Junko and Masato don’t have the relationship that their classmates think they do.
Content Notes: toxic relationship, Rule 63, established relationship, open ending, very low heat, manipulation and exploitation, bullying
Personal Notes: First of all, the title is from Saweetie and Doja Cat’s “Best Friend” even though the best friend relationship here is uh… far more toxic. Next, it’s been ages since I’ve done Rule 63 in fandom. I used to do it all the time when I wrote Damian Wayne back in the DC fandom like a decade ago and I loved it then. I still love it now. I just have so much fun writing Junpei in all possible permutations!
Junko and Masato are not friends.
Friends don’t make you send them nudes.
They don’t take your pocket money to buy condoms.
They don’t blackmail you with homemade sex tapes.
They don’t urge you to do compensated dating with older men on the weekends.
Junko may not have any experience with friends – not since she turned down Shota Ito in their first year of middle school and he proceeded to isolate her from everyone in their class – but she knows that how Masato treats her isn’t really how friends are supposed to treat each other.
To all the other third years at Satozakura High, however, Junko and Masato aren’t just friends.
They’re best friends.
Part of why they think that?
Aside from some of the more obvious delinquents, Junko and Masato are the oldest students at the school. Both of them were held back at one point in their schooling – Junko because of bullying-related health reasons and Masato because she got expelled from her previous middle school and had to move to Kawasaki with her family. By virtue of that, they were already going to spend time together because they’re older than everyone else and have picked up a kind of dangerous reputation as a result.
It’s a reputation that Junko hasn’t earned, but that Masato enjoys playing into.
They’re not in the same class, but they have the same lunch break. Every day, Masato walks into Junko’s class with her lunch – usually in a plastic bag from the Lawsons two blocks away from their school – and sits down on top of Junko’s desk. She never bothers to fix her skirt when she does that either, dark fabric flipped up so high that the guys in Junko’s class always fight amongst themselves to get a solid line of sight at Masato’s panties.
This time, on a chilly overcast day that sees Junko wearing thigh-high fleece socks under her skirt and borrowing her mother’s leather jacket, Masato comes with a bigger bag than usual. She stands over Junko’s desk, one hand on her cocked left hip, and grins down at the other girl.
“I brought you lunch, Junko-chan,” Masato says, smiling so widely that her eyes crinkled up into little crescents. She sways a little while standing in place, sending her light blue hair in its familiar high ponytail swaying from side to side. When she looks down at Junko again, there’s something in her gray gaze that feels expectant, hungry. “Won’t you eat with me?”
Junko glances at the bag in Masato’s hands and then at her neat little bento where she has it front and center on her desk as if that’ll stop Masato from pushing it off like a cat faced with a full glass of water.
“I have my own lunch, Matayoshi-san,” she says, using the older girl’s surname in what she knows is a futile attempt to put space between them. “Thank you for thinking about me, but I’m fine.”
Instead of returning to her own classroom, Masato merely shrugs and grabs the chair in front of Junko’s desk, one that belongs to a younger girl that rolls her eyes whenever Junko asks her a question or passes her papers. The girl in question is standing at her desk with her own lunch in her hands and a nasty look on her face, but when Masato merely glances at her, she goes all blotchy in the face and backs up.
“Is this really how you’re going to treat me, Junko-chan,” Masato says in a sing-song tone as she leans over Junko’s desk. Her uniform shirt is unbuttoned as it always is, low enough that her creamy white breasts and the lacy black bra barely containing them are practically thrust out at Junko. “After all we’ve done together?”
Masato pouts for a second and then grins, teeth bared like the predator she absolutely is. “Meanie.”
Junko stares for longer than she wants to, first at Masato’s breasts and then at her smug face. With a sigh, she closes her bento and puts it back in her bag. It’s all shelf-stable things, she reasons, she can have it for dinner instead of scarfing down a FamiChiki sandwich on the way home.
“Fine,” Junko bites out, hating herself for giving in to Masato yet again. She presses her thighs together underneath her desk and frowns, mouth pursing as she watches Masato start to unpack her bag. Masato pulls out a pile of onigiri, two different flavors of canned coffee, and two chicken and rice cups. Everything is still warm, and she even has the utensils and napkins to go along with it. Junko doesn’t know how Masato always gets on and off of school grounds without getting caught or in trouble, but she refuses to ask. “But you know – you don’t have to eat with me. Don’t you have your own friends?”
Masato has her own crew in the school. Actual delinquents. Junko has never understood how she can be friends with violent boys like Jogo and Haruta, but she also wishes that those boys were enough. No matter what they seem to get up to, Masato will always ditch the boys in her class and come to spend time with Junko instead.
Why?
“Why would I eat lunch with those boring losers,” Masato says. “I have you.”
Junko opens her mouth to –
Well, whether to complain or to shut Masato down, she isn’t quite sure. So, she kills the sentence instead, and reaches for one of the onigiri, raising it to her lips and taking a big bite. If she eats fast enough, maybe this time Masato will head back to her friends and her classmates.
The first onigiri – the one that she devours in three bites – has umeboshi in the middle. Despite being basic, it’s one of Junko’s favorite fillings thanks to the hastily prepared onigiri her mother would pack for her when she was in elementary school. When she finishes the onigiri and glances back at Masato, the other girl has a darkly satisfied look on her face.
“You always look so cute when you eat,” Masato says, leaning forward even further across the desk. She reaches out and plucks a few grains of rice from the corner of Junko’s mouth before popping them into her own. “Always such a messy eater eh, Junko-chan?”
Junko feels her face burn with a blush, and she ducks her head, trying to hide behind the fall of her dark brown bangs. She knows for a fact that Masato isn’t talking about eating food and she hates the reminder of how easily she gives in to the other girl.
“Don’t say that,” Junko whines. She kicks at where she thinks Masato’s long legs are, but only manages to bang the outside of her ankle against the side of the desk. Glaring, Junko leans forward and hisses, “I told you not to bring that stuff up at school.”
Masato’s grey eyes glitter in the pale sunlight shining into Junko’s classroom and she giggles.
“I didn’t say anything, Junko-chan,” Masato says, a teasing lilt to her voice. “You’re the one with a dirty mind.”
Masato shifts in her borrowed seat and glances around Junko’s classroom where her classmates have conveniently clustered around a few desks at the far side of the room. Her mouth with lips still stained red from her morning makeup routine – a thing Junko only knows about because Masato sometimes makes her help – part in a devilish smile.
“Dirty mind for a dirty little girl.”
Junko lights up like a firecracker. “We’re the same age,” she snaps, just barely remembering to keep her voice low. “Don’t talk to me like that, Matayoshi-san!”
Masato isn’t deterred by the heat in Junko’s voice. Instead, she pushes back her borrowed chair and picks it up, moving it over so that she’s sitting cattycorner to Junko, on her right side, and blocking her classmates’ view of her.
“You’re always like this,” Masato complains. But she’s smiling as she says it, and her left hand settles on Junko’s thigh, pinky finger brushing the top of her tights underneath her skirt. “So prickly at first before you give in and let me have my way with you. It’s not very cute of you, Junko-chan.”
Junko freezes, thigh muscle jumping underneath the weight of Masato’s hand as she starts to inch her fingers up-up-up. Any higher up and she’ll have her fingers between Junko’s legs, where there’s a damp heat steadily building. Junko always gets like this when Masato touches her, even when she’s annoyed or even angry with the other girl.
“Well, I’m not cute,” Junko bites out under her breath, trying to pull away from Masato’s hand high up on her leg. She’s unsuccessful, and Masato’s fingers delve between her thighs to cup her through the boy shorts she wears underneath her skirt because, clearly, everyone that she goes to school with is an irredeemable pervert. “And you – you need to move your hand, Matayoshi-san!”
Masato leans in close and then shakes her head while laughing.
“Now why would I do that, Junko-chan?” she asks, her fingers flex between Junko’s thighs, rubbing firmly against her clit through two layers of fabric. She leans in again and presses a stealthy kiss to Junko’s cheek, fending off her attempts to pull away. “You like where I have my hand. I can feel it.”
Junko tries to think of a retort, but before she can, Masato’s homeroom teacher Itadori-sensei pokes her head into the classroom. “Matayoshi-san,” she calls out. “It’s time to come back to class. Quit bothering Yoshino-san.”
Masato grumbles audibly but starts to pack up the bag of food, obedient in the face of her scary homeroom teacher. She leaves Junko with one more of the umeboshi onigiri, a canned caramel coffee, and the spicy tomato chicken and rice, but otherwise takes everything else.
“I’ll see you after school, Junko-chan,” Masato calls out on her way out of Junko’s class. “Wait for me by the gate!”
The ‘or else’ at the end of her words… is, unfortunately, very heavily implied.
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