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.

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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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Half-Time, a Metal Gear Solid fic

Title: Half-Time
Summary: Egotistical and irresistible and so... alive.
Rating: M
Pairing: Liquid/Solid
Warnings: Incest, slash, non-explicit porn, PWP.
Disclaimer: Kojima's.
Notes: Oh god, this is so old. I'm posting it now because I just found it and I like it.

Arrogance. It was all there on his handsome, smirking face, plain and obvious. It seemed to suit him and although it was the only facial expression conveyed, Dave didn't seem to mind. After all, it was impossible to know how he was truly feeling anyway. It seemed to calm him, even if it was just a little.

However, Dave knew that with the twisting, harsh body and seductive words lay a human above him, warm-blooded with a heart pumping, just like him. Under these circumstances, he could act no differently from Dave himself. Except that right at this moment, in Dave's eyes, he was irresistible. Egotistical and irresistible and so... alive.

As he moved fingers, hand, mouth downwards, holding him in his grasp and charms, his eyes spoke of something obscure, yet so wonderful. Obscure, but it was happening. And Dave never wanted it to stop.

And he thrust in, forceful, hard, rough. Yet beneath that, there was some sort of gentle kindness, maybe because Liquid knew he was his own flesh and blood, his brother. Perhaps that was why he was so alluring to begin with.

Yes, what was before him was most definitely real.

END

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Pit Stop, a Silent Hill: Homecoming fanfic

Title: Pit Stop
Summary: It's just payment.
Rating: M
Pairing: Travis/Alex
Warnings: Slash, kind of but not really graphic porn.
Disclaimer: Silent Hill is not mine because I am a complete and utter pansy.

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BUT FIRST, A NOTE.

Today I received a review from la-raton, in which I was informed that fanart had been drawn based on that one fanfic I wrote about Alex and Travis and, um, payment for his truck drive to Shepherd's Glen.

Have a link to the fanart.

I really, really like it, especially since it's not SPARKLY KAWAII MOEMOE ANIMU bullshit. Again, thank you la-raton!

----

Maybe he should have known that he wouldn't be able to rely on the kindness of strangers alone. Or maybe he had been taking it for granted, especially after something as horrible as war.

He had walked for about half an hour before deciding it would be far easier to flag down the truck that was pulling past. The driver, kind enough, allowed him to hop in.

A few words of good nature were exchanged, such as, “Where are you going? You a soldier? How long have you been away from home?” Alex answered them all, and thought that he rather liked this driver with his gruff laugh and coarse hands.

It was a good three or four hours later, when Travis had stopped the truck at a small diner that those hands were wrapped firmly around his hips. It's just payment, Alex thought, yet he was perfectly willing as the trucker gave a throaty murmur of, “You've got a pretty mouth, boy,” his breath reeking of something alcoholic.

Those hands weren't so unpleasant either, as they snaked past briefs to fondle that thing – that thing Alex hadn't touched or even thought about for a long time, because it sure as hell wasn't as important as preserving one's own life.

Well, that's what he would think in any situation, except for this one.

And as though to remind him that: “Easy soldier, I'm no fairytale princess” - Travis pulled Alex's pants down in one swift movement, leaving bare skin and sensitive organs exposed to the cold, ready to swell at his discretion.

Maybe this was a common occurrence for the trucker, or maybe he was just constantly counting his lucky stars, because the older man suddenly pulled out a tiny foil packet and a bottle of lube. “Relax, kid, and keep your eyes on the prize.”

Somehow, this made Alex inclined to focus his eyesight on his own reflection on the hood of the truck, barely visible thanks to the poor lighting of this desolate place. Then he was pushed roughly and he could feel something inside him, something that didn't feel bad, but still felt weird. It rubbed against his insides insistently.

Travis made no attempt to silence himself, instead grunting “Yeah” every few thrusts, which were deep and fast and -

Kinda like a gun... a pump-action, or a recoil, or

And he suddenly felt that weird something twitch, like that of a gun firing.

Then there was Travis, lying heavily against him, somewhat crushing his ribs, pulling out and tossing the condom somewhere.

“Pit stop's over, soldier. Get your gear on and let's move.”

END

A/N: But you shouldn't drink and drive!

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Monday Morning, a Professor Layton fic

Title: Monday Morning
Summary: Luke sees something strange.
Rating: M
Pairing: Chelmey/Layton
Warnings: Slash, porn.
Disclaimer: Level-5's.

Monday morning, good weather.

Luke's trip to the bakery for breakfast was uneventful but full of familiar faces. Well, the only thing he felt a tad guilty for was running away from that old lady who always pinched his cheeks. He knew that if the Professor ever found out, he would berate him but really, he couldn't stand those wrinkly fingers at all.

He was gleeful nonetheless, for it was a holiday. Munching on a chocolate croissant he skipped up to the door of the home he shared with the Professor. He stopped dead, however, when he heard an odd banging sound. The Professor's in trouble! was his first thought, and he was ready to charge in and (try to, at least) fight off the assailant. But then he heard a low moan, one of... enjoyment.

The situation was getting curiouser.

Luke tiptoed as quietly as he could around to the back, crawling under the kitchen window. Those noises were getting louder, and he could make out a: “You're doing really well, Layton.” How strange...

The noises seemed to be coming from the Professor's office and Luke continued crawling until he made it to the window looking in. Standing up on tiptoe, he peered in, a most bizarre sight reaching his innocent eyes.

Firstly, he wondered why the Professor wasn't wearing any pants at all, and why Inspector Chelmey was in the room too, standing so close behind in. After all, he couldn't think of any sort of game where two people had to bang their hips and buttocks into each other. Was it a rule of the game to see who could do it faster? Because if it was, judging by Chelmey's energetic performance he would have won.

Suddenly, Luke realised. He remembered a biology book he had read once in the library – something about 'reproduction'. Or rather, 'sex'. B-but Chelmey isn't a woman, and neither is the Professor... so why are they doing this?

A sudden shout caused him to almost jump in fright, but he gritted his teeth. Instead he kept watching as Chelmey took something out of the Professor's and zipped up his pants. “You really are the best, Layton,” Chelmey laughed, turning on his heel and leaving the room. A few seconds later, Luke heard the front door open and close again. Then he heard the Professor sigh softly, staggering out of the room while carrying his pants.

Luke ran quickly back to the front door, debating what to do. I suppose it would be better to pretend I never saw that, he reasoned, entering the house and chirping, “Professor, I've brought breakfast!”

“Ah, thank you, my boy.” Layton appeared, face still slightly flushed. “Let's eat, shall we?”

“Yes!” He watched as the Professor tipped the bag full of assorted pastries onto a plate, but could see the uneasiness in his eyes.

The Professor knew Luke knew.

But neither of them really understood what the events of Monday morning had meant.

END

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Never More, a Persona 4 fanfic

Title: Never More
Summary: Yosuke's last battle.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Snuff, graphic gore.
Disclaimer: P4 is not mine.

---

It's been a long day. All you want to do is get to the top floor of this damned place, confront this sick bastard behind the recent Inaba murders, head home and collapse on your futon. But at this point, your focus outweighs your fatigue. You're even beginning to block out that horrible, quasi-electronic tune. This game-like setting is not doing it for you at all.

Behind you, your trusted allies. There's Kanji, whose enthusiasm in battle so far betrays the scowl he currently wears on his face. Then Teddie, the adorable plush bear, squeaking with every step. And of course, Yosuke, who is arguably your closest friend. His cheer is almost infectious, and you admire his will to fight as he hurls himself at every group of Shadows you encounter. “C'mon, we need to get stronger, right?” He'd say, and emerge from almost every battle totally unscathed, sweat shining on his brow.

You round the corner and a Shadow's there, its solitary eye staring the four of you down. Quick as a flash, you raise your long sword, smacking it down the middle, splitting it open. It melts away, another Shadow taking its place. It's a trio of those Dancer enemies. You don't recall having seen this particular one before, but it doesn't really bother you. This battle should be a piece of cake.

You can tell Rise's done scanning as he chirps, “It's an Ardent Dancer. Use Agi skills, senpai!” But you don't have any with that particular elemental attack, so it seems you'll have to take it out with physical attacks. You nod at Yosuke, who grins widely and lunges towards one of the Shadow, his kunai glinting in the artificial light of the 8-bit torch.

But something else flashes first. Yosuke stops dead in his tracks. What's up, you wonder, nothing happened. But you hear an odd spraying sound accompanied by a thump. And a second later, Yosuke looks down to see where those sounds came from and why his sleeve suddenly feels so wet.

All four of you realise what has happened at the same time, but Yosuke reacts first, screaming and collapsing to his knees, scrambling to retrieve his disembodied hand. It's still gripping the kunai. It's still twitching.

You hear footsteps, and somehow manage to tear your gaze away from your best friend to see Kanji running up towards the Ardent Dancer, raising his steel plate to bludgeon the Shadow into oblivion. Another pair, joined at the hip, merely raise their arms in sync, casting a Garula spell that sends him flying back.

The first Ardent Dancer is turning facelessly towards Yosuke, who's struggling to stand up. It's as if the Shadows know how much he's suffering and want to cause more of it to him. It slashes at him, this time almost severing his leg below his knee. You didn't know blood could spray like that. Teddie, standing closest, trying to claw at the third Shadow is hit with a geyser of it. It stains his prized fur a dark, meaty crimson.

Yosuke screams again, louder than before. This one isn't even a clean cut; the lower half of his leg is flopping wildly as he's thrashing around, the exposed bone brilliantly white. Somewhere, you can hear Rise cry, “Oh my god, Yosuke-senpai!” The Shadow looks down at it for a moment, then at Yosuke's blood-splattered face, still swaying soundlessly from side to side. You can only hope that it ends his torture.

It stops swaying. You breathe a sigh of relief, only to realise that the male figure in the pair of Dancers is lifting a whimpering Yosuke up by the throat, oblivious to his feeble attempts at pushing him away with his remaining but equally bloody hand. The female seems to make a giggling sound as she bends over, taking Yosuke's dangling right leg in her hands. “Please, no.” He gasps a gasp tinged with pain. But the Shadow's fingers sink into his leg, gripping it hard and she begins to pull. “No, STOP!” His hysterical shriek melts flawlessly into another tortured scream as the muscle, sinew and skin rips away, and the female Dancer is sent tumbling backwards, clutching his leg. The skin is ragged, stringy bits of flesh clinging to what is left of his pants. The male Dancer tosses the writhing Yosuke to the ground as he walks over to his companion, helping her up as a gentleman would do before waltzing back over to your friend.

Yosuke's eyes are wide with fear as they loom closer and he squeals “Help me!” while trying to wriggle away from the Shadow as fast as he can, his single foot squeaking and sliding in his own blood. You know there's only you. Teddie and Kanji have their hands full fighting the other Shadows. But you can't move. The whole scene is painful for you to watch and to bear, but you can't move your own two legs to stop the monsters from prolonging Yosuke's suffering, or to get him away from them yourself. It's as though something in your mind has snapped.

“Souji! HELP ME!” The Ardent Dancer is above him now, and both the man and the woman seem to mock him despite their lack of heads. Both their hands grip the sword they hold tightly, lowering it level with Yosuke's stomach. His face, a mask of red filth with two stark white orbs bulging out of it, is filled with utter terror. “I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! Oh god I don't wanna d-”

His desperate pleas stop short as the sword plunges into his soft, fleshy side. With their combined strength, the Dancers pull the sword back towards them, splitting Yosuke's belly open, another fountain of blood gushing out, along with some dark lumps and what looks like a long, rope. He's trying to scream again, trying to do anything to lessen the pain you can only imagine he's feeling. But he receives no such relief, no matter how small. Instead of a scream, a gurgling sound comes forth, along with another waterfall of blood and bile.

The Shadow kicks Yosuke in his side, causing him to cough up a fresh mouthful of liquid. It's amazing he's still alive. But the Shadow seems to have gotten bored of him, tired of seeing that particular face contorted with suffering. Or maybe it's doing a merciful thing. Both the man and the woman raise their legs and ready the sword again, bringing them all down in perfect harmony, crushing all of Yosuke's ribs and impaling his throat. There is a wet crunch and a slicing sound and the light in your friend's eyes fade, his brutalised body going limp.

Rise's screaming and crying and begging for Yosuke to get up.

Of all the times to be able to move again. The blood from every single one of his wounds is pooling around your shoes, splashing as you rush towards the Dancers, unspeakable rage filling you. You swing your longsword into it, destroying it instantly, and you fall beside Yosuke's corpse. You'd never thought this would happen. And yet, you know that if you hadn't faltered, Yosuke would still be alive.

Teddie and Kanji are finished too, standing silently, shocked, on either side of you. There's no way any of you can go on. You remove your jacket, bundle up his remains in it, and fish a Goho-M out of your pocket.

END Notes: No, I don't hate Yosuke. I love Yosuke. He's a bro. He just seems... vulnerable. Inspired by some fanart I saw. The title is the name of the song that plays during P4's credits.

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