Stress Relief, a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure fanfic

This is me, still not giving a fuck about the fact authors are technically not supposed to post porn on FF.Net. Man up, FF.Net.

---

Title: Stress Relief

Summary: "You're less selfish than you make yourself out to be."

Pairing: Gyro/Johnny

Warnings: Slash, PWP porn, fluff.

Disclaimer: If I owned JoJo I’d make Stone Ocean merchandise, pronto.

---

By the way Gyro lazily ran his tongue across his collarbone, Johnny would have thought he didn’t have a care in the world.

But there was something in every action and every time he looked into his eyes that made Johnny aware of the pressure Gyro was under. The pressure to win. The pressure to save that boy.

So Johnny was silently grateful that Gyro would want to do this kind of thing with him now. He supposed it made him feel privileged. After all, he really liked Gyro; liked how soft his hair was, how muscular his arms were, how strong his spirit was. And he supposed, since what was happening was happening, that Gyro really liked him too.

Gyro pulled Johnny’s shirt up in a way that trapped his arms above his head, revealing various scars, most likely from his jockeying days. He smiled when Johnny trembled slightly as he caressed one that wormed from his hip all the way to the middle of his abdomen. “Is there a story behind this one?”

“Not even.”

Gyro laughed softly, his hand snaking down, slipping under the waistband of Johnny’s pants, grasping at what he found. Johnny’s sharp intake of breath spoke volumes, the jockey biting down on his lip to stop himself from crying out.

“Make as much noise as you want, Johnny. Ain’t no one out here who can hear you.”

“You – you can’t be too careful.” Johnny gasped.

“No... I suppose not.” Gyro began to undo the button of his pants, momentarily letting go of Johnny’s cock to pull them down to his knees. “Hey, you wanna do this too? Swing your legs up over... oh shit.”

Johnny frowned at him, clearly annoyed at what he perceived to be an intentional insult. “Hey!”

“My bad. Really.” Once Gyro had removed Johnny’s pants, he leant down, giving him an apologetic kiss. He looked down. “Wow, it’s pretty hard, isn’t it?”

“So’s yours.”

“Think you’re ready?”

“Y... yeah.”

Gyro reached over and found the bottle of oil he had put aside in case. After all, Johnny wasn’t a woman and his lack of... lubricating anatomy could prove to be incredibly painful if they weren’t well prepared.

Pouring some into his hand, he stroked and covered his own member in it before slipping an oil-coated finger into Johnny, who gave a moan of both shock and delight. “Is it ok?”

“Kinda cold, but... it’s fine.” Johnny whimpered softly, his cock twitching as Gyro added another finger and twisted them both around. “Are you going to?”

“If you want.”

“Of course I do!” Had he been able to, he might have wrapped his arms around him. Johnny couldn’t help but feel slightly touched that even in this kind of situation, Gyro would still think about his wellbeing. “I’m not backing down now. Not when we’re both like this.”

The Italian chuckled. “You’re less selfish than you make yourself out to be.”

“’Course,” Johnny muttered, reclining a little more as though he was trying to prove a point. “Come on...”

“... But you’re still impatient as hell.” Gyro, removing his fingers, guided his cock to the jockey’s entrance before looking at him as though to ask, “Are you sure you really want this?”

Johnny nodded, his cock now a deep red from being teased with the prospect of sex. He wouldn’t be able to hold much longer. Gyro was right. He was impatient as hell.

But then he felt something slide into him and he gave a shout of pleasure and mild discomfort. It wasn’t nearly as painful as he had thought it would be, but that might have been because of all the oil Gyro used.

“You ok?” Gyro grunted, his features distorted with some sort of satisfaction.

“It feels... weird. Good weird.”

“Good weird...” Gyro repeated those words to himself as though they were amusing or fulfilling or both, and began to rock back in forth inside him at a hard, steady pace. ‘Good weird’ was getting better and better with each motion.

“You’re squeezing really tight, Johnny.” He panted. “It’s kinda scary, to be honest.”

Johnny couldn’t think of anything to say in response, another delighted moan passing his lips instead. Gyro, lifting his legs up onto his shoulders, leaned in and gave him a firm kiss.

The thrusts were getting faster and stronger and Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the blissful, intense feeling, on Gyro’s inside of him. It was getting to be more and more difficult to bear and he knew he had to release soon.

So did Gyro, judging by the way he was practically sinking his nail into Johnny’s thighs, and by the way he cried out before splashing a thick, milky substance all over the other man’s chest. Johnny followed soon after, his cry echoing through the desert and back arching off the sheet they lay on, his cum mingling and mixing with his lover’s.

Gyro collapsed next to him, his breathing deep, body matted with sweat. He propped himself up on his elbow and observed the dazed Johnny for a few minutes with a grin on his face. “How was that, then?”

Finally wriggling free of his makeshift bonds, Johnny tucked the strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes during their lovemaking behind his ear. “Wonderful. Was it... for you?”

“Of course.”

“That’s good.” Johnny laughed in something that sounded like relief. After all, he had been worried that his ‘performance’ would not be up to scratch. Clearly it was something that didn’t matter any longer. “But, uh... you think you can give me a hand with cleaning up?”

“Right!” Gyro sat up suddenly as though he had forgotten about it. “Pretty sure I put that cloth somewhere around here...”

“Thanks, Gyro.”

“No problem.”

“No, I mean... thanks for taking the time to... do this with me.”

Gyro looked at Johnny, surprised, before grinning for the umpteenth time that night. “You make it sound like it’s a chore.”

Without realising it, Johnny had grabbed his hand. “Well, with everything going on, I don’t think it would cross many of the contestants’ minds. Especially with how much you’re going through.”

Gyro squeezed it reassuringly, his other hand ruffling Johnny’s hair. “Put it this way. Everyone needs a little bit of stress relief now and then.”

Then, after tilting Johnny’s face up and giving him a gentle kiss: “Besides, I’d be happy to do it all again.”

END

A/N: If you’re reading this note, you (probably) read this fic all the way to the end. Congratulations! I haven’t begged for reviews for a long time, but I’d really appreciate it if you could leave me a quick note telling me what you thought of this fic, writing-wise. I think I might be writing more porn from now on, so it’d be cool to know what to improve. Thank you!

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Control, a Heavy Rain fanfic

Title: Control

Summary: “You don’t question my methods.”

Pairing: Blake/Jayden

Warnings: Slash, porn, non-con, spoilers, cussing (but that’s probably the least of your worries).

Disclaimer: Sorry, Quantic Dream. Sorry, David Cage. (But not really.)

Note: So there’s this giant plot hole. Did Jayden ever cop (haw haw) a telling off, or worse, for letting Ethan go? If there was, I must have missed the memo. Or I just can’t remember.

For Hal. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRO.

---

Agent Norman Jayden liked control, liked certainty. And while the nature of his work did not allow him those luxuries most of the time, he found himself more than capable of dealing with those niggling little issues.

Except Lieutenant Blake was not a niggling little issue. Lieutenant Blake was a huge issue, and there was nothing Jayden could do about it. Or so one would think, but Jayden was beginning to develop a taste for taking matters into his own hands. Like I need reminding. Helping Ethan Mars escape...

But now that the most important thing had been taken care of, it was time for him to confront Blake. Anger pulsed inside of him as he remembered the way Blake had manhandled Ethan Mars. Then again, maybe ‘manhandled’ was too gentle of a word.

Feeling the ARI bump comfortably against his chest, tucked safely in his shirt pocket, he got up from his chair and went to open the door to find the lieutenant. Except Blake found him first, practically knocking the door down as he stormed into Jayden’s tiny office.

“Jesus Christ, Blake! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I should be asking you the same goddamn thing, Jayden.” Blake hissed, advancing on the agent. Even with a good five feet or so between them, Jayden could see a vein throbbing in the man’s forehead. “Letting the Origami Killer go? What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Origami Killer or not, you had no right to treat him the way you did!” Jayden found himself shouting back.

“Right, right.” Blake’s glare turned into a derisive sneer. “So you’re pissed because I smacked him around a bit, huh? Maybe you folk over at the FBI do shit differently, but over here, it’s called necessary force.”

Jayden felt something inside him snap. In a sudden, uncontrollable moment, he swung his arm out, smashing his fist into the side of the lieutenant’s face. Blake stumbled backwards, knocking his head on the corkboard. Despite the severity of the situation, the corners of Jayden’s mouth twitched into a smirk of mild satisfaction.

Blake staggered, rubbing the back of his head as he recovered. “Y-you think this is funny? Oh, of course you would... after all, what the hell kind of a reason do you have for letting him go, huh? You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“Like you’re one to talk! I’m beginning to think that the only reason you’re even on the goddamn force is because you can beat people up without repercussions!” “I’ve told you, again and again... it’s necessary force.” With that, Blake lunged forward, throwing a punch of his own, sending the agent sprawling face-down onto the desk.

Jayden choked a little, wiping a spot of blood away from his lower lip. Blake could punch, he’d give him that much, but it wouldn’t faze him. “Don’t you have any integrity? It doesn’t have to be that way! It – ” Click. He heard the sound and felt something cold around his wrists. As though the chill of the metal had wormed its way into his bloodstream, he froze. “What are you doing, Blake? Hey, what are you doing?”

The silence behind Jayden caused him to panic slightly. He struggled, trying to force his wrists apart, his chest pressing heavily against the worn wood of his desk. He couldn’t see what Blake was doing or hell, know what he was planning to do, but he knew that either way, it couldn’t be good. If he could get himself onto his back, he could probably get out of the situation...

But Blake got there first. In a sudden act of brutality, he grabbed Jayden’s hair and slammed his face down onto the desk, causing the agent to emit a pain-induced expletive. “Son of a bitch! Don't you get it? You’re committing a federal offence!”

"Federal offence, my ass. But speaking of ass... you've got quite a nice one, don't you?"

“What the hell, Blake?!” Jayden shouted again, this time more panicked. “Don’t fuck around! We’ve gotta go find Shaun Mars, pronto!”

Eerily calm, yet in a voice that was dripping with venom, Blake muttered, “I’m going to show you FBI hot-shots that you’re not so high and mighty.” Blake pulled Jayden’s head up and punched him square in the nose, bloodying his shirt. Then, as though in anticipation of the agent’s next move, he forced him to sit up and buried his fist deep into his stomach. Jayden was winded now, collapsing face-down and back onto the desk as he gasped for breath.

The room was beginning to spin again, but not so much that he couldn’t recognise the feeling of a pair of misguided hands pulling his pants and briefs down.

Oh no. No no no no no no no –

“No, BLAKE!”

And as he screamed Blake’s name in fear and agony and horror, unbearable pain shot through him, something that felt like it was ripping him apart. And as though he couldn’t be angrier, couldn’t be more disgusted at that son of a bitch, he smashed his hands in vain against the ever-warming surface of the table as Blake groaned, “Hah, aren’t I fucking lucky that this room is sound-proof?”

“Blake, STOP! You can’t - !”

But he knew his words couldn’t reach him. After all, was there ever a point in time when they had?

With every rough, unsympathetic thrust, with every droplet of blood that escaped from his lower lip as he bit down on it, trying to bear the pain, Jayden felt himself slipping further and further away from that thing he held in such high regard.

There was no more control. He couldn’t even stop himself from crying out in torment as Blake used him for all of his perceived worth. And all of a sudden, as though he was abruptly submerged in the sheer harshness and logic of reality as Blake came inside of him, he knew that even after all of this was over, it would still be useless. He wouldn’t be able to change a goddamn thing. How many more people would suffer at Blake’s hands? Now, even he was just another number Blake could add to his tally.

It was a feeling he was not accustomed to knowing – a feeling that others had called ‘despair’.

“Get it now, nancy-boy? You don’t question my methods.” Blake spat, and a glob of saliva landed on his cheek. Jayden didn’t move, even as Blake undid the handcuffs, even as Blake fired one final, cruel barb at him: “Good fuck though. Haven’t had one like that for a long time.”

Then he was alone.

Agent Norman Jayden could feel the top half of his suit sticking to his skin, the throbbing pain of his damaged insides, the semen trickling down his thighs. The air was suddenly still and everything was quiet.

But despite it all, he still couldn’t move.

END

A/N: NORMAN JAYDEN BAD END

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Starstruck, a JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Steel Ball Run fanfic

Title: Starstruck
Summary: I'm content to wonder, if only by your side.
Rating: K+
Pairing: One-sided Johnny/Gyro
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: ARAKI'S FOREVER

The stars shone brightly up in the night sky and Johnny Joestar, poking his head out from beneath his blanket, stared up at them. He wondered how many more kilometres they had to travel before they could see a different set of stars. Then he wondered if it was even possible, and briefly contemplated turning to ask Gyro.

But upon tilting his head slightly to look at his friend, he noticed how peacefully he slept.

It was then that Johnny felt a twinge of something, something much stronger than basic camaraderie. Perhaps even stranger for him, he knew what that twinge was almost immediately.

And Johnny supposed it was well-founded. It was the secret of the spin, yes, but there was something else that drew Johnny to him. Something about Gyro, like the way his hair flowed as the wind whipped past them or his posture while he rode Valkyrie.

But then, he had spent much of his time (when they weren't racing as fast as they could or experiencing near-death at the hands of Stand users, that is) wondering why Gyro had bothered to stick with him so willingly. Why did Gyro place so much faith in him, a champion jockey turned cripple? And how could he forget the times when it would have been so much easier to run and abandon Johnny to the Reaper?

He secretly hoped it was because Gyro returned the same bizarre, unfamiliar feelings – but it was far more logical to assume that Gyro was just a man who believed in honour.

Regardless, Johnny smiled as he thought of the man who shifted beside him, clutching his teddy bear. At the very least, he knew he had uncovered Gyro's soft, gentler side and that he could trust him. At that moment, it was far more than enough.

Glancing up at the skies once more before closing his eyes and snuggling his head into his arms, he briefly reminded himself to ask Gyro about the stars in the night sky in the morning.

END

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Sidenote.

So I just realised that it would maybe be a good idea to add ratings to everything. I'm adding ratings to everything. Except for stuff tagged 'mature', which is pretty much what you can imagine. It just seems kinda redundant to tag something with a rating as well as mature, and since mature is already there... well.

I am going to roll with the FF.Net rating system because it means I don't have to think.

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Bitter Fruit, a Persona 4 fanfic

Title: Bitter Fruit
Summary: You know what the most horrible feeling in the world is, right?
Rating: T
Pairing: One-sided Kanji/Yosuke, one-sided Yosuki/Souji.
Warnings: Slash, angst
Disclaimer: Belongs to Atlus. WHERE IS STRANGE JOURNEY, FATLUS? MAKE IT HAPPEN!

You know what the most horrible feeling in the world is, right?

Maybe for you, it's being unable to tell your mother how much you love and care for her instead of having to show her in some crazy, roundabout way. Thought I admit that I'd like to see how you do it this time.

Maybe it's despite the fact that they are your friends, no matter who you are and no matter what happens, but you still can't bear to know that they saw you like that, in your weakened and exposed form. You were ugly.

And even though you suppose the whole experience made you a better person and allowed you to face up and deal with the truth, maybe you feel horrible that you still have to be tough and brave and put on a show for everyone. But maybe that's just who you really are. Maybe you've been at it for so long that it's been chiseled into your psyche now.

But is it really a reason to hide from your friends, from those who love and support you? Why hurt the ones that want to help? Maybe that's where all the guilt you secretly harbour comes from.

Or maybe the most horrible feeling in the world is the fact that the one you're in love with – yes, him – is oblivious. Perhaps not completely, but you can see him clinging to the past he had. Because when you're sleeping with him and despite the desires and strong emotions at your core you know it's all a meaningless fling.

And this is all cemented even further when he mouths and sometimes moans a name that is not yours. It just makes you want to grab him and shake him and tell him he needs to wake up to reality and that Souji isn't there anymore, that he never really shared those feelings Yosuke nurtured so tenderly.

Or maybe the most horrible feeling in the world is the fact that you can't say those words at all, and it sickens you. Deep down, it's a rude slap that one could easily turn back towards you, and you know it would make perfect sense.

Whatever the most horrible feeling in the world is, I can see a common point between all of them.

You don't have the courage to say what you feel.

And you can't figure out why you don't.

END

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The following crazy crossover fanfic is for my good pal BobTheDarkOne/Recess Rapist, because it is his birthday. We were chatting and then he mentioned WOW MAYBE THIS PAIRING WILL BE AWESOME BECAUSE THEY BOTH HAVE LIGHTSABERS.

Anyway, I don't know what I've written either. Masked Man is pretty OOC, but I am going to blame the fact that I have been reading Tatsumairi doujinshi.

Title: All In A Day's Work
Summary: Travis' next mission is not what he expected.
Pairing: Travis/Masked Man
Warnings: Strange slash, M3 SPOILERS, cussing.
Disclaimer: NMH belongs to GHM and Mother 3 belongs to Nintendo, amongst other folk.

---

Jeez, peace in its most extreme form is not ideal, thought Travis as he hopped off the bizarre little bus he had taken from Santa Destroy all the way to this strange place. He had forgotten what this place was called - that is, until he looked up and saw a large sign - New Pork City. "Sounds pretty fruity to me." He muttered to no-one. And fruity it was; with its colours and bright lights flashing non-stop, there didn't seem to be a single corner that was touched by darkness. He had never been to a city quite like it before.

Somehow, he felt an odd desire to walk around, get himself on one of the several Ferris wheels. See the whole city from up high. Travis guessed it was his, ahem, rather immature nature shining through. But he couldn't spare the time – there was a reason he was here.

He recalled how Sylvia had called him up late a few nights ago, telling him in her smooth voice about how she was sending him on a little excursion to some weird place thousands of miles away. It wasn't a ranked battle, but she had supposed Travis would be bored when he wasn't killing people, or something like that. He wouldn't need to pay for this match either. “Think of it as the bonus stage, yes?” She had chirped. He accepted without question.

This guy he was supposed to be assassinating, King Porky, looked like he had made quite a name for himself. A full city named after him. Kids and their mothers alike all totally pleased with how fantastic a ruler he was. Not to mention all the soldiers dressed in pig head-shaped helmets.

Wonder if he can get any? Travis snorted to himself, realising shortly after that he sounded like a pig. How fitting. He groaned.

He eventually found his destination, a gaudy, impossibly tall building. The sign on the front showed the words: 'Empire Porky Building'. Trying to make his way inside, he was stopped by a man in a rather formal outfit, a long moustache reaching down to his chin. “Hold it there, son. I'm going to have to ask what your business here is.”

“Me?” Travis pointed innocently at himself. That particular moment didn't really call for balls-to-the-wall action. Too many kids around. Carnage was going to have to wait. “Just a tourist.”

“Go on ahead, then!” The guard smiled kindly. “I mean, there was no way I was expecting you to say that you were an assassin or anything. That would be pretty silly, huh?”

“Definitely. Yep. Well, thank you.” Travis stepped past the waving guard, his beam katana knocking comfortingly against his leg as he strolled towards the elevator. He had a feeling he didn't need to worry about the guard anymore anyway. He seemed pretty incompetent.

Travis entered the lift alone, pressing the button next to a little gold plaque that read 'Throne Room'. He figured that of all the places in this goddamn building, the guy would probably be there. Hopefully with a harem of women.

Licking his dry lips, his hand moved automatically towards the katana on his waist as the lights on the elevator display blinked closer and closer to a capital 'T'. 'T' for 'Travis'. 'T' for 'Touchdown'. It was like he was destined to be there.

So as though he was reaching out, ready to grasp this opportune moment - to spill blood, to impress Sylvia, to do all those things he had been living for thus far - he jumped out from behind the lift door, the beam of his weapon flashing.

He had expected... something. But the empty, lavish room was devoid of all life, betraying his expectations. No bodyguards rushing to restrain or beat him senseless. No fat, grinning King Porky (as he had been led to believe from all of those posters and statues scattered around the city).

And of course, no babes.

Travis sighed loudly, his voice bouncing off the marble walls, taking a seat on one of the steps leading up to the massive throne that sat on a platform at the back of the room. I guess I could've gotten the wrong room, he thought to himself as he pulled the worn, leather glove off his right hand, rubbing his calloused fingers. Now, where else would a King be...

But it was a mistake to be distracted, as Travis realised just in the nick of time that something was swooping down towards him. He evaded whatever it was, rolling over to the side while grabbing his katana, its blade extending as he pressed the small button on the side. No way in hell could an animal be that big...

It wasn't an animal, but a pint-sized man. Or rather, a kid. A kid with strange, mechanical wings was wearing what looked a lot like an aviator's suit, complete with a helmet and a visor that masked his face. “Now I've seen everything,” Travis muttered, scrambling to his feet and holding his katana up, ready to strike. The kid drew a weapon very similar to his own.

“Did you come here to kill Master Porky?” He asked, hovering in midair, his voice surprisingly deeper than what Travis had been expecting. Maybe it was a man after all. A midget.

“Well, yeah. I'm an assassin, so don't get in my way!” Feeling oddly pleased at his rather macho taunt, Travis lunged forward, his leg muscles contorting as he prepared himself to perform a jumping slash. But the Masked Man dodged easily before propelling himself towards the assassin, his sword skimming dangerously close to his face. “Goddammit, that wing shit is cheating!” gasped Travis, struggling to regain his composure.

It was a little hard to do so, what with this crazy guy zooming around the room too quickly for Travis to keep up. However, for him, pussying out was not an option. He knew that he had to complete this mission – if only to impress Sylvia.

But of course, this was all before he saw the Masked Man aiming at something above his head. And gravity worked against him. Somehow, his consciousness faded before he could feel any pain.

*

When Travis awoke, his first reaction was to grope at his waist and at the ground beside him for his katana. After all, that freak might be standing right above him, ready to deal the finishing blow.

What seemed like forever passed, and Travis finally gave up and opened his eyes, ready for a fatal injury. Nothing happened. All that he could sense a change in was his physical condition. His chest ached when he breathed, and a sharp pain shot through him as he tried to sit up.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The suddenness of the warning and the realisation that the Masked Man was sitting on the stairs not three feet away from him, albeit even in the same room as him, made him yelp in surprise.

The Masked Man sighed, as though he was used to such a negative reaction from people, fumbling at something wrapped in plastic. He soon pulled a serve of hot dog sushi out of the packet, tossing it at Travis. “Here. I can tell you don't live around here, so... it'd be cruel to make you crawl all the way home with those broken ribs of yours.”

Travis stared suspiciously down at the strange item of food in his hand where he had caught it.

“It's not poisoned, ok? If I wanted to kill you I would've done so by now.”

“Then why didn't you?” Travis asked, stuffing the sushi into his mouth. “I thought you were supposed to protect the King or whatever. Aren't you afraid I'll come back and kill him for real?”

The Masked Man's mouth curved into a smirk. “I know you won't.”

“Fucking hell.” Travis sat up properly this time, feeling much better than he did a minute ago. “What kind of an assumption is that? You don't know me or anything.”

“Hmm.” The Masked Man scanned Travis, as though re-evaulating his previous comment. “Well, you're wearing a shirt with ten year-old girls on it.”

Travis gaped at him. “Wh-what the fuck does that have to do with anything? If I had my katana I swear to god I'd -”

But then much to his surprise, The Masked Man walked over to him, just so that he was face to face with the assassin. Even stranger yet, he planted his lips firmly on Travis'.

“Mmmf!” Travis flailed his arms wildly. He was sure there was some sort of law regarding this kind of thing, especially now that since the Masked 'Man' was so close, he was sure that he was younger than he expected. He could only imagine jail time.

The kiss eventually stopped and Travis wiped his mouth thoroughly while the Masked Man stared at him, a smirk still plastered on his face. “If you're wondering why I did that... I guess it's just amusing, guys like you. The depressing sort. Guys like you... I don't think you can get any, can you?”

“Don't pity me, fucking kid! You're too young to think about that kind of shit.”

“Hahaha.” The Masked Man chuckled, and in the way the light caught his visor, Travis could see his gleefulness beaming through the single eye. “You know, I like you. You make me... forget my worries.”

The Masked Man threw Travis his katana and his leather glove. “Oh, and don't forget these.” Smiling once more, he vanished before his eyes.

Travis was left sitting upright in the middle of the throne room, utterly confused. It was only after a few minutes had passed that he finally willed himself to stand up and walk over to the elevator, ready to leave New Pork City, wondering how he was going to explain his defeat to Sylvia.

“... Goddamn.”

END

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