pickled plums and kimchi
yuugiou fanfiction
ryuujitsu & co.
Disclaimer: Yuugiou does not belong to us.
A/N: Yet another of my "prolific, short-short drabbles" as Itooshi says. It's JouKai, believe it or not. cough
Hope you like it.
(p)(p)(a)(k)
The apocalypse was upon them. Jounouchi could already see the four Horsemen lining up at the door, ready to wreak havoc, let loose the dogs of war, all that. It had to be the end of the world, or something equally unsavory.
Seto Kaiba. . .had released fanservice.
A calendar. Most likely under the influence of—who? He'd fired all his advisors, hadn't he?—KaibaCorp had released twelve pages of nothing but Kaiba, Kaiba, Kaiba, just for the ladies. Twelve different places, nine new trench-coats, one classic Kaiba poker face, smooth and white and bored. Well, except maybe November. He was pretty close to frowning in that one. . .
Jounouchi squinted. Yep, definitely frowning in that one.
It had begun as a normal day, Jounouchi reflected. Then he'd made the mistake to try to go to the grocery store and had arrived to find the entranceway blocked by tens of thousands of squealing girls and one extremely harassed manager. The other staff had either joined the ranks of said squealing girls or had fled during the initial shock and confusion of the fangirl attack.
"Oh, he's so dreamy!"
And Jounouchi had fought his way through the madding crowd to find. . .this. Twelve sheets of maddeningly blue eyes which belonged to an expressionless but disturbingly pretty CEO—
Ahem.
Ramen. Ramen, ramen. He shook his head to clear it. Ramen. That was why he'd come to the grocery store in the first place—ramen. Kaiba. No! Ramen ramen ramenramenramen not Kaiba damn him! KAIBAKAIBAKAIBA—
The angel and demon on his shoulder had abandoned arguing for the sake of strangling one another.
Fuck it. Jounouchi tossed the calendar at the floor and would have probably started jumping on it in a frenzy, except the fangirls got there first and began ripping each other apart just to touch the damn thing. Oh well. Yes, he would find his ramen and go home, and leave this afternoon to remain an incredibly, incredibly forgettable incident in his memory.
A shriek. "Oh my GOD! Look—look—his shirt's wide open! You can see his left nipple!"
His left fucking nipple.
"How the hell did I miss that!?" Jounouchi snapped aloud, his eye twitching in perfect Bakura-style. JesusfuckingChrist on a fucking crutch, this is really starting to get to me. I'm finally cracking. He squared his shoulders, pivoted on his heels. . .
. . .and performed a flawless dive into the melee.
(p)(p)(a)(k)
Twenty minutes later. . .
"For my sister," he muttered inaudibly to the cashier. His face was flushed, scratched, and bleeding; his ears were brilliantly crimson. Jounouchi paid, snatched up the calendar, and fled.
:::fin:::
A/N: Sorry for the bad language, but that's how I see Jou-chan. Review? (And go read 'strange as angels,' you silly people! A little hetero won't kill you, I promise! pinky promise )