Coming to you live from a very steamy journal post~

[badbadbathhouse]

Why, hello there, kittens! I'm Kanji, esteemed reporter of all things fabulous and ever so delightfully naughty, and I'm here with a most special update for a fandom just beginning its long, hard... journey into adulthood~!

SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: PERSONA 4 KINK MEME

In this scintillating post of mine, you can comment anonymously with any pairing

Comments

[1/6]

[anonymous]

AS PROMISED. Hope this is what you were looking for, Anon.

... I think I'm physically unable to write short things. Oh, well.

Ryotaro Dojima didn't expect much for the evening. Sure, returning home before midnight was a rare and exciting prospect, but he didn't really know what he'd do when he actually got there. Maybe he'd take Nanako to Junes, see if Souji wanted to come along. Hell, it was Saturday night; maybe he'd gather the all kids together for a little party, if they were free. He'd grown accustomed to having Souji's friends constantly underfoot. Not that he minded; he didn't often show it, but he secretly felt relieved that his nephew had adapted to small-town Inaba so well and gotten himself such dedicated friends.

Dojima stopped a foot or so from his front door when he realized it was already open. His first instinct was to go for his gun, but he managed to squelch it. No need to assume the worst, not yet, anyway. Soundlessly, he crept inside and hugged the wall. Nothing seemed out of place so far. Grey eyes shot to the shoes lined neatly along the wall. Nanako's were missing. Souji's were tossed haphazardly next to a pair of impeccably-shined boots.

Tatsumi's.

The breath Dojima hadn't realized he'd been holding shot out like air from a balloon. That explained things. Kanji Tatsumi rarely paid attention to things like whether or not a door was closed or locked or still on its hinges, but Dojima had already learned that he wasn't nearly as dangerous as he wanted people to believe he was.

"Fuck, Senpai..."

Dojima rolled his eyes even as he felt the slow smile spread across his face. If his mother had ever heard him use that word when he was Tatsumi’s age - or even now, he figured - she would’ve whacked him upside the head. He didn’t really care, but Dojima was a teaser at heart, even though his work didn’t give him much chance to show it.

He strolled around the corner, fully intending to ask Tatsumi if he kissed his mother with that mouth. But the image that accosted him when he walked into the kitchen flipped his world so far upside down that he swore he felt himself sinking into the clouds.

Everything that had, at one point, been on the kitchen table had been scattered on the floor: Nanako's homework, a half-finished model robot, an empty box from that weird Sunday morning home shopping show Souji loved, an old, half-finished crime scene report that Adachi had doused with coffee. The only thing currently occupying the table was Dojima's half-naked nephew.

Souji's pants dangled around his ankles, and his arms were wrapped tightly around the Tatsumi kid's neck. Tatsumi looked fully clothed, but Dojima took in the awkward thrusts of his hips and the way that the edges of his studded belt flopped loosely with each one, and it didn't take his detective’s reasoning to realize that he wasn't zipped up.