only person that existed in a world that was otherwise dull and dark and filled with nothingness.

You supposed that was the point, what he wanted to be. The only thing of substance allowed to exist in your world, everything else pushed back and out behind that door, locked away just beyond your reach.

He brought his head up just enough to speak more directly to your face, but his hair still obscured any sight of his face you might have otherwise had, a harsh whisper through labored breaths.

“You thought you could just get away with it all?”

He jerked his hips forward again, so harshly you gasped, your back arched.

You gasped at the sensation, sputtering out whatever words came to your mind in the haze of sensation and intensity.

“No, I didn't — I, I never meant to— I wasn't trying to—”

“Shut up.” He snapped back at you through clenched teeth. “You knew from the beginning you'd leave eventually. You didn't care how it affected me.”

His fingernails sank into your waist.

“It never meant anything to you.”

Your bottom lip trembled, a sore lump in your throat threatening to break you apart even as fluttering sensation shot through your nerves, the physical sensation and emotion each heightening each other.

“I didn't think— I didn't think you'd—”

You didn’t think it meant that much. You only talked to him for a few minutes every day. To you, he was just one of many people you interacted with, and held a matching degree of significance. Something you had never explicitly told him, but you knew he’d come to understand all the same.

Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes.

“I… I'm sorry… I never wanted to— ah!”

You gasped, your back arched as your bodies moved in such a perfect way as to make your mind go blank.

His voice became erratic, frantic, spoken between gasping breaths — just as his hips began to move faster, harsher.

“You were going to just disappear and leave.”

In the moment of pause, his ragged breaths were hot against your ear, before he finished in a snarl, snapping his hips forward so brutally the bedframe slammed into the wall—

“You don't get to do that to me.”

You tensed at the intense motion, insides spasming at the sensation, clamping down, and crying out — a filthy, wanton noise that made the heat of shame rush to your face just processing it.

In turn, no sooner had he spoken than you felt him shudder again, muttering out a quiet string of curses before lowering himself down again, body pressed tightly to yours, abandoning any efforts he might have intended to put into further words or maintaining some semblance of composure, instead giving in to the sensation and urges in full.

His hips moved against you in erratic frenzy, mercilessly harsh. His fingernails stabbed into the flesh around your hips, holding you firmly in place so that the sheer force of the movements didn't push your body off of his.

You, too, let go of any restraint — what was even the point of holding onto some semblance of dignity? — and let your mind lose itself in the sensation. Letting your mind run blank was far preferable to letting yourself be tormented by emotion any further. A freeing feeling from the cage of worry — always aware of how many days it had been, the burden of keeping track, the weight of endless wrestling with what-ifs and fantasies of possibility in both retroactive and prospective senses alike.

You let the noises pour out of your mouth, let yourself tense and spasm and wrap your legs around his waist, let yourself claw at his back. It felt as if your mind was melting.

Yes, giving in was easier. Separating yourself from the context of where you were and why and for how so very long, indulging in the relief cast by the shadow of defeat and acceptance. Regardless of the circumstances that led you here, and throwing aside the soul-crushing question of your hopes of a future that haunted your every waking moment, this moment was here and now and real, something you could feel and savor.

You let the sensation turn to pleasure and pain that blurred together, eyes closed, listening to the sync of the sound of the mattress shifting with the sparks of sensation running up your spine. You let that feeling bring you up, up, higher and higher, peaking as you pulled him as close to you as you could manage, sounds from your throat coming out high-pitched and needy.

Only mere moments later, before you could even come down from the dissociative feeling of fog over your mind, you vaguely felt him come to a halt, heard him suck in a sharp breath between clenched teeth.

There was a heavy silence that hung over the air, broken only by each other’s heavy, panting breaths.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lowered himself down, moving to your side, hair still veiling his face from your view, before eventually letting his weight fall the rest of the way in a sudden collapse, causing the mattress to shift. Without any conscious thought to do so, you found yourself turning onto your side to accommodate it, so that you faced each other.

And once again, you lay in quiet, broken by your labored breaths, each exhale tangible on the other’s skin.

Your sweat made the sheets cling to your body.

He was so close, but even still, waited, hesitant, depending on your initiation.

Thus, instinctively, you wrapped your arm around him, slowly, cautiously. Your arm wrapped around his back, pulling his body forward into place against yours.

Slowly, you felt his hand reach up to your arm, just below your shoulder, fingers wrapping around it with only the faintest of touches.

His head came to rest at your chest once again, forehead settling on the spot between your breasts. His hand’s grip on your arm grew tight.

And you felt him shiver against you. A continuous, soft shaking, like someone freezing in the cold. There was something about the feeling that spread into you, something that poured from his body into yours.

He felt so much bigger and stronger when he was on top of you, those times where he held your wrists above your head, the times he’d grabbed you and drug you around like a ragdoll across the little apartment — and now, he felt almost small, in your arms. Fragile, as if he would shatter apart like glass, should you hold him too tightly.

Some time passed. Your eyes closed at some point, but you could still see the shifting colors behind your eyelids, light shining through. Your body slowly relaxed from all the tension.

You could feel his heart beating against your hand resting on his back, perfectly in sync with your own, which you felt in the form of the throbbing around your neck.

And in that stillness, you felt some sense of peace. As if everything were inconsequential, all your anguish melting. As if you were merely normal lovers in a state of post-coital exhaustion after a long day.

Part of you wanted to lean into it, to let yourself slip into that illusion. It was comforting and warm, and the burden of awareness of the reality of your situation was so, so heavy. You were tired of its weight.

But something else weighed on your mind, holding you back from the brink of exhaustion. And without conscious intent, that something slipped out from your lips.

“Do you wish I hadn't?”

Your throat stung to speak, the words came out in a scratchy voice, but nonetheless so quiet that he would not have even heard you had he not been pressed against you.

There was a long pause. He turned his head upward, slowly, exhaustion visible in such a small movement. Not even enough to look you in the eye, just enough to acknowledge your words.

“…What?”

You swallowed.

“Do you wish… I had never talked to you? That I hadn’t… done all of those things?”

The quiet that followed felt like a weight pressed to your chest. You felt the vulnerable softness of comfort leave his body, replaced by a tenseness that wasn’t there moments prior.

His head lowered back to its former position, and the room fell to silence again, seconds ticking by. When he finally replied, it was a cold, blunt tone, as if you’d asked a simple, obvious question.

“I never said that.”

You didn't have the energy to feel frustrated. You had long since accepted that there was no way to win. The absurdity of his response in light of it all barely fazed you. If anything, it felt like the response you'd anticipate, perfectly in line with how you knew him to be.

You wrapped your arms around him tighter.

Your bodies pressed together, tender and intimate and comforting, and in spite of everything, you let yourself savor the goodness of the feeling of it. You felt the tension slowly leave his body as well, it felt as if he melted against your touch.

You began to drift off, mind lulled by the colors behind your eyelids. Some time passed.

And then he moved.

Your eyes opened, groggily returning to awareness and clarity — and some degree of concern, never certain what he would do at any given moment — and you watched as he pulled himself out of your grasp, quickly pivoting to the side of the bed to stand.

You slowly sat upright, shirt falling back down to at least cover your upper half, tilting your head in curiosity as you waited to see what he'd gotten up for.

Without a word, he moved back towards the counter at the front of the small apartment, reaching out for the plastic bag he'd set down when he came in. His footsteps were heavy, lazily dragging against the floor as he brought it back, one plastic container in each hand. He extended one out to you.

“It’s past our normal eating time.”

His voice had returned to a perfectly normal tone, not tired nor bitter nor angry, the tone he used when everything was fine, a tone that set you at ease. As off-putting and surprising as it was, you didn't question the pleasant change, merely taking it from his hands, opening the box and little paper-wrapped utensils, only pausing to sheepishly, hurriedly put your clothes back on.

Your hand still shivered as you forced food into your mouth.

You'd had this before plenty of times. You assumed it was conveniently on his route home. He always got one particular order for you. You didn't hate it, but it wasn't your preference, not that you ever stated so, wanting to avoid any risk of negativity.

It wasn't the same thing he got for himself, either. That, too, had become part of your routine. He made very specific assumptions of what you wanted when it came to flavors, colors, and so on.

You became acutely aware of the sensation of the shirt that still clung to your body, how your hair brushed against your skin where it fell at the exact length he’d insisted on keeping it.

Much like those things, you preferred not thinking about where the assumptions came from.

You brought a few bites to your mouth, each of you eating in silence. In the absence of other stimulus, your eyes trailed back over to the screen.

Enough time had passed that he was no longer one of the figures on the television screen — but the subject matter appeared to still be the same as it always was, for the past few months. Yet another accident, the same circumstances as usual.

You saw him lift his head up, following your line of vision, then scowling at the screen — but as the only source of light, he didn't turn it off.

“You should be careful.”

Your words turned his head back towards you, eyebrows raising in an expression prompting you to continue. You looked down.

“All those people they show lately... going crazy and getting tons of people hurt. You're known to the public, so… just be sure to be cautious, you know.”

You couldn't articulate the look on his features. He paused, blinking a few times at you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed, before turning his gaze back down.

“I'll be fine.”

You turned your gaze back to your food as well — but not before your eyes briefly drifted over to the door once more. You felt a chill run down your spine as the far-too-recent memory of electrocution flashed through your mind, and with it, the humiliation of it all settled heavy on your chest.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, trying to rid yourself of the lump in your throat as the urge to break down threatened to take over you again, and dulled your mind, letting it fall to blank nothingness but the task of finishing your food.

You turned your head and looked at the soft-featured young man. His face — the mask of the public persona still off, now in a different way than mere anger, but a sort of quiet, barely-noticeable sheepishness that followed such outbursts, distinguishable by a faint frown, ever-so-slightly furrowed brows, an avoidance of looking upward — felt so innocent, almost endearing.

You didn't realize you were staring until he finally looked up, having sensed the feeling of your gaze. He blinked.

“Is something wrong?”

Asked in such a gentle, pleasant tone. Nonchalant, ignoring the bruises on your body, ignoring the band still latched around your neck. It was so easy to believe nothing had happened.

Your eyes shifted away from him, briefly trailing around the room — to the cordless lamps and flat door handles and locks on all the drawers and the spot on the ceiling where the fan had been gouged out and caulked over.

And likewise, you shook your head and resumed picking at your food, deciding for your own sake that that none of it was of any consequence. That was a far less painful way to think about it all anyway.

“No, nothing.”

[writers-reach]

Hey! Can I have headcanons of persona protagonists [ Yu,Minato,Ren] kissing SO for the first time? Thank you!

persona 3/4/5: first kiss headcanons (minato arisato, yu narukami, ren amamiya)

notes: no spoilers, gn!reader, fluff, ren amamiya for persona 5 protagonist

minato arisato

a bit nervous, but shows it by being a bit more quiet and shy than usual.

hides his gaze under his lil emo bangs as he asks to kiss you!

probably in his room after hanging out all day at the strip mall

"hey, um, do you want to, like... kiss? maybe?"

you're ecstatic and your heart quickens at his cute look and shy demeanour. he was just adorable!

you agree, and he leans in with his hands on his knees. he's about to press his lips to yours when he brushes his bangs from his eyes (just so they don't get in the way)

his lips are decently soft, if not a bit chapped (in his defense, it's been a cold autumn so far). he's a bit tentative when kissing but overall he's just a bit nervous about your boundaries!

gives you the cutest look when pulling back.

"...you're cute."

NO HE'S CUTE

yu narukami

probably asks you to kiss him first while on a walk on the hill overlooking inaba!

he stops walking, his hand in yours, and turns to look at you. he grabs your other hand and smiles as his eyes meet yours

"it's been a great day so far. thanks for going out with me." he flashes you one of those charming grins - god, they melt your heart!

"of course," you reply, "i love spending any time with you."

"yeah." yu replies, seeming a bit... out of it. like something else is on his mind.

"what's up?" you tilt your head and yu can't help but find it super cute!

"it's just-- i... okay, listen, you're super cute and i'm so lucky to be your boyfriend, may i kiss you?"

wow. that came out... all at once. after recovering from his quick word vomit, you nod with a blush on your cheeks. with that affirmation, yu moves in slowly.

he lifts one hand to cup the bottom of your chin and leans in. his eyes shut gently and he presses his lips to yours.

he's firm yet gentle, definitely sweet. he's probably kissed people before, but none of that matters when he pulls back and looks into your eyes with the most adoring gaze you've ever seen

ren amamiya

he's been acting strange all week. walking you to and from places, stammering and trailing off his words... hell, he's even been acting fidgety in the metaverse when he usually dons the persona (heh) of the confident joker, leader of the phantom thieves!

eventually, it gets to be so much that you confront him after an excursion to mementos.

as you two are walking back from the subway, you pull him aside.

"hey... is something up? you've been acting weird all week, and i'm getting worried. you know you can tell me anything, right?" you ask.

ren glances aside, not really feeling like being honest. instead, he only mutters, "can we go to my room?" in response.

it makes you start a bit, but you understand the sentiment. he wants to talk alone.

so, you two go to the attic above leblanc and sit down on the edge of his bed. he, once again, starts to fidget.

"what's on your mind, ren?" you ask.

"i just... uh..." ren's lip trembles slightly as he tries to explain. he eventually gives in with a sigh. "we've never, like, kissed, have we?"

you pause. "no...? no, we haven't."

it's a moment before ren responds, smiling. he pushes up his glasses.

"i think we should." wow, okay. smooth ren is back. but he's still a bit of a dork, especially with those glasses.

"like, right now?" "right now. if you want to, that is." "duh i want to, idiot!" you scoot closer to him and smile softly at him, waiting for him to make the first move. he suggested it, after all.

ren moves closer and soon closes the distance with a kiss. his hair tickles your forehead. you kiss back as one of your hands finds its way to hold his, your fingers intertwining.

when he pulls away, he's still smiling, but he isn't trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

"...you're free all evening, right? wanna do that some more?"

a/n: i tried my best! my writing chops for the protags are a bit rusty, but i hope you enjoyed! i tried my best to not fall into tropey pitfalls with these guys (aka trying not to write yu as a chad or w/e)

[killualoverr]

hellooo :D

I see you want some requests for a while and I really liked your dating hc w persona 5 girls

can you a do a same one but with goro Akechi and joker ? (fem reader)

please don't overwork yourself dear<3 Have a nice day<3

₊ ☆ ‧₊˚ → ren/joker and akechi general relationship hcs!

cw: fluff, slight angst in akechi’s part, mentions of shido (and therefore spoilers)

note: ahhhhh tysm, you’re so sweet! i’m glad you enjoyed my other dating hcs and hope you like these as well! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

- ren is a very flexible and accommodating boyfriend. it’s not that he changes his entire personality forcefully to fit your needs, it's just natural for him for some reason.

- he doesn’t mind some pda here and there

- he introduces you to his friends early on and you become part of their group pretty fast

- if you’re not a phantom thief he tries to not pull you into anything involving that sort of business just to avoid endangering you

- if you’re a phantom thief, in the metaverse he's always watching out for you.

- talking about watching out for you, he looks out for you in subtle ways, like walking on the side with the traffic, giving up an empty seat on the train for you, etc.

- he’s the type of boyfriend that wins the prize you want for you at an arcade (like after 7 tries but he still gets it nonetheless)

- sojiro is constantly giving you things on the house whenever you come to leblanc

- dates with him are practically anywhere, he just likes spending time with you.

- akechi doesn't want people knowing too much about his personal life as someone who's in the public eye. not only that, he wants to avoid getting you involved in any shido/phantom thief business.

- so your relationship is kept private for your safety. he’ll do anything to avoid putting you in harms way

- pda isn't common, however he makes lots of time for you! it’s a bit limited because of his occupation but he always makes sure to at least text you a few times throughout the day <3

- he adores quality time

- once he adjusts to literally one of the first healthy relationships in his life he's very sweet

- very very touch starved. at first he hates physical affection because it makes him feel vulnerable but after a bit of reassurance from you he eventually gets more comfortable with it.

- that being said, akechi has a very complicated past that affected him in more ways than one, so reassurance plays a big role in your relationship with him.

- he also values communication. whether you're going through something or on a rare occasion that you had an argument, talk to him and tell him what you need/want.

- dates will happen at akechi's apartment or at your house. if you guys are outdoors, it would be at a somewhere like a restaurant most of the time.

[akiology]

Akiren, Ryuji, Yusuke, Goro with S/O who wants a kiss

Note: This was mainly done out of boredom and need for fluff Ahwwksos I did this in my phone so if it looks weird, I apologize! I will fix it once I get to my computer.

Akiren

"I want a kiss."

The both of you were hanging out at Leblanc. Well, more like you. He was busy washing the dishes while watching over the store. Although, at the moment it was empty, save for the two of you.

When he heard your request, he smiles. He proceeds to dry his hands, and go to your side of the counter.

"Where, treasure?"

You thought of it for a moment, and pointed at your lips, "Here?"

He smiles even wider this time. He closes his eyes and gave you a quick peck. Before he could pull away, you wrap your arms around his neck in an attempt to ask for more, but the sound of the door opening made you retrieve your hands. He cleared his throat, "Welcome!"

Maybe when he wasn't so busy, you could continue...

He looks at you apologetically and mouths, "Later."

Ryuji

"I want a kiss."

The sound of the various videogame sound effects, children cheering and laughing, and the grunts of your boyfriend on this certain fighting game he has been playing for almost thirty minutes fills your senses. You love watching him play, but man do you also want some affection.

"Wait a minute babe."

You pout, though he cannot see it. The match ended after almost a minute though, and then he quickly turned to you.

"What did'cha want, babe?"

"Kiss please."

"Oh!" And for a second he felt sheepish, but seeing that you were in a slightly secluded part of the arcade, he decided to be a little more bold. He gave you a quick kiss on your cheek, and pulled you closer to him to give another kiss on your forehead.

"Do you want to get something to eat?"

Yusuke

"I want a kiss."

The both of you were at Inokashira Park, as Yusuke wanted to find inspiration for his next artwork. It was a nice slightly cloudy day, so it wasn't too hot out. Having an impromptu picnic with your boyfriend outside was definitely a good change of pace.

He has just started cleaning up his landscape sketches, but looked up upon hearing your request.

"Certainly, my darling."

He places his sketchpad beside him, and reached out to give you a quick kiss on your lips. He reached out for your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles. You smiled at his actions, and then suddenly he stops for a brief second.

"Yusuke, are you o-"

"Hold that pose!"

Goro

"I want a kiss."

The both of you were at his apartment. He was catching up with the Featherman episodes he missed because of work, and you were doing homework. Upon hearing your request, Goro smirked.

"Why?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, "What do you mean 'why'? What if I'm just craving attention from my boyfriend?"

"Hmm..." Goro put his hand under his chin, as if he is considering your very serious request.

You rolled your eyes at his antics. You scooted over to his side until there was no more space between the two of you, "Kiss please!"

He complied and gave you a quick kiss on your nose. You smiled and was about to back away when he held on to your arm.

"What about me? Where's my kiss?"

[manias-wordcount]

Hello may I please request Goro Akechi, Ren Amamiya, and Shinjiro Aragaki with their partner surprising them with a very thoughtful date?

Surprising Him with a Thoughtful Data HCs (Goro Akechi, Akira Kurusu, Shinjiro Aragaki)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵 𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗿𝗼 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 (𝟯 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝗹) 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗶 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮 𝟯 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲 <𝟯 (𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝘂𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗶 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟯𝗶𝘀𝗵/𝟮𝟬𝟭𝟰) 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗺 𝗮𝗹𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝘁𝗹𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁???? 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Goro Akechi

Because work and life and his popularity had been keeping him busy for the past couple of weeks, he felt lucky (and a little obligated) to plan a date for the two of you since he felt he had been neglecting you to keep up with his other responsibilities

So imagine his surprise when you turn down his offer of taking you to your favorite date spot because you “already had reservations for the two of us” at that time

But when the night comes and he meets you at the location you sent him, he can’t help but be floored bc like…

Who would have thought that you’d plan something all about him when he was the one who wasn’t making time for you?????

But of course, because he’s Goro Akechi he’s gonna keep his composure when you surprise him by taking him out for a nice, long dinner at some rooftop place in the city

Though you really made his heart soar when he realized that you picked a place with some quiet live music so the two of you could chat (or not! depending on his mood) and just enjoy each other’s presence

The menu has all his favorites on it, the music is from local artists he had discovered and started listening to a couple of months ago, and you wouldn’t let him talk about anything you thought could raise his blood pressure

So most likely, the night is spent with him looking and feeling all soft as he stares out and enjoys the scenery while holding your hand over the table

Truly, this date with you was just so nice and gentle and sweet and just decompressing

It was exactly what he needed (or rather, you’re exactly what he needed hehe <3

Akira Kurusu

Although he’s probably busy himself, Akira tends to make a lot of time and does most of the date planning because he’s a romantic hehe (i swear on my life he is, he has to be)

So the one time he let you take the reigns and plan a date, you wanted it to be super special

So you plan: treating him to a delicacy that’s famous in his hometown……anddd learning how to cook it with him!

It’s not much but you remember how he talked about missing when he could eat that local delicacy whenever he wanted but how it was difficult to find it in Tokyo

So the moment he realized that was your plan, he was pretty smitten

It was something so simple but it showed that not only do you care and listen to what he says, but you also wanted to cook with him- something he only recently realized he loved

So that whole day was spent munching on food that reminded him of home and perfecting the recipe (that turned out to be a bit harder than expected!!

But by the time the two of you were satisfied with your creation, Akira felt like he had fallen in love with you all over again

Only someone who truly loves him could dedicate their time and money to making a wish he had mentioned off-handedly once come true

And that someone was you- utterly perfect you! <3

Shinjiro Aragaki

Okok stick with it for a second but- There’s a dog shelter that Shinjiro always lingers by right? Because there’s a few dogs he has bonded with every time he gets the balls to go in there

Including a little mutt who is way too lovable, but far from the definition of cute

So your date idea: take Shinjiro and the doggy out for a day and give the doggy a good time

That means getting pup cups and doggy treats after a nice morning walk by the water and sneaking the doggy bits and pieces of your lunch to her and then hours at the doggy park

And Shinjiro? He loves it because he spends every walk holding your hand and pet his favorite dog whenever he wants and just enjoying the excitement a cute pup brings hehe

It’s not much of a “date” per se, but with all the heavy emotions he feels and burdens he carries you figured something like this would allow him to let his guard down

He doesn’t even realize that’s what you were trying to do until way, way after the date had ended and you both were inside in his place cuddling on his bed or something

It was your way of spending quality time with him while ensuring that he could spend the whole day in a good mental state where all he could think about was the doggy and you and all the silly happy things that were happening right in front of him

He never said anything but the second he realized, his eyes started tearing up as he started to feel overwhelmed with emotion because of how much he loves you and how good you are to him

And like the good partner you were, you just held him tight and promised to keep providing him with all the good things he thought he never deserved (but you know he always did)

[bayothemayo]

May I request some headcanon drabbles of Makoto Yuki(p3 mc) with a physical affectionate s/o ?

Makoto Yuki with a Physically Affectionate S/O (Makoto Yuki x Reader)

Basically, every time you had a chance you cuddle him like there was no tomorrow.

You give him a lot of small kisses in public. It was only when you two where alone you give him much more kisses.

Hugs? Yep. Side hugs, full hugs, and tackle hugs.

You usually hold off on affection during battles, as it was crucial for you and him to focus. Only when you guys are in the lobby you give him a peck, the beginning for good luck and the end for good job.

When ever there is a status ailment that have to doing anything to do with emotions, some quick affection snaps him out of it.

It was just your love language.

His reactions are always great for you, since you always has that neutral look on his face. There would be some faint blushing, maybe some embarrassment. The special reaction is when he smiles, even if it is a small smile that could be easily miss you were overjoyed. You always give him some more compliments to saying that you want to see him smile more.

He always affectionate back, not as much as you do. But as long as he is comfortable, you are happy to be with him.

[sea-of-dust]

Phantom theif boys x GN! Reader

Dating headcannons!

N: Adding comfort headcannons to knock two asks in one stone, they got changed to just comforting headcannons mostly. Ur not escaping pastel*pallette with this.

He's ready to fully wake up as soon as he hears your voice downstairs or just your footsteps. Morgana is not a fan of suddenly feeling his leg pulled out of bed.

Super ready to tease you. The guys smiling hard before he responds with something stupid. "I dare you" trying to hold off his chucking, he places his hand ontop of yours and spins you, stopping when you face him. "Are you a cheeseburger?" "no"

Let's you brush his hair, in fact you should. Curls are hard, ya know. His wrist can use a break, plus you're the one brushing it he sees it as a win. Ignoring the times you decided to give him pigtails

He can be super romantic at times, especially the most random, "I'm sorry I took so long, your beauty distracted me" he smirked twiddling a bit of his hair, you sigh, after a pause beginning to chuckle "I don't like you" "you love me" kissing your cheek he goes behind the counter "anything you wanna eat?"

He's always gonna be there to comfort you. Holding you close as you cry into his chest over something that had been bothering you, hearing you out while he cooks or staying by your side while you rant. "And then she was like," Oh well you need to go to extra help TO HELL WITH THAT!" You rub your temple "sorry she's just been getting on my nerves" "have you tried dropping or switching classes?" "She would reject the request everytime" you'd wonder why she suddenly accepted the following day. Maybe she finally thought you were just bad at chemistry

Will tell you he's a phantom theif trying to rizz you up. "So like we use these things called personas to fight these shadows" "woah, that's cool, Ryuji." You didn't believe him, but you let him cook, he's trying his best

Embodiment of the YIPPE sound. He loves seeing you. Could be walking to class, and he'd stop midway. "Yo!" "Hey Ryuji" great now he's gonna repeat that 3 more times a day, won't even start a conversation, sometimes, just likes hearing you say hi to him

He's super cuddly when sleepy. "Where are you going" "I told you I'm going home" "nooo" he wraps his arms around your waist "you aren't allowed to leave" trying to slip out he tightens his grip. You had to call your parents to tell them you had no choice but to stay longer

He'd get so excited when anything sport related comes along. "I wanna watch the track team compete this weekend. You should come" "do you need me to bring snacks?" "You bring them every time, though! I'll bring them this time" He'd get super hyped up about someone from the school taking the lead he almost fell off the bleachers at times.

He would buy you snacks, and you two would talk about it on a bench. "He's so annoyingggg" "I know, right!" "Like he can't shut up everything's quiet and this mf 'I HAVE A BUISNESS' shut up" "like at the end of the day he's still an incel" "EXACTLY" you two would end up ranting with eatchother so much you end up calming eatchother down, this would also translate into you just being too sad to even make funny comments. "He's just so draining, kinda makes me wish someone just told him to be quiet" "for real I almost cried at his voice" "it's too squeaky right" "totally" laying your head on his lap you look up at him just thinking. "You're staring into my soul here." he strokes your hair with a nervous expression "good" In the end, he still comforts you the same way

"Oh, it's you" turned to "it's you.." REAL quick, as soon as you started dating, he got shy

He's gonna ask you to help him with art. "Y/n do you mind posing?" "With what?" "These live lobsters I found" ".... no thank you" "but!" "I'm gonna buy you those little wooden dolls just for that" "you're better than any piece of wood!" It turns more into a praise sesson he forgets about the lobsters he's basically keeping as pets at this point

You tried to teach him how to cook, or atlesst follow the recipe. "OK so we have the custard" you grab his hand, holding it up. "Don't use that we need it for later." "My Appologies" "it's alright it's your first time making this" He's fine the first time but gets way better with practice. He'd make you jealous with how nice he'd make his food look

Tried pick up lines they were good, but the execution could use work. "Y/n! Do you have a map? " "For what?" He pauses, looking down as if thinking for the next line "because i can't help but get lost in your eyes" you smirk, watching him get more bashful than you from his own line. "Are you a painting?" You cup his face making him look at you "because I can't take my eyes off you"

He isn't very good in this field...but he has spirit! You'd sigh while watching him paint after a few eye rolls, vacant stares,leaning on him. He's gonna sense it even if you don't do all that. "Is there something on your mind?" You look down to his paints before answering "a friend of mine moved away, and I found out recently she used to steal stuff from others" crossing your arms you continue "I kinda get why some of my stuff went missing now but just to think" "that does seem rather unfortunate" "she's lucky the stuff she took was all under 10 bucks or I would have asked the phantom theives to do something" he pauses his brush for a secound before continuing on "via the website?" "Yea! They'll probably handle her if it genuinely gets outta hand" he smiles as he puts down his paint and brush. "How about we go for a walk for you to let out some steam?" "sounds great"

"I'm alone. Would you like to join me?" "Do you realize how that sounds?" "Do you realize how dirty your mind is?"

He'll be resistant to cuddling at first but then slowly realize he likes it. Won't ask for it tho but he will be a little peeved when they aren't given. Subconsciously learn the way he stares at your arms, how he grips his own, and the way he tries to get a bit closer to you, you've learned the secrets to a touch starved akechi

Would be a bit annoyed when you bring up another dude. "And then Ryuji was shaking the vending machine and the guard thought we were trying to steal snacks" "I see" "I ended up getting em though" "mhm" "you're so aggressively disinterested" "yes I am" You pause before letting the smirk take over your face "so then akechi rubbed my face and asked for a kiss" "I should" he stops typing to press his lips softly on your cheek.

He'd take you everywhere with him. Not a choice, it's only when he's at his job that he's away from you, everywhere else? Same class right next to you. Eating lunch with you, would ask you to play darts with him after school. He'd wonder why you'd look so tired when you two finally got home after school, atleast he helps with homework.

"Akechi" you move hair from his face. "What is it?" You continue touching his face as he watches as your hands move around his face. "Is there something on your mind" "is it that obvious" you pull your hand away, but he takes his into yours. There's a short pause before you decide to speak again. "A person close to me stopped coming to school after an argument we had. I'm pretty worried" "you didn't try contacting them?" "I have, but I think they'll just get more annoyed" you sigh "I just don't know what to do" "let them have their momment they'll contact you when they feel like it, in the meantime" he covers you in the blanket he shared with you momments ago "you could stay here until it leaves your mind"

"So what is skibbity toilet?" "Zen no"

He'd always order for you at places, unless you changed your order he'd get you everytime. "You gotta stop doing that" "Why you jealous I know you better than you know yourself?" "Yes"

He tries to ask you for advice on Akane. "She got upset she couldn't play and eat" "did you try making it a tea party" he scoffs, giggling a bit at the suggestion. "I'm serious. Do you have any tiny tea cups?"

He's definitely touch starved when he gets home. Barely awake, he'd cling onto you, mumbling into your ear. He's fallen asleep for a few seconds on your shoulder. "Let's get you to bed, Zen." "it's comfortable here though." "it'll be more comfortable in bed." "ugghhhhh"

He's gentle when it comes to you, especially when you get home more upset than usual. "So how was work" in a slightly annoyed tone you respond "draining they tried to give me unpaid overtime again" you sigh "hmm" without much words he lays down with you hugging you "do you want anything?" "Sleep" he smiles fondly "this house will be so quiet it's like it was haunted" The next day, do expect most of your chores to be done already, as well as breakfast. It was made with love, not with skill

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

contributing to the curse (ask number) and your request for anything persona x reader (whims)

any game goes, but how about the characters with a reader that doesn't seem to mash with the rest of group too well? i'm talking someone who is quiet, the complete opposite of a team player, doesn't get the inside jokes, and doesn't hang out much with the others outside of persona ass-kicking pursuits...

this errs on the platonic side of things :3c just for fun

I had fun putting this together, though I feel it is a tad sloppy in the middle section but I am pretty sure that's just me.

Now! Your Wish Is My Command!

Ren drank his can of soda through a silly straw as he watched you, the hat he received from The Boss for his birthday which matched Sojiro’s own save for Ren’s being black with a red band as opposed to white with a black band sitting snugly upon his head.

Ren had to go through hell to get you out here, he was going to make sure you didn’t slip away when no one was looking.

The sound of billiards cracking against one another rang out.

“ARRRRGH!!! C’mon man!Cut me some slack here!” Ryuji cried as Akechi laughed.

“Hmph, and why should I do that? You’re the one who carries around a blunt instrument all the time, perhaps you should learn a bit of delicacy!” Akechi said as he moved to the sidelines and next to Yusuke who seemed to be pondering something.

“Crow, tell me, have you noticed?” Yusuke asked vaguely.

“I have, our dear Joker has been glaring at them for quite a while. Then again, it quite is rare for them to come out for a “Team Bonding” exercise.” Akechi stated as he briefly turned his gaze onto you from the corner of his eyes.

“I… was talking about the scene we are currently in being perfect to paint…” Yusuke meekly muttered, causing Akechi to sigh.

Was Joker the only one with a brain cell in this group?

He was promptly reminded that his favorite and most powerful Persona was a Jack Frost that can nuke anything and anyone. He chose Jack Frost purely because it was cute.

Joker most definitely did not own any brain cells.

“I am well and truly surrounded by idiots…” Akechi hissed to himself.

How could Joker believe such sacrilege?

Jack-O-Lantern was clearly the cutest.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Haru kept her eyes on you as the Mona-Mobile rattled down the halls of Mementos.

This was the first time she had ever been sent out with you on the same team.

It was proving to be… enlightening.

Especially with your Persona, Robin Goodfellow.

Trickery, illusions, and misdirection to position an enemy in the perfect spot to ensure defeat.

That is what your Persona specializes in.

And when Haru took your weapon into account… It made her think of the tricksters in the old stories she used to read as a child.

A wiley trickster causing mischief and chaos as they pleased to both friend and foe alike.

And to a certain point, that fit.

Except… you were always a bit off to the side.

Watching everything, working with the others for only as long as was needed.

The jokes the thieves made were lost on you and the moment they were done with Mementos or a Palace you were gone on the wind.

Now that she thought about it, that is probably why you were only able to do a Showtime with Joker who seemed to be the only one you listened to.

And it was certainly a mindblowing sight.

A “Midsummer Night's Dream” if she had ever seen one.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“It's Showtime!” Joker shouted with a grin as you walked forward, spear in hand.

“Do you Shadows dream?” you asked as you reached for the mask on your face.

Joker rushed past you, knife in hand and carved through the enemies before them.

You tore the mask from your face and your Persona appeared behind you with a manic laugh and an impish grin upon its face.

“I know that I do.” you declared evenly as you stabbed the tip of your weapon into the ground and the world changed.

A forest at night in the dead of summer with a hundred fireflies flying through the sky and a clearing filled with flowers stunning the thieves and the shadows.

“Unfortunately, dreams are but illusions without the will to make them real.” You stated as you appeared behind the shadows, speartip stained with their black Ichor.

Then, as quickly as it came the illusion shattered and an explosion rained down from above, courtesy of Joker.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Haru continued to be vexed by you.

She was not alone in that if the way the others talked about you was any indication.

“So then Joker, is ya pal gonna be joining us tonight?”

“I am desperate to paint their Persona, its whimsical beauty has truly enraptured me!”

“I got these sweets earlier today! I want to share them with everyone! Wait! They’re not here!? You better not eat their share, Ryuji!”

“C’mon! We can’t have a party discussion about what we’ll do in the next Dungeon if we’re missing our Illusion caster!”

“Joker, shouldn’t we try to get them to show up to at least a few of these to ensure everything runs smoothly?”

“If they bring me pancake mix again I am going to break their fingers.”

Haru was happy to see that everyone was treating you as part of the team despite how distant you were.

But… she just hoped you knew they had your back if they needed it.

They all knew what it felt like to be the odd one out as well as anyone could ever hope to know it.

They were outcasts, misfits, social pariahs, delinquents, and weirdos.

They were the Phantom Thieves Of Hearts, and you were one of them.

[asaarii]

To Love. ft: makoto yuki (persona 3) reader: gn wc: 1193

MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE END OF P3 BUT I HAD TO OKAY?? KNOW THAT U HAVE BEEN WARNED AND I WILL NOT BE HELD LIABLE FOR ANYTHING.

AND ANGST

I LOVE MAKOTO YUKI WITH ALL MY HEART SUE ME

Imagine… 

Being the one to hold Makoto Yuki in his final moments.

You know you should be in the auditorium with everyone else commemorating the graduation of your seniors, yet you can’t help but feel as though something is amiss, drawing you to the school’s roof. On the surface, everything seemed fine, perfect, even.

The cherry blossoms in the school entryway always bloomed beautifully this time of year, pink petals delicately swaying in the wind’s gentle caress before inevitably falling to the ground, lost among the sea of other petals who shared the same fate. 

“It’s not fair, they’re too pretty to fall that fast.” You recall complaining to your boyfriend during one of your many nights spent sneaking into his dorm. He looked at you for a moment with those seemingly all-knowing eyes of his, like, really looked at you. It felt as though he were picking you apart and carefully examining every inch of your mind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

He’d always had that effect to him, even on the first day when he stumbled into the dormitory during the midst of the Dark Hour.

“Everything has its time,” he’d responded evenly. There was an underlying sense of melancholy in his cerulean gaze, though, you suppose that’s always been there. 

(That sense of longing to belong somewhere, even for just a hair’s breadth of time. You’d never know, but he was so happy that it was with you.)

You didn’t get much time to ponder it much at the time, having been pulled to his chest not a second later, where his heartbeat remains its steady, calming rhythm.

(“Shh, you’ll wake the others.” He lets out a faux yawn, trapping you against him to silence any complaints he was sure you’d voice. It’s only when you finally huffed out your surrender did he relents his surprisingly strong grip. He meets your glare with a cheeky, lackadaisical smile that has you unsure of whether or not you want to kiss him or strangle him.

You go for the former.

Makoto chuckles against your lips, melding against you like a puzzle piece meant specifically for you. A moment goes by filled with the soft sounds of your kisses and the occasional ruffle of fabric, and in that moment, no one but you or Makoto exists in the world.

He’s the first to pull away, pressing one final kiss against your temple. “It’s really getting late, you should rest. Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’d beat your ass if you weren’t, Yuki.” You tucked yourself against his chest, almost instantly falling asleep to the beat of his heart.

You didn’t see the furrow of his brow or the slight downturn of his lips, but you did feel his arms wrap themselves around your form a little tighter, even in your sleep.

“I’ll hold you to it.)

Aigis stands beside you, looking towards the entrance of the school, just as you had. The two of you share a look, but you can’t exactly discern the emotion present in her eyes. You stare at her, trying to understand the message she’s so clearly conveying to you, and she remains unwavering beneath your stare.

The one-sided contest is only broken by a third person’s appearance. Both of you turn with varying degrees of surprise to find none other than Makoto Yuki stumbling through the door with an uncharacteristic amount of clumsiness. Aigis meets him halfway while you remain stunned at the guardrail, clenching the protective fence so tightly that you can feel the bruises bloom beneath the skin of your palm.

You aren’t sure when you started walking, but you soon find yourself in front of the duo, only managing to catch an ounce of what the android had mumbled in the SEES leader’s ear.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you like I promised…”

Though just barely a whisper, her words send a cold shock down your spine alongside a pain far worse than any injury you’ve suffered thus far.

What the hell was she talking about?

Makoto’s fine.

Right…?

Right?

I mean, he’s in front of you, physically at the very least. He’s breathing, and—oh gods, he’s looking at you. Aigis turns to you after following Makoto’s stare, and it’s then you realize that off-putting look in her eyes.

Sympathy.

Self-hatred.

Regret.

Emotions far too complex for a simple AI to comprehend, yet here she was, looking at you with those very same emotions thought not possible. But you still don’t understand why she’s looking at you like that, even if the answer is currently staring at you, fondness still present in his tired eyes as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this godforsaken world.

Aigis shifts his weight onto you, offering a curt bow with the promise of privacy for the two of you before making her way to the opposite end of the roof. 

At first, you can’t look at him, knowing that if you do, your worst nightmares will come to fruition, but his gentle hand guides your eyes to his, just as he had so many times before. And even if his visage begins to blur from your tears, his voice still rings, clear and steady, bringing the slightest hint of comfort to your despair.

“Hi.” He starts quietly, wiping away a tear that streaks your cheek, though many follow suit, despite his best efforts.

“Hey.”

“Missed you.”

“I’m right here, silly.” You take a moment to gather yourself, leaning into his hand as you furiously wipe your eyes. The tears don’t stop though, and you don’t think they will for a good while.

A silence falls between the two of you, neither comforting nor tense. The two of you look up as the wind picks up, carrying bounds of cherry blossom petals in its wake. You could hear the distant howl of a dog and the clamor of steps, but all you could focus on was him.

“I still think they’re too pretty to be gone so soon.” This time, however, you don’t only speak of the fall of the cherry blossoms.

“Me too.”

You clutch his blazer, awkwardly leaning down to press your lips to his in a farfetched hope of breathing back some life into him.

The kiss itself is a far cry from romantic with your tears and Makoto’s waning energy giving way to an awkward meld of lips and the occasional hiccup on your end.

It’s still full of love, nonetheless.

He’d become such an integral part of your life in such a small amount of time, all for it to be taken away from you just as quickly. You rest your forehead to his as you lay him on your lap, “I love you. I love you so much, Makoto… I-I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“I love you too…” His breath is starting to become shallow, and his eyes are starting to droop. “‘M tired…”

“Rest for now, Makoto. Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

©asarii 2024 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

[frickingnerd]

a moment just for us

pairing: ren amamiya / akira kurusu / joker x gn!reader

summary: ren and you share a quiet moment in an empty classroom, where he shows you his new tattoo

“you know… people could get the wrong idea about what we're doing here when they see us like this~”

ren and you were in an empty classroom, his shirt lifted, exposing his chest to you, as you gently traced your fingers over his skin. it was a very intimate scene, making it an odd sight from afar, but if people were to look closely, they'd see you simply inspecting ren's tattoo. however, you seemed to be blissfully unaware of how this situation might look to others.

“huh…?” you tilted your head softly. “what do you mean?”

ren couldn't help but chuckle quietly, before brushing it all off with a wave of his hand.

“oh, nothing… forget it~!”

[kangen-wanshi]

"Can you say it again?" ft Akira Kurusu, Yusuke Kitagawa, Goro Akechi

He said the words "I love you", and you're not sure whether you hear him right or not. So, he repeats it with his own way.

Tags: fluff, kisses in Yusuke's part, a bit of spoiler in Akechi's

Akira Kurusu, He repeats it with his words

If you ask, he will say it again,  and again, and again.

He loves you.

It makes you stop whatever you're doing, as you finally look up to his eyes.

Akira has always been blunt with his words. Though with his ability to change his persona, and his entire demeanor, sometimes it's difficult to see how much his words actually worth on first glance.

But with the amount of time he says it to you, with the repeated intensity, and with that glint of desperation and honesty in his gray orbs, you can't help but let yourself believe the three simple words that came out of his mouth.

If he manages to catch you off guard, he won't hesitate to proceed with his action. To prove it to you with more than just words past his lips.

He would approach you, intimately close. Lips barely ghosting your own, hands still tucked in his pockets, waiting for you to let him in.

If you reciprocate him with similar action, say, you close the gap between the two of you on your own accord, his hands would start wandering, and words just are not enough anymore to convey his feelings.

But if you stutter, lose your composure and express to him about how you need to proceed with his bluntness, he'll understand.

He is pretty bold. He knows he catches people off guard.

Still. While waiting, Akira will not hesitate to repeat those three words to you every now and then.

He would repeat it everyday if he could.

Don't keep him waiting though. There's nothing more that Akira wants but confirmation from you.

"I love you."

Yusuke Kitagawa, He repeats it with his kiss

Yusuke is a poet. He experiences life, and turns them into poetry. Whether it be through his words or his art.

But sometimes, he's willing to admit that no form of art but his own action can transpire the true desire in his heart.

And in this case, his affection for you.

Paintings, poetry, and many works of art have been a representation of his desire for your affection. A reflection of what he feels when he's by your side.

You're his muse. One that has your fingers wrapped tightly around his heart.

When he confessed, he's sure his feelings would transpire.

But you just stared at him, confused grin yet flustered face and furrowed brows, and dared to ask him to repeat himself.

Well if words are not enough for you he doesn't mind showing it with his action.

Yusuke is quick, and bold.

A hand behind your head, the other easily sneaked around your waist keeping you there close to him.

You're still given space to escape, of course. But when he senses not an inch of hesitation from you, he's gonna go all out.

"Do you hear the cries of love in which my heart longs for? It calls only for you, dear."

Goro Akechi, He repeats it with his eyes

Akechi, frankly, is good and bold with both his words and his actions.

He's loyal to you even after the reveal of his true self, he doesn't hesitate to lower his voice and make himself gentle around you just so you're not hurt by his thorns.

He's as protective as he is vocal about it.

Sometimes, he even confessed to you jokingly. Though with your flustered state that is real and honest, in comparison to his 'fake' persona, sometimes he's glad that you never see the true, deep longing he felt about you.

With how often he acts gentlemanly around you, and how often he treats you like a loyal person, it's difficult to find out whether the words "I love you" actually weigh something or not for someone like him.

That's why, when he whispered it to you quietly during a confession, you asked him to repeat himself with a grin on your face, hoping he would just brush his own words off like any other time.

But when you look at him, right in his eyes, you know that this one is different. 

The way he keeps holding your gaze. His hands slowly hold yours, tighter by the second.

Akechi can't be trusted with his words. Or his actions. So that's why he hoped, he begged, that you would see his genuine love through his eyes.

"Can you see.. The transparency, and the truth behind my words now?"

[cinnamonest]

Pulchritudinous

Tohru Adachi x Reader

Words: 9.5k

Finally the day has come. I can write a character as a misogynist incel and know it's genuinely 100% canon. What a blessing.

for this I did a teacher! reader, therefore reader is of unspecified age but older than the main cast.

//VERY DARK, female reader, major p4 spoilers, heavy misogyny because it's Adachi how could there not be, implied stalking, near-death experience, major noncon (”have sex with me or die” scenario), threats of death and bodily harm, references to homicide, hair-pulling, choking, firearms, abduction, TV set shenanigans, Tohru likes pointing guns at people

Also I was too uncreative to think of a different slip of tongue so darling makes basically the exact same mistake Adachi makes in December lmao

Synopsis: As the homeroom teacher of the late murder victim, you’re called into the Inaba police station to answer some questions.

“Okay. Just a few questions.”

You forced a polite smile.

“Sure, go ahead.”

In truth, you felt like you were wasting your time.

You already knew most of what was going on. You already knew things that the police didn't. Sitting here was pointless, answering these questions was pointless — you could give him the truth, sure, but that presented a world of problems. It pretty much went without question that that would be a poor idea — you'd be written off as crazy, especially if it somehow didn't work when they tried to replicate your story. You couldn't risk getting fired, or worse, involuntarily committed over psychiatric concerns or something along those lines.

“Konishi was in your homeroom, right?”

You nodded. “That's correct.”

“And you've been to the Junes she worked at, right?”

“Mhm. Once a week or so.”

“Was she ever working while you were there?”

“I recall seeing her there once or twice.”

Yes, it was such a waste of time it felt frustrating. There was nothing you could say — well, nothing you could reasonably say — that would actually be of any help, as much as you wish there was.

“You were one of the last people to see her alive, right? The school said she came into your classroom right before she left.”

You nodded again. “Yes, she forgot to turn something in earlier the same day, so she came back to give it to me. It was only for a few seconds.”

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

“Not that I recall. I just assumed she was headed home, or to work.”

“Did she seem to be behaving oddly?”

“Well, ah…” you thought back to the day, hit with a twinge of pain at the recollection. “She did seem like she was in a hurry. But not particularly.”

He wrote a few things down, pen scratching at the notepad.

You fidgeted in place, awkwardly clasping your hands together. “Sorry… I know those answers aren't very helpful.”

“No, no, it’s appreciated,” he assured you, albeit seemingly distracted by his task. You gave a weak smile in acknowledgement.

You hadn't intended to become involved in any of this. Hell, you just wanted a nice, quiet life as a teacher, away from the big cities, a small, quaint school. That was it, that was all you'd asked for — a place where you thought life would be slow and peaceful.

Serial murders were not the sort of thing that was supposed to happen in towns like these.

And even then, at this point you wished the murders themselves were the worst part of it all. You never wanted to be exposed to it all, wished you never slipped into that TV. You wanted a normal life, fully within the realm of reality. Not things that defied reality, things that made you pinch your flesh until the bruises were so numerous you knew you weren't dreaming.

Those kids had saved you then, sure, but now you bore the burden of knowing. Having to be aware of such a thing, the way it weighed on your mind, the endless confusion and disbelief as you still struggled to accept it, having to see those kids’ faces in class each day, having them awkwardly come up to you in town outside of school — a routine by now, wherein they assured you that they were working hard on “the case,” and of course, in awkward roundabout ways, always seeking assurance that you hadn't said a word to anyone else.

You took a deep breath, clearing your mind of such thoughts, turning your attention back to Adachi.

He was trying his best, you told yourself, even if you often felt like he was perhaps not particularly well-suited for police detective work. That dopey smile, that scatterbrained nature, it didn’t seem quite aligned to most people’s idea of a cop — someone who was supposed to be stern, observant, competent.

As for you, well, you'd felt pity for him, between seeing him barked at by Dojima day in and day out, and the general stress the man seemed to be under. You'd gone out of your way to try and be nice to him, even greeted him in public when you saw him — which, given the small world that was Inaba, was fairly often.

You'd been called in for questioning a total of three times, counting today. The first two had been at more convenient hours of the day, whereas today, the detective asked you rather last-minute if you could come in right then and there — inconvenient, sure, but when you considered that it was ultimately for the sake of the poor murdered girl, you couldn't bring yourself to reject coming. Besides, you were the one that found her, it was only natural that you'd be questioned extensively.

Still, there was an issue, one you had noticed as soon as he’d started questioning.

“I don't mean to be rude, but, uh…” You gave your best attempt to be polite, “didn't we… go over most of these questions before?”

He stopped writing. His eyes widened for a moment, but then, they closed as he gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head in a sheepish gesture.

“Well, ah, I may or may not have misplaced the notes from last time… I was hoping you wouldn't notice… haha.”

You did not like the knowledge that this man was responsible for public safety.

Still, out of awkward politeness, you waved your hand dismissively, maintaining the pleasant, not-too-exaggerated smile plastered to your face. “Oh, no worries.”

He looked down to the ground, turning his head a bit to the side wistfully.

“Well, now that you say that, more importantly…”

He trailed off. You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head in curiosity.

He turned his head back towards you, giving you another sheepish smile.

“…To tell you the truth… there's, ah, something else I wanted to ask you about.”

There was something off about the tone with which he spoke those words, an audible indicator that whatever the subject matter he referred to was, would be something uncomfortable, unpleasant, rather than an inquiry of a neutral nature.

You blinked a few times, taken aback by the unexpected shift in atmosphere.

“Oh, uh, okay. What is it?”

There was a moment of pause, as if hesitant. He leaned back against the seat cushions, holding his hand out in an explanatory gesture.

“Well, you know, I'm a pretty observant guy, and the higher-ups have me keeping tabs on various people involved… I tend to notice and remember details, take in everything around me, you know, stuff that goes right over most people's heads.” He paused and, catching the confusion on your face, added, “just to preface. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.”

Yes, something was off. There was a tension in the atmosphere, anticipation making you increasingly uneasy.

But still… polite. You had to be polite. He was a good guy at heart, even if awkward.

“Oh, I'm sure it's fine.” You closed your eyes for a moment as you waved your hand again. “Don't worry, I'm not sensitive or anything.”

He seemed to take that reassuringly, as his posture seemed to relax, but still hesitated a moment more before leaning forward, coming to slouch over with his elbows resting on his thighs, resting his head against one hand.

“…What's a teacher doing hanging out with a bunch of teenage boys so much?”

You hadn't been expecting any one question in particular, nor even had the slightest idea of what he could possibly want to know, but nonetheless, the question he asked was so out of bounds of normality and social appropriateness that it blindsided you completely, leaving you to sit there completely still, slack-jawed and blinking. Still, you forced a smile as you replied.

“…Ah, I… what?”

He smiled as well, seemingly oblivious to your awkward unease.

“Narukami and his friends, I mean.” He tilted his head, gazing off to the side, seemingly trying to present the matter in a nonchalant manner. "I, ah, couldn’t help but notice I saw them talking to you outside of school several times, in all sorts of places.”

“…Narukami?” You tilted your head. “A-ah, well, those kids all… go to Yasogami. So, they're all my students…”

Your thoughts shifted to the kids — your own students, the ones who saved you on that day not long ago at all. And with the thought of them, everything else, all the memories and disbelief and bewilderment, the things you'd tried to push out of your mind for the sake of your own sanity, came rushing back. Your body went stiff.

But of course, you could never even begin to tell Adachi the truth. As much as you wanted to help, you'd be written off as crazy within seconds — saying people could enter an alternate dimension by stepping inside the TV screen was not exactly within the bounds of sanity.

Besides, you still weren't even certain how all that stuff worked, having decided to rid your mind of it and not ask any questions. Even if he was willing to humor you enough to experiment with your claims, what if it didn't work for him? You could envision it now, putting his hand on the TV screen, only for nothing to happen, and the horrible embarrassment to follow.

Then again, the alternative could be even worse — if it did work, what kind of Pandora’s Box would you be opening? Would you be putting people at risk? He was, in the nicest way you could put it, a bit of a dimwit, and you wouldn’t want him doing something rash and getting himself hurt trying to go in.

No, it wasn't even worth entertaining the thought. You clasped your hands together, looking down at the ground, coming up with an explanation on the spot.

“And ever since Konishi was…” You shook your head, pausing for a moment before you continued. “…A lot of those kids have been talking to the faculty… they need someone for comfort… counseling. It's been hard on them. Hanamura and Narukami just happened to come to me.”

“Right, right.”

The phrasing itself was assurance, but somehow, his response didn’t sound entirely convincing, as if insincere, and pressed you to stammer out whatever further defense you could find.

“A-and, ah, Narukami himself is still getting adjusted to living out here and all. He's… from the city, you know.”

“Ah, aha, that makes sense.” He kept up the awkward smile. “I was worried for a minute there… that you were one of those kinds of teachers.”

You blinked, eyes going wide open as the response came out of your mouth on instinct, without any real thought, simply the obvious thing to say to such a statement. “No, no, nothing like that, I…”

You trailed off, not even sure how to continue. The sort-of-accusation hit you with total bewilderment, felt completely unexpected. In what world was that an appropriate thing to ever say to someone, especially with so little evidence? Why would his mind even go to such a trail of thought? It was only the sort of conclusion you could imagine some kind of perverse deviant drawing, and you couldn't imagine him as someone like that.

But you refrained from any strong negative reaction, outwardly at least.

You liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just one of those people that had difficulty understanding social conventions and standards of appropriateness — you'd had students like that in the past, and you liked to think you were a particularly empathetic and understanding person when it came to things of that nature.

“Ah, well, don’t worry, I get it now. Sorry about that… now I feel a little dumb for having asked, hah…”

"Oh, it's, ah, it's fine."

Your response was equally awkward. You knew your discomfort had to be palpable.

He flashed you an awkward smile, but it only lasted a mere second.

And then—

“Well, guess that's it for questioning.”

With those words, he reached over to the small table beside the couch, and turned the light off, leaving the room only dimly lit by lights in the outside hallway, coming in through the half-open door. He then stood up, the dated leather of the couch on his side of the table making a slight sound at the moment.

“A-ah, um, what are—”

Your jaw clamped shut as he quickly ventured around the table and sat down next to you — directly next to you, your thighs touching each other’s. You went rigid, hands clasped together on your lap tightening their grip on each other.

“Don’t worry, I had a feeling you weren’t that sort,” he said, a much lower, more hushed voice. “Still, you should really be more careful… it'd be easy for someone to get the wrong idea.”

Your mouth felt dry. You sensed that the pause was intentional, giving you room to say something in return, yet the utterly bizarre and off-putting shift of the conversation, combined with the sudden proximity and invasion of your personal space, left you silent, slack-jawed, and thus, he filled the silence when you didn’t respond.

“…Speaking of, you're getting kinda up there, age-wise, you know. Kinda surprising you're all by yourself.”

He leaned back against the couch. Alarm bells sounded in your head. You didn't want to be rude, you didn't want to risk overreacting — maybe you had the wrong idea, maybe you were misunderstanding, and then it would look really bad on your part if you acted on that misunderstanding, maybe he wasn't aware of how it was coming off, the possibilities of what was happening flew through your mind all at once. You sat still, but stiff.

He didn't seem to notice.

“You really should start thinking about your future.”

You felt every nerve ending in your body ignite with the discomfort and alarm of unfamiliarity as his arm wrapped around the back side of the couch, coming to touch the back of your neck, forearm resting on your shoulder. The casual hold around you grew tighter, his arm pushing you inward towards him.

“You know, ‘cause most women your age are getting into serious rela—”

You moved on pure reflex.

Your body sprang back in the opposite direction, feet scrambling against the tile. Your hands reflexively pushed outward, shoving against him, and you found yourself tumbling off the couch and falling flat onto the floor, grunting as your tailbone hit the harsh surface.

For a moment, the pain that it sent up your spine consumed your attention, distracting you for a few seconds as you winced, pulling yourself to sit upright.

And then, you processed what you'd done. Your head snapped back upwards to look at him. “A-ah, I…”

He looked caught off-guard, momentarily wide-eyed with the sudden startle, having been moved slightly to the side by the force of your push.

And then, his face fell.

His eyes went half-lidded, smile disappearing. A total shift in expression, to one you had never seen the young officer wear before — one you wouldn't have thought his face was capable of.

His voice dropped low, a flat and empty tone.

“…You too, huh.”

You blinked rapidly, heart only beating harder and faster at the feeling of dread and alarm that began to rise up in your stomach. You pushed yourself backwards, hands pushing at the ground to move your body away from him.

“What… what do you—”

“And here I thought you were such a sweet girl.” His voice interrupted yours as he took a step forward, a cold dramaticism to his tone. “So nice… you really seemed to get me.”

You blinked in bewilderment, cold dread beginning to bloom in your gut. You barely knew the man, having only spoken to him a handful of times, most of which were about the case, and a few passing words when you ran into each other in town.

He stopped once he reached you, his shadow looming over your sprawled form. His eyes narrowed.

“But no, you're just another snobby little bitch, aren't you.” His nose wrinkled with his expression of disgust. “Think you're too good for me, don't you?”

You scrambled up to your feet, stumbling on unsteady legs. You pulled your hands up to your chest, curling them into fists, a defensive reflex. Confusion and panic rapidly began to take over, you could feel your heart beginning to pound heavy and fast as the reality of the situation settled in.

“No, no I—” you swallowed, shaking your head in an instinctive reaction to the sudden hostility. “I didn’t mean to—I was just startled, don’t…”

You found yourself trailing off, unable to summon coherent words through your alarm.

He looked you up and down, expression of apathetic disdain unwavering.

“And to think I gave you a chance.” He sighed. “Thought you'd be different from those two.”

You blinked. Something about those words hit you like a punch to the stomach, but you couldn't tell why. Like a siren going off in your head, a chill that ran through your blood, your gut instincts unmistakably commanding you to get away — and you would, except for the fact that, as you realized with the sense of alarm in your chest growing exponentially, he stood between you and the only exit from the room.

“What… what do you mean those—”

Your words cut off.

Time itself came to a standstill. You stood, motionless as a corpse, as a chill pierced your chest. A deep, profound sensation of cold that spread out from your heart, into your blood. You were certain you could physically feel the ice spread out through your veins, to every cell in your being, an all-consuming cold.

You realized that, as he said those words, his gaze shifted over to the side. Your eyes followed his line of sight.

He was looking at the TV, tucked away on a stand in the corner of the room.

Why was he looking at the TV?

You could feel your pulse in your chest. You could feel your pulse in your neck. You could feel it in your head, your fingertips, the way the blood began to rush through your body, the way your heart began to pound, an electrifying sensation setting every nerve in your body alight.

The direction of his gaze, his words, the sudden shift in demeanor so drastic it felt as if he’d swapped places with a different person entirely— it made the hairs on your body stand on end, goosebumps spreading across your skin, and a deep, unnerving sense of nauseous dread as your frantic thoughts began to align. Your muscles went tense, shoulders bunching up.

Words came out between your lips, words you heard more than you spoke, as if your mouth moved on its own. A low murmur, just barely above a whisper.

“…Did…”

You took a step backwards. Your body twitched, shivered.

“…Did you…?”

Silence hung in the air.

You would expect someone in his position to look shocked, panicked, regardless of the truth of the matter. To rush to their own defense, to immediate respond.

But he did not.

There was a few seconds of pause. For just a moment, his eyebrows raised, but his expression was otherwise neutral.

And then, the officer's eyes fell half-lidded, and ever so slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled upward.

Something inhuman stared down at you, a malicious, sinister grin spread across his face, stretched just far enough to look inhuman, uncanny.

Your heart began to speed up. Your voice grew louder, but it audibly wavered with panic.

“You… you put them in there?”

That time, it was his turn for his eyes to go wide, an eerie smile slowly spreading across his face. He tilted his head, the motion seeming almost mechanical.

“Oh…?”

A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you caught your mistake. Your hands instinctively darted to cover your mouth, but it was too late. He took ominously slow steps towards you, each one making a harsh clack as his soles made contact with the tile.

“’Put them in there…?’ What an odd choice of words…” His voice grew lower, deeper, eyes still plastered wide open. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you know some things you have no business knowing.”

You took a step back.

He took a step forward.

“How might that be…? Those kids, maybe?” He cast his gaze over to the TV once more. “I had a feeling something like that might be going on, with you talking to them so much.”

Then, his eyes slowly turned back towards you.

He kept smiling. The same expression, yet so far removed from the cheerful, dopey one you were so used to, the face almost didn't register with your recognition, as if you were looking at a different person.

And then, it grew so much it made his eyes narrow, from mere malicious amusement, to sadistic glee.

“…Intentionally withholding information from the police is a pretty serious offense, you know. ‘Obstruction of justice.’ It’s a felony.”

Your stomach churned, you felt nauseous, muscles tense with the urge to move, but forced still by lack of option. You could only move back further, further away from both him and your only way away from him.

“What… what about the other people that went in? Was that you, too?”

His face fell, almost comically, shifting from eerie to unamused, as if your question was so exasperating it made him drop the intimidating act.

“…God, you are really, really stupid, you know that?” He sighed, shoulders falling. “You just realized that saying too much is a bad idea, and then you immediately do it again?” He shook his head, letting it fall downward with mock exasperation. “Geez, lady.”

But then, you saw his expression perk up with amusement once more.

“But, guess that means I was right… you are collaborating with those brats. I had a feeling.”

Your heart pounded harder still. You kept stumbling back as he crept ever closer, torturously slowly. You held your hands up to your chest in a natural, reflexive instinct of defense, shrinking back.

“…You’re not… saying you didn’t… do it…?”

He shrugged.

“Don't see much of a point in that now.”

He wasn't denying it.

But the simple fact itself was not what made every hair on your body stand up. It was a slow buildup of dread, blooming in your chest, and as the thoughts processed, it was those words, more than any others thus far, that made your blood run cold.

He didn't care if you knew.

He didn't see you being a threat. He wasn't worried about you telling anyone.

Then—

You felt cold. Time seemed to slow down. You were hyper-aware of every muscle, every nerve, you could feel the blood rushing through your body.

“Guess we were both hiding something,” he said in a low tone, taking another step, forcing you further back.

And then, the inevitable happened, causing your blood to run colder still, the fear in your system amplified tenfold in a single second.

Your back hit the corner.

You pressed into it as hard as you could out of instinct to get away, as if it would give way if you did.

But it did not. You were trapped, a little animal cornered by its hunter.

“Ah… ah…” Your breathing grew ragged. Your body trembled, your eyes began to water. “I… Adachi-san…”

The only light was that which came in through the hall, hitting his back, casting a shadow over his face, only the whites of his eyes and grinning teeth standing out — nightmarish, something that could only be recognized as sadistic ecstasy. Pure, unadulterated malice.

He was going to throw you in. He was going to throw you in there and you’d die. The image ran through your mind, so quickly retrieved now that it was irreparably burned into your brain, the shape caught up in the wires, a black outline in the early morning light, how you’d told yourself you were just seeing things, that your brain was spooked from the news of the prior murder, before the rising sun made the image undeniable.

The way you’d squinted and facial recognition hit your body like a punch to the stomach, taking the breath out of your lungs, how you felt the horror slowly rise up into your chest like ice cold water filling your body, how you’d dropped your phone and struggled to dial the police from how hard your hands trembled.

It would be you. You’d be strung up on the wires, dangling by your limbs in a manner almost graceful if not for the entrenchment in death.

You could tell that he could see it all playing out on your face, the thoughts and realizations and terror, by the way his smile split at the line, whites of his teeth standing out in the darkness.

“Well then.”

You didn't have time to move. Before you could even react, he had the collar of your shirt in his hand, twisting the fabric, pulling you upward.

You stumbled around, only the balls of your feet able to even touch the ground. “Wait, wait, stop— I’m sorry—”

“What was that?” He said, voice mocking, cynical. “You said you were sorry?”

You nodded profusely. You weren't thinking too much about it — your only instinct was that trying to appease him might save you.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— I was just startled, I wasn't trying to push you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

You spoke so fast your words slurred together, your voice was shrill and cracking. Tears began to pour down your cheeks. Your body shivered beyond your control, a fear unlike anything you'd known in your life.

There was no movement, no harsh dragging and jerking and inevitable pushing you might have expected.

“…Hm.”

You could only make out the shape and colors of his face, unable to see his exact expression through the blur of your tears. But his voice was hesitant, pensive, as if the blood-pumping rush of the moment were brought to a sudden stop.

Your heels connected to the ground as he lowered you, but he didn't let go of the fistful of your shirt. His other hand reached up, and although you winced in anticipation, all he did was wipe at your eyes with his sleeve. Trembling, teeth chattering, you slowly turned your head up to look at him, his face now so much closer than it had ever been.

The smile was smaller, fainter, but still present nonetheless.

“…You know what? I like you, Little Miss Teacher.”

He reached up to grab your jaw, a harsh and painful grip.

“Look at you, apologizing like that… so meek.” He leaned his face closer to yours, lowering his voice to a husky murmur. “You seem like you know your place, recognize your mistakes…” His voice lowered to bitter mutter as he finished, “instead of doubling down on being a bitch.”

He pulled your head to tilt further upward, forcing a degree of eye contact no matter which way you looked. He spoke lower, quieter.

“Self-awareness is a good trait to have.”

You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Your throat was strained, your mind ran blank. You could only stare with wide eyes, fighting every instinct to claw at his hands, what little rationality you had left telling you it would only worsen your situation.

“But I still think you're a little full of yourself.” His fingernails pushed into the flesh of your face. “You could use some humility.”

You whimpered, a pitiful little sound. You could see his smile grow as it met his ears.

He let go.

You crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the surface painfully, hands pressing to the floor to keep you from toppling over entirely.

He took a few slow, nonchalant steps back towards the center of the room, pausing as he reached a small table close to the door, turning back towards you and leaning against it.

“Hey, how ‘bout I give you a chance to redeem yourself?” He titled his head. “If you can prove you're sorry, I think I can let this slide.”

He reached one hand over to the opposite hip. Before you could even make out in the dark what he pulled out from underneath the veil of his suit jacket, the recognition hit as he extended his arm back out to point the object at you, and a heart-stopping, unmistakable click.

“Go on. I'm waiting.”

You trembled, reaching one hand to clutch to your chest again. “What… what do you want me to do…?”

His face turned unamused once more, voice equally so as he gave a blunt, low-voiced reply.

“You’re not that stupid.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your throat. You swallowed, looking down.

For a moment, you hesitated. Your mind scrambled for reasons why he couldn’t kill you. He couldn't — right? Your blood would get on the floor, he wouldn't have the ability to clean it out well enough, right?

But no one else knew you were here. No one would know to look here. If he cleaned it up and threw your body in, that would be the end of it.

There was no other option.

Your trembling hands reached down to your outfit — a cardigan, a button-up and a pencil skirt, the general standard for your profession — and slipped the outermost layer off. After a moment of uncertain hesitation, you resolved to simply throw it into the floor. Then, you began unfastening the first button at the top of your shirt, struggling with how hard you shivered.

“You wear that to school?” His words broke the momentary silence. “In front of a bunch of teenagers?”

You clenched your jaw. You didn't think it was in any way inappropriate. “I… it’s not bad…”

“Wonder how that's even allowed,” he continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “You get off to high school boys staring at you, is that it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, shaking your head. “N-no, I've never—”

“God, you are that kind of teacher after all. Haha!” He laughed aloud, reaching his other palm upon to his face. “I knew you were. I could tell just by watching you walking out the school gates every day… always talking to that brat.” He shook his head, then sighed. “No wonder girls these days are such whores, with role models like that.”

You stopped mid-motion, hands clenching at your shirt as the meaning of his words registered. Images flashed through your mind, all the unique and loveable young girls in your class, and of her. Even in your dread, you found spiteful anger bubbling up in your chest, voice coming out weak and wavering, but defiant nonetheless.

“Don't… don't say things like that, you—”

“Did I tell you to stop?” His head snapped back in your direction, nose wrinkling with an expression of disgust.

You winced, mouth snapping shut. With tears prickling at your eyes, you continued.

Your jaw was clenched, face growing warm as you undid the last button, hesitating for a moment before you let it fall off your shoulders, weakly tossing it to the floor as well before going for the zipper on the side of the skirt, shaky fingers pulling it downward.

“So mechanical about it…” He sighed, disappointed. “If you're not gonna even try and make this part entertaining, the least you can do is hurry it up.” He gave the pistol a light shake to emphasize. “C'mon.”

You bit your lip, forcing your pace faster. The skirt hit the ground, and you pulled your tights off your legs so quickly that one side split open as you did. Your feet pulled out of your shoes, tile cold against your bare soles.

Then, you hesitated. Embarrassment washed over you as you looked down at all that was left.

Your eyes darted up to the man pointing the gun at you once more. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with that cocky smirk on his face, nudging the pistol in the direction of the pile of clothing now by your side.

You closed your eyes and reached your hands behind your back, elastic material snapping as you undid the clasp. You pulled the waistband around your hips downward, and tossed both to the side.

The air was cold against your skin. Goosebumps covered your body, far more for from fear than the chill.

You reached a hand up over your chest, pressing your legs together, trying to find some semblance of dignity.

“Aw, shy? That's adorable.” He chuckled. Snide grin unfaltering, he reached his other hand up, gesturing with a finger for you to come forward. The other arm didn't move, deadly weapon still pointed directly at you.

You tried, but your body wouldn't move. The instinct to stay away was too strong, an inherent gut reaction bred into your brain by who knew how many millions of years of survival of your species.

Prey animals didn't run right into the gaping maw of their predators.

But you had to. You had to.

You took a deep breath, and forced one of your legs to move forward. Then another, forming a forward momentum that you just had to keep going, more a matter of letting your weight glide forward and catching it again and again, rather than forcing each step individually. You kept your gaze at the ground. If you looked up, you knew you'd freeze again, and you didn't know if you had the willpower to force movement from stillness again.

You stopped when his legs were visibly right before you. Your heart was pounding, beating so fiercely you could physically see the pulsating of your wrist moving with the flow of blood.

“There, see?” He reached forward, placing his hand atop your head. “You know your place after all.”

Even through the overwhelming sensation of heavy dread, the burn of humiliated fury made its way through. You clamped your jaw harshly, teeth grinding, but not letting that anger lead you to any foolish action.

You inhaled sharply, closing your eyes as his hands then brushed against your shoulder. The touch was cold, leaving a trail of sensation as his hand trailed down your arm, the electrifying feeling lasting on each spot even after it was touched. You winced at the gentle clack sound as the gun was set down on the table’s surface.

And then, you went tense, inhaling a sharp breath as his hands harshly grabbed at your arm and your neck, roughly turning you around and pushing your upper body downward. Your feet stumbled to steady your stance, and your hands reached out to the nearby wall. The panic in your chest felt as if some accumulating bubble of emotion had burst, the intense chill of suddenly rushing through your body, leaving you unable to do anything but stand there — a bitter helplessness, a burning fury at your own pathetic weakness beneath the terror.

“Oh, and hey,” his fingers dug painfully into your arm, “feel free to scream or whatever. I made sure to pick a night no one else would be here.”

You stiffened. Even in your fear and panic and confusion, you managed to make the words out well enough to infer the implication. You turned your head over your shoulder to the best of your ability.

“You—you… planned…?”

“Mm?” He raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. I needed the station to be empty in case you made me kill you, y’know?” He said it nonchalantly, as if it were a trivial matter. “But hey, it was only insurance, just in case… I knew I probably wouldn’t need it. You seemed like you’d be good for me.”

He pulled harshly at the fistful of your hair.

“And whaddya know, I was right. Third time's the charm… or whatever that saying is.”

Bitterness welled in your chest. Your head hung heavily against his hold, pulling at your scalp.

“Now…”

You winced and yelped as he turned you around and your face hit the table, pain radiating from the spot of impact. Your immediate reflex was to put your hands on the table and push upward, but his hand in your hair kept you shoved downward, with an added hand pressing your back into an arch.

You didn't get any moments of mental preparation, much less physical. No sooner had you grunted in pain from the impact than you felt the sudden harsh burning sear of friction to the most sensitive flesh, your body being forced apart by sudden intrusion. You inhaled a sharp, gasping breath, instinctively trying to lurch forward away from the sting, but his hands easily pulled you back, pushing further inside of you until you felt the fabric at the front of his thighs meet the back of yours, hips pressed up against your ass.

“God, fuck.” You heard his voice from behind you, spoken more like a harsh whisper of breath. “…’s warm…”

He pulled back. You gasped and whimpered at the sensation of flesh dragging against your insides, onto to squeal, body jolting as he slammed back inside in one swift motion. Twice, a third time, each making you go tense, shivering, walls spasming.

“M-Maybe you're not such a slut after all…” he murmured. “You feel good.”

You said nothing, unable to summon any words, merely letting out a miserable little sound as the rough motions continued, pressing your forehead to the flat surface below as tears fell down your face and a soft string of under-the-breath curses made their way to your ears.

And then, the motion came to a halt.

“But you're so noisy… listening to you squealing like that is giving me a headache.”

A moment of pause, heavy tension, deliberately drawn out. You felt the faintest shift of muscle against your backside as he turned his upper body over in the direction of the television.

You grunted as he pulled out, leaving your hole twitching. His arms wrapped around you waist, lifting you just enough that your feet left the ground, somewhat awkwardly making a few steps over to where the screen sat in its place on the stand. Your heart felt as if it were going to burst out of your chest, a cold rush ran through your body.

His hand reached up, taking a fistful of your hair once more.

“And you know what else…”

He came to a halt, sheathing himself back inside of you with a harshness that made your jaw clench in pain, taking a few heaving breaths before practically growling into your ear.

“You're not afraid enough.”

Your own breath was ragged, more panic than you'd ever felt in your life causing your heart to pound like it never had before. “No, no please don't—don’t—”

And then, taking a fistful of your hair in his hand once more, he shoved your upper half through the screen.

Out of pure logical instinct, you tensed and squeezed your eyes shut as to brace yourself for brute impact, for shattering glass that would cut your scalp and scrape your arms.

But instead, there was a sudden void. All the noises of your scuffling movements and the low hum of the air ventilation system in the station was suddenly gone, replaced by only hollow quiet, only broken by the low, eerie groan of the atmosphere itself.

Your arms reached out, desperately seeking something to grab, to hold, to push back on, but you felt nothing, limbs merely frantically flailing into the yellow void.

You squealed, but that time, it echoed around you, surrounded by a thick, heavy fog. You could make out the deep yellow atmosphere around you, but you were being jerked back and forth so harshly, and the tears in your eyes and the fog itself so deeply blurring your vision, to the point it was impossible to make out anything.

You couldn't hear him anymore — but even so, you could still feel him pounding into your body.

He tilted you forward. You felt his arm, having pushed through the screen, latch onto the back of your shirt to keep you from falling. Your feet left the ground, your weight shifting from being mostly on the other side, to most of it falling forward on the side of your upper half. You were entirely suspended by his strength.

If he were to let go, you'd fall in completely.

You shrieked. A high-pitched wail that echoed all around you, a sound of pure terror. Your hands reached out in an attempt to push yourself back, but found nothing, merely flailing in the air.

And then, you were jerked backwards.

Your squealing continued until he slapped his hand over your mouth.

You could hear it again, the slapping of skin on skin. Your body was fully back in the real world. Your back hit his chest.

“Was that the sound you were making the whole time your head was in there?” There was mirth in his voice, laughing out the words themselves. “You wanna go back in? Kinda nice in there, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” You shook your head rapidly. “D-don’t, please, I don't want—”

“You could go all the way in, you know.” He pulled on your hair harshly as he jerked his hips forward and came to a halt, holding you still, pain shooting through your scalp. “It would be so easy,” he hissed into your ear. “All it would take is one little push.”

You gasped for breath, unable to respond beyond shaking your head further.

“You haven't been on the Midnight Channel, either,” he added. “Those little brats wouldn't know to come looking for you ‘till it was too late.”

He chuckled, a deranged, low sort — and then went quiet. His torso leaned further forward, face brushing against the side of your neck in a gesture that, in any other context, could have been affectionate. Still sheathed inside your body, he slowly rolled his hips again, a long-drawn out movement, savoring the feeling. Your face scrunched up with uninhibited despair as he spoke again, through labored breaths, as he began to speed up the pace again.

“…But you know what? I don't need the TV to kill you.”

Then, his voice lowered. The playful mockery vanished, something far darker that had been bubbling beneath the surface finally broke through — a low growling voice, a deep, furious malice.

“Stupid fucking woman. I could snap your neck. I could put my hands—”

His hand reached up—

“—On your throat and just—”

It squeezed hard. You jolted and gagged as your airway was cut off.

“I could kill you with my bare hands, right here. Is that what you want?”

You didn't give a verbal response, merely shaking your head rapidly, animal-like whines of fear coming out of your throat.

But that wasn't enough. You heard a low, growl-like sound in your ear, and his voice came out equally so, almost inhuman.

“I said, is that what you fucking want?!”

“No! No, please, Adachi-san, please don't—”

Tears, snot and saliva coated your face. You shook your head, whimpers fragmented by each harsh, rapid thrust that shoved your body forward, each jerk of his arms that pulled you back, and muffled by your asphyxiation.

You could feel his breath on your ear as he continued.

“Then you want me to keep fucking you, don't you?”

It was obvious, of course, that that was what he meant — the only alternative to death. You nodded, choking out your words.

“Yes, please…”

He didn’t respond immediately, moving fast enough that he had to take a few heavy, ragged breaths before hissing the words into your ear through clenched teeth.

“Then beg for it.” His fingers curled further, nails digging into your flesh — yet lightening the pressure on your throat, allowing you to breathe, even if only with heaving effort. “I wanna hear how good you can beg for me.”

You whimpered, mouth hanging open as you tried and failed to summon any words, emotion and stimulus so overwhelming it hindered your ability to even think. His cock stretched you apart, the circumstantial fear causing you to clamp down so hard that he was practically constantly pushing inward with force, rather than your body pulling him in as it might have done with someone you were willingly allowing to do these things to you. Each movement drug against your insides with coarse, burning friction.

He huffed in impatience.

“C’mon. Do it—”

He snapped his hips forward especially harsh, ramming your whole body forward with the force.

“—Like your life depends on it.”

The jerking motion snapped you out of the momentary stupor. Your voice trembled.

“Ah, ah, Adachi-s-san, please, I—”

“Oh, come on. Is that how you call your lover?”

Your brain scrambled to rectify the matter, but he was such a near-stranger to you, you couldn't remember. Maybe he'd said it once, but even as you desperately tried to recall, you couldn't.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I don't… I don't know your…”

There was a pause. You heard the soft, disdainful tch from his mouth.

“Tohru.”

You swallowed.

“T-Tohru…” You squeezed your eyes shut, words coming out uneasy, blatantly forced and foreign. “Please, Tohru, don’t… d-don’t stop, don’t…”

It must have been good enough, as you felt his fingers dig into your hips harder, felt his body shudder against yours.

“Heh… haha…” The amusement in his voice made a bitter burning swell in your chest. “You get off to this, don't you?”

Your mouth opened to protest, to say no.

But you stopped short, a throaty whine coming out of your mouth. Your priority was survival.

You nodded your head.

“’Course you do,” he mumbled, voice growing increasingly husky and laden with labored breaths. He jerked your hair again, pulling you even further towards him, ensuring his chest was firmly pressed to your back. “Little whore… it's always the girls that look so wholesome that are into the freakiest shit, huh."

You could hear the strain in his voice as it began to waver. He leaned in closer, breath hot on your ear.

"This was probably what you wanted, wasn't it? The whole hard-to-get shtick is fun for you, isn't it?"

Once more, you ignored any emotions or knee-jerk reaction of such an accusation, repressed the bitter fury, merely nodded your head. "Mhm, mm..." Your lip trembled, tears leaking out and trailing down your cheeks.

His hips moved faster and faster still, the movement growing frenzied and erratic.

“Of course you’d turn— turn out to be such, such a slut… I knew you’d want it, I knew you—shit—”

He came to a sudden halt, one final jerking pull of your hips to meet his, sheathed fully inside. You felt his cock twitch inside your body.

And then, everything was still.

With the sudden end of the slapping of skin on skin that had reverberated around the room, there was a sudden void of quiet, near silence, barring ragged breathing. You kept perfectly still, the shock and emotion that still coursed through your body so intense, you didn’t even shiver.

Your mind felt as if in a fog, a heavy daze that left you feeling cold and numb, everything felt far away, not real, distant. You kept still, staring forward.

It wasn’t until you felt him slide out of your body, releasing his hold, that you snapped out of the daze, stumbling forward, falling to your knees, legs far too weakened and stiff to support you.

For a moment, you kept your gaze at the ground. You tried to let your mind slip back into the stupor, desperate for some sense of escape, to savor the few precious seconds you could let yourself be anywhere but here, that you could shut him and the reality before you out, that you could delay facing having to look at him again.

But it was only the briefest of seconds before the light from down the hall was cut off again by the shadow looming over you. You began to shiver, chest heaving with breaths that burned your lungs.

Slowly, with eyes and expression blank with the remnant shock and daze, pathetically curled up on the floor, you turned your head upward.

“…Congratulations, Miss Teacher.” You could see the smile once more, the whites of his teeth practically glowing against the shadow, the cruel mockery in his voice crawling under your skin. “You’re way too meek. I've decided killing you would be no fun. Aren't you happy?”

Each gasp for breath burned in your throat, your chest. The words didn’t register immediately — several quiet seconds passed as you slumped over, staring up at him in a dazed stupor, body shivering with aftershock and weariness.

“Th-then… I…” you swallowed, body trembling beyond your control. “I can… go…?”

His eyebrows raised, a momentary look of surprise.

“Huh? Oh, no, no, you—” he cut off with a small bout of laughs, holding his palm to his face and tilting his head upward as if you'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. “Ahaha, don't tell me you actually thought I was just going to let you leave? That's—” He cut off with another laugh.

Your heart felt as if it sank. You felt cold.

And then, he went quiet. He slowly turned his gaze back to you, voice growing lower, quieter, a dramatic ominousness exuding from his body with his words.

“What kind of protector of the public would I be if I just let such a suspicious person walk right out of here?” Hands on his hips and eyes closed, he tilted his head downward and sighed, slowly shaking it back and forth in a mock gesture of exasperation. “You withheld information from the police, regarding a murder at that, and you seem to have knowledge of the killer’s M.O…. that’s what we call a ‘person of interest’ in cases like this, you know.”

And then, despite his momentary attempt at mock seriousness, his restraint seemed to crumble away as the corners of his mouth turned upward, malicious glee breaking through the act. His eyes opened just enough to look at you, narrowed by the grin spreading across his face once more.

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to remain in police custody for the foreseeable future.”

You curled in further on yourself, shoulders hunching up, hands curling into fists before you brought them up to your chest in a meek, defensive instinct. Your throat felt dry. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

The way the smile on his face curled further made it clear the despair showed on your face. He chuckled.

“Well, c’mon. Put some clothes on.” He tilted his head in the direction of where they sat on the floor. “You can't walk out there naked.”

Your eyes widened. The words gave you a sinking feeling in your stomach. “…Out… there…?”

He sighed.

“God, you really are dense. Did you not get that? I’m taking you home.”

You didn’t really know what you expected, as the conclusion from his earlier words was obvious, yet hearing him say it so directly made another surge of panic course through your body. Instinctively, and perhaps against better judgement, you shook your head.

“But, but I can’t— I don’t want—”

“…Oh?” His eyes narrowed, unamused and dark expression on his face. “Well, if you don't wanna come with me, then…”

His eyes trailed back over to the television.

Even as exhaustion wore over your body, fear still gripped at your chest, and your answer came on instinct.

“N-no, I'll go with you, I'll…” You swallowed, squeezing your teary eyes shut for a moment before looking back up at him. Your body was shivering. Your next words came out in a hushed, high-pitched whimper, audibly verging on tears. “…I'll go…”

The smile returned to his face.

“Good girl.”

The words made you shudder, revulsion and disgust a twisting feeling in your gut.

After a brief pause, he gestured to your clothes again.

You looked over, but the fear kept you frozen. After a few still seconds, realizing you weren’t moving, he sighed, walking over himself, grabbing the bundle in a few swift motions before throwing the loose pile over to you. You swallowed, hands shaking and dropping the pieces more than once as you forced yourself to put them on, little by little, albeit now dusty, wrinkled and disheveled. You kept your gaze to the floor as you did, but you felt his piercing gaze on you all the same.

And the moment you fastened the last button, with no hesitation, you felt his hand latch onto the back of the collar of your shirt, harshly pulling you upright.

“Come on. Don’t try that stalling shit.” His voice was now impatient, irritated.

You stumbled on shaky legs, forced to grasp onto him to steady yourself. “I, I’m not—” you swallowed. “…Sorry…”

He didn’t respond for a moment, merely wrapping his hand around your upper arm in a tight, bruising grip, jerking you forward harshly. You stumbled as you were rapidly dragged forward, quickly exiting the room, out into the hall.

“And don’t worry,” he spoke again, “I’ve got a nice little closet to keep you in ‘til I can work something better out. Won’t that be nice?”

You didn’t respond, until you felt a sudden harsh squeeze in the grip on your arm. You closed your eyes and nodded. “I, yes…”

He seemed satisfied with the answer, continuing on, “Besides, being a cop has it's advantages. I can get more handcuffs, monitoring devices… it'll work out just fine. And hey, if you're really good, maybe I’ll hurt you a little less, yeah?”

You bit your lip.

It was all happening too fast to sink in, your mind struggled to process. You were leaving, he was taking you, you had to get away, but you had no way to get away, it wasn’t real it wasn’t happening it wasn’t right—

He halted as you reached the front of the police station. The sudden stop made you stumble forward in your momentum, clinging to him to steady yourself once again. You looked up at him in fearful confusion, and he cast another heinous grin down at you.

“Now, I’m not gonna cuff you just yet, ‘case we run into someone, that would give people the wrong idea and all… but don't think about trying to run or scream or some other stupid shit, either. I dunno if you’re dumb enough to think you could outrun me, but…”

He reached his hand over so that the edge of his jacket was brushed back, unveiling the same gun from before that had since been holstered back to his belt.

“Personally, I'm pretty content with the holes you already have… but I'd still be happy to blow a few more into your legs, if need be.” He tilted his head. “And that river down at the edge of town’s real nice and deep, if you decide to go screaming and drag some poor bastard into this. Got that?”

You lip trembled. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded.

“Good, good. Now…”

He pulled you forward again, the stride bringing you close enough to the front that the automatic doors slid apart. The cool, humid air hit your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh, right. One more thing.” He cleared his throat, turned to you with that godawful grin of cruel amusement, and in a mocking, dramatized voice, said, “you have the right to remain silent, miss.”

Your chest burned with fury. Tears welled in your eyes, your face pitifully contorting with bitter anger.

It was the reaction he wanted. He laughed once more, holding the hand that wasn’t gripping your arm up to his face.

“Ah, that’s adorable. You’re fun to mess with, you know… that’s good.”

With that, he drug you forward again, out through the door.

Your shoulders jerked with a silent sob. Your fingers curled into a fist, and your lip quivered as you spoke in a hushed, but hissing tone, filled with fear and hatred.

“You're a murderer.”

You got only a sigh in response.

“Yeah yeah, sure, whatever.”

With an iron grip on your arm, the police detective led you out into the rural streets, the night air freezing against your bare skin. You followed with stumbling footsteps, legs trembling in trepidation. Unable to do anything but follow.

You realized, as the last strands of hope in your chest faded away, that even if there was someone out there, they might not even see you, with the visibility so low.

Likewise, you turned your head back towards the station, but within just a short distance, it was already completely obscured by the fog.

[writers-reach]

I have a request for joker (could you use akira for the name please).

Something like his s/o is also in the phantom thieves and when they are in safe rooms she likes to do small braids in his hair, also while chilling out at leblanc maybe :3

Might be a silly request but I thought it was cute, have a great day!

persona 5: playing with his hair (akira kurusu/ren amamiya)

notes: akira kurusu for protag, fluff, fem!reader, reader is a phantom thief, this might be sliiightly inaccurate since i haven't touched p5 in a while and idc to check myself

you were grinding through mementos one day with the rest of the phantom thieves, and things were going pretty well! shadows were being slain, treasure was being looted, and you were overall having a fun time riding around in morgana's van form.

you were grateful, though, for makoto's recent membership of the team. she was better at driving the van than akira was (bless his heart), which meant she took the wheel while akira sat in the passenger's seat, telling her where to go.

you sat behind him in the second row of seats, often leaning your head on the seat in front of you, sometimes babbling to get akira's attention. he'd always reach back to ruffle your hair or playfully offset your mask.

but your attention always drifted to his hair - his soft and undoubtedly fluffy head of black feathery hair. you'd been together for a while, so physical interactions weren't uncommon, but you've never really asked him if you could play with his hair.

you really, really wanted to play with his hair. holy shit, you wanted nothing more than to do that. but now wasn't the right time, being in mementos and all. you'd have to strategise for another time.

thankfully, that time came when after leaving mementos, akira invited you back to leblanc to destress and chill out. he'd make some coffee, you two would chat and cuddle, probably watch some tv.

you accepted, obviously, and taking his hand in yours, led you through the subway system to yongen-jaya and to leblanc. after pouring the two of you a damn good cup of coffee, you two went upstairs to his room in the attic.

after watching a few episodes of that cheesy action show you two like to riff on (and getting the neo featherman r theme song stuck in your head), you two migrated to his bed. akira sat down and extended his arms, inviting you in for a spooning sesh, but you waved your hands in denial.

after a puzzled and slightly pouty look from your boyfriend, you clarified what you meant: "i wanna be big spoon. i kinda... wanna play with your hair? is that cool?"

akira's eyes lit up and he adjusted his glasses that slipped down his face. a slightly goofy grin played across his lips and he shuffled on the bed, allowing you to slot yourself behind him.

"yeah, sure! go right ahead."

you quickly got to work, running your hands through his hair (which was still surprisingly soft and felt like heaven's clouds within your fingertips). you twirled some strands around your digits here and there and massaged his scalp.

akira leaned his head back into your touch, smiling all the while. you could've sworn you heard him purring (maybe that was your imagination, or maybe he was spending too much time with morgana).

you pressed a kiss to the side of his temple and kept playing with his hair long into the night...

a/n: cat-coded joker ftw!!! also i love writing akira being more, like, a dork? i love his canon characterisation in the anime and it's not something i see often. you'll be seeing more silly goofy joker from me if y'all request it lmao

[killualoverr]

₊ ☆ ‧₊˚ → ann, makoto, futaba, and haru general relationship headcanons!

cw: fluff, slightest bit of angst if you squint

note: ahhjflslksdfglds i accidentally deleted this ask :( but anyways i was so excited when i saw this since it's my first request, i hope you enjoy ( ≧ᗜ≦)!!

- big on physical touch and words of affirmation.

- lots of cuddles, kisses, spooning, etc if you let her. she loves that type of intimacy.

- she doesn’t mind pda! if you’re okay with it, she would be pretty affectionate.

- would kiss you on the cheek as a greeting

- if you aren’t a fan of physical touch she'll be minimal with it or just stop all together.

- loves showing you off!!! a big part of her social media page would be her and you. if you don’t like being posted, she would have an album/folder full of pictures of you.

- if anyone says anything even remotely bad about you trust and believe she’s hitting that block button in the blink of an eye.

- appreciates any type of compliments, but compliments beyond her looks make her so insanely happy considering her looks are mostly what she’s usually noticed by.

- she absolutely loves to shower you in compliments too. makes her smile when she sees you get all shy

- if you post yourself on social media expect her to be flooding your comments hyping you up 😭

- absolutely loves doing your makeup/skincare and dressing you up!!!

- ryuji is TIRED of hearing her talk about you. someone save this boy

- “red? speaking of red, y/n-“ “ann. 🙁”

- dates with her consist of going out to dessert places, harajuku, the park, and going to the underground mall.

- makoto is very inexperienced with romance. at the start of your relationship she would pretty much leave most decisions up to you.

- after a bit of time of you guys being together and experimenting with things she learns what she likes and dislikes and sets boundaries about those things. she becomes a lot more comfortable in the relationship after that.

- not a very big fan of pda. she would rather being affectionate like that in a more private setting.

- she’s very easy to fluster! an unexpected hug or kiss and her brain short circuits. 😭😭

- her main love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service.

- makoto tends to overthink so ressurance would play a significant role in your relationship.

- she prefers to show affection in ways like checking up on you and such.

- you’re thirsty? she’s already getting out her water bottle. it’s hot and your hair is bothering you? she should have a hair tie somewhere…

- and so on. anything you need, she’s got it, and if she doesn’t, it’s her top priority to help you out somehow.

- your wellbeing is always on her mind

- she tends to keep to herself a lot, but she tries her best to be vulnerable around you.

- sae doesn’t mind you guys. probably just some playful teasing here and there.

- study dates are very frequent!! she likes them a lot because it allows her to spend time with you and also get things done.

- like makoto, futaba would also be very inexperienced with romance.

- her love languages are physical touch and quality time.

- being in the same room as you whether you’re watching a movie, on your phone, or just sitting in bed doing whatever in complete silence together, means a lot to her.

- if you guys ever go out she very often (if not always) is holding your hand. it makes her less anxious and brings her a sense of comfort.

- “excuse me, she asked for no pickles.” while futaba frantically nods behind you

- she’s a HUGE yapper; she could go on and on talking about a new volume of a manga she’s into, the newest episode of a show she likes, the most recent updates for a game she enjoys playing, etc.

- if you were also interested in the same things as her you guys would nerd out together.

- loves listening to you talk about things you like just as much as she enjoys ranting about her interests.

- would love having matching profile pictures of her favorite ships with you

- she’s the type to send you those slideshow videos that say “us?”

- most dates with her consist of just hanging out at each others houses playing a video game, watching shows together, things of that nature. if you were to do something outdoors you’d most likely be either at akihabara or asakusa.

- omg haru is such a sweetheart of a friend and even more as a your s/o.

- i can easily imagine her being affectionate in private. while she's a bit shy to initiate things at first she slowly gets more comfortable with it later on.

- that being said, she’d be a bit hesitant with pda due to her publicity

- a bit of all but i think her main love languages are quality time and gift giving.

- i feel like she’s big on gift giving because she's rich?? idk, she loves giving you stuff that reminds her of you or something that catches your eye while you guys are out together.

- she would give you flowers she grew herself too

- cuddling is a frequent activity in your relationship! adores playing your hair when you two cuddle, gently running her fingers through and complimenting it

- she’s an amazing listener! not only does she like listening to you talk about anything and everything, she also just enjoys hearing the sound of your voice.

- absolutely refuses to let you pay for anything 😭

- her favorite dates with you are anything involving gardening. if you're inexperienced she is more than happy to coach you and teach you anything and everything you need to know. haru would be open to pretty much anything though, she’s just happy she gets to spend time with you.