anything but
Anything But
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, suggestive content.
Word count: 1258
Summary: Adachi stalks Saki around Inaba on the day of her final interrogation.
A/N: Sorry this is a few days late! RL caught up with me. For the springkink March 1st prompt "Adachi/Saki: stalking - the streets of Inaba". I CAN'T BELIEVE I X-POSTED THIS TO MAYONAKATV screams /)_(\ I hope the first person works for this. That was my main concern.
She's not perfect; she's anything but. That's the thing about the teenage years; you spend the prime of your youth in a perpetual state of awkward growth, wanting to start real life but not wanting to leave the comfort of dependence. I'd kill to know then what I know now. But at her age, even if someone tells you what the world is like outside of your two-bit small town, your head is so full of dreams and expectations that you blow it off anyway. They'll call you a cynic and say, "Maybe that's what happened to you, but I'm not gonna make the same mistakes you made! You didn't try hard enough!" And fifteen years down the line, they've made the same mistakes everyone makes, continuing the never-ending shit cycle of mediocrity.
She's definitely not perfect, but perfect women are always the unattainable ones anyway. They don't have to settle for a slightly graying, harrowed councilman in his thirties just for a bit of financial security. They can make their own, or they know how to bag a man with real coin.
She's tiny. I can imagine fitting just one of my palms around her waist and squeezing until she's mine. She always looks so tight-lipped, even when she's standing there listening to Namatame carry on about god-knows-what. Even from the top of this hill I can tell she's bored. She's not interested in you, Namatame, not interested in whatever crap you're spewing; you can't expect to make discussion with a girl unless you buy her a meal first. For a species that always complains about their weights, they never turn down the opportunity for a free meal. The first date is dinner, idle talk, and maybe a kiss on the cheek if you're lucky. Then dinner, idle talk, a kiss on the mouth. And finally, on the third date, she might let you in her pants. A clever man plays his cards right and beds her the first time.
He's coaxing her. If I move a little closer, I might be able to hear, but I don't want to be seen. Young girls have sharper senses; they teach them to always look both ways before crossing the street or wearing a short skirt into a dark alleyway. Whatever they're talking about, Konishi's having none of it. Too bad, Namatame, you might've bagged this one if you were a little less obvious. It's better this way; a man who had two women and lost them both doesn't deserve another. Life doesn't give you do-overs. Let someone else have a turn.
She turns and leaves Namatame in the dust, looking as bored as ever. It's not too hard to guess where she's going; the station is nearby and I can follow along from the hilltop. She doesn't notice that the wind is blowing her skirt up just enough for me to see beneath it. (Or maybe she just doesn't care that everyone out on the street can see her stockings and the faint outline of panties.) And when the wind dies, her skirt floats back down. What a tease.
The liquor store is nearby, too - did you know they purposely build the police stations in proximity of a liquor store? You might think it's because liquor stores are prime spots for robberies, but it's actually because we like our alcohol just as much as the civvies, or even more. Staying late is a bearable prospect when you can turn the corner and buy a forty after you clock out. If anything, the Konishi store owes the cops a favor. It's more convenient than Junes, at least during the week, otherwise there's no way you'd find me paying their prices.
There's a bench by the shrine in the shopping district under some trees. It's in a nice spot with shade and a panoramic view of the strip. And when the Konishi girl suddenly stops in her tracks and flings open the door of her parents' store, I take a seat on the bench, watching casually, wondering when she'll come out and how long she'll keep me waiting. As fun as it'd be to have to show up at her house with a warrant for not showing up to witness interrogation, I'd rather get this done sooner than later, and if I had my way, I'd get to see her again soon.
Waiting isn't so bad. Dojima would be all up in my shit if he knew I was resting in the shade, but as far as he knows, I'm out running errands he can't be bothered to do himself. There's nothing to watch in the shopping district, just old ladies out doing their shopping and stopping to gossip with the neighbors about the latest on the news. (Everyone has their own opinion about the announcer's murder. You can't go in a goddamn store without having the cashier bombard you with their own speculations and questions, like they'll be the special snowflake to solve the mystery and catch the bastard who did it.) There's nothing to watch here at all, but you're gifted with an imagination for a reason. I'd never thought much about hitting it on the job, especially not with the world's biggest cockblock hauling me around like a ragdoll, but the prospect is exciting. It'd be a good laugh, to screw around on the first assignment they leave me to handle alone. Of course, it's only mine to handle because the higher-ups can't be assed to listen to a high school girl's fuzzy memories over and over.
The table in the interrogation room is cold steel, but it wouldn't be my body laid flat out on it. I could shine the light right on her face with the only shadow being my body over hers and her arms around my neck. I want to see every convulsion of her lips and every tic in her cheeks; I want to catch every bead of sweat dripping down from her hairline. It's a rare thing when you get to tear apart something so young. (Purity is another story.) I want to savor the feeling of getting off before someone comes looking for me, before Dojima comes banging on the door bitching for a pile of reports or a coffee refill. I want to send her home wet and shaking with my number in her pocket and her panties in mine.
All fantasies, until the door of the liquor store slams open and Konishi storms out. There's no telling what she's angry about - maybe a family squabble? My only concern is her mood, which had better simmer within the next twenty minutes or handcuffs and threats might come into play.
There's an alleyway behind the liquor store that's a shortcut to the police station. When she turns the corner and leaves the shopping district, I can slink by unseen into the shady back street. The station's side door is open for the afternoon, and I can get back in time to be one time - something that would surprise Dojima, no doubt.
She's prettier up close. She's still not perfect, but each step I take towards her makes her look more and more appealing.
"What's this about, anyways?" she asks, haughty and almost offended that the big bad police are taking time away from her precious beauty sleep. "Didn't you call me in for more questions?"
I take another step closer, eyes wide with curiosity. "Well, we'll get to that. But y'know, I saw you this afternoon."
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, suggestive content.
Word count: 1258
Summary: Adachi stalks Saki around Inaba on the day of her final interrogation.
A/N: Sorry this is a few days late! RL caught up with me. For the springkink March 1st prompt "Adachi/Saki: stalking - the streets of Inaba". I CAN'T BELIEVE I X-POSTED THIS TO MAYONAKATV screams /)_(\ I hope the first person works for this. That was my main concern.
She's not perfect; she's anything but. That's the thing about the teenage years; you spend the prime of your youth in a perpetual state of awkward growth, wanting to start real life but not wanting to leave the comfort of dependence. I'd kill to know then what I know now. But at her age, even if someone tells you what the world is like outside of your two-bit small town, your head is so full of dreams and expectations that you blow it off anyway. They'll call you a cynic and say, "Maybe that's what happened to you, but I'm not gonna make the same mistakes you made! You didn't try hard enough!" And fifteen years down the line, they've made the same mistakes everyone makes, continuing the never-ending shit cycle of mediocrity.
She's definitely not perfect, but perfect women are always the unattainable ones anyway. They don't have to settle for a slightly graying, harrowed councilman in his thirties just for a bit of financial security. They can make their own, or they know how to bag a man with real coin.
She's tiny. I can imagine fitting just one of my palms around her waist and squeezing until she's mine. She always looks so tight-lipped, even when she's standing there listening to Namatame carry on about god-knows-what. Even from the top of this hill I can tell she's bored. She's not interested in you, Namatame, not interested in whatever crap you're spewing; you can't expect to make discussion with a girl unless you buy her a meal first. For a species that always complains about their weights, they never turn down the opportunity for a free meal. The first date is dinner, idle talk, and maybe a kiss on the cheek if you're lucky. Then dinner, idle talk, a kiss on the mouth. And finally, on the third date, she might let you in her pants. A clever man plays his cards right and beds her the first time.
He's coaxing her. If I move a little closer, I might be able to hear, but I don't want to be seen. Young girls have sharper senses; they teach them to always look both ways before crossing the street or wearing a short skirt into a dark alleyway. Whatever they're talking about, Konishi's having none of it. Too bad, Namatame, you might've bagged this one if you were a little less obvious. It's better this way; a man who had two women and lost them both doesn't deserve another. Life doesn't give you do-overs. Let someone else have a turn.
She turns and leaves Namatame in the dust, looking as bored as ever. It's not too hard to guess where she's going; the station is nearby and I can follow along from the hilltop. She doesn't notice that the wind is blowing her skirt up just enough for me to see beneath it. (Or maybe she just doesn't care that everyone out on the street can see her stockings and the faint outline of panties.) And when the wind dies, her skirt floats back down. What a tease.
The liquor store is nearby, too - did you know they purposely build the police stations in proximity of a liquor store? You might think it's because liquor stores are prime spots for robberies, but it's actually because we like our alcohol just as much as the civvies, or even more. Staying late is a bearable prospect when you can turn the corner and buy a forty after you clock out. If anything, the Konishi store owes the cops a favor. It's more convenient than Junes, at least during the week, otherwise there's no way you'd find me paying their prices.
There's a bench by the shrine in the shopping district under some trees. It's in a nice spot with shade and a panoramic view of the strip. And when the Konishi girl suddenly stops in her tracks and flings open the door of her parents' store, I take a seat on the bench, watching casually, wondering when she'll come out and how long she'll keep me waiting. As fun as it'd be to have to show up at her house with a warrant for not showing up to witness interrogation, I'd rather get this done sooner than later, and if I had my way, I'd get to see her again soon.
Waiting isn't so bad. Dojima would be all up in my shit if he knew I was resting in the shade, but as far as he knows, I'm out running errands he can't be bothered to do himself. There's nothing to watch in the shopping district, just old ladies out doing their shopping and stopping to gossip with the neighbors about the latest on the news. (Everyone has their own opinion about the announcer's murder. You can't go in a goddamn store without having the cashier bombard you with their own speculations and questions, like they'll be the special snowflake to solve the mystery and catch the bastard who did it.) There's nothing to watch here at all, but you're gifted with an imagination for a reason. I'd never thought much about hitting it on the job, especially not with the world's biggest cockblock hauling me around like a ragdoll, but the prospect is exciting. It'd be a good laugh, to screw around on the first assignment they leave me to handle alone. Of course, it's only mine to handle because the higher-ups can't be assed to listen to a high school girl's fuzzy memories over and over.
The table in the interrogation room is cold steel, but it wouldn't be my body laid flat out on it. I could shine the light right on her face with the only shadow being my body over hers and her arms around my neck. I want to see every convulsion of her lips and every tic in her cheeks; I want to catch every bead of sweat dripping down from her hairline. It's a rare thing when you get to tear apart something so young. (Purity is another story.) I want to savor the feeling of getting off before someone comes looking for me, before Dojima comes banging on the door bitching for a pile of reports or a coffee refill. I want to send her home wet and shaking with my number in her pocket and her panties in mine.
All fantasies, until the door of the liquor store slams open and Konishi storms out. There's no telling what she's angry about - maybe a family squabble? My only concern is her mood, which had better simmer within the next twenty minutes or handcuffs and threats might come into play.
There's an alleyway behind the liquor store that's a shortcut to the police station. When she turns the corner and leaves the shopping district, I can slink by unseen into the shady back street. The station's side door is open for the afternoon, and I can get back in time to be one time - something that would surprise Dojima, no doubt.
She's prettier up close. She's still not perfect, but each step I take towards her makes her look more and more appealing.
"What's this about, anyways?" she asks, haughty and almost offended that the big bad police are taking time away from her precious beauty sleep. "Didn't you call me in for more questions?"
I take another step closer, eyes wide with curiosity. "Well, we'll get to that. But y'know, I saw you this afternoon."