#one shot: a very yakuza christmas

[lalunanymph]

dawn a very yakuza christmas absolutely ATE and i need you to know that i will never get tired of rereading it. i need this to be tattooed word for word behind my eyelids so i can see it even in my sleep

AWWDWWW CMERE LEMME SMOOCH YOU ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ eeee it licherally took out a piece of my soul but omg i would do it all over again to see how much u all enjoy it <33

[hamsterclaw]

Fukushu

The hitman who you met one New Year's eve promised you he'd be back, you just didn't think he'd be coming to stay.

A follow up to New Year's cheer, part of Bangtan Christmas 2022.

Pairing: Seokjin x f! reader

Genre: Assassin Seokjin, smut

Rating: 18+, minors dni

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of criminal activity

Word count: 5k

You love waking up on spring mornings like this one, where the air is cool and the leaves are dripping, laden with dewdrops. The mountain air is bracing, you take in a deep breath and close your eyes as you go out into your courtyard.

When you open your eyes again, the serenity of your morning is broken by the unexpected sound of footsteps, then the appearance of a man.

As far as unexpected visitors go, he’s better looking than most.

He’s tall, with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, and a face that really, honestly, truly, could be in magazines.

Unfortunately, in the line of work he’s in, he’s more likely to be in a CIRO dossier than a fashion tome.

You search the recesses of your mind for the name he told you that New Year’s Eve when you first met.

‘Seokjin,’ you say, pleasant with the memory of the night you shared. ‘What brings you back here?’

He smiles at you, beautiful, blinding.

‘You,’ he replies, ‘of course. I told you I’d be back to see you.’

‘The other thing is,’ he says, continuing, leaning closer like he’s confiding a secret. ‘I’ve been shot.’

***

You grumble to yourself as you set dishes on the table for breakfast, making sure to let your unexpected guest know how distinctly unhumourous you’d found his attempt at humour.

Seokjin had been unreasonably amused by your panic and concern at his announcement, had allowed you to pat him down for injuries before eventually confessing.

‘Of course I went to the hospital before I came here,’ he’d told you, just as you were searching for your first aid kit.

He’d raised an eyebrow at you, the wickedness of his humour unfortunately not detracting from his frankly devastating attractiveness.

‘You’ve very capable, but it is the 21st century,’ he’d pointed out. ‘There’s no substitute for good medical care.’

You’ve never wished so much to be affiliated with the yakuza who run your small town.

See how amused Seokjin would be with a blade to his throat.

You eye your chopsticks thoughtfully, and Seokjin says, from where he’s sitting at your table behind you, ‘You look very beautiful. I thought you’d dressed up specifically for New Year’s eve but you’re just as enticing in those tiny shorts you’re wearing.’

Belatedly, you remember you’ve yet to change out of your sleepwear.

You glance down at your thin t-shirt and decide to brazen it out.

Before you can turn around, Seokjin says, ‘that sleep shirt is so transparent you might as well be nude.’

‘Thank you for noticing,’ you say, dry.

You cross your arms pointedly as you walk past him to get changed.

He doesn’t even to pretend to avert his eyes, the bastard.

***

‘How long are you staying?’ you ask, after breakfast.

Seokjin sips his tea, casual. ‘How long am I welcome for?’

‘You actually outstayed your welcome long ago, five minutes after you got here.’

He ignores you. ‘I need somewhere to lay low, just until the heat dies down a bit. I thought a week, maybe two, max?’

He waits until you’re looking at him.

‘If that’s not ok, I can go. I don’t want to inconvenience you.’

You shrug. ‘I could use the company.’

‘Seriously, though,’ Seokjin says. He’s looking at you intently now, gauging your reactions like they matter to him. ‘If you want me out I’ll go right now.’

You say, ‘It’s fine, Seokjin.’

You hesitate. ‘I’m sort of dating someone right now, he stops by a couple times a week.’

‘Is he pretty like me?’ Seokjin asks.

‘He’s prettier than you,’ you say.

‘I find that difficult to believe,’ Seokjin says, tetchy.

You shrug. ‘You’re the one who asked.’

Seokjin mutters something you don’t quite catch, but it sounds pouty.

You glance at your phone. ‘Hey, I’ve got a delivery coming into the bar this afternoon, I should probably head to town. Will you be ok here?’

You show Seokjin around your place before you leave, tell him to make himself at home. You haven’t got a spare room, but you set up a bed roll for him in the annexe between your bathroom and living room.

‘I won’t be back until late, ok? Call me if you need anything.’

Seokjin’s already looking through your stash of games. ‘Sure,’ he mumbles, distractedly.

You roll your eyes. ‘There’s food. See you later.’

***

The bar’s quiet even for a Tuesday, you end up closing five minutes early to head home. You take the route you always take, down along the stream that leads to the back of your house.

You’re closing the gate behind you, fastening the latch, when Seokjin’s voice makes you jump.

‘Shit, you scared me!’ you mutter, leaning against the gate.

He steps out of the shadows. ‘Did you walk back? It’s so late.’

‘This is early for me,’ you say, rubbing the back of your neck, yawning. ‘I thought you’d be asleep.’

Seokjin follows you back into the house.

‘Hungry? Want noodles?’ you offer, getting a pot out of the rack.

‘I’ll make them for you,’ he says.

Surprised, you watch as he gets to work, boiling the water, dropping your noodles into the pot.

‘I’ll get changed,’ you say.

You return to a bowl of steaming noodles, a set table, a mug of tea.

‘Thanks,’ you tell Seokjin.

He sits at the table with you.

The moon shines in through your kitchen window, reminding you of the last time you saw him. You catch him staring at you.

‘It was a full moon on New Year’s eve wasn’t it?’ asks Seokjin.

You smile, softened by the late hour, the warmth filling your belly, the very beautiful man sitting across from you watching you eat a meal he cooked.

‘It was,’ you agree.

You remember the way he looked walking away from you in the cold just past the darkest part of the night, the footsteps he’d left in the snow.

Seokjin reaches over, pushes your mug towards you.

‘Drink,’ he urges.

You take a big gulp of tea, get up to put your bowl in the sink.

‘Go to bed,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’ll wash up.’

‘Just leave it, Seokjin.’

He hums, turns his back to you. His shoulders are broader than you remember, his body lean and long.

You realise he’s watching you look at him, reflected in the glass of the window.

He laughs softly, and you expect him to tease you, but all he says is, ‘Go to sleep. You look tired.’

You go to your room, find your bed roll prepared, quilt arranged neatly, pillow plumped.

You lay your head down and listen to the sounds of Seokjin clearing up in the kitchen.

Eventually, you sleep.

***

You glance out of the window at the sound of the approaching bike.

‘It’s the postman,’ you tell Seokjin, sat at your breakfast table. ‘Stay out of sight.’

Seokjin raises his eyebrow at you. ‘Just tell him I’m your brother.’

‘We don’t look anything alike.’

‘Different fathers?’ suggests Seokjin.

‘I don’t have time for a backstory now,’ you grumble.

‘Maybe an ex-husband?’

You scowl at him and yank open the door, stepping out to greet the postman at the bottom of the steps into the courtyard.

When you get back, post in hand, Seokjin’s frowning into the full length mirror by the door.

‘Do you really think we don’t look alike?’ he asks.

You stand side by side with him.

‘Do you really want to pretend to be brother and sister?’ you ask.

He wrinkles his nose. ‘Probably not. We’re definitely more like exes. Although why would anyone break up with me?’

‘Don’t know, maybe they’re not into handsome men,’ you tease.

Seokjin nods, seriousness in his eyes. ‘Too intimidating?’

You snort and start opening your post.

You frown at the bill you’re just received and shove it back into the envelope.

Seokjin’s been reading over your shoulder.

‘That’s a lot of zeroes,’ he remarks.

‘My dad had a lot of debt before he died.’ You shrug. ‘At least he owed it to the bank and not yakuza.’

You change the subject.

‘I’m getting another delivery today, I have to go in soon.’

‘Can I go with you? I can help.’

‘You good with a ledger?’ you ask. ‘You can help me with the quarterly budget.’

***

You’ve unpack your delivery, arrange things in the store room, make sure your bottles are topped up, and the dishwasher unloaded and then go to check on Seokjin.

He’s sitting behind your desk, frowning over the glasses he put on that you’re convinced are an affectation rather than a necessity.

‘What is this column?’ he asks.

You pick up the stack of receipts you’ve been meaning to sort out and start marking them.

‘What do you think?’ you ask.

Every business in the area makes regular payments to the yakuza, you’re lucky that money is all they want from you. As a single woman with no family nearby, it could be much worse.

Seokjin goes back to staring at your accounts.

‘It’s going to take you years on years to pay off that debt,’ he says, quietly. ‘Especially when half your earnings go on protection money.’

He’s not telling you anything you don’t already know.

You draw an ‘X’ on a receipt in black marker, bold, stark, before you reply.

‘My father went into debt paying medical bills for my mother’s care,’ you tell Seokjin. ‘He died paying it off. The bar is all he had left.’

You place the receipts on the small coffee table in your office.

‘I have a few things to take care of before we open,’ you tell Seokjin.

You smile at him, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘If you find a miracle in the accounts, be sure to let me know. Otherwise I can go back to looking at them tomorrow.’

The night’s lively, Wednesdays usually are, especially around payday.

You’re preparing more sake for a large group in the back when Seokjin emerges from the office, apron on like he works for you.

You give him a bemused look.

‘Want to help me serve this?’ you ask, joking.

Seokjin picks up the heavy tray without so much as a flinch.

You try not to stare at the way his forearms are flexed, hands gripping the sides of the tray. You have a sudden flash of what his hands might look like on your hips.

Seokjin smirks at you. ‘I’m stronger than I look,’ he says.

‘Weren’t you shot?’ you mutter.

He ignores you. ‘Shall I take this round the back?’ he asks.

***

Turns out Seokjin is also a shameless flirt.

You’ve always been aware of how attractive he is, how could you not?

The memory of him stepping into your bar, ducking under the noren, tossing back whiskey and dragging you out with him still sends a thrill through you.

It’d been one of the hottest nights of your life.

Seokjin pours out wine for the three women out for after work drinks, generous with his measures, with a flourish you have to admit is charming.

His already short sleeves are rolled up, and you think at some point he’d found time to tighten the apron around his waist.

He’s flushed from the heat and the alcohol, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears red, but he still looks good enough to eat.

He leans over you to reach fresh napkins. His eyes meet yours knowingly.

‘Your pours are very generous,’ you point out.

You think you sound neutral, but he laughs.

‘I was a bartender for a while, on and off,’ he says.

He’s got the audacity to wink at you. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘Jin,’ calls one of the women, waving him over.

Seokjin smiles. ‘Coming,’ he replies smoothly.

‘It’s unprofessional to flirt with customers,’ you point out.

‘And that’s why you don’t earn much in tips,’ Seokjin shoots back.

He lifts another bottle of white out of the crate and gets back to serving.

***

You lock the front door of the bar and turn back to where Seokjin is sprawled out across a bench.

‘Come on, big boy, let’s go home.’

He smiles at you, tipsy.

‘I made a lot of tips,’ he says, proudly.

You bite back a smile. ‘You did.’

You refrain from pointing out that he also drank an entire bottle of imported Italian wine.

You lift his arm up over your shoulders, help to steady him.

‘I can walk,’ he tells you.

‘I just don’t want you to fall into the stream, ok?’ you coax, holding on to his arm.

He hums as you walk back up the hill to your house.

‘Those women liked me a lot,’ he says.

‘You’re pretty,’ you agree.

‘I’m funny, too,’ he points out.

‘I don’t like dad jokes that much,’ you say, lightly.

He scoffs. ‘Yukino said she’ll stop by this weekend to see me.’

‘Sure.’

‘She’s pretty.’

‘I’m sure you’ll make beautiful babies together,’ you tease.

Seokjin considers this as you approach your house.

‘Can you help me get undressed?’ he asks. ‘My shoulder hurts. But don’t look too much, I’m expensive.’

You roll your eyes but you stop in front of him anyway.

‘Kneel down, you’re too tall.’

Carefully, you stretch his t-shirt over his arm, tug it upwards over his head.

He stays perfectly still as you slip his arm into his pyjama shirt.

You can feel his eyes on you as you pull the front panels of his shirt together and start buttoning. You can feel your face getting warm under his gaze.

Your fingertips brush the smooth skin of his torso as you fasten his shirt.

Seokjin licks his lips but says nothing.

‘There,’ you say. If your voice is a little higher pitched than usual, he at least grants you the kindness of not commenting on it.

‘Good night, Seokjin.’

‘Good night, Y/N.’

***

You wake to the sounds of crockery in the kitchen, the smell of coffee.

You pull on your robe and step outside, smile already forming on your face.

It’s not Seokjin.

It’s Haru, the man you’ve been dating on and off.

His face breaks into a smile when he sees you.

‘I was trying not to wake you,’ he says, pulling you into a hug.

‘I sleep light,’ you say. You take the mug he hands you gratefully.

Then you remember.

‘Haru —-‘

You’re interrupted by the arrival of Kim Seokjin.

Shirtless even though he’s been fully clothed the entire time he’s been staying with you.

Pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips.

He smiles at you, acts like he does this all the time.

‘Got coffee for me?’ he asks, intimate, low.

The shit-stirring weasel.

You want to stab chopsticks through his gunshot wound.

He turns a little, and the tattooed ‘7’ on his back makes you vow to find seven ways to torture him before you kill him.

Haru’s looking at you.

‘This is Seokjin,’ you say, using his government name to show the shit-stirring weasel how serious you are. ‘He’s an ex-boyfriend.’

You say, sweetly, ‘He just needs a place to stay for a few days. He’s between jobs. Can’t make the rent.’

Seokjin puts out a hand for Haru to shake. ‘I’m a policeman, I got injured and Y/N said the mountain air might help me recuperate.’

You lock eyes with Seokjin, unable to believe his colossal stupidity.

The heat in your gaze makes Seokjin avert his eyes. You can see the exact moment he spots the tattoo across Haru’s forearm.

His eyebrows rise.

‘Of course,’ Seokjin amends, ‘I work for the KNPA, and we have no jurisdiction here.’

You’re already pulling Haru away, leading him out into the courtyard.

‘Get dressed, will you,’ you snap over your shoulder at Seokjin as you leave.

***

By the time you get back inside, the coffee’s cold and the kitchen is unoccupied.

It’d taken you a while to convince Haru that Seokjin was just an idiot, longer to convince him you weren’t sleeping together.

You lift your hand as Seokjin re-enters the kitchen.

‘Do not,’ you snap, ‘even think about talking to me. I will castrate you.’

Seokjin’s mouth snaps shut. He walks over to the stove.

You get up and unceremoniously leave the kitchen.

Half an hour later, you’ve just about decided it would be too much effort to torture him when you kill him. There’s a quiet tap on the door of your bedroom.

You slide it open to see a tray set with breakfast - pillowy looking french toast and strawberries, fresh coffee.

Under the coffee, a note written in a jagged scrawl that’s exactly how you’d imagine his writing to be.

I’m sorry.

You look up as Seokjin approaches you.

Wisely, he stays out of arm’s reach.

‘I put extra powdered sugar on the french toast,’ he tells you. ‘I can cut it for you if you want.’

You watch as he sits cross-legged, cuts the french toast into bite-sized squares.

‘Shall I feed you?’ he asks, solicitous.

You grab the fork from him.

He eyes you uneasily, moves the knife away from you.

‘I didn’t know your boyfriend was yakuza.’

‘We’re not really dating.’

‘Strategically, it’s a good move,’ he says, like he’s pleased with your ingenuity.

‘We need a better cover story than you’re my deadbeat cop ex who got injured and are in the mountains to recuperate,’ you say.

You open your mouth, and Seokjin offers you another morsel of french toast.

As you chew, he picks up a strawberry, plucks the stem off.

‘I won’t be here much longer,’ he says.

He looks at you. ‘There’s a train out next week that I have a ticket for.’

‘Oh.’

Seokjin feeds you the strawberry, the tips of his fingers brushing your lips.

‘Stop feeding me,’ you protest.

You don’t sound convincing, even to yourself.

Seokjin’s thumb strokes over your bottom lip. He watches, eyes darkening as you part your lips.

He cups your jaw, holds you still as he leans in.

‘I want a kiss,’ he murmurs, lips barely a centimeter from yours.

‘Take it,’ you reply.

He’s gentle, slow, with you as he kisses you. He tastes like powdered sugar and mint, he smells of your shampoo.

He tilts his head, parts his lips, murmurs his approval when you part yours.

‘I’m glad you broke up,’ he tells you as you pull away.

‘We weren’t really dating,’ you point out.

‘Hmm? What were you doing, then?’ Seokjin asks.

‘Just —-‘

Seokjin says, voice silky, ‘Just what, baby?’

He’s still leaning over you, too close to do anything but touch you.

It’s funny, you’re so accustomed to hearing shit talking from him that you’ve never really noticed how sexy he sounds.

His voice is low, a purr in your ear.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ he asks.

His warm lips press against the skin of your cheek, his hands splay over the small of your back, and he pulls you into his lap with a sigh.

His hand kneads your ass under your robe.

‘Look at this ass,’ he says. ‘The number of times I’ve wanted to spank you for the things that come out of your mouth.’

You’re scrambling for something to say, but the first sound that leaves your mouth is a whine.

Seokjin laughs. ‘I don’t think you want to know how many times I’ve thought about that New Year’s eve.’

His hand works over the flesh of your ass, lifting you over the bulge in his crotch.

He mouths over the skin of your neck as his hands make slow passes over your ass, sliding over your thighs.

He moves up your thigh, tugs your panties to one side.

He presses his knuckles against your core, and you whine again.

‘Tell me,’ he says, conversational, fingers slipping tantalisingly close to your entrance. ‘Have you thought about me?’

You’re holding your breath, waiting for him to touch you.

He slides a finger into you, a slow drag that makes you moan.

He nuzzles your neck, nudges your chin up so your neck’s bared to him.

His breath is hot on your skin as he works you with his hand.

He groans as your hand finds its way under his pants. You curl your fingers around the stiff weight of his cock.

Well, you try to.

He’s thick.

Seokjin hisses in a breath as you squeeze just under his head.

His fingers are still moving inside you, stroking, scissoring.

He tilts his head back, grunting a bit as you stroke him.

There’s a deep flush in his chest now, heat rushing to his neck, the tips of his ears.

He’s beautiful like this, eyes intense on you, making soft sounds as you touch him.

He’s slipped a hand under your top, lifted it up, baring your tits to him. He cups your breasts, rolling your nipples with his thumb.

Your breathing quickens, your hand tightens around his cock, and he lowers his head, pressing into you. Your hand comes up, braces on his shoulder, and he groans.

He leans closer, presses you back into your bedroll, settles himself between your legs.

He rolls his hips against yours, the head of his cock nudging you.

The weight of him feels exquisite.

He settles a forearm beside you, propping himself up. He rolls his hips again, and your thighs part so he can fit better.

‘Seokjin –’

‘There you are,’ he says, quietly. ‘I was wondering when I’d see you soft like this again.’

You smile. ‘If you wanted me to be soft you should have showed me your cock sooner.’

He laughs, grinds against you, making you moan. ‘Take these panties off and I’ll show you.’

You lift your hips into his, and he drags your panties down your thighs, squeezes your ass on the way.

He presses a kiss to your forehead as he nudges in. ‘Tell me to stop if it’s too much,’ he says.

He’s gentle, slow, letting you adjust to him as he enters you.

‘More,’ you murmur into his ear, and he groans.

He kisses you again when he’s in all the way.

‘You take me so well,’ he praises.

Pinned underneath him like this, you realise he’s much bigger than you remembered.

He’s so long that his feet hit the door to your tiny bedroom. His shoulders and chest, up close like this, are big enough to stop you from seeing anything but him.

He’s overwhelming, and he fits inside you so snugly you can barely take a breath.

You move your hips, trying to get comfortable, and he stills.

‘Are you ok? Is this ok?’

His voice is strained.

‘I’m ok,’ you assure him. ‘You’re a lot, Seokjin.’

He sounds amused. ‘You can take a lot of me, can’t you?’

He circles his hips, pulling out, rocking into you, slow.

‘You feel so good,’ he tells you. ‘Can I move?’

You grab onto his shoulders as he thrusts.

You’re so wet the slide is easy. He moves, and the drag of his cock against your walls makes you tremble with pleasure.

Seokjin strokes your hair, murmurs praise to you as he moves his hips. You don’t catch all of it over your own moaning but it’s enough to make you feel safe, secure.

You don’t say but he knows when you’re coming, your body tightening around his. He catches your lips with his own, knits his fingers through yours, and says your name quietly, fervently, as he reaches his own release.

Afterward, you float in a pleasured haze as he gets a washcloth to clean you both up. He doesn’t bother putting a shirt back on, and truthfully, you don’t think that’s anything to complain about.

***

Seokjin’s got his plush lips against your cunt, you’re most of the way to coming, and he’s acting like he could keep going forever.

He laps at your cunt, tongue flat against your slit, moaning like he loves the taste of you.

The moon’s hanging high in the sky, you can’t see it but you can see the luminous beam of moonlight across the wall opposite you.

You look down at Seokjin’s beautiful face between your thighs as he licks you out, and the pleasure coils, ramping up with every flick of his tongue against your sensitive clit.

Your nipples are hard, your breasts swollen from Seokjin’s big hands touching you.

He parts you with his thumbs, seals his mouth over your clit, and your leg kicks out, flat, as you come.

Seokjin licks you clean, eyes closing. His hand’s fisted over his cock, even in your pleasure you can see the gleam of pre-cum smeared over his tip.

‘Get up here,’ you say, your voice a rasp because you’ve spent most of the day with his dick down your throat.

Goddamn, Seokjin doesn’t just look exquisite, he also tastes so good you could swallow him down all day.

Seokjin’s hand knits in your hair, gentle. His voice is low, husky.

‘Can you take me again? Are you sore?’

‘I can take you, Seokjin,’ you promise, legs already spreading.

His hand grips your thigh, tight.

‘You look so hot spreading for me like that.’

He’s learned how to fuck you now, just like you’ve learned how to take him. You’ve learned how good the burn is if he slides in just right, and he’s learned the angles to fuck you to hit you in places that make your back arch and your toes curl.

Seokjin’s thrusting into you now, the push pull maddening when you just want him deeper. Harder. Longer.

He grips your ass, tight, and pulls you down on his cock. He comes hard on a deep thrust, gasping your name, grinding into you.

He pulls you into his chest as he lays on his back, panting.

‘Why haven’t we been doing this all this time?’ he asks, with the audacity to sound annoyed with you.

‘Maybe because you’re annoying?’ you mumble, rolling over onto your front, facing away from his stunning face.

A moment later his hand lands on your ass. He squeezes, then his palm lands on your ass with a slap.

The sound of his hand on you resonates through the room.

You turn to him, outraged.

He’s ready, the asshole, catching your hands, holding you pinned so you can’t touch him.

You struggle for a bit but he’s much stronger than you’d reckoned.

Finally, you slump against him.

‘Not fair,’ you complain.

‘Didn’t you like it?’ he asks, feigning innocence.

‘No.’

‘Really?’ Seokjin asks.

He lets go of your wrists, presses his lips over the marks he’s made on your skin.

‘I’m sorry. If you don’t like it I won’t do it again.’

You’re oddly disappointed.

Seokjin gives you a knowing smile.

‘Anytime you change your mind, let me know, ok? I’ll spank you anyday.’

You don’t grant him the satisfaction of a reaction.

***

Seokjin’s walking home with you after a night at the bar, humming a tune under his breath.

He’s got an arm around your shoulders, you can’t remember when he started doing it but you like the feel of it.

‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ he says.

He’s told you a few times already, it wasn’t like you hadn’t been expecting it.

You want to know more, to ask the questions on your tongue.

Where are you going?

Will you be back?

But that would mean showing vulnerability, and you’re not sure about that.

I mean, it’s one thing to cry on his cock, and another to talk about how fond you’ve grown of his company.

Because you are fond of him, even if he has a weaselly side.

You realise he’s looking at you.

‘If anything happens after I’m gone, if you need help, let me know,’ he says.

‘I’ll miss you,’ you blurt out.

Seokjin’s expression changes, and you realise you’ve misunderstood.

‘I mean, if the people who shot me come looking for me, you should let me know,’ he says.

The carefulness of his tone makes your face heat.

God, you’re an idiot.

You’re reeling at your gaffe, your skin crawling with embarrassment.

You can’t look at him.

‘Of course,’ you say. ‘I mean, I’m not going to stick my neck out for you. Even if you have a big dick.’

Seokjin says, seriously, ‘It’s the biggest around.’

‘It’s a fucking whale,’ you agree.

You both laugh.

You’ve reached your house.

‘Good night, Seokjin,’ you say. You muster your courage, smile like you mean it. ‘You still owe me a bottle of whiskey.’

Seokjin says, ‘Thank you for letting me stay. I — I appreciate it.’

You nod, smile. ‘See you in the morning.’

***

When you wake up, Seokjin’s already awake, rustling in the kitchen.

To your surprise, he’s already fully dressed. You hadn’t been expecting him to leave until the afternoon.

‘I thought I’d leave a little earlier,’ he tells you, passing you a mug of coffee.

You try to hide your disappointment.

‘Sure,’ you say, going for cheerful, not quite achieving it but you think you’re close.

‘I really do appreciate everything you’ve helped me with,’ he says, kind.

Formal.

He’s distancing himself from you now, it stings but at least he’s being honest.

‘I’m glad I could help,’ you say.

You reach for a hug, and if you bury your face in his chest a little to smell him one last time you’ll never admit it.

He looks like he’s about to say something, looking down at you, but instead he steps back, bows very formally at you and then he’s gone, walking out the kitchen door through the courtyard.

***

You’re polishing glasses as you prepare to open the bar, when the door swings open.

You’re already calling out a greeting when you look up and see who it is.

You have the oddest sense of deja vu.

The tall man who’s just walked in smiles at you, and he’s so handsome your breath catches in your throat.

‘What — what are you doing here?’ you ask.

‘I came back to ask if you wanted to come with me,’ Seokjin says.

He tilts his head at you. ‘I was going to go to Sao Paolo.’

You’re working hard to stop the smile blooming across your face.

‘I’ve never been,’ you say, casual.

‘I think you’d look good in a bikini,’ Seokjin says, without missing a beat. ‘Or nothing.’

You’re considering this as Seokjin takes a seat at the bar in front of you.

He leans his forearms on the bar.

‘I got as far as the train station,’ Seokjin says. ‘Then I had to come back.’

He smiles wryly.

‘Turns out I like your face better than mine.’

You blink.

‘We don’t have to go to Sao Paolo—‘ Seokjin begins.

You cut him off with a kiss.

‘Yes,’ you breathe. ‘Let’s go.’

©hamsterclaw 2023

[scary-senpai]

In which Saitama steals Garou's Christmas decorations, continued:

Saitama is particularly freaked out by the little wooden elves, so he goes full Yakuza on them (kidnaps them, dumps them in a river) while disguised in a Santa suit.

Ideally, Saitama would have destroyed the elves completely. But in keeping with the Usual Running Gag (Sai wins every impossible/high-stakes fight but continually loses small ones), his attempt to punch out the elves plays out like the Mosquito Incident (Saitama literally cannot land a hit, no matter how hard he tries), and so he attempts to shred them.

So, Saitama tries to pull a Fargo and dump the elves in a woodchipper. But there simply aren't any woodchippers to be found in his neighborhood, he takes them to an office supply store instead, unaware that they offer a very different kind of shredding and it is also very expensive. Anyway, chaos ensues.

“Exhibit A,” Garou said. “As of yesterday morning, you have been permanently banned from OfficePlus… for unauthorized shredding, among other things.”

Saitama wrinkled his nose and stared at the printed image in his hands.

“That’s just some dude in a Santa suit,” Saitama replied. “There are plenty of those running around and wrecking havoc this time of year.”

“True, true,” Garou murmured. “But not many of them have all this on their rap sheet.”

Below a blurry, security-camera shot of a belligerent Santa-esque character shouting at a store clerk, a litany of offenses were listed. Garou read them off one by one.

“Disruptive haggling. Coupon forgery. Gross misuse of the Take-a-Penny, Leave-a-Penny jar... this combination of misdemeanors is pretty unique to you. Few people are petty enough to steal literal chump change.”

[quokkacore]

lost and found [bang chan]

summary: looking for your soulmate is difficult to do when you’re also looking after your daughter. but on a chance shopping trip, when you lose her, you end up finding her, and your soulmate, whose soft smile and cute dimples offer a lot of promise.

pairing: musician!chan x singlemom!reader

genre: soulmates au, slice of life, meet-cute, holiday special-ish?, fluff, minor angst towards the beginning.

warnings: brief mentions of kidnapping, language, eating 

song rec: exo - wait // chen - shall we?

word count: 2.1k

a/n: helena writing something that isnt angsty or smutty? apparently thats possible. december is gonna be pure winter fics says the girl who lives in a country where its SUMMER but go off and i’m posting a two part exo fic tht i’m rlly excited for on christmas eve and christmas day, so pls look forward to tht ^^

It only took a minute. It felt like even less. You turned your head to look for a sales employee, and let go of your 4 year old daughter’s hand to grab the hand she was holding onto to look through the shirts you were going through. Your eyes and hands were off of Annie for the briefest of moments, and when you reached out again, when you turned your head to look downward… gone. Like the wind. 

That had been ten minutes ago. Now, you were wandering around the department store like you had gone crazy. To a certain degree, you had. Don’t panic if you lose sight of your kid, all the parenting articles had said. So naturally, you were doing exactly that. Once your mind got the gears turning, it was hard to get them to stop. Your inner pessimist was already whispering to you, what if she left the building? What if some creep snatched her up? What if she had gotten hurt? 

Why couldn’t you have just stayed home on your day off? Why did you have to decide to haul yourself and your daughter along to the mall to do your holiday shopping today? You were immediately beginning to regret every decision you’d made in the past few hours, tears prickling in your eyes and a lump beginning to grow in your throat. 

You wondered vaguely if she’d left the department store and was now wandering around the mall. That could be an entirely different possibility. You’d gone around the department store twice now, not seeing a single sight of her. Your grip tightened on her winter coat—which she had given to you when it got too warm for her from being inside—and started looking for a security guard instead. Maybe they could call out to the other security guards in the mall and keep a lookout.

Just as you spotted one, beginning to think of what you could say to give a physical description—her hair and eye color, which were both the same as your own, the red t-shirt she had on, the jeans, her height—a notification bell rang throughout the department store on the speaker system. 

“To Annie’s mom, Y/N,” The woman on the PA system said, “Your daughter is at the help desk at the north entrance of the building.” 

A swell of relief swept through you as she repeated the announcement one more time, and your feet, of their own volition, started towards the exit of the department store. What a fucking relief. You had entered toward that side of the building; meaning, yes, she’d left the store, but she hadn’t gone too far. Your heart was racing, sprinting towards the entrance. Your eyes darted back and forth, desperately waiting for the desk to come into sight as you rounded the corner. 

When you turned, your eyes caught sight of your little girl, Annie, standing in front of the desk, teary-eyed, next to a young man in a black hoodie, watching her quietly. Your feet sped up, and when you were about fifteen feet away from the desk, your daughter turned her head to the sound of quick feet making a mad dash across the floor. Her eyes widened, and her little feet shot in your direction. “Mommy!”

She ran up to you, and you crouched to grab her in your arms, engulfing her in a hug that felt like it was more for your sake than for hers. You could feel a giant weight falling off of your shoulders as he sniffled against your shoulder. You found yourself having to blink tears out of your eyes. Pulling away a few seconds later, you wiped away a stray tear trickling down your little girl’s cheek.

“Honey, you can’t just walk away from me like that,” You murmured shakily, “I was so worried.” 

“‘M sorry, mommy,” She sighed in a small voice, lower lip wobbling. Your heart clenched at how upset she was, and you put your hand on her cheek to calm her down. “Wanted t’go look at the toys. But I didn’t see you ‘nymore after.”

You sighed, pursing your lips. “I’m so glad you’re safe. How did you find your way to the desk?”

Annie turned her head, wide eyes fixing on the man in the oversized hoodie. Dark, frizzy curls paired with eyes of the same color, warm and welcoming, watching your interaction with his elbow propped up against the desk. “He helped me. Showed me where t’go.”

Your eyes met the man’s, and you stood slowly, holding onto Annie’s hand. You made your way over to him, flashing him a small friendly smile. “Annie says you helped her find her way here? I can’t thank you enough. I was this close to losing my mind.” 

He let out a quiet laugh, nodding sympathetically. “I can imagine,” He replied, revealing a deep Australian accent, “I remember when I was a kid, my little sister got lost at the supermarket. My mum just ‘bout went nuts looking for her, and she was only missing for like five minutes. When I saw your daughter all alone, I got this horrible feeling, and I remembered my mum… I couldn’t just leave her there, y’know?”

You laughed. “Kids,” You sighed warmly, “You can’t take your eyes off of them, not even for a second. But honestly, thank you, uh, Mr…?”

He smiled, and as your other turbulent emotions began to subside, you realized he was insanely cute, taking note of his rosy, heart-shaped lips and his dimple. “Bang Chan. Uh, but just Chan is fine! Really.”

“Chan,” you repeated, your smile growing. You turned your head to look down at Annie. “And, what do we say to Chan for helping you, Annie? Sweetie...?”

But she didn’t seem to be listening to you. She was too busy gawking at your hand, which was holding onto her little one. You furrowed your brows, eyes falling to where she was looking, before your mouth fell open. 

This was the last thing you were expecting, you thought, as your eyes fell upon the red string tied around your finger, eyes trailing forward, forward, until they made their way to Chan’s index finger, and then even further, meeting Chan’s eyes, which were wide as saucers. Evidently, he hadn’t been expecting this either.

 “Mommy,” Annie said, confused, “That string just showed up out of nowhere. Like magic!” 

It was your turn to not answer now, too in shock, blinking stupidly at Chan, who was doing the same. It felt like an out of body experience, unable to stop your mouth from gaping like a fish, while watching you and this ridiculously charming, handsome-for-absolutely-no-reason man come to the realization that the universe had tied you together, quite literally.

“I-I…” You choked out, unable to speak. Oh my god, you idiot, you thought, say something! Don’t just stare!

“Mommy.” Annie’s free hand was tugging on your long, brown winter coat now, which snapped you out of your idiotic gawking. You looked down at her, and her eyes were glittering with excitement. “The string! ‘S’the one you told me about last week! Th’one that shows up when you meet your… your… snow mate!”

That seemed to truly snap you out of it, for some reason, and you let out a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

“Annie, I think you mean soulmate.”

“Yeah, that!” She started jumping up and down, and your face grew a crooked smile. You looked back at Chan, who was watching the interaction warmly. His eyes met yours when he realized you were looking at him, and he smiled at you in a way that made your heart do an anxious little tap dance, like he had known you for years and wanted to catch up.

In a way, it was true.

“So…” You said, “You said your name was Chan?”

He giggled a little at your breathless tone, and you grinned giddily. You felt like a teenager. It was honestly a bit embarrassing. 

“You wanna get some lunch? My treat.” He sounded insistent, but his eyes were still creased up with his welcoming smile. “I insist.”

“What are the odds?” You asked with a smile, having finished your lunch—some pizza from the mall Chan had insisted on paying for—a few minutes ago, now watching Annie run around over on the indoor playground with some other kids there. Chan was sitting across from you at the table. “The last thing I was expecting was to find you, y’know?”

“I think there was a higher priority on your list of things you needed to find at the moment.”

“Ha, ha,” You deadpanned, “You’re hilarious. Tell another one.”

“Alright, what do you call a—”

“No!” You said with a giggle. “I heard enough earlier when you told me the one about the yakuza and the jacuzzi.”

Chan laughed gleefully, resting his chin on his hand. The string had since disappeared—they disappeared some ten minutes after meeting your soulmate. “But really, it is pretty crazy. I read a few weeks ago that only 3 out of every 10 people actually manage to find their soulmates.”

He didn’t respond but his eyes studied your face, gaze fixated on the bridge of your nose. “Call me biased,” He murmured, “But you’re very beautiful.”

You looked down, feeling your face heat up. “Thank you. You’re pretty handsome yourself.”

“Ah, thank you.” It was Chan’s turn to smile bashfully, the tips of his ears turning red. He looked down at his hands, which were on the table. A brief silence settled over the both of you, and you pondered over how he had been during lunch, gentle in his questioning but also incredibly sweet whenever Annie said something or asked a question, and how he always looked genuinely interested in what she had to say. 

As a single mom, you never really had time to date. But both times that you given it a try, they didn’t seem to care about Annie or what she had to say. But here, now, Chan had been so happy to explain how he made music when she asked, or let her have the last slice of pizza, and it didn’t come across as disingenuous. It didn’t have the slightly condescending lilt some people put on to talk to younger children. He didn’t speak slowly and loudly, but he was aware that he needed to simplify his language given that she was still a little kid. He took things at her pace, and you could see that Annie warmed up to him instantly. 

Still, you were a little wary.

“Look,” You said softly, eyes turning to the playground, looking for Annie. When you found her, chasing a little boy around, you smiled softly. “I’m really excited to have found you, Chan. It’s something I’ve always wanted but never expected. But… y’know, I’m a mom, above everything else. Ever since she was born, Annie’s been, and always will be my number one priority. I need you to understand that.”

You met his eyes again, and they had turned more serious, attentive to your words. “I totally understand that, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to come between you and her, and I don’t expect you to drop everything for me. Especially if it involves Annie.”

“Thank you,” You answered softly, nodding. “It’s hard for her. Her dad and I broke up a few months after she was born, and she sees him maybe once or twice a year. She’s in such an important age for her development, and needs me just as much as I need her, y’know?”

He nodded again, humming in accordance. “Of course. I’m totally willing to wait if you’re not ready yet, or if you want to set certain boundaries for her wellbeing... Whatever you feel is best for her.”

Slowly, his hand made its way to rest on top of yours. He was almost cautious about it, brushing his fingers gently against your knuckles. “You really made my day.” His voice was warm, eyes full of mirth. You smiled. “You made mine too. Because I found my soulmate and you stopped me from having a heart attack by saving the day and finding Annie. I’m never gonna thank you enough for that.”

He laughed. “I’m glad I was able to help. It led me to you.”

Lowering your head as your heart skipped a beat, you looked at his hand on yours, then at Annie, and finally back at him. A rosebud of hope began to bloom in your chest.

Seeing his dimples as his eyes shone, you had a solid feeling it wouldn’t ever wilt.

taglist: @decembermoonskz​ 

[cryingcow]

Character Story - Saejima (1985)

Now for a Saejima story that’s much longer than the last :D Ch. 3 is set in Y5, so super minor spoilers for that (which makes this a Christmas story!). This will probably be my last for the near future, COVID situation-depending (or at the very least I’ll be much slower in translating lol cuz I really need to study and this story is just making me guilty XD).

Story: In the month before he attempts mass murder, Saejima gets to live out his dream of being a teacher.

Boy: “How do I solve this problem?”

Saejima, carrying a gun in his mouth: “Bluplaguhabulahebluwa.”

Boy: “I see! You know, you’re way more understandable than my actual schoolteachers.”

.

CHAPTER 1

.

|

One day in March, 1985 . . . one month before Saejima Taiga became the “Legendary 18-Count”.

|

Saejima: “Haa~. I might have had too much to drink with my kyoudai, because my head is fuzzy. Will I wake up if I drink some coffee? . . . Hm?”

Café Alps Waiter: “Sitting down with just 1 cup of coffee for hours! If you’re studying, do it at home!”

Boy: “I can’t concentrate at home! There aren’t many customers anyway, so it’s okay!”

Saejima: “Oi. Are ya picking a fight with a kid?”

Café Alps Waiter: “N-No. This kid has been sitting here since morning. Just 1 cup of coffee, for hours.”

Boy: “I was studying. I’m taking an exam soon. At home, my family is noisy and no good . . .”

Saejima: “Is that so . . . Ain’t it crowded at the café? Can’t you overlook him?”

Café Alps Waiter: “I can’t ignore this problem. What if the other kids copy him?”

Boy: “Hey, the mock exam is near, so 1 more hour! A good idea, right?!”

Café Alps Waiter: “It’s useless! Look, go over there! Shoo!”

Saejima: “. . . If you want to stay, why don’t ya order another cup? Look, I’ll get one, just let him study.”

Café Alps Waiter: “Eh? You?”

Boy: “Ojiisan! Is that okay?!”

Saejima: “Yeah.”

Boy: “Thank you! Ojiisan!”

Saejima: “. . . Brat. It’s not Ojiisan. It’s Saejima.”

Ichiro: “Saejima-no-ojiisan then! I’m Ichiro! Nishiyamada Ichiro!”

Saejima: “Ichiro. It’s time for you to study. There are people in this world who even if they want to study, they can’t.”

Ichiro: “Yup! I’ll work hard!”

----

|A few days later . . .|

Ichiro: “Stingy!”

Café Alps Waiter: “This is a business! If you’re not buying anything, then go home!”

Saejima: (Oi, oi. Not again.)

Saejima: “Are ya at it again?”

Ichiro: “Ah, Saejima-no-ojiisan . . .”

Saejima: “Ichiro, are ya studying at the café again?”

Ichiro: “Yup . . .”

Café Alps Waiter: “The other day, did you know that this kid stayed until closing after you paid for a drink? One extra drink is not enough . . .”

Saejima: “. . . It can’t be helped. Oi, Ichiro. You can’t study if you’re not in a quiet place, yeah?”

Ichiro: “Yup. That’s right, but . . .”

Saejima: “Then I know a place. Follow me, I’ll take ya there.”

Ichiro: “Eh? Is it a good place?”

----

Ichiro: “Ojiisan, what’s here?”

Saejima: “Ah, this place is . . .”

Saejima: (I can’t tell him it’s an abandoned hideout once used by the Family . . .)

Saejima: “Yeah, uh . . . it’s an acquaintance’s building. You can use it as much as ya like.”

Ichiro: “Hmm, all right. But . . . don’t you have a desk?”

Saejima: “How about those mandarin orange boxes over there? With cushions . . . we can use the cardboard box.”

Ichiro: “Yeah! . . . Somehow, this place looks like a secret base.”

Saejima: “. . . Didn’t ya say you were taking an exam the other day?”

Ichiro: “Yup. There’s a school I want to go to. So there’s a mock test soon . . . But I’m not good at studying. My grades don’t improve at all.”

Saejima: “Not good at studying, huh . . . Ichiro, how do you do it?”

Ichiro: “Um . . .”

{Ichiro demonstrates to Saejima.}

Saejima: “Hmm. That’s an inefficient method. I’ll teach you the right way. Let me show ya how.”

Ichiro: “Eh? Saejima-no-ojiisan? . . . You know how to study?”

Saejima: “Idiot. Even if I look like this, I was aiming to be a schoolteacher. When I was a kid, I was able to study well.”

Ichiro: “Eeh?! Really?!”

Saejima: “Really. Now let me show ya how.”

{Saejima demonstrates to Ichiro how to study Math.}

Saejima: “So, do it like this. The trick is to solve the same problem over and over again.”

Ichiro: “Wow! With Saejima-no-ojiisan’s teaching, it’s very easy to understand!”

Saejima: “Heh. Ain’t that right? Now, is Social Studies next? Let’s see . . .”

{Saejima continues teaching Ichiro.}

----

Ichiro: “Ojiisan, thank you for today!”

Saejima: “Sure. Do your best.”

???: “Oi, isn’t that Ichiro?”

Ichiro: “Ah . . .”

Saejima: “. . . Do ya know them?”

Ichiro: “Y-Yup. I think they’re friends of Oniichan . . .”

Thug-like Youth: “Ichiro-kun. We’re a bit short on pocket money. Will you lend us some again?”

Ichiro: “. . . I-I’m sorry. I don’t have any money.”

Thug-like Youth: “Lies! I heard from your Oniichan! Didn’t you have pocket money yesterday?! Hey!”

Ichiro: “Hiii . . .”

Saejima: “You guys . . . aren’t ya embarrassed to be asking such a thing from a child?”

Thug-like Youth: “. . . Ossan. It’s nice to look cool and all, but have you seen how many we are? If you’re going to pick a fight, maybe you should check out the other party first?”

Ichiro: “Sa-Saejima-no-ojiisan. Don’t do it. These guys are a group of runaways. They’re really strong . . . We should do what they say . . .”

Saejima: “. . . Ichiro. I’m not saying to get into a fight that ya can’t win. However . . . there are times when ya shouldn’t run away. Remember that.”

Ichiro: “Eh?”

Thug-like Youth: “Ossan, what the hell~, you think you can win? Just because you have a good body build? Then I’ll make you cry through sore eyes!”

{Saejima defeats all of the thugs.}

Thug-like Youth: “H-Hiii . . . Strong . . .”

Saejima: “You guys . . . try and lay a hand on Ichiro next time, and you’ll be sorry.”

Thug-like Youth: “U-Understood, damn it!”

{The thugs run away.}

Ichiro: “A-Amazing. . . . Saejima-no-ojiisan, you’re really strong too!”

Saejima: “It’s no big deal. How about you, Ichiro, are ya alright?”

Ichiro: “Y-Yup.”

Saejima: “. . . Geez. Shaking down a child. What bad friends. Ichiro, if they come after you again, tell me, okay?”

Ichiro: “Yup! Thank you! But I can’t just be protected by other people all the time. I have to become strong.”

Saejima: “Hm? Strong?”

Ichiro: “Actually, I want to be a police officer. A good police officer just like my dad.”

Saejima: “Wh-What? Officer? Your dad?”

Ichiro: “Yup. Is something wrong?”

Saejima: “N-No. So that’s what ya want. So ya want to be a police officer too?”

Ichiro: “Yup. My dad is a great police officer. He bravely confronts the Yakuza. It’s his job to protect the general public by not putting up with those bad guys.”

Saejima: “. . . A good father.”

Ichiro: “Yup. But I’m worried because he often gets hurt. Kamurocho is full of dangers.”

Saejima: “Well, that’s true. It’s a dangerous city . . .”

Ichiro: “Hey, Saejima-no-ojiisan. Teach me how to fight.”

Saejima: “What? How to fight?”

Ichiro: “Yup! I want to be strong like you so I won’t lose to bad guys!”

Saejima: “Yeah, but . . . how about ya don’t get into a quarrel with a bad guy? If you can do that, that would be the best.”

Ichiro: “But you have to be strong if you want to be a police officer! So Ojiisan! Make me your disciple!”

Saejima: “. . . And if I’m strict? Even then?”

Ichiro: “Yup! It’s fine! Thank you, Saejima-sensei!”

Saejima: “Ha, Saejima-sensei. I’m a bit tickled.”

Ichiro: “Fufufu. . . . Oh, by the way . . . what does Saejima-sensei usually do?”

Saejima: “Th-That is . . . it’s a freelance business.”

Ichiro: “Freelance? Hmm. I don’t really get it.”

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 2

.

|One day in March, 1985 . . . 10 days before Saejima became the “Legendary 18-Count”.|

Saejima: “. . . Hmm. That Ichiro didn’t come today either. Did something suddenly happen in the past few days . . . ?”

----

Saejima: “. . . Hm? That’s . . .”

Ichiro: “. . .”

Saejima: “Oi, if it isn’t Ichiro.”

Ichiro: “! Sa-Saejima-sensei . . .”

Saejima: “What a miserable face. Ya haven’t come by the past few days to study, what happened?”

Ichiro: “. . .”

Ichiro: “Uugh. Uwaaaaaa.”

Saejima: “O-Oi, what’s wrong?”

Ichiro: “Uwaaaaaa . . . Saejima-sensei . . .”

Saejima: “. . . F-For now, calm down. Okay?”

----

Saejima: “What happened that ya suddenly started crying?”

Ichiro: “. . . Dad . . .”

Saejima: “Hm? What happened to your father?”

Ichiro: “. . . He was shot and gravely injured.”

Saejima: “Eh?! What do you mean?”

Ichiro: “He got mixed up with yakuza . . . He protected a woman who was likely to get shot, and . . .”

Saejima: “. . . And wh-what?”

Ichiro: “The place where he got shot was so bad that he might not be able to walk anymore . . .”

Saejima: (So that’s why I haven’t seen him the past few days.)

Saejima: “That’s heartbreaking . . .”

Ichiro: “. . . U-Uuuugh . . .”

----

Saejima: “Are ya alright? Can you go home alone?”

Ichiro: “Yup. I’m fine.  . . . Hey, Saejima-sensei. It’s about your cram school . . .”

Saejima: “Cram school? Oh, that abandoned place? Did ya go there?”

Ichiro: “. . . I’m thinking of quitting. I don’t want to be a police officer.”

Saejima: “. . . That so . . . Is it because of your father?”

Ichiro: “Yup. That’s why teacher’s cram school . . .”

Saejima: “. . . Did ya get scared?”

Ichiro: “. . . Yup.”

Saejima: “. . . I see.”

Ichiro: “Saejima-sensei . . . what should I do?”

Saejima: “. . . That’s right. You’re having a hard time now, so how about ya sleep on it. However . . .”

Ichiro: “However?”

Saejima: “It’s no good to lose sight of the back ya want to emulate. If ya lose your way, I will guide you back myself.”

Ichiro: “Back . . . to emulate?”

Saejima: “That’s right, your father was a good police officer. That doesn’t change no matter what. What ya saw on your father’s back . . . it’s still a fine gate to aim for. Ichiro, having that in your heart should guide you when ya get lost, okay?”

Ichiro: “Saejima-sensei . . .”

Saejima: “But for now, you should take a rest. Don’t worry about the cram school.”

Ichiro: “. . . Yup. Thank you, Saejima-sensei.”

Saejima: (So, is it a yakuza-related crime? If I dig little, I can figure out who’s involved.)

----

Yakuza: “Haa . . . haa . . . Go away! Leave me the fuck alone!”

Saejima: “Wait!”

Yakuza: “Haa . . . haa . . . zee . . . zee . . . Damn it! What the hell are you?!”

Saejima: “The other day, a fight between yakuza took place behind Pink Street. Are you the yakuza involved in it?”

Yakuza: “Yeah?! What of it?!”

Saejima: “Were ya the one who tried to shoot a respectable woman? Moreover, the bullet that hit the cop on the scene . . . At the time, you escaped successfully. Did ya think that was enough?”

Yakuza: “Hey, are you a cop? You don’t look like one . . .”

Saejima: “No. Sorry. This is . . . revenge.”

Yakuza: “Revenge? Heh, interesting. In that case, I’ll throw it back at you!”

{Saejima beats up the yakuza.}

Yakuza: “Damn . . . strong . . .”

Saejima: “(For Ichiro, there is no relief. Even if I took revenge . . .)

----

|A few days later . . .|

Saejima: “. . . Hm? In that abandoned building I used with Ichiro . . . It seems the light is on, but it shouldn’t be . . .”

Saejima: “Oi, Ichiro.”

Ichiro: “Oh, Ojiisan. You’re here.”

Saejima: “Because the light was on. Rather, are ya all right?”

Ichiro: “. . . Yup.”

Saejima: “I see.”

Ichiro: “. . . Hey, Ojiisan. I’ve been thinking since then . . . I shouldn’t give up on my dream to be a police officer after all. Saejima-sensei taught me about ‘a back to emulate’. I still admire his.”

Saejima: “I see . . .”

Ichiro: “In addition, it’s not just my dad’s. The back that I admire.”

Saejima: “Eh?”

Ichiro: “Because it’s not just my dad that I admire, it’s also Saejima-sensei!”

Saejima: “! Ichiro . . .”

Ichiro: “So from now on . . . thank you!”

Saejima: “. . . Heh. Got it.”

----

|A few days later, at Saejima’s apartment . . .|

Phone: “Bururururu . . .”

Saejima: “Yes. This is Saejima.  . . . Eh? Talk with me? Is it important? . . . Understood. I’ll head out.”

Saejima: (Something important to tell me? The hell could it be?)

----

Saejima: “. . .”

Younger Delinquent: “. . . Then, if you are decided, please contact me. Everything will be confidential.”

Saejima: “Yeah . . .”

Saejima: (I would do anything for Boss Sasai . . . is what I thought . . . To kill. The target is the leader of the Ueno Seiwa. My heart is set. But before that, there’s something else I have to deal with.)

----

Ichiro: “Eh? Ends today? Wh-Why?!”

Saejima: “. . . I’m sorry.”

Ichiro: “Why? Why?”

Saejima: “I’m not the kind of guy you should follow. I don’t want ya to chase my back.”

Ichiro: “. . . Ojiisan. I don’t know . . .”

Saejima: “Ichiro. I’m sorry.  . . . Become a good police officer.”

Ichiro: “Ojiisan . . .”

----

|April 21, 1985.  . . . Saejima Taiga kills the Ueno Seiwa leader along with many members. This is the incident that later dubbed him the “Legendary 18-Count”. Saejima will receive the death sentence for that crime . . .|

.

-END-

.

CHAPTER 3

.

|December 2012. Kamurocho. 27 years after Saejima’s 18 kills. Saejima escaped from Abashiri Prison in Hokkaido after learning of Majima’s death. When he returned to Kamurocho to find out the truth . . .|

Saejima: “Haa . . . haa. Tch, they can’t find me with this many people . . . !”

Police: “The jailbreaker is over there!”

Saejima: “Damn it!”

----

Saejima: “Phew. Somehow, I managed . . . hm?”

Punk: “It should be around here . . .”

Saejima: (It can’t be helped. I’ll have to hide until they leave.)

Male Voice: “Oi, did you bring it?”

Saejima: (. . . Police?)

Punk: “Oi, how much longer do I have to pay up?”

Police Officer: “Are you in a position to complain? If it wasn’t for me, you think you’ll be eating good food in a dangerous prison?”

Punk: “Shit!”

Saejima: (What? Is he giving money to the police officer? What’s he doing? I should go elsewhere.)

{Saejima steps on glass as he tries to escape.}

Saejima: “!”

Police Officer: “Who’s there?!”

Saejima: (Damn it. I’ve been found . . . !)

Police Officer: “. . . Sa-Saejima . . . sensei?”

Saejima: “Huh?”

Police Officer: “After everything . . . is that all? I heard you’d broken out of jail . . .”

Saejima: “. . . Y-You, no way . . . . . . Ichiro?”

Ichiro: “. . . Long time no see.”

Saejima: “. . . Did you become a police officer?”

Ichiro: “Yeah. As you can see.”

Saejima: “Really. That’s good. I want to rejoice in our reunion, but it’s not the best timing. . . . Ichiro. I’m sorry but can’t you overlook that ya saw me? I still have something to do. I can’t afford to get caught . . .”

Ichiro: “. . . Heh. Are you going to kill someone again? I was surprised you killed 18 people, ‘Saejima-sensei’ . . .”

Saejima: “!”

Ichiro: “You also kept it a secret that you were yakuza. Even so, you were a good teacher . . .”

Saejima: “No, that is . . .”

Ichiro: “. . . Very well. I’ll overlook you. I don’t know what you’re going to do, and I don’t care. But you’ll have to pay me 500,000 yen.”

Saejima: “Ichiro . . . you . . . Was the money you received from the punk earlier a bribe? Where did ya learn such a thing?”

Ichiro: “Saejima!! I’m no longer an innocent kid!”

Saejima: “. . . . . . Won’t your father be sad? Did ya become a good police officer?”

Ichiro: “. . . Murderers often bring that up.  . . . Well, whatever. Just pay me.”

Saejima: “. . . Ichiro. I have no money to pay you now.”

Ichiro: “I see. . . . But you’re not going to come quietly, right?”

Saejima: “Yeah.”

Ichiro: “In that case, what to do . . . You guys! Time to make yourselves useful!”

Punk: “Eh?”

Ichiro: “Beat the hell out of Saejima. But don’t kill him.”

Punk: “H-Haa?! Why should we? Making us do such a thing on top of making us pay . . .”

Ichiro: “Robbery with assault. How long do you think you’ll get?”

Punk: “Ugh . . .”

Ichiro: “Do you want to eat smelly rice in prison?! Do you want to have the rest of your life ruined?!”

Punk: “D-Damn it!!”

{Saejima beats up the punks.}

Punk: “Im-Impossible! Impossible, impossible! This guy is as strong as a monster!”

Saejima: “. . .”

Ichiro: “What are you doing, you useless piece of junk!”

Punk: “B-But he’s too much for us! This guy’s strength is inhuman!”

Ichiro: “. . . If that’s the case, then use this. I confiscated this dagger today.”

Punk: “!”

Ichiro: “So stab Saejima! He’s not going to die!!”

Saejima: “. . . Ichiro. You . . .”

Ichiro: “Saejima! This is the price for betraying me! I’ll take the credit!”

Ichiro: “What’s wrong?! If you don’t do it, I’ll get rid of you too!!”

Punk: “. . . U-Uugh . . . . . . . . . . D-Damn iiiiiiit!! Cut it out, you fucking cop!”

{The punk points the knife at Ichiro.}

Ichiro: “What . . . What do you think will happen if you go against me?”

Punk: “Shut up! I’m going to mess you up! You’re dead!!”

{The punk rushes in to stab him.}

Ichiro: “U-Uwaaaaaa!”

Ichiro: “Eh?”

Saejima: “. . . Shit . . . as expected, it hurts.”

Punk: “. . . Ah. A-a-a-a-a-ah . . . Uwaaaaaaaaa!”

{The punks run off.}

Ichiro: “. . . . . . Wh-Why?”

Saejima: “Nothing to it. You were about to get stabbed. I can’t let ya meet your father like that, can I?”

Ichiro: “. . .”

Saejima: “. . . Kuh. Tch . . . He really used quite the force . . . stabbing that in . . .”

{Saejima falls to the ground.}

Saejima: “. . . Ichiro, what’s wrong? Aren’t ya arresting me? No way I can fight back now.”

Ichiro: “. . . . . . Ha, hahaha. You haven’t changed at all. Even though my hands are so dirty . . .”

Saejima: “! Ichiro . . .”

Ichiro: “. . . . . . 27 years ago . . . I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to think they got it all wrong.  . . . I was shocked. It was really because I saw your back . . . . . . But now, once again . . . I feel like it’s been shown to me.”

Saejima: “. . . Ichiro.  . . . Uugh . . . shit . . .”

Ichiro: “I know an underground doctor. He’s just nearby . . .”

Saejima: “No. I don’t need this taken care of. I’ll do something about it myself.”

Ichiro: “No, but . . .”

Saejima: “Heh. Don’t look at me like that.”

Ichiro: “. . . . . . Then run away before anyone sees you. Is there something I can do?”

Saejima: “Something? Forget ya saw me.”

Ichiro: “Heh . . . I’m already dirty. After all this time, the least I can do is overlook you.”

Saejima: “. . . I’m sorry, Ichiro. But . . . if I can do what I need to do, I will atone for my sins. I will take responsibility.”

Ichiro: “. . . Atone for your sins . . . ? . . . Hey. Can I ask you something? Is it still possible for me to start over?”

Saejima: “Yeah. Humans can always start over, if they want to.”

Ichiro: “. . . . . . Really?”

Saejima: “Heh. I’ve been in prison for 25 years. Don’t doubt me.”

Ichiro: “Haha. That may be the case . . .”

Supporting Police Officer: “Over there! Saejima!”

Saejima: “Tch. They found me? Gotta go, Ichiro. Do your best!”

Ichiro: “Back at you. . . . . . . ‘Saejima-sensei’.”

Saejima: “! . . . . . . Haha. That really does have me tickled.  . . . bye!”

{Saejima escapes.}

Ichiro: “Should I emulate that back . . . ?”

Ichiro: “. . . . . . Saejima-sensei. You really are . . . the best teacher.”

.

-END-

Masterlist

[juuten]

For You | Tenma Sumeragi

@chewie-santatoast​ says:  Merry Christmas! How about ‘secrets’ with Tenten? ❤️💚🤍🧡

Aimee replies: Hello! Thank you so much for requesting! Sorry I couldn’t greet you ‘Merry Christmas’ during that time :< That’s why I wish you a very advanced Merry Christmas! Also, stay safe and healthy!

This fic really took me a while to finish mainly because I needed to revise/shorten lots of parts. But surprisingly, I didn’t stray away from my initial idea when I thought of secrets and Tenma.

Anyway, the story takes place before Act 2. I hope this story will make you smile :D

For ‘A December with You’ event.

Today, Summer Troupe made sure to have the living room for themselves.

Fairy lights hung on the walls, painting the living room with an orange glow. Blankets and pillows surrounded the coffee table with a plate of onigiris on it. However, a winter’s night would never be complete without steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Muku delicately placed three mugs beside the onigiris, Yuki setting down the other two.

“Mr. Triangle!” Misumi grinned at the familiar triangle drawn on his cup of hot chocolate.

Muku grabbed his cup and giddily sat on his star-patterned blanket. "Mine's a crown!"

"The bear's almost like mine.” If one looked closely, a small smile dangled on Yuki’s lips.

Tenma reached for his mug and peeked at what Kazunari drew for him. "Is this a bonsai?"  

"Yep yep!" Kazunari sat on his spot in the living room. Then he winked and made a peace sign. “Kazunari Miyoshi’s latte art, everyone!”

Tenma's lips curled upwards. "Not bad." 

"Yippie! Now everything's set," Kazunari clapped his hands, "Operation ‘Tenten Living as a Non-Celeb: Christmas Edition,’ start!” 

But before Kazunari had the chance to show off his plans, the doorbell rang. Muku, being closest to the door, set down his mug and stood up.

"Who is it?" Muku said as he opened the door.

A brunette man wearing a gray suit smiled at him. “Good evening and advanced Merry Christmas, Muku-san.”

“Ah, Igawa-san! Likewise." Muku politely bowed.

Igawa set down an enormous sack on the ground. It looked like it was about to burst at any moment. "Please accept these gifts for the MANKAI members. Sumeragi-san and I chose them with utmost care." 

Then Igawa placed a thick scrapbook on Muku’s hands. "Also, please give this to Tenma-kun."

Muku obediently nodded. "I will! And thank you so much, Igawa-san!"

Igawa bowed and bid farewell before driving off. Muku secured the scrapbook under his armpit. Then he rolled up his sleeves. Pulling the sack with all his might, he trudged towards the living room.

“Mukkun, are you- Woah! Where did that super-duper big sack come from?” Kazunari’s eyes became as wide as saucers when he saw the boy set down the sack beside the Christmas tree. 

“It’s from Igawa-san and Tenma-kun's parents. They're gifts for us," Muku said in between pants. Tenma made a mental note to call his parents later.

Misumi put a familiar yellow triangle with a Santa Hat on Muku’s palms. “I'll give you Mr. Triangle Claus!”

Muku giggled and said thanks. When Muku returned to his spot, he presented the scrapbook to Tenma. “Tenma-kun, Igawa-san said this scrapbook was for you."

Tenma looked at him with confusion. Igawa always dropped off gifts from fans at his house while he delivered the important ones to the dorms. The gifts for the members were certainly one of those. However, the scrapbook was questionable. He was sure his parents did not make this; their careers always ate almost all of their time. Igawa was possible. However, Tenma knew managing his schedule was currently hectic. He always received more offers for both acting and modeling during the Christmas season. 

Suddenly, another potential person popped inside his head. With wide eyes, Tenma said, “Muku, who did it come from?"

“Um…” Muku flipped the scrapbook. He stumbled upon some initials at the far corner of the scrapbook. “There’s (First Letter of First Name) (First Letter of Last Name) written at the bottom.”

Within a blink of an eye, Tenma grabbed the scrapbook from his hands. All of the Summer Troupe members looked at each other in mild bewilderment.

Kazunari was the first one to recover as he playfully nudged Tenma’s arm. “Hey, Tenten, who’s (First Letter of First Name) (First Letter of Last Name)?”

“S-someone I'm close with!” 

Yuki suspiciously eyed Tenma as he drank his cup. “Hm…” 

Tenma fidgeted under his gaze. “Wh-what is it?”

Yuki placed his cup on the coffee table. Then with a menacing look, he said, “If you don’t tell us who they are, I’ll make you wear that rabbit costume again on Veludo Way. This time, alone.”

Misumi grinned. “I want to see rabbit Tenma again."

“That was supposed to be a one-time thing!” Tenma protested.

“Maybe the money-grubbing yakuza will increase the budget for costumes if I tell him the hack will advertise MANKAI Company this Christmas.” Yuki tapped his chin in thought.

Tenma grumbled. He was always careful to not expose your relationship with him when he was barely prepared. But now that his reputation (dignity) was on the line, he could not remain tight-lipped. Letting out a defeated sigh, he said, “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Tenma breathed in before saying, “The initials stand for (First Name) (Last Name). It’s my girlfriend’s name.” 

“Someone managed to date the hack, huh," Yuki said.

“What do you mean by that!” The man in question violently reacted.

"Hold up, fam. Since we're on this topic," Kazunari wrapped his shoulder around the orange-haired man and shot him a grin, “we should look at the scrapbook together!"

Tenma glared at Kazunari. “No way. And this isn’t part of your operation or what in the first place!”

"It's fine, it's fine!" When Tenma still had a scowl on his face, Kazunari clasped his hands and pleadingly looked at him. "C'mon, Tenten! Please!" 

Tenma hugged the scrapbook to his chest. He knew he was doomed to be teased once he showed the scrapbook. Knowing you, you put lots of pictures he was unaware that you took them. Nevertheless, this was a risk he would rather take instead of wearing a rabbit costume for the whole Veludo to see. Besides, he trusted that his members would never leak his and your private lives to the public. 

Tenma unwrapped his arms from the scrapbook and placed it on his lap. “Fine. But no taking of pictures or videos.” With that, everyone sat closer to Tenma. 

Tenma’s heart pounded as he opened the scrapbook. A photo of a smiling couple sitting on a flowery meadow filled up the upper part of the first page. Below the picture was a handwritten caption that said, "First date planned by Yours Truly ☆." Then at the bottom of the page, there was a colored drawing of the meadow. Tenma's eyes widened in astonishment. Your illustration looked the same as he remembered. The difference was you put a dried sunflower at the center above the flowery meadow and drew its stem.

"(First Name)'s drawing and design are totes amazing! Kudos to her!" Kazunari said, which Tenma replied with a proud 'of course!'

Muku turned to the orange-haired man with excitement gleaming in his eyes. "Tenma-kun, what did you do on your first date?" 

"Did you find triangles with her?" Misumi asked.

"Only the Trianglian will do that there," Yuki commented.

“We had a picnic, talked and took some photos. Then, uh...” Tenma scratched his head, trying to remember any fascinating but not too embarrassing moments from his first date. "We also played Twenty One Questions.”

“So what do you do?” Tenma asked the moment you proposed this game.

“We just alternately ask each other twenty-one questions and answer them. The questions can be about anything at all!” A mischievous glint passed your eyes, which you covered up with a smile.

Your boyfriend seemed to be unaware of it as he smirked. “I’ve handled many interviews, so this one’s easy.”

“It’s still your first time playing this though. That’s why I’ll start asking you.” You intertwined your hands with his. Then with the most serious face you could muster, you said, “If you meet an alien who lands in Japan, what is the first thing you will give them?”

You tried to hold back your laughter when you saw his dumbfounded face. He was so confident seconds ago, and now, he was a flustered mess. 

You brushed your thumbs on his hands to help him relax. “It’s only a hypothetical question, Tenma-san. You don’t need to think too much about it.”

“Still, how did you even come up with that question?”

You wagged your index finger. “It’s not yet your turn to ask a question.”

“I can’t ask at all?!”

“That’s a question, Tenma-san.”

Tenma groaned, making you laugh. Then he scratched his head. “I’ll give the alien a map of Japan, I guess.”

You frowned. “I don’t know if they can understand our language though.” Then you shook your head. “Well, a map’s still a good choice!”

You squeezed his hands. “It’s your turn to ask a question, Tenma-san.”

Now that Tenma paid attention to it, you still used an honorific for him. It was progress compared to the early days wherein you called him by his last name. At that time, it was so awkward for him; it felt like you two were co-workers instead of lovers. But even now, he wanted you to be comfortable with him. With those thoughts, he said, “You know you could drop the honorific, right?”

You nodded. “I know. But I can’t just casually call someone who I really respect and admire.”

At the corner of your eye, you saw a pair of bloomed sunflowers near your side. You unclasped your hands from his and plucked the sunflowers. Giving one to him, you said with a tender smile, “To my sunflower who I adore.”

Muku tightly hugged his pillow to his chest. “That’s so romantic of (First Name)-san!”

“Yeah… but then she asked another random question for the game.” Tenma sighed at that. Then he looked at the next page. Red painted his cheeks as he saw a stolen shot of him eating your homemade sandwich.

“The sandwich is a triangle!” Misumi grinned.

“You’re right, Sumi! It is!” Kazunari patted him on the back. 

Meanwhile, Yuki pointed at the picture and said, “Hack, you eat like a kid. Look at the crumbs on your mouth.”

“It only happened during that time! Besides… (First Name)’s sandwich was delicious,” Tenma murmured the latter part as he munched on an onigiri.

As Tenma continued to tell what happened in the other photos, his gaze softened. He never thought that he would enter a romantic relationship and last this long. After all, school and his career demanded so much of his attention. But this scrapbook proved him wrong. It carried the many memories both of you made. If he had to choose his fondest memory of you, it would be you watching his performance. Tenma beamed with pride whenever he saw you laughing, crying, or overall getting hooked alongside the audience. It meant that Summer Troupe’s efforts paid off. Moreover, he got to express his gratitude towards you through his acting. Nonetheless, the ambitious actor would never stop improving and showing you the best performance. 

As Tenma flipped to another page, a photo fell out and landed beside Kazunari’s lap. The latter looked down and picked it up. Kazunari stopped chewing his onigiri, his jaw dropping in surprise. 

“OMG! Tenten, you look super cute!” Tenma had no time to react as Kazunari shoved the photo to his face. Tenma grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand out of the way. 

“Kazunari, what-” 

The orange-haired man froze. Out of all the pictures, why did you include this one in the scrapbook? It was a photo he definitely could not show to anyone without stripping his dignity away. But you were an exception since you begged for it as your birthday present. Still, you owning the photo did not mean you could put it without letting him know first! Anyone else could see it the moment the scrapbook landed at the dorm. And news traveled fast in a dorm with many people.

Misumi giggled. “It’s baby Tenma.”

“He doesn’t have the ‘Ore-sama’ air around him yet,” Yuki said as he stared at the photo.

Tenma snapped out of his trance and snatched the picture from Kazunari. "Oi! You don’t need to see it!” 

Misumi tilted his head in wonder. “But it was in the scrapbook.”

"Yeah, but still!" 

Then Muku noticed the black ink on the back of the polaroid. Tugging on Tenma’s sleeve, he said, “Tenma-kun, I think there’s something written at the back.”

Tenma begrudgingly flipped the photo on its back. He immediately recognized your handwriting that wrote the following message:

I hope your true friends will see all of your sides that I love, including this one. 

P.S., Merry Christmas, Tenma-san! I hope you like my gift ♡ 

Tenma covered his face with his hand, trying to fight off the smile forming on his lips.

[theultimatefanficwriter]

12 Days of Danganronpa; Day 2: Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu x Reader

Christmas at the Kuzuryu manor was always the same; the staff would make the food, then leave to their own families while Peko, Natsumi, Fuyuhiko and their parents would sit and eat. After the dinner, they would exchange presents to each other, then return to their separate activities. 

This year, however, would be different. You would be spending Christmas dinner at the Kuzuryu manor, and you weren’t the only one nervous.

“Peko! Make sure the cleaning crew gets every inch of the house!” The Ultimate Yakuza called to the swordswoman as he fixed a crooked painting that was hanging on the wall. “This place has to be fucking spotless when Y/N gets here, you got that?!”

“Understood, Young Master.” Peko responded, bowing at the waist before heading off further into the house.

Fuyuhiko looked frantically around the house, nervously fixing any little thing that seemed out of place.

“Jesus Christ, Fuyuhiko, will you calm down already? You’re freaking the hell out.” Natsumi complained from a doorway. “You’re going to scare your girl away before a messy house does.”

Her brother turned to glare at her. “Oh, shut the hell up, Natsumi!” He snapped, clenching his fists. “What do you know?!”

The younger Kuzuryu crossed her arms. “More than you, clearly!” She retorted. “Y/N doesn’t give a shit about the house. She cares about you, dipshit. The look on her face when she looks at you makes me sick.”

Fuyuhiko rolled his eyes and turned away from his sister. “Whatever.” He muttered. “I just wanna make sure she feels welcome. That she knows I care about her.”

The self-proclaimed ‘Ultimate Little Sister’ raised a brow. “And polishing the house until it’s blinding is gonna prove that?” She asked. 

The Yakuza heir paused, his hand on the mantle midway from brushing off dust. 

Natsumi snorted and shook her head. “Just relax, Fuyuhiko. Y/N’s nice. One of the few people I can actually bear being around.” She smirked. “If she won’t break up with you for your personality-” Fuyuhiko shot her an annoyed glare, causing Natsumi to chuckle before she continued. “-then she won’t leave you if there’s a speck of dust out of place.”

Fuyuhiko sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just...I really like this girl, Natsumi.” He muttered quietly. “She’s the first person to take the time to get past the fact I’m a Yakuza and get to know me. She...makes me happy. And I don’t wanna lose her.”

Natsumi gave the older boy a small smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you won’t. Like I said, she’s crazy about you. I don’t think there’s anything you can do to get her to leave your crazy ass.”

The short boy chuckled and looked over to his sister. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the sound of the doorbell going off. This caused Fuyuhiko to stiffen, and Natsumi snorted. 

“Looks like she’s here.” She informed Fuyuhiko with a smirk as Peko made her way to the front door. The younger sister looked to Fuyuhiko, then ran her finger over the mantle. When it came back with dust on it, she chuckled. “You missed a spot.” She teased, then ran the dust covered finger on Fuyuhiko’s shirt.

“Hey, what the fuck?!” He exclaimed as his sister quickly dashed away. He let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand over his face as he turned towards the front door. There, he saw you moving back from a hug with Peko. The Yakuza tugged at his shirt collar before approaching the entrance. 

~~~

You smiled at Peko as you parted from the hug. “It’s great to see you, Peko.”

“And you as well, Y/N.” Your friend greeted you, smiling softly at you. “You look wonderful today.”

“Yeah, you look, uh...beautiful, Y/N.”

You and Peko both turned your heads at Fuyuhiko’s voice. You beamed when you saw your boyfriend, and you quickly made your way over to him, throwing your arms around the shorter boy. “Fuyu! Hey, babe!”

The baby faced gangster slowly returned the embrace, his cheeks flushing a light pink. “Hi, Y/N.” He greeted you as you parted from the hug. “It’s nice to see you.”

You giggled and looked around the house as Peko closed the door. “Wow, this is a really nice place, Fuyuhiko! Really neat, too.”

“Heh, thanks.” Your boyfriend smiled softly and reached his hand out to take yours. You happily accepted it, placing your hand in his and allowing him to lead you towards the dining room. “I hope you’re hungry. The staff was working all day preparing dinner, and there’s a lot of it.”

You looked over the table and saw enough food to feed an army. You snorted. “Dang, I didn’t know there was that much food in the country.” You teased.

Fuyuhiko chuckled. “Yeah, well, they always do end up making too much.” He explained as he pulled your seat out for you.

You smiled gratefully up at him as you sat in the chair and he pushed you closer to the table. He then took his seat beside you, and it wasn’t long until Natsumi and Peko joined as well, taking their seats at the large table. You looked around at the two empty chairs and frowned as the others there began to get ready to start eating. “Um, wait, what about your parents?”

There was an awkward silence.

Peko cleared her throat and looked sadly at you. “Uh...They haven’t joined us for Christmas Dinner for a few years now.” She informed you quietly.

Fuyuhiko and Natsumi both looked down at their plates, picking at their food.

You bit your lip and looked to your boyfriend. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupted you. “It’s normal here.”

“Mom and Dad are too busy with business to spend time with us anymore.” Natsumi spat out. “But hey, that’s just part of being a Yakuza. You’ll have to get used to it if you end up staying with Fuyuhiko.”

Fuyuhiko glared at his sister. “Shut the fuck up, Natsumi.” He snarled. “Just drop it.”

“Oh, well excuse me for warning Y/N that if she wants to be part of this family she’s gonna have to expect you to never pay her any attention!”

You watched as Fuyuhiko’s face turned an angry red. “Fuck you, I would never do that to Y/N!”

“Young Master, Young Mistress, please.” Peko called to them both softly yet sternly. She glanced at you. “Save this for later.”

Natsumi humped and began eating her food, while Fuyuhiko shot you a glance before doing the same.

You tried your best to shrink into your seat and disappear.

What the hell had happened?

~~~

After a very awkwardly silent dinner, Natsumi immediately left to her room and Peko began gathering the dishes to clean. Fuyuhiko looked to you and sighed, grabbing your arm and pulling you down to his office.

“F-Fuyuhiko, I’m sorry!” You apologized as he closed the door behind him and ran his hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I-I didn’t know-”

“I know.” He assured you. “I know you didn’t. It’s fine. It’s just...Our parents are a really sore topic, especially during the holiday season.” He scratched at the back of his neck and looked up to you. “It’s...part of why I was excited to have you over. New company, something to fill that void.”

You smiled softly, before it faltered. “And then I fucked that up by bringing up your family.” You muttered. 

Fuyuhiko quickly shook his head. “No, no no! You didn’t know, and it makes sense you’d be curious!”

“But Natsumi got so mad at me!” You argued.

“She wasn’t mad at you, regardless of how it looked. Trust me.” He assured you. “She’s mad at our family. When she calms down she’ll come and apologize to you in her own way. She likes you. She told me herself.”

That soothed your worry a bit, though you were still anxious. “Still...I’m sorry I couldn’t make Christmas better for you.”

Fuyuhiko rolled his eyes and scoffed as he walked closer to you. “Please, that dinner was honestly one of the tamer we’ve had.” He told you. “Just you being there made it way more bearable than it would’ve been otherwise.” He reached forward and grabbed onto your waist, pulling you forward flush against him.

You blushed lightly at this motion. “R-really? You sure?” You asked quietly.

Your boyfriend nodded, a grin on his face. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He brought a hand up to your face and lowered it to meet his. “Look, just don’t worry.” He snickered. “Damn, and I thought I was freaking out about this.”

You raised a brow. “You were worried?”

Fuyuhiko nodded. “Yeah. I was worried if everything wasn’t perfect, you wouldn’t want to be with me. And after that fiasco, I thought you’d wanna break up with me for sure. But uh, seeing how worried you are kinda resolves my fears.”

You couldn’t help but giggle knowing you had both been worried about virtually nothing. You placed your forehead on your partner’s, now fully relaxed. 

The shorter boy smirked and closed his eyes before smashing his lips against yours, placing a hand on the back of your head to deepen the kiss. You followed suit, closing your eyes and gripping his shirt.

You lost track of time for how long you had been there, but eventually Fuyuhiko pulled away to breathe. “So perfect~” He breathed out, and you giggled.

Suddenly a knock was heard. As you both turned to see who it was, the door opened, and there stood Natsumi. 

“Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt, but I...wanted to...apologize, I guess.” She murmured. “I was...out of line earlier.”

Fuyuhiko gave you a knowing smile, and you smiled at Natsumi. “That’s really nice of you, Natsumi, though it’s really fine.” You looked between both Kuzuryus. “Why don’t we go watch a movie or something? Try to be...a family.”

Ngl, not super happy of this one. Not used to writing for Fuyuhiko, and I didn’t have an entire story planned, so it’s not my best work. I normally wouldn’t post this, but I needed to post something, so forgive me if it’s not up to my usual standards. But I hoped you enjoy Day 2 of 12 Days of Danganronpa! Fuyuhiko received three votes, coming in second to last! Come back tomorrow to see who got one vote higher then Fuyu and Hiro!

[phinksimp]

Phinks x Reader: Present (Christmas Story)

Really digging soft boi Phinks headcanons atm. Maybe it's because of the holiday season 🎁☃️

Phinks groaned as he stood outside the university gates, tugging at the collar of his uniform. The grey dress shirt, black dress pants and matching black shoes, tie and belt weren't exactly his style.

An archeologist from a foreign country would be bringing a rare artifact for a presentation next month.

Chrollo caught word of this, and had assigned Phinks to get a job as security at the university a few months back.

Shalnark had hacked into the security company's file, ensuring that Phinks would be the one to escort the archeologist once the time came.

The plan was simple enough:

Take out the archeologist and leave with the artifact.

The other members of the troupe would poke fun at Phinks for having to actually work for several months. As much as he acted as if he hated it, it wasn't exactly true...

"Phinks!"

You waved at the blonde haired man as you adjusted your purse.

Phinks smiled, nodding his head in reply. "Off early today?"  He cursed at himself, trying to slow down his heart as it began to beat rapidly.

The hell is wrong with me?! 

You usually taught courses until late in the evening, but you had decided to cut your class short today.

"Yupp! It's so weird seeing the sun! I figured I'd let the class off early for the last day of the semester."

Phinks sighed. "I’m working late. You'll have to head to the station on your own..."  He was relieved that he managed to hide his disappointment.

You and Phinks happened to both finish work at the same time, and would take the train at the same station.  At first it was by chance, but after a few awkward interactions of walking the same way home almost every day; it became a routine.  

Phinks wasn’t the social type, but he couldn’t deny that you were his type.  He was drawn to you before the two of you even spoke.

You were the first to break the ice, making a joke about how the University’s security was top of the line.  

“So, is escorting me to the train station part of your job?”

Phinks shot up suddenly. "Wait, last day of the semester?!"  He kicked himself internally for having forgotten.

You let out a laugh, entertained by Phinks breaking his usual calm demeanor. "Yeah, that's why I wanted to make sure you got this..."

You shyly handed him a small gift bag with a picture of a snowman smiling on it. "Merry Christmas, Phinks! I'm happy to have met you."

Phinks stood there dumbfounded as you began to walk away.

"I hope it helps!!"

You ran off before he could say anything, your ears burning.  You felt like a little kid again.  You couldn’t help it whenever you were around Phinks.  

He made your heart skip a beat.

At first you were intimidated by his looks, but during your walks to the station you soon learned that deep down-- he was gentle. 

You didn’t know much about him, but you knew that you wanted to get to learn more.  You wanted to get closer to him...

---

Phinks sat on the edge of his bed, wearing a pair of grey pin striped boxers. He held the gift bag in his hand, the sense of confusion still over him.

He had never received a present before.

In movies, there was usually a card attached to the bag. He scratched his head when all he saw was the picture of the snowman staring back at him.

"No card, huh? I guess I know who it's from anyways..."

He opened the bag slowly, carefully moving the white tissue paper to the side.

He ran his fingers along the long piece of fabric, admiring the colors of red and green.

As he pulled it out, he spotted a small piece of paper fall out from it.

The enhancer caught it quickly, opening his hand to read it.

Dear Phinks,

You once told me your favorite colors were red and green, and I know you can’t wear a jacket over your uniform.  I thought this might help keep you warm on nights when you have to work late.

I meant to ask you in person, but if you are reading this-- it means I chickened out.

My family is away this Christmas, and I remember you mentioning yours was away as well...

If you feel up to it-- you're more than welcome to come to my place for Christmas! (But it's fine if you don't!) Address is on the back.

Happy Holidays!!

Phinks smiled, placing the note on his night stand. He wrapped the scarf around his neck as he drifted off to sleep.

---

Phinks panicked as he spent the next few days watching Christmas movies. He didn't know how Christmas was celebrated or what to expect.

"Seems simple enough..."

Phinks dug through his closet, pulling out a light grey leather jacket he had worn when he was infiltrating a Yakuza biker gang. He paired it with dark denim pants, brown gloves, and the scarf you had given him.

He heightened his senses as he made his way to your house. He didn't want anything to happen to the chicken nor the hot chocolate he had bought for you. He didn't understand it, but it seemed to be a common practice in the movies he watched.

You jumped when you heard a knock on the door.

"No way..."

You fixed your hair, adjusting your tight red dress and Santa hat as you made your way to the door.  You stumbled slightly, having drank a bit too much to cope with being alone on Christmas for the first time.

"You made it!"

Phinks smiled holding up the hot chocolate and chicken.  “Yeah, uh, merry Christmas, Y/N.” Shit...I hope I said that right...

You smiled, stepping to the side to invite him in.  

As much as you wanted him to; you never expected he’d actually show up.  You clenched your jaw, trying to hide your panic.

Did I clean enough?! Is there toilet paper in the washroom?! Shit!! Phinks examined your house.  He smiled when his eyes fell upon the Christmas tree in your living room.  

Just like in the movies...

You took the food from Phinks, and went to make room on the table.  

You groaned, looking at the pile of books that you had left from marking final exams the night before.   “Sorry, Phinks.  Do you think you could give me a hand moving these?”

Phinks nodded, making his way over to you.

He continued to look around your house as you both made your way to your study.

Your study had a large bookshelf, and it must have contained over a hundred books.

You stepped onto a stool, carefully sorting the books into their proper place.

You held your hands out to Phinks to hand you the books.

Phinks was in his own world as he continued to observe his surroundings.  

Being a part of the Spiders meant constant relocating.  He had never been inside a true home before.  

Small touches around your house such as a picture of a cat made him chuckle.  It was very you.

“Phinks?”

You looked at him worriedly.  Was he regretting his decision?

Phinks quickly came to, looking back to where you were standing.

“Huh?” You blushed, hoping you weren’t right...

Phinks looked above you at the holly you had surrounding the doorway.

His face went red, remembering what he had seen in one of the movies he watched.

She probably thinks I’m an idiot!  

Phinks held your arm as he pulled you towards him, pressing his lips against yours.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him, checking to make sure you weren’t dreaming.  

You stood there frozen from shock once Phinks pulled away.

The muscular man chuckled as he examined your expression.  “What?  It’s tradition, isn’t it?”  He pointed up at the holly.

You bit your lip, unsure of how to handle the situation.  “Oh that’s...holly.”

Phinks felt his heart drop as his ears began to burn.  His mind raced, trying to make up some sort of excuse.

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkingggg helllllllll!  Maybe I could just run out the d--

You began to laugh, charmed by how innocent he seemed at times.

The alcohol you drank earlier gave you courage, as you stepped down from your stool, wrapping your arms around his neck.  

Phinks felt a shiver run down his spine as you whispered into his ear.

"If you wanted to see what mistletoe looks like, I think I have some in my bedroom.”

Phinks growled, a wicked grin now plastered on his face as he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist.  

“Teaching on Christmas?  You’re one hell of a professor.”

You laughed as Phinks carried you up the stairs, the chicken going cold as the two of you spent Christmas Eve under your covers.

It was a Merry Christmas for you both.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

cus i decided not to be a predictable hoe anymore, im ganna say Chime, to be a slightly less predictable hoe🤩

A Mountain Village, Somewhere in Japan

The village was nestled deep in the folds of the rolling forested hills. It was guarded by a magnificent century old Torii gate. A white stone path led to neat rows of simple rustic housing. It looked more like a tourist museum piece with little updates to the architecture. People would often visit to pray at the shrine there, for a touch of the past. However, it was home to residents, a small orphanage and a high school. There was even a basketball team and a Kendo league.

Those extra curricular activities had little to do with you however. You woke up before the sun to sweep the walks where the monks would line up to pray in their robes. You were never given more than a simple plain blue yukata with a white obi. You had sandals but only wore them running through the back trails deep in the woods to search for snails, frogs and mushrooms.

Your other pieces of clothing were your school uniform. Most girls got leered at due to some men’s disgusting fetish. But there must have been something about your lanky legs with knobby knees dotted with thick scabs from where you’d fallen on the sharp karst along the streams that turned them away. You reminded them too much of the fact that you were a young child, wild and free.

Not that it mattered. You always ran to school. You never walked. So you couldn’t see their lecherous faces anyway. Your chores gave you little time to get dressed, scarf down a bowl of rice and sprint. So you always ended up late, at the back of the class, panting with your dark hair stuck to your forehead.

At some point the teacher stopped caring. You were a nobody and nobody expected anything of you. So long as the paths were swept and you appeared as required by law, people took no responsibility for anything you did. As soon as the teacher confirmed that she would have to take no action and turned to the blackboard to drone, your eyes shifted to the young man in the corner of the room.

The morning light caught his features. His skin was white and delicate. The sun struck him and he seemed to shine like a lotus. His hair was piled up on his head and tied. He seemed to be serious and studious, but there was a gloomy look to his eyes.

You take a piece of paper, write a brief note, fold it up into a neat triangle and balance it on one corner. Then you take aim.

With a flick, the piece of paper soars in a perfect arc towards his ear. As fast as lightning, that delicate hand snatches it from the air. Without looking, he puts it under the desk.

You frown. He didn’t look at it. You write another note, glance at the teacher, wait another moment and start folding it. Just before you can take aim, your head jerks back, pulled by your hair. You turn and look and the girls behind you all sit up straight and look forward.

“Kiko! Pay attention to the board! If I catch you chatting again, you’ll get paddled!” The teacher's sharp voice made you sit up and nod obediently. You stare straight ahead. Your heartbeats become painful and the light in your eyes dull. They pull your hair again, but this time you don’t react.

Did Chime see? You glance over. He’s looking at you. His eyes are worried. You stick your tongue out at him.

“Kiko!”

The teacher stomped right up to you, grabbed you by your ear and dragged you out of class. It didn’t matter if you were old enough to drive. You were Kiko and that meant you were expendable. You don’t even bother resisting when she grabbed you by the hair as the other children had done and brought the flat wooden bar against your backside three times in quick succession.

“That’s all this time. I don’t have time to deal with you. Classes are abbreviated for the Kendo finals.”

“Why do you even bother to go? You know Chisei’s going to win. Just give him the trophy at the beginning of the year and have the others compete among themselves.” You mutter in your heart.

She gives you a shove and ushers you back into class. As soon as she’s got her back turned, you turn back to Chime to stick your tongue out again, but his face is stiff and taut. He doesn’t look at you, instead, stays focused on the blackboard, still as a stone.

The Kendo building was fairly well maintained and had regular repairs, but still couldn’t fit the capacity of every teenage girl in the village. They all piled in, still in their uniforms, hoping to get a glance, and - if they were really lucky - a smile. They all enjoyed watching him practice, shirtless, shining with sweat, like some god-child brought to life. 

But the only bigger fan than them was Chime who got there early and somehow managed to find a seat in the front row to watch his brother while you stood hopping at the entryway to see if you could even get a glimpse of him.

The Kendo instructor waved his rag and dropped it. People squeezed in in a crush to see. With your view cut off, you decide to grab the tallest man’s shirt and climb up on his shoulders. The man snarled at first, but you lean forward and press your breasts against his back to keep him quiet. You try to ignore his fingers on your thighs and focus on the performance.

Even you had to admit that there was no stronger performer than Chisei. Those rock hard muscles were perfect, like someone had carved him out of the mountains they were standing on. Yet his motions were fluid and fast like the river. He could stand and murder people right on stage and yet the people here would have no choice but to applaud his form and the arc of his flashing blade. But there were no victims here. Just a row of bamboo stalks from the forest that you had collected for this very occasion.

The judge stepped forward and bowed. Even Chisei’s bow was perfect, the loosened strands of hair falling like a curtain in front of his eyes. The girls in front of you sighed in unison and you rolled your eyes. You looked at Chime and you’re shocked to see him enraptured. A huge grin from ear-to-ear his eyes full of unshed tears.

You sigh against the man’s back and feel him shiver. But as far as you were concerned this ride was over.  You slide off his back and run away.

Behind the shrine was a well kept cemetery. You often walked here, looking at the names on the stones, wondering if one day, you’d find the names of your parents who left you here. People called you Kiko, but no one knew your real name.

You weren’t the only one who haunted these tall monuments to the dead. Chime came here too. While his brother’s performances drove him to rapture for a moment, that moment would fade as soon as he looked in a mirror. He didn’t even need a mirror. His own thoughts drove him to sadness when thinking about himself.

You first saw it when some girls were passing by and giggling about how they’d stolen one of Chisei’s shoes and he’d found them out. They would do anything for his attention. They wailed about his elegant frowning brow. Chime had looked up at them from where he sat. You saw his chest draw in, his eyes fall. He seemed smaller than before, like a darkness had fallen over him. 

No one talked about Chime. No one noticed him. He was invisible most of the time. 

But that made him just like you.

The old cherry trees lining the edges of the cemetery were older than the village. Their jagged bark pattern made a perfect foothold and you had no trouble making your way up the tree to wait. Sure enough, Chime came, walking, head down. He was no longer in his school clothes, but in the purple yukata he’d started wearing since Christmas. You watch him approach your branch and prepare to jump down in front of him.

But he stops. “Not now, Kiko.”

“How did you know I was here?” Rather than drop down, you swing upside down by your knees facing him, your hair hanging. “You know they say, turn that frown upside down but even upside down, you’re still frowning.”

“I don’t feel like it.” He steps around you and continues on.

You let out a breath but then steel yourself in determination. You unfold your knees and crash to the ground.

You hear him gasp and hear his feet hurry near you. He turns you over but your eyes are closed. You stay limp and unmoving even as you hear his panicked breathing and his voice shaking.

“Kiko!  Kiko!”

You open your eyes and look at him with a false dazed look. Again, that stricken, pained expression on his face, like he could fall to tears at any time. It was so sad, but so beautiful. “Chime… Chime is that you? Did I die?”

Instantly, that beautiful delicate expression changes to one of flat anger. “No. Why are you always playing? You’re not even a girl!”

“And you’re not even a boy!” You immediately respond.

Chime draws in a breath, like an arrow had shot through him. Instantly you regret it as he lets you go. “I have to go.” He said. “Brother’s leaving today… I need to see him off.”

“Leaving? Chisei’s leaving?” You suddenly sit up, realizing you may have gone too far, but he’s already walking off in the other direction. “Are you leaving too? Chime!”

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t look back.

A motorcade of dozens of black cars have blocked the entrance to the village. When you arrive, you’re just in time to see Chisei climbing inside a gigantic SUV. Watching over him were men in black trench coats, flashing the Ukiyo-E pattern in the inner lining.

Yakuza!

You stop and duck behind a pole. Not that Yakuza would care about you, a nobody… but at the same time, a nobody like you would easily be crushed like an ant with no savior. Chime was nowhere to be found.

The next day, it was raining so there was no need to sweep the paths. You get to school early to wait for Chime, but he’s not there nor was he there the day after that. After school, you hurry to look for him, passing mourning girls who missed Chisei’s shining presence in their lives. No one cared that Chime was missing.

After searching all day, you decide to wait for him at the cemetery. It didn’t matter that you didn’t go home to eat. There was no one waiting for you anyway. You rested against the cherry tree to wait, with your knee against your chest. Never in a million years did you ever think that Chime would disappear from your life. Now your heart thudded in your chest to think of his chair empty at school. What would you do? Where would you bring your focus?

Tears burned at your eyes but you resisted crying. It was no use. You just had to wait. Eventually Chime would come… eventually.

Eventually, you fell asleep with your cheek against your knees because you woke up to a strange sound. It was an owl, right above your head. Then footsteps.

Walking up the path was someone you thought could have been a ghost, they were so pale, and thin. But it wasn’t a ghost, it was Chime. Still, he seemed a husk of his former self, head down, shuffling his feet. You couldn’t see his face because his hair was out of its tie and shielded it from you.

You heard about how in the city, people could become so sad that they took their own lives. Was Chime mourning his brother? Was his brother sold off to the Yakuza to relieve some sort of blood debt?

Was Chisei dead?

Chime didn’t stop at the tree, so he didn’t notice you. He kept going until the path disappeared into the forest surrounding the village. Your heart leaped into your throat. Chime was going to hang himself? No!

You scramble to your feet and you run after him, but you’re not wearing your sandals. A sharp thorn pierces the sole of your feet and you hop on one foot, hissing. Leaning against a tree you pluck it out and in that moment, you hear voices. It sounded like a man, talking. You move more cautiously now, up the mountain path. There in a clearing, next to a stream Chime and a man in a Kabuki mask sat on pillows. He was pouring him some sort of drink and passing it to him.

You gasp a bit. Who was this person? Was it actually a person? There were many tales of yokai monsters in these woods. But no, this didn’t look like a yokai. Your eyes grow hotter as you see Chime gulp down the drink. Even from this distance, you could smell the alcohol.

As a ‘nobody’ you got to understand a lot of things early. One of the things you understood was men could not be trusted. They were disgusting perverts who preyed on the young. This man was trying to entrap Chime, and you would have none of it. You lean over and pick up a rock and toss it. It knocks against a tree.

The man sits up, looking guarded. His hand moved to his waist. “Stay here.”

As the man moved away, Chime stayed frozen. You hiss at him. “Chime! Chime!”

But he stayed still as a stone, eyes wide, like a deer.

You try again. “Chime! Run! Ru-”

A hand is grasping your mouth, squeezing it. You feel like your skin will tear, that your jaw will break. You kick, hard, for the shins, but the man doesn’t react. You see the flash of a silver blade.

“No!” Chime was there, grabbing the man’s arm. “No! She’s from school! Leave her! It’s okay!”

The man turns to him, faceless behind the mask, you can imagine that his next move will be the gut Chime where he stood. The blade flickered in the moonlight, but made no aggressive movements. He was turning it, over and over in his hand.

“What’s her name?” Even his voice was an echoey noise behind the mask, like a demon’s.

“Kiko…” Chime said meekly.

“Kiko… the street sweeper girl?”

The fact that he even knew that sent terror through your heart. He was looking at you with that unblinking white mask. You can only stare back into it.

His grip on you slowly loosens but you don’t dare run away. “Kiko... “ He says. “My mistake.”

“Who are you?” You ask with a trembling voice. Chime comes and puts his hands on your shoulders to comfort you. You turn to him. “Why aren’t you scared? Why didn’t you run?” 

“He was just telling me that Chisei’s gone to become Clan Chief. I’m… going to be kept in reserve… in case he dies. As a replacement.” 

“Clan chief?” You whisper. Then you smile. “Of course. Of course he’s a prince.”

The creepy man watched this exchange without movement, but you give the feeling that he could kill you any second and just hasn’t yet. Like he’s trying to see if you will make a mistake, or he will get bored of you and kill you out of reflex. Like a coiled snake, he would strike and you would be dead.  You keep your eye on the turning blade. “Are you going to kill me?”

The blade stopped turning and he looked at it. Then he returned it to the hidden sheath in his wide sleeves. “Do you believe in spirits?” He asked.

“Are you… a yokai?” You ask him.

He started to chuckle, his shoulders bouncing. He doesn’t answer. You imagine that at any moment his mouth would open with hundreds of jagged teeth and swallow you both alive.

“Come, come… Why don’t you join us for a drink?”

For the first time, Chime seems to look at the man with fear. “Osho… maybe… I think she’s too young.”

“So are you…”

You feel your chest tighten. So this really is one of those evil men. But if Chime’s innocence could be preserved then… “It’s okay Chime… let me go with him.”

“Brave girl…” The man snarled low in his throat approvingly, staring at you. “What are you planning in your heart? Are you armed with a dagger like I am?”

The answer was no, but he didn’t know that. Lift your chin and glare and try to stop shaking.

“Yes…” He tilted his head this way and then that and then nodded, deciding. “Yes, you… come and have a drink.”

Your legs are like heavy lead weights as you follow him. Your ears are throbbing. Your face is red. He helps you over the stream to sit on the pillow. Chime follows at a distance. His eyes are on you but he doesn’t say anything.

Osho takes the small bottle as before and pours it into the small saucer and hands it to you. It was green, made of pure jade, like glass. You can see your reflection in the pool of red liquid. You raise it to your lips and tilt it.

“Wait!” Chime dashes forward, but Osho catches him with his arm.

“You need to see…” Osho hisses, his eyes glittering behind the mask. “You need to see how very special you really are.”

You swallow but the liquid burns all the way down and bites into your stomach so hard you double over. It was as if someone had torn a hole deep in your gut. That intense pain started to flow outward into your limbs and pool in your chest. When you opened your eyes it was like the forest was on fire and its heat was too bright to see.

You hear someone screaming. Even in this hellish vision, you can see Chime, his face is hazy and distorted, having fallen to his knees, his eyes dull with sadness.

You reach for him, but your hands are covered in rigid white scales. You try to speak but what comes out sounds more like a baby’s hungry whimper. Your hair has grown long over your face.

“This is what happens when those not worthy of it drink what you do. They become worthless monsters. You however… you are something far more important.” The knife has reappeared in his hand and this time Osho approaches with deadly intent.

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back, revealing your neck. “Thank you, Kiko…”

You wait. You wait for the cut of the blade, the splash of your blood. You wait for life to fade from your eyes. But that doesn’t happen. The pain is starting to subside, the firelight in your eyes dies down. You stop screaming.

Osho is staring, frozen. “Impossible.” He whispered. “You… Only one in 100,000 could...” 

He lets you go and rolls you over with his foot. He picks up one hand and examines it. 

You turn to Chime, finding your voice again. “Chime… run…” You manage to say.

Chime stands there, watching you. Both of you listen to Osho’s chuckle, now more gleeful than menacing. “What good Fortune. Even if my point is lost, I have even more gain!”

Osho picks you up from the forest floor. “I’m afraid our meeting will be cut short.”

“Where are you taking her?” You hear Chime say.

No… you can only cry out in your heart that this wasn’t supposed to happen. You and Chime were supposed to stay together! You don’t want to be separated from him!

“The medicine is very strong. She will need… special treatment in order to recover. Don’t worry. I will bring her back.”

“You promise?”

You feel him hold you tight, close to him. “I promise.”

That was the last you remember before waking up in the village again, this time in an unfamiliar bed. You don’t know how much time passed. All you know is Chime is there, standing over you, looking just as beautiful as before. But there’s a strange pressure, like a tightness around your head.

You reach up and feel bandages. Your hair has been cut and the bandages wrap around your head completely. “What happened?”

Chime held your hand in its gentle grip. “Osho said you had to have surgery… but… you’re alright now.”

You smile and stick your tongue out at him.

[sesskagarchive]

SKFA Themed Lists Overview

Sesskag Intro: Fan fiction that are quintessential in understanding why so many ship sesskag. They are the staple of the sesskag fandom and are often recommended upon entering the fandom. 

Time Travel: Sesskag fan fictions involving time-travelling beyond what Kagome is accustomed to. Usually, this involves Kagome accidentally time-travelling further into the past or in the future. 

After Jewel Completion: Works containing Kagome and her friends after the grand battle with Naraku, and/or after completing the Shikon jewel. This may involve Kagome making a wish that alters reality, Sesshomaru taking Kagome on a new adventure, or major characters dying that prompts a new plot. This may take place in modern-day Tokyo or the Feudal era. 

Inuyasha/Kikyo betrayal: These are sesskag fics that characterize either Inuyasha or Kikyo or both as a villain in the story, often betraying Kagome in some manner. They may contain character bashing towards Inuyasha or Kikyo. This trope is seen less now, but it used to be much used back in the day. 

Rin needs help: These are fics where Sesshoumaru uses Rin as a pretext for seeking out Kagome, whether this is because of Rin’s illness or because Sesshoumaru feels she would need a teacher or a mother-figure.

Alternate Universe Serial & Alternate Universe One Shots: These fan fictions are works that are not traditionally set in the Feudal Era Canon and are not compliant with or do not feature elements of the Inuyasha Canon. They may be set in the modern era or in a historical time other than the Sengoku Jidai. They may retain youkai and miko or make all the characters human. They may feature multiple different tropes like college, celebrities, etc

Modern AU rec list: A list of recs of alternate universe fics that take place in the modern day, as requested by a follower.

Feudal Era / Canon: These are fics that are compliant with the Inuyasha canon (at least to a point) and are set (at least in the most part) in the Feudal Era.

Searching for a mate: These fics feature Sesshomaru looking for a mate, possibly because of someone else’s insistence that he should mate (most typically his mother’s). May include matchmaking tropes but not necessarily.

Kagome saves the day: These fics involve Kagome saving Sesshomaru’s life, or saving other major characters or OCs. They may also feature Kagome being the grand savior of the Grand Battle or defeating Naraku on her own.

Sesshoumaru helps Kagome: Fan fiction that involve Sesshomaru assisting Kagome (and her friends) on completing the jewel or in other quests or situations.

Prophecy: The fics belonging in this category contain great prophecies or legends of Kagome’s and Sesshomaru’s relationship/partnership, or of a dark prophecy of a villain rising.

Dark/Tragedy: Fics that have a darker tone and/or plot, where really bad things happen and the endings might not always be happy.

Reunion: Fics that are canon compliant up to the final battle with Naraku, but in which Kagome never returned back to the Feudal Era and she meets Sesshoumaru again in the modern-day Tokyo.

Reunion 2: Fics where Sesshoumaru finds Kagome in the 21st century, as requested by a follower .

Courting: Fics in which Sesshoumaru courts Kagome - or vice versa! The courting may follow some sort of a ritual or just be more casual or general attempts to woo the other.

NSFW: Fics that are PWP or otherwise heavily focus on lemons/smut/NSFW scenes and include plenty of them.

Kagome as a Demon: These fics can either be fully AU, so that Kagome has always been a youkai, or they may be canon divergence and follow the canon storyline and setting until Kagome by some manner is turned into a youkai.

Sesshoumaru’s Into Kagome: These are any stories in which it is Sesshoumaru who is interested in or in love with Kagome before she is with him. These stories may also feature Sesshoumaru’s attempts to court Kagome or, if Sesshoumaru is not expressing his interest outright, pining.

Fluff Serial & Fluff One Shots: All those cute, feel-good fics that make you squee, fill you with happiness and/or are sweet enough to rot your teeth.

Hurt/Comfort: Stories in which one of the characters (or both of them) is experiencing either physical or mental pain and receives comfort from the other (or from each other). These stories can be bittersweet. 

Holiday One Shots & Holiday Fics Serial:  These are stories that centre on Christmas and/or the holiday season. They’re typically written for holiday exchanges, as secret santa gift, for holiday events or just to celebrate holidays with fic!

Outsider POV: Fics that give you a glimpse to Sesshoumaru and Kagome’s relationship through the eyes of a third party, whoever they may be.

Family/Pregnancy: A rec list of fics focused on Kagome’s pregnancy or the family Sesshoumaru and Kagome have built together, as requested by a follower.

Established Relationship: Fics that focus on Sesshoumaru’s and Kagome’s life as a couple, as requested by a follower.

Halloween Serial & Halloween One Shots: Fics that fit Halloween, either by being overall spoopy or by being set during Halloween!

Unrequited love (Sess): Fics where Sesshoumaru’s feelings towards Kagome are unrequited, as requested by a follower.

Drabble fics: Fics that are drabble series, i.e. a story comprised of snippets of exactly 100 words, as requested by a follower.

Amnesia fics: Fics where either Sesshoumaru or Kagome has lost their memory, as requested by a follower.

Tear-jerker fics: Fics that are angsty and/or deliver an emotional gutterpunch. Fics that are likely to make you cry, as requested by a follower.

TeacherxStudent fics: Fics in which Sesshoumaru is a teacher and Kagome is his student, as requested by a follower.

Blind!Sesshoumaru: Fics in which Sesshoumaru is blind, as requested by a follower.

Rin and Sesshoumaru join Inuyasha’s group: Fics in which Sesshoumaru and Rin join Inuyasha’s group and Sesshoumaru shows fatherly tendencies towards Rin, as requested by a follower.

Admins’ favourites: SessKag Archive Admins list their favourite fics, as requested by a follower.

Virgin!Sesshoumaru: Fics in which Sesshoumaru is a virgin, as requested by a follower.

InuKagSess: Fics that feature threesomes or polyrelationship between Inuyasha, Kagome and Sesshoumaru, as requested by a follower.

Angry!Kagome: Fics where Kagome expresses righteous fury, as requested by a follower.

Chatty!Inner Demon: Fics in which Sesshoumaru’s inner demon converses with Sesshoumaru, as requested by a follower.

Widow!Kagome: Fics where a widowed Kagome ends up with Sesshoumaru, as requested by a follower.

Step-sibling Fics: Fics in which Kagome and Sesshoumaru are step-siblings, as requested by a follower.

SessKag and children: Fics in which Kagome and Sesshoumaru have children, as requested by a follower. Includes both single parent fics and fics where Sesshoumaru and Kagome have children together.

Incest Fics: Fics in which Kagome and Sesshoumaru have an incestuous relationship (siblings or half-siblings), as requested by a follower.

Meeting Younger!Sess: Fics in which Kagome travels further back in time and meets a younger Sesshoumaru, as requested by a follower.

Aphrodisiac Fics: Fics, in which Sesshoumaru or Kagome take an aphrodisiac, as requested by a follower.

Movie AUs: Fandom fusion fics that feature the setting and/or plot of a particular movie and the cast of Inuyasha, as requested by a follower.

Humour and Crack one shots & Humour and Crack serial: Those rib-tickling funny fics about Sesshoumaru and Kagome.

Slowburn fics: Fics in which Sesshoumaru's and Kagome's romantic relationship develops slowly, as requested by a follower.

Supportive!Inuyasha fics: Fics in which Inuyasha is supportive of Sesshoumaru’s and Kagome’s relationship, as requested by a follower.

Pining!Sess fics: Fics in which Sesshoumaru pines after Kagome, as requested by a follower.

Dog Form!Sess fics: Fics in which Kagome interacts with Sesshoumaru while he is in his dog form, as requested by a follower.

Kagome Proves Her Worth: Fics in which Kagome proves her worth as Sesshoumaru’s mate, whether being his equal in combat,  having reiki powerful enough to match his youki, etc., as requested by a follower.

Concubine Fics: Fics that incorporporate a Lord/Concubine dynamic and/or in which Sesshoumaru keeps concubines and Kagome may end up being one of them, as requested by a follower.

Courtesan!Kagome / Kidnapper!Sess: Fics where either Kagome is a courtesan or Sesshoumaru kidnaps Kagome very early on in the canon timeline, as requested by a follower.

Dubcon/Rape Fics: Fics in which consent is dubious or in which Sesshoumaru rapes Kagome, as requested by a follower.

Geisha/Maiko!Kagome Fics: Fan fiction in which Kagome is either a maiko or a geisha, as requested by a follower.

Star Wars AU Fics: Fusion fics that insert the characters from Inuyasha into the world and/or plot of Star Wars, as requested by a follower.

Yakuza!Sesshoumaru: Fics, in which Sesshoumaru is a member of the Yakuza (Japanese organised crime), as requested by a follower.

Politician!Sesshoumaru: Fics in which Sesshoumaru is a politician or which feature political intrigue, as requested by a follower.

Post Canon Edo Fics: Fics that are set after the series’ end and where Sesshoumaru either visits Kagome in Edo or SessKag get together after an InuKag breakup, as requested by a follower.

Nonexistent Inuyasha: Fics in which Inuyasha does not exist at all, as requested by a follower.

Sex by the well: Fics in which Kagome and Sesshoumaru have sex in or near the Bone Eater’s Well, as requested by a follower.

InuRin Sidepairing: SessKag fics that feature Inuyasha x Rin relationship as a sidepairing, as requested by a follower.

Fics Similar to the Second Alliance: A list of SessKag fics that have similar themes as Imani Joain’s Second Alliance, as requested by a follower.

Office Romance: A list of fics that feature some type of an office romance, in particular fics in which Sesshoumaru is Kagome’s employer, as requested by a follower.

Bi/NB!Sesshoumaru: Fics in which Sesshoumaru is bisexual, nonbinary or genderfluid, as requested by a follower.

Pirate Fics: Fics (mostly AU) that feature pirates or either Sesshoumaru or Kagome as a pirate, as requested by a follower.

Waitress!Kagome: Fics in which Kagome is a waitress, as requested by a follower.

Training in Castle: Fics in which Kagome goes to stay with Sesshoumaru, typically at his castle, and trains with him or is trained by him, as requested by a follower.

Recent Recs: Rec list of fics that are only three years old or less, compiled from recs submitted by our followers.

[lalunanymph]

↳ a very yakuza christmas

summary. injured after an ambush from a rival gang, Mikey finds himself stranded on a local farm with a girl who shows him the true meaning of this holiday season and what it means to finally let all his walls down.

pairings. bonten!mikey x farmer!reader + all of bonten makes an appearance

genre. hallmark christmas feel good romance, kinda a reversed crash landing on you 

overall warnings. fluff, angst, explicit sex, language, mentions of weapons, mild crack, injuries, mention of strippers, Bonten works on a farm, suggestive content, canon typical violence, off screen death, male objectification, romance, christmas themes 

a/n. I wanted to end this year with something fluffy and sweet as a big thanks to all of you for sticking around with my little writing blog <3 ALSO! a huge wet kith to my irl sibling @neetro for helping me give life to this idea bc mikey deserves his happily ever. merry christmas, everyone 💓 (psst feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated!)

wc. ~ 27,000+

listen to. i need you christmas- jonas brothers • luxurious - gwen stefani • here i am again - yerin baek

Bastards.

A false lead. That was what found the stoic, powerful and indomitable Sano Manjiro in the middle of a 30 men free-for-all; blows, punches and kicks delivered swiftly but not swift enough that their faces blended in a mash of jeers and leers. His limbs weighed tiredly by his side, and despite how much he tried to reign in his exhaustion, the Bonten leader was fatigued from the stream of violence that just would not stop.

They had cornered him at his weakest, and he could tell how the fight would turn out—most likely with a mortal wound on his end and these bastards going scot-free, bragging about how the mythical unstoppable Bonten leader had folded to a bunch of small town hillbillies.

“He puts up one hell of a fight, huh,” one of the country hicks chortled, swiping some blood from his broken nose where Mikey had managed to land a debilitating blow. “Let’s sweep him up, boys.”

Attacking him all at once, Mikey felt for the first time in his life a powerlessness that pervaded every pore in his body; not even being surrounded by a hundred men with only Draken at his side during his delinquent days could match to the bleakness he was currently experiencing.

The last thing he felt before white-hot pain lanced through his head was a glob of spittle hacked onto his face, dripping down his swollen eyes that slipped shut on their own as the world around him started to fade into black.

Let’s finish him.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Shinichiro smiling, arms wide open to receive him. Emma and Baji were there too, giving him understanding beams that spoke volumes of you’ve fought the good fight, Mikey.

But where was the good in what he did? He was Sano Manjiro, leader of the worst criminal organization in all of Japan, second only to the devil incarnate for all the lives he had stolen and snuffed out because of his dark impulses.

He was tired. He was ready to leave this all behind.

So, this is the end, huh?

Peering up at the clear sky, it was dipped in tones of inky blue and speckled with stars. Closing his eyes, Mikey did something he had never done since he was a boy—he made a wish on those celestial lights.

Before the darkness fully consumed him, he noticed a lone shooting star arcing across the heavens, that one small occurrence enough to reassure him that it was safe to finally surrender himself to the nothingness.

Sano Manjiro closed his eyes to the world around him and never opened them again for hours to come.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“I’m sorry, but we can’t extend your line of credit anymore.”

Disappointment could not even cover how you truly felt. In the quiet bank where the murmurings of other employees could be heard, your heartbeat was the loudest in your ears. The words past due jumped out like a warning sign from the financial statements, bleeding into your consciousness with the precision of a fine-edged knife.

“Please,” you whispered, glancing at the man before you. He had been your father’s best friend and the person who had witnessed him sign your grandfather’s will to inherit the farm. He had seen you sign that same paper many years later and now… now, he sat across from you with a grimace, unable to even look you in the eye. “Iwata-san, I just need to hold on till Christmas.”

“Y/N, as your creditor and family friend, I would strongly advise you against an extension,” he kissed his teeth, his lined face scrawled with sorrow. “I’m sorry but have you thought of selling the farm?”

Pushing back in your chair, you twisted your fingers together and shook your head. “I can’t do that, Iwata-san.” You gave him a weak smile, “you know I could never do that.”

“Your father would understand, y’know,” he advised sagely, strongly reminiscent of how your own dad used to lecture you before his untimely passing. “He wouldn’t hold it against you if you decided to sell it.”

You were shaking your head before he was even finished with his suggestion. “That farm has been run by generations of L/N’s for so many years—I refuse to let it end with me.”

Sighing, there was nothing the older man could do but give you an apologetic smile. But, you pushed further, imploring him by wrapping your hands together in a gesture of supplication, your eyes wide and shining. “C’mon, Iwata-san—it’s Christmas for Pete’s sake! Just… until the 31st, okay? I’ll figure something out to get us back in the green.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced at you; your puppy-eyed expression reminding him of your theatrics back when you were a little girl, especially whenever you desperately desired something. Eventually, he sighed and nodded. “Fine, but this is the last extension I can grant you, Y/N,” he warned and stood up, a genial smile in place when he noticed you quickly covering up your relief with a sobering nod.

“Thank you, Iwata-san,” you mumbled, bowing your head. “I owe you for this.”

“Consider it my Christmas gift,” he chortled.

After passing you the relevant paperwork, you took a few minutes to sit in your car, listening to the radio and breathing in deeply to ward off the shimmering tears in your eyes. The peace didn’t last long. There was a loud knock on your window and your blood froze when a freckled smile peered through the glass.

“Miss Y/N?”

They surrounded your car, and you had no choice but to swallow your fear; even in broad daylight, the Black Diamonds had no fear of repercussion or the law—the most notorious gang in Kawagoe were known for their brutal methods of collecting money from the residents as well as the fights they regularly got in with other gangs in the city.

Deciding that it would be easier to face it head-on rather than gunning your car and tearing away where they would just follow you back to your farm and things could get even uglier, you stepped out of your vehicle. The one with the freckles gave you a sympathetic smile that did not touch his eyes. “Were you crying earlier, lady?”

“What do you want?” You dashed the remaining tears from your eyes and fixed them with a glare; trying to look tougher than you were.

They were undeterred, some of them even amused at your paltry attempt at showing no fear. For a gang that terrorized the neighborhood, they sure did not seem like locals; heavy chains looped around their necks, cigarettes dangled from bloody fingers and identical manic grins spread across their faces.

“You’re late on this month’s payment.”

Not only did you have to pay the bank back the backlog of finances your family farm’s owned, but you had to also deal with the debt he incurred from the local loan sharks to keep his farm afloat. These men may be gangsters, but they wouldn’t dare hurt someone in broad daylight.

Right?

Glancing around, your heart sank when you realized you were resolutely alone. The parking lot was empty and whoever was hanging around did not want to get in between the crossfire of pissing off the Black Diamonds. You were frozen to the spot, facing them with nothing but your dwindling courage as a friend.

“I don’t have the money.”

Before you were even done speaking, the leader shook his head. “Not a good enough reason.”

“It’s winter and tourists are rare; please,” you were begging now for them to understand your financial situation. You could barely afford to feed yourself, so how could you even pay them back for the month? It had been weeks since you last had meat for dinner and you were literally hanging by a thread.

But, these men did not care. They did not care if you cried yourself to sleep every night from the sheer hopelessness of running a farm all on your own. They did not care if you scrambled to save every penny and couldn’t even buy yourself new clothes this year for Christmas. All they cared about was the interests that kept on piling up no matter how many envelopes of cash you plied them with to keep them off your back.

Interests that racked up day by day to form an amount you could not even fathom.

Nine million yen. That was how much your father had owed the men before his passing where he placed you as a co-sign for the loan. Now that he was gone, where else could these men find their misplaced funds besides harassing you?

Swallowing hard, you tried not to break down in tears, adopting a hard glare. “I just paid off last month’s interests last week. I don’t have enough.”

One of them scoffed and shoved your shoulder. They kept on pushing you and you stumbled back, nearly tripping on your shoelaces when your back met the car hood. Suddenly finding yourself in a compromising position, you snapped your legs shut and bit down hard on your cheek to keep from crying.

“If you can’t afford to pay us, maybe you can use your body instead,” one of them suggested lewdly, raking his gaze up and down your figure. “You have a fantastic rack, lady. Shame that it would be put to waste in overalls.”

Apparently having their fill of tormenting you, they dispersed as soon as they arrived, the freckled leader waving his hand in the air with a loud, “One more week, and then we’ll come and find you again, yeah? I’m being generous here.”

It was close to evening time and the stars were already out. You settled back into your car, straightening your jacket that had almost slipped off your shoulders during the mild altercation. Sorrow and panic threatening to swallow you deeply, you peeled your eyes to the sparkling heavens that only the countryside could provide, turning the radio down to drink in the sight of the constellations.

“I really need your help, papa,” you sniffed, lachrymose eyes swelling and dripping tears. All those months of holding everything together for the sake of your sole inheritance were gnawing at you and you let your walls fall; allowing yourself to truly let the future that awaited your family’s farm sink in. “I’m going to lose our farm if I don’t get a miracle a-and I’m going to die if I don’t pay back those loan sharks.”

The tears slipped down faster. “W-why did you do this to me, papa? Did you not love me?” Heaving sobs were wracking through your frame.  “Why did you do this to me?!” You were screaming and sobbing now, hanging your head down to cry your eyes out. “I did nothing to deserve this! I…” Lifting your head, you stared back at the stars, snot running down your face and your voice hoarse from the harsh cries you had expelled. “Help me. Please. Send me a sign that I am not alone. It’s the least you can do after all the hell you’ve put me through.”

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Your breath caught when you noticed a single shooting star blazing through the skies, putting the other constellations to shame. Unbidden, a manic giggle burst forth from your lips, and somehow, this uncanny occurrence lessened the loneliness inside of your chest.

“Okay,” you sniffed and nodded, despite there not being anyone to witness your childish desperation at attempting to find a solution to this problem. “I trust you; I’ll hold on.”

Wiping the last of your tears away, you drove back home slowly, lost in your thoughts. The roads were darkening, dusk falling swiftly into the night, you almost did not see the body of a silver-haired young man on the side of the road.

Breath caught in your lungs, you swiftly stopped the car and ran out. There was no rhyme or reason why you were compelled to help this unknown man, falling to your knees beside him. “Sir? Sir? Hello—are you alright?!”

Pressing your fingers into his neck, you were relieved to feel a pulse point; it was weak, but he was still alive. The man was heavy, but you were so used to lugging around sacks of feed that it was a short struggle to bring him into the back of your car. He was pale, with alabaster smooth skin and dark circles, his silver hair almost ethereal in the half-light.

You would’ve thought he was an angel fallen from heaven if it weren’t for the blood soaking his black shirt and running down his forehead. There was no time to think; you had to save him. The hospital was too far away and your farm with its medicine and first aid kit was the closest.

“Hold on, sir,” you told his lifeless body through the rearview as a wave of worry drowned all sense of rationalism at picking up random, bloodied men from the side of the road. “Just hold on for me, okay? I’ll save you.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Prying open his eyes, Mikey ignored the splitting headache that pounded in the back of his lids.

For a second, he could neither feel, smell nor hear anything around him beyond his ragged breath. There was somebody breathing down hard on him and he turned his face away, only to feel a rough strip of what seemed like sandpaper brushing up his cheek. It was when the scent of manure hit him—potent and ripe—that it knocked him back into consciousness. He pried his eyes wide open as far as they could go, pupils dilating to the sight of a pair of pink nostrils dominating his vision.

Mikey liked to pretend that he was impenetrable; that he did not have much of a reaction to fear, unlike many other men. But when faced with the slanted eyes of a goat bearing down on him, he released a shriek loud enough to pierce his own ears and scrambled back up, scaring the animal who huffed in surprise. The blanket around his chest tangled with his limbs and in his haste, he did not notice a small pot on the floor and kicked it, sending it careening to the other end of the room where it shattered into tiny clay constellations on the concrete floor.

What the fuck—!

“Jiji!”

Utterly befuddled, Mikey whipped his head to the door to find a young woman in a pair of denim overalls over a colorful striped shirt, standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at the white knobhead who had woken him up with just its scent alone. Her lips were downturned in a frown and she tapped her foot impatiently. “Didn’t I tell you to leave our guest alone to rest?”

Guest?

As if the goat actually understood her, it maa-ed and trotted over to her side; if an animal could look reticent, this one did, hanging its shaggy head down and bumping her thigh in silent apology.

“I am so sorry, sir. Jiji does not have any boundaries when it comes to people,” was the sweet melodious voice that filled his ears and apparently, made him even more confused than he already was.

Which begged the question…

“Where am I?” Mikey’s voice was quiet, and though he sounded calm to an untrained ear, there was a veneer of unease that was apparent in his tone. The woman before him was young—probably younger than him—and she startled, blinking once, twice before tilting her head to the side.

“Oh—um, you’re in my home,” you informed and widened your eyes at the sight of the broken pot. “Wait, did you do that?”

Mikey winced but did not answer, preferring to take stock of his surroundings. The walls were painted a neutral eggshell white and bare, decorated only with a small window that overlooked a sea of greenery; he had absolutely no idea where he was. Fumbling for the Glock he kept tucked in his waistband, he found that it was gone. Frowning, he snapped his eyes towards you and bared his teeth.

“Did you touch my gun?” Patting his chest, his cheeks warmed at the fact that he was shirtless.  

“Oh.” Rather than seeming embarrassed at his sudden lapse of silence, you offered an explanation. “Your shirt was covered with blood so I gave it a little wash.”

Regarding him like one would regard a bug through a magnifying glass, curiosity was scrawled all over your pretty face. “What happened, by the way? I thought you were roadkill when I drove by and found you.”

Mikey eyed you warily, and if it wasn’t for the tender throbbing in his head, he would have pushed you against the wall to demand an answer. As if sensing his dark intentions, you pursed your lips and shoo-ed Jiji out of the room, closing the door behind you. Sitting down next to him on the futon, he would have quickly scooted away if it wasn’t for the concern furrowing in the dip of your brow.

“You were beaten up by the Black Diamonds, weren’t you?” was your hushed question. You didn’t wait for his answer and his onyx eyes studied how you walked over to the single dresser—polished a light walnut brown—and removed a bottle of ointment from the drawer.

Mikey didn’t brush your hand away when you touched his forehead with your medicine-stained fingers. Warmth spread from your touch gently grazing his wounds and traversed all the way down his spine to relax him against his will. “What’s your name?” you inquired of him, flashing those wide eyes that were filled with such innocent curiosity, Mikey was halfway wondering if it would be wise to let you know who he truly was.

But, he decided to test his luck and utter, “Sano Manjiro. You can call me Mikey.”

There was no spark of recognition to his name; no outward apprehension at the reality of Japan’s most wanted man under your roof. Instead, you smiled softly and nodded. “It is nice to meet you, Mikey-san. My name is L/N Y/N.”

“Y/N,” your name rolled off his tongue with ease. In a softer voice he muttered, “Thanks, by the way.”

“I would’ve taken you to the hospital but—“

Before you could finish your sentence, he shook his head, platinum blonde hair that was close to a frosty white falling across his sunken eyes. “No hospitals.”

If you were perturbed at his vehemence towards that notion, you did not show it. You stood, dusting your hands and studying his wound. “Well, in any case, the Black Diamonds won’t find you here, so you’re safe.” In your mind, you saw him as a lost young man who had found himself down a dangerous path. You had no idea who he was, but he must’ve done something horrendous to incur the wrath of the strongest gang in Kawagoe.

A part of you recognized the risk, but when you found him face down on the ground, almost thrown into a ditch with blood seeping in a puddle around him, you could not just abandon someone who needed help. You were already an oddity in this small town, so why not live up to your reputation and take in a random man who apparently crossed a horde of dangerous men?

Masking your worries, you flashed him a brilliant smile. “You’re still not well enough to walk so please rest, Mikey-san. I’ll bring you dinner and a change of clothes soon.”

“Wait—“

He had no idea what pushed him to grab your wrist, but he immediately let go when he felt you tensing. “How long was I out?”

“About three days.”

Three days…

Mikey’s gaze wavered. Holy shit. His men must’ve been wondering what happened. Brief flashes of the chase flitted through his mind; Sanzu yelling at him to not gun after that freckled asshole who led him off-trail down the highways of Kawagoe where he eventually found himself cornered into an unfair fight that brought him here… to what appeared like a random farmhouse, if he had to judge it based on the stench.

“Is it alright if I make a call?”

You studied him for a bit, how his nonchalance made you doubt his intentions. Mikey did not repeat his request, merely staring at you expectantly. It was his steady manner of staying still that finally unnerved you to agree and you nodded.

Handing him your phone, you paused, fixing him with a hard stare before he could reach out and take the device from you. “No funny business, okay?”

Adopting an air of boredom, he nodded. “Your house, your rules.”

The phone was warm in his hand when he dialed Sanzu’s number. You had closed the door and left the room to give him some privacy for this call. The dial tone clicked, he exhaled in relief to hear his second’s voice from the other end.

“Hello?”

“Haruchiyo?”

“Mikey?! Mikey—shut up, Haitani!” He heard a grunt from the other end after a loud thump and imagined Sanzu bonking Ran on the head to get him to quiet down. “Boss, where are you? We completely lost your signal and—worried—Koko—Mikey?”

“I’m in a farmhouse in Kawagoe.”

“A—what? Mikey—repeat—“

The line was sketchy at best, and Mikey pulled the phone away to find a sight that made his heart sink. One bar; where the fuck was he—on the moon? Why wasn’t there even cell reception here?

“Sanzu—can you hear me? Hello?”

“Mikey—address—hello?”

Before he could speak, the line went dead and all he could hear was his loud breathing. Setting the phone down, Mikey swallowed his disappointment at the sight of a cross on the reception bar; he was well and truly stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a house that smelled like the back of a cow’s ass.

A goat, he amended in his mind. There were no cows here as far as he could tell though he wasn’t looking forward to discovering if that deduction was correct. The space itself wasn’t so bad, and he roved his lazy gaze around; it was shabby but it had a certain charm of a simple village home. Shakily getting onto his feet, Mikey winced at the rush of blood flooding his ears, walking towards the window to take a gander of this new space.

As far as he could see, snow-capped mountains dotted and almost touched the sky, taking over his full attention. Rows upon rows of what looked like strawberry greenhouses stretched out towards the horizon, and there was a goat pen where more of those shaggy bastards were grazing; chickens roamed around freely, pecking the ground. There was a faucet in the far right of the farm where he found you pumping water into a wooden bucket, your back turned from him.

There was no one else with you here despite how he had the knowledge that a farm this vast needed a ton of help. So far, you were the only living soul he had encountered and he wondered where you had hidden his gun; Mikey had grievously overstayed his welcome and he needed to leave—stat.

Gathering himself, he twisted the doorknob and pushed it open, slowly creeping out of the room. The floorboards under his feet creaked with every step and he made sure to keep his footing light. There was not a single sound coming from the house beside the padding of his feet, and he felt like he was standing at the bottom of a well, listening to the faint echoes all around him.

Sneaking down the stairs, he found himself in a modest living room with one single futon and a lopsided coffee table. The house opened up to a kitchen where he caught the gleam of his gun on the wooden dining table. He quickly advanced towards it, taking the weapon and immediately feeling safer with its weight in his grasp. Tightening his hold on it, he prepared himself to face you, and should he need to—threaten you to release him.

Just as he was about to step out and seek you out, the door behind him opened and he whirled around, pressing the gun to his back and switching the safety off. But, it was just you, face flushed from the cold and sweating lightly, flashing him a grin.

“Ah, you’re a tough one, eh? Already walking around.” In your arms, you held a wicker basket full of strawberries, the vivid red and fragrant scent of the fruit tickling his nostrils; looking like rare rubies in the orange tone of evening light. Unbidden, his stomach rumbled and Mikey winced at the sound. Catching him eyeing the basket with unbridled hunger in his gaze, you chuckled and set it down on the table, too tired to notice how he shuffled backward, keeping his front to you constantly.

Humming under your breath, you picked up the chopping board and ran it under the bronze sink head, taking a knife and chopping the leafy parts off from a handful of strawberries. Setting it in a bowl, you pushed it towards him with what he was coming to discover was your signature gentle smile. “Here, try some. They’re just in season and I need a second opinion if they're good to be made into jam.”

Mikey was caught in a catch-22; half of him was screaming to leave this house while the other half was whining at him to satiate his hunger. He chose to listen to his ravenous side and plucked one juicy berry, biting into it. A burst of tangy sweetness coated his taste buds and he had to stop himself from moaning out loud like a freak. Chomping on it quickly, he reached for another one and then another and another until eventually, the bowl was empty.

He sucked on his fingers and eyed you expectantly, the sight beyond amusing to you. Your quiet chuckle made something in his chest twinge and you took the bowl from him with a teasing smile. “I suppose that means it’s sweet enough, huh?”

Mikey hummed under his breath and when you left the room for a second, he clicked the safety of his gun back on and set it back down on the table before you could even notice. Upon your return into the kitchen, you found him seated, hands folded and waiting for you with a gleam of impatience in his dark gaze.

“Dinner will be ready in just a pinch, ‘kay? Lemme start the fire.”

Mikey did not say much, watching you flit around the space with an air of utter concentration and skill; beating some eggs, pouring water into the rice cooker, making a batter to dip some shishamos in, the scent of fried fish almost heavenly and making his stomach rumble in abject hunger.

You prepared the table all while his dark, impassive gaze was on you. Despite how he had tried to hide it from you, you were very aware that the gun you had placed on the dining table was missing and that he had been debating if he should threaten you with it. You had kept your guard up, but in the end, it was for naught; the gun had returned back to its original position. Mikey was not a talker; that much you could glean from him. All he did was watch you as you ate, ignoring how a stout hen suddenly made its way into your home and you fed it a bit of your rice, cooing under your breath; you were an odd person, that was what he was sure of.

He ate quickly after a soft utterance of thank you for this meal, left his empty bowl and plate by the sink and trudged back upstairs to his room. You wrinkled your nose at his lack of manners, affronted that he was treating you like some maid.

Stomping up the stairs, you decided to give him a piece of your mind, slamming the door open only to find him lying on the futon, half-sleepy eyes regarding you.

“Huh?”

His tone combined with his lackadaisical manner made you see red and you huffed, crossing your arms together. “You know—you could start showing more respect to someone who just saved your life.” Mikey blinked and it didn’t take a genius to notice that he had already managed to upset you. Your shoulders were shaking, cheeks flushed, fists clenching and unclenching. Chewing on your lower lip, your furrowed brow was a tell-tale sign that you were close to exploding, and a part of his brain switched off. He staggered up from the bed to stalk towards you; the thunderclouds hanging around his head making you falter until your back met the wall.

Bearing down upon you, you had not noticed how much taller he was compared to your frame; how he could easily manhandle and hurt you. The flash of fear in your eyes was enough to give him pause and Mikey frowned.

“Fine,” he muttered curtly as if concluding an inner argument only he had knowledge of. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. Can you forgive me?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you placed your palms flat on his bare chest and pushed him off, stalking towards the door. Before leaving, you cleared your throat, your side profile the only visible part of your visage he had access to. “Tomorrow. 6AM. You’re in charge of collecting eggs from the chicken coops. This farm is falling on bad times and nothing is free.”

Mikey didn't even have time to argue against your words, the door slamming shut once more and leaving him alone with his churning thoughts. For the first time since he woke up in this strange place, he allowed the weight of everything that happened to slam into him; he was far from the city, injured, and alone with a strange woman who apparently could talk to goats.

This was not how he envisioned spending Christmas. Rubbing his forehead, he supposes that this was something serendipitous—a word Draken had taught him when they first met each other as little boys and he had showcased his fighting prowess to his best friend. Mikey had no idea what fate had in store for him when he first found himself on this little farm in such a far-flung place, but a part of him wanted to find out.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Apparently, collecting eggs was not that hard.

With your guidance and some few choice words to the chickens, he discovered that these birds had vastly different personalities much like how women did. Momo—your favorite hen—loved to be preened with compliments and he would find himself cooing hello sweet girl, you look pretty today while stroking her neck which instantly made the chicken warm-up and allowed him to pluck those cream-white eggs from her straw nest. There were testier hens as well—those that pecked his fingers when he was taking too long to collect their offerings, but you were always there in the wings, ready to swoop in and help him.

He found that he liked having your presence around.

You didn’t berate him, nor did you look down on his ineptitude like how he perceived a woman of your skill would. Instead, you advised him how best to soothe chickens, how to fix the hydraulic pump, and which strawberries were the prime choice for plucking. In turn, he started to open up more to you; telling you the truth of who he really was. You barely blinked when he revealed that he was Japan’s most dangerous man, a leader of a crime syndicate that would put many gangs to shame.

Soon, you discovered that you liked his mild manners once the thornier sides of him were shaved and that he had an insatiable sweet tooth that luckily, your strawberry pastries could satiate. Days passed with him watching you bake up a storm in your kitchen, the jams cooling and ready to be jarred with his help; packed and prepared to be sold in the morning markets during those times you would leave early at the break of dawn. You had asked him if he wanted to follow, but with his reputation, he reasoned it would be safer for you if he stayed behind.

All the while, Mikey did not wonder how his own empire was faring; his phone long dead and unused. During those quiet mornings when you were gone, he would make himself a cup of coffee and sit by the porch, enjoying the crisp air and the sight of goats grazing the field. Jiji would often accompany him, the goat more of a dog with the way it would maa in greeting and trot along by his side as he quietly helped fix the hinges of the pen and find more spots around the farm to nap.

A part of him wondered if this was paradise; it sure felt a lot like it.

But, Mikey would be a fool to think his real world would not catch up to him.

His stained reality came in the form of two McLarens and one matte black Aston Martin pulling up at the farm along with six familiar men.

Mikey pried his eyes open to hear the boisterous yells of Sanzu who had pulled a gun on Momo. “Get back!” the pink-haired man screeched, the hen at his heels and pecking at the sliver of skin between his pants cuff and loafers. “Hey—the fuck!—this chicken is insane!”

Bakkk! Momo squawked, angrily flapping her wings as if trying to chase Sanzu away.

Instead of helping his colleague, Ran was doubled over in snorts of laughter, not noticing a curious Jiji who approached him and chewed the ends of his coat tail. Sobering up, he yelped, stepping back and tugging the ends of his jacket from her. “Hey, watch it—“

Sanzu, who had managed to shove Momo away, was the next victim to Jiji’s wandering teeth, the goat chomping on the end of his pink Armani suit. Waving his Glock, he aimed it right in between Jiji’s eyes, but before Mikey could yell out for him to stop, a smaller figure shot towards him, pitchfork in hand.

“Get away from her!” your loud screech echoed, scaring a flock of crows in the trees who scattered away. Landing one swift blow to the back of his head, you barely deterred Sanzu who merely grunted, turning around and cracking his neck, Glock resolutely aimed at your chest.

But you were unafraid, staring down his gun with a ferocious glare, tines of your pitchfork at his neck. “Touch my Momo again and you’re dead y’hear me?” Spitting out your next question, you were an amusing sight surrounded by battle-hardened men who were probably armed to the teeth in nothing but a floral dress and a thick winter coat with a rusted gardening tool as your defense. “Who the fuck are you men? Did the Black Diamonds send you?”

His subordinates shared a confused look. Mikey had to step in before it was too late. He approached the group who froze at the sight of him and no one expected what you did next.

“Mikey-san!” you cried and ran towards him, standing in between him and the rest of Bonten, your weapon at the ready. “Get back inside; these assholes are here to collect hush money—you’re still hurt.”

If he had the capacity to, Mikey would have smiled fondly at your misplaced overprotectiveness. His men, to their credit, did not even react to your accusation, quickly folding into low bows at the sight of him. It all clicked in for you, and the pitchfork went lax in your grip. “Mikey-san—"

“Took you all long enough,” he said genially, nodding at them. “Was the rival gang handled?”

Sanzu snorted, the picture of ease as if you did not just bash in his head with your weapon. A small bead of blood trickled down his face, but he paid it no mind. “Got a lead on them here; we’re close to destroying those asses.” Mikey glanced at your wide-eyed shock and the muted surprise on his men’s face, internally sighing at the fact that this was not how he planned to introduce you to his life. A part of him wondered when he started having the intention to bring you into his world in the first place; never mind that, he would compartmentalize it and go over it later.

“Y/N, meet my inner circle of men—Sanzu Haruchiyo, Haitani Ran, Haitani Rindou, Akashi Takeomi, Hitto Kakucho, and Kokonoi Hajime. Boys, this is Y/N. She saved me and nursed me back to health when I was attacked by those assholes.”

One by one, his men nodded in acknowledgment when their names were called out and you bobbed your head in reciprocation. There was a beat of awkward silence before your big mouth got the better of you and you blurted out the first thought that came into your mind. “Why do you all look like rejected characters from Cowboy Bebop?”

The one with the pristine blowout—Kokonoi, you believed—widened his eyes, his jaw falling open with an audible pop at your audacity in insulting the fashion choices of Japan’s most dangerous criminals.

Rather than feeling affronted, the other Haitani brother—the cuter one—nodded empathically. “It’s the whole pinstripe suit getup, isn’t it?”

“Rindou, she’s insulting us,” Ran pointed out with a harsh scowl at you.

“And she’s absolutely correct,” he rebuked his brother testily, tugging the cuff links around his wrists irritably. “I don’t even know why we have to abide by this stupid dress code when Kakucho walks in with a bathrobe any chance that he can get—if he even remembers to put on a shirt, that is.”

“Hey,” the handsome man with a huge scar down his face frowned. “Do not be rude—it’s Bottega and they’re well-known for their trench coats.”

“Which you always seem to forget.”

“Haitani, I am your superior—watch your tone… and it was one time. I was running on half an hour of sleep.”

Bickering. His men were starting to bicker like the clucking chickens that were now surrounding their expensive shoes, pecking at the pristine leather while they fought over what was deemed as a good dress code. If Mikey had his gun with him, he would’ve fired a warning shot, but he didn’t, and so he settled for a deep scowl until Sanzu noticed and told them to knock it off.

“You’re squabbling like teenage girls,” his number two snapped. “Quit it.”

Kakucho and Rindou fell silent, the latter glaring daggers at the former.

It was Ran who cleared his throat and reminded the group of why they were here in the first place. “While it’s nice to breathe in the mountain air once in a while, we really should be going.��� Nodding at Mikey, he said, “Get your things, boss. We have a meeting tomorrow with Yamaguchi and his men to discuss our next move. What with Christmas near, we have to start collecting debts that those stupid businesses owe us—”

“No.”

Every man turned their attention to Mikey’s serene expression. As if forgetting that you were there, they each made their displeasure known in short bursts of confusion.

“… No?”

“Mikey-san—”

“Boss, we really have to—”

“I said—no.”

They fell silent at his resolution. Eventually, it was Takeomi who breached the tense silence, his advisor trying to coax him to see reason. “Mikey, we’re so close to sealing the deal with Yamaguchi and this time of the year is our busiest. If we don’t start collecting the hush money, we’ll lose our hold over these businesses; they’ll look at us like we’re a bunch of pussies. We have to go back—”

“I like it here.”

For the second time, his men were stunned and could not speak.

Kakucho was the one who sent him a pleading look, which Mikey took to mean an inquiry for an explanation. To counter his muted request, the leader of Bonten, the ever-fearsome Sano Manjiro whose name could invoke a rush of fear in the toughest gang member’s heart, broke into a soft smile and gestured at his surroundings.

“Let’s take the next few days off, yeah? You boys should really explore Kawagoe; there’s an amazing sweet shop just a few miles away and Y/N makes the best strawberry pastries.”

To you, he raised a brow. “Y/N, is it alright if my men bunk with us for the time being? We’ll be out of your hair after Christmas.”

You pursed your lips and look between him and his team. Though having a bunch of yakuzas under your roof could potentially spell disaster, Mikey was offering you repayment for your kindness in the form of free labor… and you would be short-sighted to not take him up on his offer. It was truly amazing how a few short days spent with the leader of the most hardened criminal organization could make you privy to his true intentions which made you believe that perhaps, Sano Manjiro did have a heart after all.

Exhaling, you came to your decision. Like a monk granting them sanctuary—despite how these men were probably rich enough to live in mansions and luxurious penthouses—you laid down the ground rules if they wanted to live under your roof.

“No fighting,” you threw the pitchfork down to the ground and was quietly smug at how Sanzu seemed to flinch a little. “No blood, no arguing, and definitely, no weapons are allowed.” Eyeing them with a hard set to your mouth, you said, “All of you will need to earn your keep—which means you’ll have to help around the farm if you want to stay. This isn’t a holiday and you boys might find yourself needing to… dirty your hands a bit.” More than you already do, you added in your mind.

“But, boss, we haven’t even packed,” Kokonoi whined. “We came here with the clothes on our backs and—”

“Hajime, take this as a team-building session,” Mikey simply said and tucked his hands into the pockets of his overalls.

Ever observant and trained to be one step ahead, he sensed his men’s eyes taking in his countenance; the baggy white shirt and denim overalls which you had bought for him, the ease of his shoulders, and how his dark undereye circles were nothing but faded bruises. Sano Manjiro was the picture of peace, the mountain air benefitting him—he didn’t even look like the regular Mikey—one who was always tense and seemingly clenching down on his bridling anger.

He looked… lighter. And happier; none of them had the guts to ruin this new Mikey’s calmer mien.

Reluctantly, his men agreed, Kokonoi muttering under his breath about how the latest keratin treatment he had gotten done was all for naught, Ran glancing distastefully around the shabby farm and Rindou bending down to study one persistent hen who would not stop nipping at his shoelaces. Takeomi, the one who had the second final say to Bonten’s next move, merely shrugged.

“I’m cool with it.” He removed the unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth and chucked it into his pants pocket. “But, can we at least go into town and get a change of clothes?” And some cigarettes. He didn’t have to say it for Mikey to understand his implicit request. Turning his dark eyes to you, Mikey broached his next topic. “Y/N, do you happen to know a store nearby?”

“Yeah,” you uttered with a shrug. “We have a mall… of some sort… nearby.”

At the mention of civilization, his men perked up. A mall… that was Koko and Ran’s second favorite word besides money. He could already see his two executives priming a list in their head of what they needed from their favorite brands. Mikey snickered inwardly—oh, he knew what “mall” you were talking about—and they were both about to be sorely disappointed.

His men quickly agreed and you ushered them inside where they had to remove their weapons and place them in a wicker basket you prepared at their feet. Knives, guns, switchblades, and even a small nunchuck were collected, and the men appeared contrite when your gaze touched each of them.

All of them except for Sanzu.

“I said—every single weapon,” you enunciated clearly, a menace of a woman dressed in floral prints that Sanzu wondered if you secretly moonlighted as an Interpol agent with how sharply you were eyeing the bulk of his figure. He sighed and removed his coat, turning it upside down and shaking it—three blades falling to the hard floor. You still kept your eyes on him, pointedly staring at his slacks.

“Oh, come on,” he growled and glanced at Mikey, hoping for a respite from the humiliation of being parted from his favorite firearms and munitions. When his King’s expression did not budge, Bonten’s second man had to submit himself into the imposed rules of a mere farmer girl and fished in his pockets, removing three switchblades, two smaller Hummingbird guns, and his trusty silver knife that replaced his usual katana when he was out in public.

Satisfied at his cooperation, you paid him back in kind by directing him to the dining table where you took a dampened cloth to wipe the blood from his forehead. Mikey tried not to get jealous at the whole 180-degrees change Sanzu pulled on you; charmingly disarming instead of threatening when he cooed at how pretty your kitchen decorations were.

“Stay still,” you instructed him tersely.

As you worked on the wounds you had inflicted upon Sanzu, he barely flinched, preferring to slip his eyes close.

“You have a heavy touch.”

Snorting, you were close enough to catch sight of the strange diamond-shaped scars marring the corner of his lips. Not wanting to pry, you settled on murmuring, “I’ll show you what a heavy touch is if you threaten my goat and chicken again.”

Apparently used to having someone intimidating him, he merely chortled. “What are you—a Farmville version of Pocahontas?”

“Just admit that you don’t have a special touch for animals, Sanzu—unlike me,” Ran drawled from his perch on the kitchen chair, tilting it far back, tempting Rindou who hovered behind him, waiting for the right moment. With one sharp tug on the back of his chair from his supposedly loyal brother, Ran went sprawling onto the floor in a flurry of long limbs and indignant yelling, the impact heavy enough to rattle the shot glasses you kept in your display cabinet; his perfectly coiffed hair falling in purpled cowlicks in his face when he straightened up with his teeth bared.

“RINDOU HAITANI!”

“I was saving you from the embarrassment of everyone thinking you like to fuck chickens,” was Rindou’s defense as he leaped out of the kitchen to avoid his brother swiping at him.

Before you could stop them from tearing through your small farm, the two brothers were already falling over sacks of feed, inadvertently spilling trails of multi-grains that got your chickens excited enough to run after them; it surely was a sight—two grown men sprinting with six hens nipping at their heels to get a fill of their second breakfast, wild clucks mingling with their distorted yells.

“Ran, Rindou!” you bellowed after them, standing up with dismay scrawled all over your features. “Stop!”

They did not heed you, and only when Mikey’s stern, “Stop,” punctured the air, did the two brothers finally halt and take stock of the mess they had caused. The rest of the executives had their mouths agape at how much damage two grown-ass adults could cause in a span of not even fifteen minutes since the ground rules had been laid down.

Stalking over to them, Ran and Rindou were frozen, until Mikey grasped them both by the collar and knocked their heads together.

“Ouch—!”

“Boss—!”

“Say ‘sorry’ to Y/N.” There was no room for the both of them to budge and cornered by their leader’s deep frown, they bowed their heads to you.

“We’re sorry, Y/N,” Rindou was the first to apologize. “Yes, really sorry,” Ran quipped and you sighed, rubbing the heel of your palm on your forehead.

“That will be another month of not eating meat to restock the feed,” you muttered under your breath, but unbeknownst to you, Mikey had heard your quiet sorrow and the corner of his mouth tilted downward.

But, you brushed it off and grimaced lightly. “Both of you are on the earliest chicken feeding duty starting tomorrow.” Their bewildered gazes prompted you to add, “6AM.” Reticent could not even begin to describe how both of them felt, their lilac gazes stuck on the ground, mumbling curses that you were too tired to chastise them on.

“C’mon,” it was Kakucho who reminded them of their mission for today. “Let’s go to the mall and stock up.” Tail tucked between their legs, the Haitani brothers followed after their superior closely, avoiding the glint of disappointment in your eyes.

“Boss, you following?” Kokonoi prompted and Mikey shook his head.

“Y/N needs my help with fixing some shingles; you boys go ahead.”

Never in Bonten’s line of work and life had they ever heard Mikey utter the words ‘fix’ and ‘help’ in one sentence. Their astonishment would’ve amused him if he wasn’t eager to get them out of his hair so he could spend more time with you. Even if it was just to tighten the roof slats of the chicken pen, he would do it under the chilling sun as long as he had you by his side.

Takeomi was the one who ushered them away, understanding that Mikey had his own reasons and it had everything to do with the pretty farmer who was bending down to chide a scruffy goat for her naughtiness. The Bonten advisor was intimate with his boss’ way of thinking and for now, nothing was on Mikey’s mind beyond you.

This is interesting, he mused and clicked his tongue. “C’mon. Let’s go before the shops close.”

You had jotted down the address and passed it to Kakucho who drove them all in his Vanquish down to the store. Once they were out of your modest home, Mikey cleared his throat and glanced at you. “Sorry about that; they can be a bit rowdy.”

But you did not hold it against him and shot him a warm smile that went straight to his chest. “It’s fine, Mikey-san.”

He clicked his tongue. “Weren’t we passed formalities, Y/N? ‘Sides, we’re already burdening you for this holiday, I’m sure we can be casual around each other.”

Rewarded with a light pink dusting on your cheeks, you ducked your head down to avoid his gaze. “If that is what you want, Mikey-sa—Mikey,” you corrected and raised your head to shyly touch your gaze with his.

Forgetting what he had stayed back for, Mikey found his feet taking him close to you—close enough to smell the strawberries in your hair, feel your gentle puff of surprise touching his cheek when he leaned forward.

“Y/N…”

His touch on your cheek seemed to burn and you found yourself sinking your head closer into his palm. “C-can I… can I…”

Tongue-tied. The ruthless, calculating, indomitable force that was Sano Manjiro found himself unable to even ask a girl for a simple kiss when he had no problem letting strippers dance all over him in grimy clubs. But, this was different—as fucking cliché as it was—you were different.

There was a glow in your eyes that warmed the long empty chambers of his heart, re-lighting a spark once more within the chasms of his chest, and he allowed the momentum to pull him forward, your lips his final destination which he found himself lost in; the rigid lines he set upon his life all but blurring when he finally tasted your sweet mouth.

Like the strawberry pastries that you were famed for, your kiss was as delectable as those delicacies and he drowned himself in your taste. Your soft squeak of surprise was swallowed by his insistent lips and your body instinctively curved closer to him, yearning for the warm press of his shape on yours.

Head spinning, you reasoned that this was all too fast, but your heart silenced you—this was perfect.

The days of shy glances and light grazes when he reached out to grab tools from your hand or the subtle brushes of your bodies against each other when he was following your instructions to prepare goat feed came crashing back, and you allowed all the pent up energy to flow from your mouth to his; allowed him to push you against the small island, lifting you up and setting you down on the cool surface so you could trap him in your embrace. With your ankles hooked around his narrow waist, you felt his sleepy smile grow against your lips.

There were no sounds in your little kitchen beyond the whisper of your lips meeting his, the sound of the clock ticking overhead; bliss was being here with you, in your arms, and Mikey switched off that side of his brain that compelled him to ruin it all, giving himself this sliver of contentment he had held off for so long.

Tis’ was the most magical season after all.

The cool draft slipping in your kitchen did not even deter you when he removed your coat, chucking it down to the ground where it landed with a low thud—his overalls following suit, leaving him in just his loose white shirt and grey briefs. The straps of your dress were the next victim to his wandering hands, sliding it off your shoulders where it eventually met its fate on the floor.

Mikey glanced down at you—at the beauty with kiss-swollen lips and a bit of straw in your hair. The simple cotton panties and bra you wore was probably the sexiest thing he had seen on a woman and he took a moment to devour you with his dark eyes. There was a glimmer in them you had never seen before, a spark of life igniting and pushing you to press your forehead to his and spread your palms across his chest, feeling the erratic bump of his heart greeting your touch like a long-lost friend.

Familiar. Mikey felt familiar despite your short meeting. It was in how he hitched your thighs around him, and removed his shirt, letting your eyes scrawl up and down his frame and trace his white scars with the tips of your shaking fingers. He dipped his head down to suck on the skin of your neck, painting the pristine, blank canvas with the shape of his mouth.

Your sweet keens filled his chest with something that felt like flickering embers and Mikey could not wait any longer—he was never a patient man, to begin with. Your teeth digging into his shoulder, his hands on the expanse of your back, and your panties gently slid to the side was how his cock found itself buried in your body. Both of you moaned at the contact, kisses left on your bare shoulder and your cervix from his length slowly picking up pace.

“S’tight,” Mikey groaned, and you mewled out his name. It had been eons since you last had sex, and the stretch burned, but you bore it all to feel him deeper in you. Unlike the men before who plowed their way into your body, taking what they wanted without consideration for your pleasure, Mikey was the exact opposite of that.

His lips were tangled with yours, inhales and exhales colliding in confusing collusion—who breathed in and out was unknown to the both of you. Mikey’s lazy thrusts were a sharp contrast to his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, getting you closer to your frenzied high. The sounds that emitted from the both of you were somehow carnal and sweet at the same time; his breathy grunts, your smothered mewls, and the wet slap of skin on skin were the only harmonies lacing through this quiet kitchen.

Everything else long forgotten, he was only cognizant of the clench of your pussy, signaling that you were approaching your end.

“Give it to me, sweet girl,” Mikey rasped, locks of his silver hair tangled between your fingers as your desperate gaze pinned him to one spot. “Wanna feel you cum all over me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed, rubbing your nose on his. “Wanna cum for you, M-Mikey—”

“Manjiro—call me that, please,” he murmured, touching his dark eyes to yours to find them glimmering with a light sheen of tears.

Was he hurting you? Mikey was about to stop, but when you whimpered and clenched your thighs tighter around him, he found that you were crying because of how he was making you feel.

“M-Manjiro,” you tested his name on your tongue, shaking your head gently from side to side. “Baby, please—can’t—” your choked moans cut off, and your body gave one strong shudder. A rush of wetness flooded his cock and his eyes widened infinitesimally, his arousal responding to your ardor and he cursed internally, managing to piece his sanity long enough to tug his cock out from your wet depths to pour his seed all over your lower belly.

A giggle burst free from your swollen lips and he couldn’t help but smile softly at that sound. Fuck—Mikey was too into it now—he was too into you. Gathering you into his arms, he ignored the chill and brought you to the couch where he laid you on top of him, your body folding perfectly into the odd crooks of his own—a missing piece made just for him.

As you leaned up to trace your fingers down his cheek, eventually replacing those careless touches with your lips, he found himself unable to pull back. His first instinct was to make sure that this was a one-off thing—that it would never repeat again. But, when you sighed his name softly, stirring the loose strands of his hair with your exhaled devotion in the form of a quiet Manjiro, he knew then and there that it was a doomed effort, to begin with.

If anyone could see the infamous Bonten leader growing tender for a simple country girl, they would howl with deranged laughter. Finally, he could hear their jeers, the great Sano Manjiro brought down a notch.

Mikey never believed in Christmas miracles, but right now at this very moment, he started to see that anything was possible—even the defrosting of his once callous and frozen heart.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Kokonoi was not one for random outbursts but in this instance, he had lent his voice to the dismay his other colleagues were feeling. In front of them, instead of a traditional multi-story building that made up the conception of a mall… was a small shop lot. Even Kakucho could not find the silver lining, staring up at the dilapidated walls—and he was the one who usually tried to cajole the others that Mikey’s decisions were sound.

Sanzu wore a look of twitchy disgust, as evident from his dwindling supply of drugs; the Haitani brothers were impassive and Takeomi looked even more bored than usual.

“Are you sure this is the only spot to get our shit?” the older Akashi uttered in a low growl.

It was a sight indeed; six towering men draped in designer suits, coats, and cologne, obviously coming from money—taking in the paltry offerings of flannel, polos, ripped denim jeans, and wife beaters.

Kakucho frowned and whipped out his phone, but the lack of cell reception made him cuss in a low tone.

“Looks like we’re stuck here,” he muttered helplessly. The six men stood in a semi-circle, deciding if they should enter; before they could make a group choice to walk away, the elderly woman who must’ve been the owner of the store waved at them.

“Can I help you boys?” she called out in her reedy voice. Caught and with no other option besides this store to get their necessities, the executives reluctantly entered the tiny shop. There were mountains of clothes on sale, and the whole shop reeked of herbs. Wrinkling his nose, Ran scoffed at the selection which prompted Rindou to exhale a loud sigh.

“Tell me again why we’re here,” he said sourly.

“My, my, what a handsome young man you are!” came a voice by his elbow. Startling slightly, he turned his lilac orbs to find the owner of the store inching closer to him; unprompted, she reached out to grip his bicep, squeezing it good-naturedly. Her rheumy eyes touched each of them with a friendly glint, and she gestured around her modest shop. “Take it all in—Kawagoe’s finest and highest-end brands. So, what can I get for you boys?”

Like a cartoon character coming to life, she was dressed in a paisley dress with overly-permed hair that was dyed the color of piss; her gummy smile earnest despite their palpable hesitance.

Kakucho—the only one with his manners still intact, bowed his head. “Could you help us pick out some clothes, ma’am?”

“And cigarettes,” Takeomi grunted from somewhere at the back.

“Ah, it will be my pleasure!” she enthused and set out to pick a bunch of polos, trousers, and wife beaters for them to wear. “It’s slightly chilly out now, but I’m sure these thick things will keep you warm.” She reached out to Rindou again and patted his shoulder, emphasizing on the suit pads that accentuated his muscular build; the younger Haitani was so stunned at her touchy-feely tendencies to even push her away; his older brother had to swallow a snicker at his expression.

Surprisingly, it was Takeomi who took it all in stride, accepting the older woman’s suggestion and coming out of the dressing room in a pair of beige slacks and a baggy sleeveless shirt that showed off the scars on his shoulder. The store owner gasped and clapped.

“Oh, handsome!” she exclaimed with a toothless grin.

Sanzu, who was obviously taking cruel pleasure in his brother’s sudden discomfort at being complimented unprompted by a woman who was so obviously trying to flirt with them, found himself with a face-full of a pink shirt courtesy of the auntie who wanted to dress him next.

“This color will suit you—you’ll look so expensive in this brand,” she claimed and pushed him into the dressing room next. Kakucho peered at Takeomi’s shirt tag.

“The hell is Gukki?” he muttered under his breath. Sanzu’s appearance from the dressing room prompted a round of raucous laughter from Ran and Rindou; he looked like a disappointed flamingo in his pink flannel shirt and a pair of distressed black jeans.

“Superb!” the auntie cheered, hyping him up and oblivious to the scarred man’s growing blush.

“Can it, Haitanis,” he grumbled, rolling up his suit and smacking them with it. Turning to the store owner, he plastered on his sweetest, sickliest grin. “Auntie—could you get something… extremely flamboyant for the both of them?”

Happy to be of service despite Ran and Rindou’s rushed vehemence that they could choose their own outfits, she pushed two purple sleeveless shirts to them and a godawful flannel that clashed with their lavender-hued hair the color of puke pink.

“Where are you boys from?” she made conversation, twisting the hem of her dress as she batted her eyelashes at Rindou.

“Tokyo,” Kakucho mused, accepting her offer of black flannel and jeans and entering for his turn.  

“Do people actually beat their wives in these things?” Sanzu asked, ribbing his older brother by snapping the sleeves of his wife-beater. “You sure do look like a domestic violence perpetrator, bro.” Undeterred, Takeomi scoffed and flipped him off discreetly.

Apparently, Rindou had competition; the older lady’s eyes practically sparkled when Kakucho exited the cramped dressing room which could barely be called one with its singular shoddy curtain as an offer of modesty.

“What a looker,” she cooed and reached out to help him adjust his collar, much to Kakucho’s blushing stutter of thanks. “Are you single? My granddaughter is about your age and you look strong enough to help around the store.”

“I-I—”

“He’s totally single,” Ran supplied, much to Kakucho’s quiet consternation and expression of betrayal.

“Delightful!” the older lady grinned. “Where are you boys staying? I’ll bring my granddaughter along and we can have some tea.”

“We’re staying on Y/N’s farm,” Takeomi offered, pocketing his cigarette, the picture of ease. At your name, her lips twisted into a frown.

“Oh, poor Y/N,” she clicked her tongue, launching into her story without their consent. “Such a darling—too bad her farm is on the verge of closing.” Hearing your story, the men paused.

“Why?” Rindou inquired bluntly, echoing the group’s silent curiosity.  

“Her father racked up a huge debt and she’s always being harassed by those god awful gangsters,” she tutted. “Last I heard, she had to let go of her farm help because she couldn’t pay them for weeks. Such a nice, young woman too—and very pretty—surely one of you would’ve noticed.”

When neither of them retorted, she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Look at me, rambling about other people’s business.” Kissing her teeth, she said, “But it’s fine—we townsfolk look out for each other. I’m sure someone will bail her out in the spirit of Christmas for this month’s interest payment.”

Kakucho cleared his throat and meekly asked if she could help ring up their purchases just so she could give them some breathing room; one thing all the men were certain—none of the store helpers in Armani were this invasive with their customers.

“Wait, where’s Kokonoi?” Takeomi voiced out, and the whole group paused, realizing the missing member from this excursion.

“Koko?” Rindou called out and Ran turned his gaze around the shop to find the aforementioned lost man still hanging outside the store. He wore a look of pinched bewilderment as if he had just walked into a whole new dimension and found himself underwhelmed by the totality of it.

Sanzu charted Ran’s sight and scoffed. “What’s wrong with you, pretty boy? Scared of a sale?” His scars stretched wide across his sardonic grin, he waved his hands wildly. “Boo! It’s all 50% off.”

Glaring at the other man’s insinuation, Kokonoi folded his arms. “I am not stepping foot in here—it’s… demeaning.”

“News flash,” Kakucho warned, “We’re gonna be working on Y/N’s farm. You need practical clothes—”

At number 3’s loudmouth, the store lady gasped and all attention was turned to her, mercifully taken off Koko and his prissy ways. “You’re all new farm helps?” Doubting their pristine suits and—in Koko and Ran’s case, their fashionable blowout, and coiffed hair—she wore a look of pure doubt and open curiosity. “Y/N never told me that she managed to get assistance—and from men so strong and handsome as all of you!”

Under the harsh and cheap fluorescent lights, all of them had a light blush on their cheeks from her exuberant praise. Before Kakucho could open his mouth and Koko could have a diva meltdown, the group quickly paid for their purchase and carried their cheap plastic bags full of even cheaper clothes back to the Vanquish.

“Come back soon,” she called after them, and to Rindou, she winked. “Especially you, handsome. If you want, I can arrange a photoshoot—you definitely have the shoulders to model our clothes.”

In a low voice that only his colleagues could hear, Ran muttered, “We could give him a chicken, a garden hoe, and put a strand of straw in his mouth for props.” Rindou trailed his glare to his brother before giving the older woman a lopsided grin of despair.

“U-uh, thank you, ma’am, b-but—”

Grateful for Sanzu pulling him into the car before he could agree to marry the store owner’s daughter in his stupefied haze, Rindou exhaled a low groan. “What kinda town is this?” he muttered churlishly, crossing his arms. Kokonoi snorted.

“A real hick metropolitan, this is.”

Unbeknownst to the men, a group of women who had been hiding around the store gathered close to the owner, peeking past the folded doors, and giggling at the group of men were squabbling, trying to fit their purchases in the boot of Kaku’s car, already smitten by the sight of those six fine specimens.

“They’re staying at Y/N’s home,” the old lady known as Mrs. Aki broke the news in a hushed whisper. Her neighbor gave a scandalous gasp.

“Are they farm help?”

“I doubt it,” Mrs. Aki snorted, flicking one stray loose curl from her forehead with two wrinkly fingers, recalling the expensive fabric of their clothes and the general air of confusion; all of them stuck out like a sore thumb. “But, it’s nothing that we can’t get to the bottom of, right, girls?”

The group of older women agreed, their minds already claiming which man would be good for their still-single daughters and granddaughters. But, Mrs. Aki staked her claim before the rest could get their talons into the one she had already set her sights on.

“The one with the purple mullet—he’s for my dear Suzy,” she sniffed and leveled them with a glare. “So don’t even think of getting your harlot hands on him.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

With the fire crackling and its warmth spilling around the living room, you sighed into Mikey’s chest. He had lent you his shirt while you had passed him a blanket to wrap around his broad shoulders, the both of you laying in contentment and enjoying every bit of warmth you could glean from the other’s embrace.

“What’s taking them so long?” he grumbled and you glanced at the wall clock. His friends had been gone for almost 2 hours and you wondered if they had gotten lost.

Your well-meaning offering of an explanation was drowned by the gentle purr of a car and the sound of tires on the gravel. Shooting up from the couch, the both of you quickly got decent, an Olympian effort to rid the smell of sex and any incriminating evidence of your escapade from his men’s attention.

The door burst open, bringing in the chill and a few more chickens who were straggling by the entrance. Loud voices of argument filtered past the thin walls and the group walked into the sight of Mikey reclining on the couch and you reading on the armchair, both of you looking up in tandem at the sight of Takeomi, Ran, Rindou, Kakucho, and Sanzu in a new change of clothes. The only exception was Kokonoi who was in his now wrinkled red suit, and who muttered under his breath that he needed a shower before trudging to the closest bathroom.

There was a beat of awkward silence before Takeomi broke it. “Um, do you need any help with dinner, Y/N?”

At his reminder, you snapped the book shut and shot up to your feet with a too-bright smile. “Sure—here, let me show you, boys, what to do.” Another second of understanding that yawned between all the men. Rindou glanced at Ran, and Kakucho flitted his gaze to the dark mark on your neck that was a mirror of the stain on Mikey’s alabaster skin. While their leader was nonchalant, you tried and failed to hide your flustered countenance, shooting off instructions for them to ready the table and the ingredients so you could start cooking.

They fucked, Rindou’s minute glance told Ran, and the older brother quirked one side of his mouth up in a half-smile. Yeah, they totally did.

Neither of the men had the guts to point it out; whatever Mikey did behind closed doors was definitely none of their business. Dinner went by without a hitch, minus Koko who had entered the room with a surly glare at how there was no hot water, much to your scoff that it costs extra to have heating.

The simple meal of corn soup and rice left the boys hungrier than they cared to admit. They gathered in your small living room, shoulder to shoulder due to the fact that there were not enough futons—much to your sheepish explanation that you hadn’t been prepared to host seven people under your roof. In the end, after an almost violent game of rock, paper, and scissors where Rindou nearly broke Kakucho’s pointer finger, Sanzu was the unlucky one to spend the rest of their nights on the cold hard floor.

No one disputed the fact that Mikey got the couch, their leader lying with his back to them.

“I’m fucking starving,” Sanzu complained from somewhere below. “Why can’t we just kill one of those damn chickens—I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t even notice.”

It was Mikey’s drowsy voice that put a stop to that thought. “If you hurt any of them, Y/N would gouge your eyes out.”

From the furthest corner of the room, Kokonoi whimpered.

“The fuck was that?” Ran snapped, practically squished next to his brother who was absolutely not happy that he had to be between the older Haitani’s larger build and the cold wall.

A loud sigh from the platinum-haired treasurer. “I miss my goose-down comforter.”

“Rough it out,” Mikey snapped. The group fell silent at their boss’ vehemence to stay in this paltry space and equally downtrodden town. There was a grating snore that became louder and louder till even the windows shook and none of the other executives could doze off without being awoken by the stuttering and choking gasps of Takeomi who sounded like he was fighting for his life rather than resting peacefully in the realm of sleep.

“Fuck, this loud ass fucker,” Sanzu groaned. “Boss—you won’t mind if I smother him, right?”

But to everyone’s surprise, Mikey was fast asleep, low whistles emitting from his parted mouth, his whole body curled into a fetal position.

“He’s out,” Rindou muttered.

“Miraculously,” Ran mused. It was well-known in their small circle that insomnia bedeviled their withdrawn leader; to hear Mikey out cold lessened their ire at being stuck in a farm before one of the most important seasons in their organization.

“Do you think Mochi is having a search party for us?” Kakucho brought up the very real possibility that their other comrade was frantically wondering where they were, his whole team seemingly disappearing into thin air.

Sanzu’s graceless snort punctuated the air, carried by Takeomi’s wheezing snore. “Imagine him trying to close that deal with Yamaguchi all by himself—poor bastard.”

Despite the misery of their situation, the other executives snickered, Mochi’s incompetence the preferred butt of their jokes rather than their lack of space, sleep, and luxuries. Eventually, they each nodded off to sleep, Rindou being the last one, unwilling to admit how Ran’s arm slung around him was the only comfort he had in this cruel, cold new reality he had to live in until Christmas was over.

It was exactly a week before the last celebration of the year and as many of the Bonten executives were discovering… life at a farm was not all cutesy animals and fresh air. Manual work was hard, judging from your scarred and calloused hands; your firm countenance whenever one of them made a mistake.

The first of them to earn your ire was—to nobody’s surprise—Kokonoi. The stubborn treasurer had resolutely not changed out his red suit which had been marred with mud the first time he attempted to make chicken feed. Then, he had spent half the day bemoaning his blowout which now resembled limp and greasy platinum noodles, a sight that even made Sanzu curl his lip in disgust.

“Coldwater is bad for the roots,” he had muttered and Ran was the one who backed him up by nodding emphatically—his own hair looking worst for wear since arriving at Kawagoe. Like high-class paintings that were exposed to time and light, they were fraying around the edges, becoming more rugged, more human-looking. Gone were the clean-shaven men that first graced your doorstep and in its place, were men who looked like they could double as farmers if they wanted a change of occupations from the life of corruption and sin.

To absolutely no one’s shock, Takeomi and Kakucho were the ones who were better at hard work—earning their keep in the form of bigger portions and your warmer smile. Especially Bonten’s number 3 who had a penchant for strawberry-picking and could cover two greenhouses in a matter of hours, putting even the best farmer to shame. For his competence and help, you had rewarded him with a double serving of rolled eggs and ham, never mind that your budget for the holiday was already stretched as thin as it could get.

Completely exhausted from the hard manual labor that they were forced to endure all for Mikey’s new fascination with you, everyone’s sleeping patterns had improved—even Kokonoi’s who had once claimed that he could not be parted from his thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. The one person who found it hard to adjust, however, was Sanzu. Unlike his older brother’s vices for cigarettes, drugs could not be easily found in a small town like this—especially one that was as religious as yours.

It would be more effortless to find himself landing in jail over a miscalculated whisper to the wrong person than to find a drug peddler who could be trusted. His irritation and being forced to go clean manifested in his temper tantrums whenever he slammed the chicken feed down a little too hard or grouchily glared at you across the table. As a way to help him, you put him in charge of the gardening during the mornings when it was warmer and often brought a cup of ginseng tea to him once Kakcuho reluctantly informed you the reason for Sanzu’s constant irritation.

Slowly, the urges to get high and abuse substances lessened day by day from the rigorous exercise and change of scenery—Sanzu felt himself growing lighter and more clear-headed the more time he spent on the farm. Perhaps Mikey was on to something when he mumbled that the mountain air was good for everybody. That and he had finally found a friend in Jiji the goat who had stopped biting the edges of his shirt and now headbutted him affectionately whenever he greeted her in the morning for a feeding.

If their enemies could take a look at Bonten now, they would be laughing—or worse, their black market stock would suffer a huge hit.

Comportment like working men who had to fight for an honest living, they were no longer tense, their shoulders free from the heavy and greasy weight of the underground world which they belonged to; this farm a magical respite away from the horrors of their reality. While Mikey and his men were content to spend the last few days of the year together with you, the red lines of your financial statements grew much too pressing to ignore.

That was how your lover found you, head bent over soft candlelight in the dining room when his men were asleep, pouring over the documents as quietly as you could. You had found out that Koko was good with numbers, and while you would have taken his help, it was your pride that would be affected once he saw the unbalanced debt and income ratio; no doubt judging you for your poor financial decision in inheriting the farm when every sensible soul told you to stay away from taking on a place that was close to ruin.

But, you had been young and stubborn—the memory of your parents spurring you on to take this load upon your impressionable shoulders at the tender age of 22. Now, at 25, you were no closer to a monetary breakthrough, and if it wasn’t for your additional skills of baking using only the freshest strawberry and eggs, you would not have even been able to meet Mikey and treat him back to health in a safe place.

The picture of your father on the wall seemed to call to you like a beacon and your eyes touched his smiling face. “How can you grin like that, papa?” you sighed, unbeknownst to the audience of one stoic, silver-haired man who was studying the downward curve of your lips. “You left me all alone here to deal with your shit—I hate you.”

Cricking your neck and settling back in the hard chair, you exhaled softly. “It’s not as if I was held at gunpoint to accept this farm… but I did it because I wanted to honor your memory—” flicking the pages of the reports where the red lines shone like bloody wounds in the soft light for anyone to see, you sighed even deeper. “—and look where that stupid sentimentality got me.”

“Y/N.”

Your heart lurched in your chest and you forced a smile on your lips when Mikey padded over to you, scrambling to turn the reports over so he could not catch sight of the reason for your lamentations. Since his men were all out cold from yet another arduous day, you opened your arms to him and he sank into them, pulling you onto his lap when he sat in the opposite chair, pressing his face into your hair.

“You okay?”

Fixing a grin so he would not see the glimmer of sadness coruscating in your gaze, you nodded. “Of course, I am. I’m fine, Manjiro.”

The sweet scent of lavender softener and the natural musk that emanated from his skin calmed you down, and you reasoned that even if the farm was facing hard times, at least you had the comfort of his arms around you. Outside, a light snowfall was starting and you mentally made a note to tell Kakucho to switch on the water heater tomorrow before the rest of them used the water pump.

Mikey inhaled and you felt his heart stutter under your cheek. “Like holding you like this,” he muttered, rubbing the expanse of your back with his larger palm. “You’re so warm.”

“I’m even warmer now,” you whispered teasingly. It was true; in his arms, you were close to combusting, your cheeks hot, and he poked fun at you by literally poking your cheeks, eliciting a soft scoff from you. “Real mature, Manjiro.”

He hummed. “At least it made you smile.”

“You know what—it did,” you said in appreciation for his minute efforts in comforting you even when you did not want to burden him with the truth. That was partly why Mikey found you so alluring; you were like him in the sense that you always wanted to portray the light in you to others to not give them an indication of the darkness gnawing away at your consciousness—to always give people hope even when you were in such a hopeless situation. He supposes that he sees a bit of himself in you, and despite you not taking drastic measures like he did, he could still use what little bit of light that existed in him to keep you from straying.

His fingers skittered down your sides and you yelped softly, evading his touches. “Manjiro,” you whined, “I’m not some five-year-old girl—you don’t have to do that to get me to laugh.” He arched his brow.

“Oh? So, my baby wants to be treated like a big girl now, huh?”

You blushed at his nickname for you. “’M-my baby’?”

He realized his slip-up a second too late, but by then, it was redundant to remedy it. Rather, he scoffed softly and flicked your forehead. “Smile. I hate seeing you frown.”

Turning your lachrymose eyes to him, you attempted a grin that looked more like a grimace. “S-sorry.” Mikey clicked his tongue and buried his face in your neck.

“It’s fine. I heard ya, you know—about what your dad did. M’sorry for what you’re going through.”

You sank your fingers in his silver locks, shaking your head. “Don’t feel bad for me. I’ll find a way to survive.” Shooting him a smile that was sturdier than what you felt inward, Mikey quietly admired your strength even in the face of your pressing sadness. “I’ve always been able to.”

“I know you will.” You hummed, appreciating his vote of confidence. “Manji, can I ask you something?” Your voice as soft as a cloud, using a nickname, not just anyone could call him, made something in his chest squeeze.

Another hum and you took a deep breath, going straight in for the kill. “What am I to you?”

There was no reason why Mikey froze, something akin to fear taking over him—not when he’s had numerous barrels of guns in his face before, and even once been dangled off a roof by an enemy gang leader. But just from the soft prompting in your candied tones, he suddenly found he could not unloosen his tongue.

“Manjiro?”

He didn’t have to look at you to sense the palpable confusion that lined your pretty face, the question trembling between the both of you similar to the pervading heat of striking sunlight atop a pavement. Like a mirage, he found himself unable to focus on the true feelings that he held for you, all of it alluding to him and his traitorous, unmoving mouth.

To save himself and you this heartache of something unattainable—for there was no way he, Sano Manjiro of Bonten, could fall in love with someone as pure and good as you—he buried the words he wanted to say and turned his face away. Like letting go of the last slice of light down the tunnel by putting it out, he released you and stood up.

All he said in the resounding quiet of your disbelief was, “I’m not good for you—don’t ask me this question again.”

You did not chase after him when he strode out of the door, losing himself in the throes of his innermost thoughts to drown out the glimmer of heartbreak in your eyes. Nor did you wish him good morning when the sun rose and the other men gathered in the kitchen, your swollen eyes and tight lips along with his stony mien enough of a deterrence to stop them from prying any deeper.

Mikey’s men were not dumb; tension was as familiar to them as the air in their lungs. Between their leader and this farm girl, there was so much swirling anger that they could feel it in like a heavy film of oil in the air. You did not speak to Mikey for the whole day, merely thanking the rest of them for their help and telling them that you would be heading into town for some errands, leaving Takeomi in charge for the day.

Once you had driven away in your beaten-up Toyota did the other men have the courage to glance at their leader. It was Takeomi who had the balls to breach the subject first, clearing his throat. “Mikey—“

“Y/N told you to run the operations,” he cut in before his advisor could speak. “You should listen to her. I’ll be in the goat pen if you need me.” A.K.A moping around with Jiji while the rest of them wondered just what the fuck happened to get their usual aloof and stoic boss acting like this. But rather than risk Mikey’s vacillating moods, they set to work. Kokonoi had finally been persuaded by Kakucho to ditch his red tailor-made suit and settle for a black tank top and thick denim jacket, muttering under his breath when he noticed flecks of mud on his expensive Bottega boots.

If there was one Christmas miracle all the men could agree on, it would be to finally get Koko and Ran to shut up about their hair; their constant bemoaning was annoying enough that they would risk your anger to break the cupboard lock and threaten the both of them with their guns and knives. While working, neither of them noticed an old Ford Escort carrying four elderly women and another weather-bound truck that was driven by a group of younger women approaching the narrow gravel road of the farm.

They only heard the excited chatter, the heavy thuds of the doors closing a second too late before the woman from the clothing store spotted them and waved.

“Yoohoo—boys!”

Rindou groaned lowly and hid behind Ran, who pushed back his limp bangs to find a dreaded piss perm job bobbing towards them. She was dressed in a black dress that was two sizes too big this time, a sour-faced teen sulking behind her which, to Rindou’s horror, was her granddaughter. This was the girl that the old lady wanted to match him with? The girl was barely even out of high school, for god’s sake.

Hiding his thoughts with a neutral smile, every man shifted uneasily from foot to foot; Jiji bumped her head on Sanzu’s hand and no one batted an eye when the scarred man took the goat in his arms.

Kakucho, who was appointed as the group’s unofficial diplomatic officer, forced a small smile and a bow of his head. “It’s so nice to see you again, Mrs…?”

“Oh, Mrs. Aki—how rude, I did not introduce myself last time.” Peering around the farm with a glint in her beady eyes, she asked, “Is our dear Y/N in?”

“She’s out in town for errands,” Takeomi uttered, taking the unlit cigarette from his mouth and tucking it safely in his pants pocket. A gaggle of girls, each of them shyly glancing at the men, approached them and every Bonten executive recognized exactly what this ambush was a second too late, much to their dismay.

“Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is,” Sanzu uttered under his breath. His older brother had heard him and grunted.

“A goddamn fucking matchmaking session,” the older Akashi glowered at the ground, refusing to meet a blonde woman’s piercing smile who had found interest in his tattoos and scars. Kakucho—who was internally panicking at what he needed to say—found himself unable to voice out the group’s polite vehemence when he noticed the trays of food the ladies carried. Apparently, the rest of the men caught sight of the aluminum foil, the obvious sign of home-cooked dishes the target for each starving executive’s attention.

Now, Kakucho was a loyal man to your cooking, but in the face of hunger and days of mild malnutrition, who was he to deny this serendipitous occurrence?

Mrs. Aki didn’t have to let herself in—she was ushered into your kitchen by Ran himself who insisted that he and his friends take the tray of food from the girls so they could relieve themselves of the cold.

Mikey, who had heard snippets of conversation and doors opening and closing, was assuaged by the curious gazes of eight women sitting in your rickety kitchen, plates of food being passed around and devoured by his executives who were eating as if they had been stuck on a deserted island for years. Even Kakucho who was usually tightly reined with his reactions gave him a sheepish smile and gestured to the last empty seat.

“C’mon, boss—there’s enough for all of us.”

“You boys seem thinner,” Mrs. Aki said after she had introduced the rest of her entourage—a Mrs. Fujita with her daughter, Fumiko; Mrs. Tamiko with the blonde who had eyes for Takeomi, Miki; a Mrs. Izanami and her daughter, Kuse, and finally, Mrs. Aki with her granddaughter Suzy who was silently mortified at having forced to be seated next to an oblivious Rindou.

“Did Y/N give explicit permission for all of you to allow strangers into her home?”

Something about Mikey’s phlegmatic tone and stance made the rest of the men stop chewing, staring at their boss with muted looks of uneasiness that they covered well—at least, well enough for Mrs. Aki to open her big mouth and utter, “Oh, Y/N is a sweetheart. She allows anyone on her farm.”

For the first time in his life, Mikey’s displeasure had no proper outlet and he churlishly nodded towards the stairs. “I’ll be taking a shower.” He left the group as swiftly as he came, and the other woman who was as bold as Mrs. Aki—Mrs. Tamiko—tittered into her handkerchief. “A moody young man, is he not?”

Ran shrugged and flashed her a smile, one that had the older woman’s cheeks dusting a light pink. “He’s in a bad mood because he and Y/N got into a fight.” Coming to his senses when Takeomi groaned next to him for easily giving up information he had no right to know in the first place, lilac eyes widened at his impudence. “U-Uh, I mean—”

“No, it makes sense,” it was Mrs. Izanami who spoke up this time, adjusting her red-rimmed glasses that were starting to slip down her nose. Her daughter, who was the exact carbon copy of her, was not at all affected by the presence of the six men, preferring to spoon vegetable stew onto her plate and chew listlessly as her mother droned on. “He reminds me a lot of Mr. L/N—Y/N’s dad. He was as grumpy as a sleep-deprived child during Sunday school, that one.”

None of the men knew what to say to follow up to her good-natured, but an obtuse observation.

“So, is the grumpy one single?” Mrs. Aki asked cheerfully, and this time, not even Ran’s loose lips would let the truth slip out.

“He’s really private,” Kokonoi interjected, reaching for his second plate of stewed broccoli and carrots. “Mikey prefers to be that way.”

“Ah. The strong, silent, mysterious type,” Mrs. Izanami quipped, earning the other women’s laughter. “Seems about the right kind of man for Y/N.”

As if you were summoned, the backdoor to your kitchen opened and you stepped in, stamping your boots off the light snowfall, the tip of your nose reddened from the weather. The smell of food was the first thing that alerted you towards something amiss, and you glanced up to find fourteen pairs of eyes studying you. Jolting, you involuntarily took a step back, recognizing the blonde perm of your closest church friend.

“Auntie,” you exhaled and a grin wormed itself on your lips. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“Just popping by,” Mrs. Aki said breezily and you smothered a smirk. It didn’t take a genius to understand the presence of four unattached women in a room full of six handsome men. Inwardly, you were shaking your head from the quiet exasperation; your auntie and her meddlesome match-making ways. But, you decided to let the older woman have her fun—not wanting to burst her bubble towards the true nature of the men she was trying to set up her granddaughter and her friend’s daughters with.

You left them to their ways and trudged back to your bedroom. Reaching the landing, you were stunned to find a shirtless Mikey exiting your room, a quick flicker of guilt lighting up his features when he saw you. It would’ve been too obvious if he turned around and walked away; apparently, you were having the same thoughts because you frowned and peered at your feet, unable to speak.

“I was searching for some shampoo,” he offered in clarification.

You were quick to respond. “Oh. Okay, let me get it for you.” Darting in and out of the room, you passed him a small bottle of Dove, unable to meet his gaze without fully blushing. Mikey hesitated at the doorway and you paused as well, before coming to your senses that this would’ve been a waste of your time. He had already told you to never question what you meant to him, so why should you stick around for him to break you like a promise for the second time?

Turning on your heel, you marched back downstairs, completely missing his soft exhale of, “Y/N, wait—“

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“So, did any of you get engaged after yesterday’s match-making event?”

Your teasing lilt drew Sanzu’s snort and the pink-haired man shot a smirk at his older brother. “Don’t know about the rest of them, but Takeomi was getting awfully close to whats-her-name—Miki?—yesterday.”

Spreading strawberry jam on his toast, the older Akashi ignored his sibling’s jab. “You mean sitting awfully close to her. Her mother practically forced her onto me.”

“Miki is into DILFs?”

It was your mindless question that stopped the rest of the men from their various activities to get ready for the day; motions of spreading butter on bread paused, cups of tea halfway lifted to lax mouths. Mikey’s dark eyes flashed with something incomprehensible, but you were clueless to it, as were you innocent to the quick darting gazes they directed towards their sullenly quiet leader.

Takeomi chuckled in a strained manner, treading lightly through this sudden tight tension. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Um. Who knows?”

“Pretty sure she’s into older men,” you said, and in an oblivious manner, completed his death sentence by grinning at him. “I suppose I can see the appeal.”

You hummed under your breath and returned to your work of shelling peas for the stew tonight. The cold permeated through the cracks of your windows, but none as icy as the frosty glare Mikey sent in his advisor’s direction. Takeomi responded with a shake of his head, the scar running down his eye crinkling in vehemence towards his boss’s sudden accusatory glare.

It’s not what you think.

Before Mikey could lunge across the table and strangle the older Akashi, your quick hum broke the tension. “I need you, boys, to run into town for some groceries—is that alright?” You gestured absentmindedly towards the window. “The farm is all taken care of now and since Christmas Eve is tomorrow, we best start preparing before everything is sold out.”

No one responded to your suggestion and you glanced back to find everyone avoiding looking at Mikey and Takeomi; one glaring and the other concentrating hard on his toast to avoid eye contact. “Is everything alright?”

In a show of utmost restraint the executives had never seen Mikey perform, he broke off his staring competition (or in Takeomi’s case, removing the burden of his hot glare from the other man) to give you a curt nod. Like a balloon deflating, everyone at the table seemed to ease, leaving you confused as to their antics.

Mikey did not give you another chance to ruminate, leading the other men out by swiftly standing up from his seat and sulking towards the cars. Kakucho was the last one who took your grocery list and you bid them all goodbye; Mikey barely looked at you as he took the shotgun seat in Kaku’s Vanquish.

The engine of the expensive sports car roared before silence fell like waves around you. It was strange how you never noticed just how still and stifling your life was before meeting Mikey and the rest of Bonten. A part of you already missed Ran and Rindou’s boisterous arguments, Sanzu’s grating laughter—heck, you wondered if you were even ready to bid goodbye to Takeomi’s chainsaw snoring once Christmas passed and they had to take their leave.

Ignoring the aching pit of loneliness in your chest, you chose to focus your efforts on making dinner tonight a special one. Sanzu’s futon would be arriving later in the evening, and you couldn’t wait to surprise him with it, aware of how uncomfortable it could be for him to be sleeping on the floor for close to a week and a half.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the rev of motorcycles approaching your gravel road, knocked out of your daydreams when a loud rap on the door brought you back to reality. You flinched when another booming knock sounded, keeping your ears peeled; perhaps the boys had returned or they had left something behind before the grocery run. But when you opened the door, it was neither any of the seven men that you were acquainted with; a jeering grin on freckled cheeks and three men with slicked-back hair bore down on you.

“Hello, Miss Y/N. Enjoying Christmas?” the leader of Black Diamonds inquired, his nasty grin carving its presence into the slab of fear that sank heavily in your chest.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” another one jeered.

You barely had time to slam the door shut, their broader builds pushing past you and bullying their way into your modest home. Taking in the sight of Rindou’s silver McLaren outside your home—the only car left after Mikey and the rest had driven away—the one with a huge snake tattoo around his neck whistled. “Pretty ride you got there. Your boyfriend’s?”

You didn’t reply, your fingers clawing the front of your apron, frozen to the spot.

One of them—the one with the awful, greasy hair—grabbed your arm and shook you. “Oi, lady. Yori asked a question.”

“N-no,” you shook your head, cheeks leeched of color. “It belongs to a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” the leader named Yori hummed. “Y’think your little friend can finally pay us back what you and your shit-family owe us? Oops—” he paused, grinning. “I forgot. Your dear old dad is dead.”

Biting back on a few choice curse words, you swallowed and stared at the ground.

Yori, who was apparently done with niceties, reached out to tug on your other arm roughly, shaking you hard enough that your teeth clacked together. “Where’s my money, bitch?”

“I-I don’t have it,” you muttered, frustration forcing you to glare at him and shake your head. “I don’t—”

“You think you’re so slick, huh? Borrowing money from us and not even having the decency to pay us back.”

“I won’t!” All the nerves you had mustered spewed forth from your lips in utter rebellion. You had no idea what got into you; you were always meek and subservient to their ways but this time, you would be different. You had to be different. There was no way in hell or high water that you would spend the rest of your life paying out your nose to keep these loan sharks away.

You were sick of being under fate’s thumb and you wanted to lash out at the unfairness of it all.

“I will not pay you back! This is absurd—do you want me to keep on paying until I’m dead?! I won’t do it!”

A fist landed in your stomach before you could inhale after your tirade. Someone kicked you in the shin and you went tumbling backward into your display cabinet, rattling the cheap shot glasses from their precarious position. Glass shattered and you shrieked when Yori bellowed, “Destroy everything!”

His order was instantaneous. The men flipped your furniture, throwing your chairs and plates into the walls all while you were screaming at them to stop. “Please—I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You grabbed Yori’s arm, but all he did was shake you off and you fell to the floor, cutting your palms on the glass shards when you threw your hands out to soften your fall.

They took your prized shot glasses and slammed them to the ground, your pots and ingredients joining the mess and you were helpless to stop them; a slave to the fear and cacophonous destruction of everything around you.

“Oi, dickheads!”

The flurry of wreckage paused and you glanced up with tear-filled eyes to find Mikey, Ran, Rindou, Sanzu, Kaku, Kokonoi, and Takeomi at the doorway, glaring at the other men.

“And just who the fuck are you bastards?” Yori drawled, flickering his gaze to you, grinning salaciously at a singular possibility why there were suddenly seven men at your front doorstep. “Selling your body already, doll? Who are these assholes anyway? They look like city scum—”

His words were cut short when a foot collided into his chin, sending him flying into the opposite wall. More glasses shattered and you yelped, hands moving forward to protect your face from the shards. A strong grip pulled you back to your feet and you were hidden behind Kakucho’s build, Kokonoi at his side, the two men shielding you with their bodies.

Your eyes widened at the sight before you; Mikey with his silver hair falling into his face, advancing towards the leader of Kawagoe’s most notorious gang.

“I remember you.” Under the half-light, the dark stain of his tattoo on the back of his neck seemed to stretch like a distorted grin. “You were the one who told your men to finish me.”

“Yo, what the fuck—!” One second, Yori was shakily getting to his feet, and the next, he was slamming into the opposite wall, being kicked around as if he were nothing but a football. There was no mercy in Manjiro’s bloodless gaze, no emotion beyond darkness encroaching his already bottomless eyes.

The other men charged at Mikey, but they were swiftly deterred by Ran and Sanzu who grappled them, pinning them to the floor with the ease of squishing a ripened strawberry between too tight fingers and pummelling them until spit mingled with blood dripped down their slack mouth. One of them lurched at you but Kakucho jabbed him right in the face, a fountain of red exploding from his mouth. You gasped when another greasy gang member unsheathed a knife, aimed right for Kokonoi’s unprotected back. He rushed forward with a snarl on his oily features.

“Hajime!”

Hearing your cry, the platinum-haired Bonten treasurer landed one roundhouse kick into the perpetrator’s side, paralyzing his arm and causing him to crumple forward, grappling the other man and slamming him down onto the floor. Koko’s tongue was sticking out and a mischievous grin was scrawled across his face as he effortlessly landed one burning strike after another into the other man’s face.

With their numbers falling to Bonten, the remaining Black Diamonds scattered with screams, defeat tasted in the form of their motorcycles revving and kicking snow and dirt up in the air as they sped away. Their leader was still out cold and Mikey lifted him up by the root of his hair. To you, he muttered, “Is this the asshole that has been upping the interest every month?”

“Y-yes,” you could barely speak without trembling. Your house was in a disarray, shards of glasses glinting like fallen tears on the floor, mimicking the ones trickling down your cheeks. Kokonoi had a cut on his forehead, Kakucho’s knuckles were bleeding, Takeomi was helping Mikey to tie Yori up while Rindou had gone out to check on the farm in case they committed any destruction to it. Sanzu and Ran surveyed the area with muted dismay on their faces which morphed into a panic when they saw what you were doing.

“Y/N—”

You picked up a shard of your father’s favorite shot glass, holding it in your palms, not even caring that the jagged edges were pressing into your skin to leave ruby red drops on the floor. Despite how tacky and uncouth it was, these shot glasses were the last thing your father left to you, a collection he had accumulated whenever he traveled around Japan and bought one glass for every state he was in.

And it was all gone.

Well, not all of it. There were still four glasses that were intact from his travels up north to Hokkaido and you carefully wrapped those in your grasp, standing up. Yori was stirring awake and when he came to the realization he was tied, he exhaled out a terrified squeak. Sensing your presence, Mikey nodded towards you, an implicit command, and Kakucho grabbed your arm, half-dragging, half-coaxing you to get out of the room. A few seconds later, the loud pop of a gunshot ricocheted, and you screamed, almost dropping the glasses in your hands.

But, Kakucho held you to his side, only releasing you once Ran poked his head past the door and nodded, eyes bright from the quick violence. They worked swiftly to cover the body and wrap it up, Rindou’s McLaren put to good use and was driven by Ran and Sanzu who were heading to god knows where with their fresh kill. Mikey stayed back to help you sweep up the glasses, Takeomi was outside taking a smoke while Kaku and Koko were bandaging each other up.

“H-here, let me help,” your voice was hoarse from the screams and shed tears. Before Kokonoi could even flinch back from your touch, you sat next to him, taking a wad of cotton and dipping it in antiseptic to clean the wound.

“You okay?” Kaku’s deep voice from your side. You could only nod because if you opened your mouth to speak, there was no telling if you would be able to stop yourself from sobbing. Teeth caught on your lower lip, cheeks drained of blood and hands shaking, every man was cognizant that you were one second away from dissolving into a breakdown. Koko grasped your wrist gently and shook his head, sharp eyes lowered in exhaustion. “I’ll handle this.”

You made to protest but Mikey’s voice pierced through your thoughts. “I think you should lie down, Y/N.”

Lie down? A man had just died in your living room, your whole house was upended and Mikey was telling you to rest? If anything, you were too keyed up and had to take it out in a safe avenue; for you, that was fixing people and things up.

Apparently, Bonten’s leader was serious, and in a show of impulsivity that neither man had ever witnessed, he stalked over and threw you across his shoulder like you were nothing but a  bag of potatoes.

“Mikey!” you bellowed and he merely grunted, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of his men as you squirmed in his hold. Your fists raining down on his back might’ve been careless caresses for all of his stoic lack of reaction. He reached your bedroom and set you down onto the bed, where you glanced at his expression for the first time in days. His dark eyes were twin moons that were eclipsed in worry, and there was a tightness in his jaw that traversed to his shoulders.

“Manji—”

“Did they hurt you?” His voice was quiet, but the steel behind it was unmistakable.

You glanced down at your torn palms and his dark gaze followed suit.

“Shit,” he cursed softly and you watched as he walked into your small adjacent bathroom, coming back with a damp cloth. Mikey was tense when he sat next to you, gingerly taking your hands in his and setting them on his lap. There were no words shared between you two when he cleaned your wounds, pausing to inspect if any glass had lodged itself into your calloused skin.

The tips of his fingers were hot stamps on the back of your hand and you bit your lower lip, avoiding his gaze, your chest tight with a whole different emotion that was not anger for the first time in three days. If his men could see him now, they would wonder what possessed the usual aloof and uncaring Bonten leader. But here with you, he allowed his walls to fall for a split second, tending to your wounds the same way you once did for him, his touch gentle for the first time in years.

How long has it been since he held another person’s hand this way?

Not to break their fingers but to admire the tiny divots and imperfections that littered their skin to make them even more perfect in his eyes. He had held hands before with faceless women that he took to his bed and whose names he forgot the next day; shook hands with the world’s most dangerous people… but, never did he cradle someone’s palm in the way he did with yours.

Without thinking, he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a tenderness that took both of your breaths away. Your eyes glossed over and you turned your face to bury the lapse of emotion you were sure was scrawled on your features like a neon sign.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. You did not know what he was apologizing for until he followed it up with, “I’m sorry you had to see all that. I never wanted to introduce you to my life that way.”

A hard swallow. “It’s fine, Mikey.”

The fact that you had refused to call him by his given name hurt him more than he cared to admit. A pout wormed its way onto his lips and he almost let out a whine at your lack of attention.

“Are you still angry with me?”

You didn’t look at him when you replied, “There is nothing for me to be mad with. You’ve made it clear that you don’t like me.”

“That I don’t… like you?”

The confusion in his voice was palpable and you heaved a sigh, gently flicking his hands from yours. “I’m fine, Mikey. I need to go back downstairs to handle dinner—”

“I never did say I didn’t like you.”

That gave you enough pause and you froze mid-step towards the door. Setting your foot down, both literally and physically, you sighed. “So, you like me now?”

He didn’t give you a chance to turn around, his arms vining around you and drawing you into his chest. “Yeah. Couldn’t have made it any more obvious.”

The tightness in your chest was back and you inhaled in a shuddering breath. “But you told me to not ask you—”

“I was afraid,” he exhaled in a quick rush. “I… Y/N, I didn’t know how to react because I’ve never—” Mikey broke off, unable to finish his sentence, the words lodged in the back of his throat. How could he tell this wonderful woman what she truly meant to him without sounding like an idiot? What measure was words when his whole heart felt like it had been given wings and was waiting to burst from his chest at the sight of your smile or whenever he heard your laugh?

Words were never enough where once they were all he had to push himself forward first as the leader of Toman and then Bonten. Men would flock to him because of the words he spouted, how he could inflame their loyalty with a few choice syllables and consonants. But mere words would be an insult to the true depth of emotion he felt for you.

There was nothing he could say that would change your mind, but he could show it. Peeling your hand from your lap, he placed it on his chest, right over his beating heart.

“All this—” his breath stuttered under your palm, his heartbeat like a broken metronome bleeding through your fingers. “—Belongs to you. Everything. It’s all yours, Y/N.” The look in his dark eyes was breathtaking and you had to force your lower lip to stop trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you but I cannot deny this any longer. I cannot deny you any longer.”

His lips, as soft as the snow that was falling over your window ledge, brushed yours—once, twice—testing the waters. Like a winter flower, you bloomed for him even in the midst of the most frigid season of your life, inhaling his life while he drank in your acceptance and devotion.

The bed dipped under your combined weight. His hands were hot on your stomach, the tufts of his silver hair tickling your forehead, his breath a warm constant on your cheek. Mikey was kissing you as if you were the only woman in the world who held his heart when you sensed it was the furthest from the truth; he was the leader of Bonten, the most wanted man in Japan, and the ultimate figurehead of a bad boy that many women were attracted to. You had tried to deny that smoldering allure since the very first day you met him, but like a moth to a dangerous flame, you could not stay away.

He had slipped under your skin as much as you did for his, settling somewhere close to the same heart that was beating erratically against your flushed chest. Clothes were shed to reveal the other person down to their vulnerability, no more barriers left between the both of you; no more lies and deception. The cut on your palms were mirror lacerations of the wounds on his shoulders, seeming to slot perfectly with one another as if you were the missing part of him that finally returned to his body—finally returned home.

Mikey’s mouth was made to mold over yours, the crook of his chin and cheeks lovingly stitched by fate itself to slot perfectly into your neck as he muffled the sounds of his release there. You were more vocal, thighs gripped around his waist, exhales and stuttered moans of his name and more, please more, wanna cum for you, Manji leaving your lips like endless streams of benedictions.

“Give yourself to me, baby,” he grunted into your ear, voice a delicious, low timber. “Wanna feel you, my love.”

Love.

Love.

Love.

That word drenched you in shades of honey gold and the ecstasy of his admittance was second only to the feeling of your release slamming into you like the force of a thousand soaked feathers; covering you in white, dispersing around your frame like a halo, ethereal in its nature when his eyes touched yours and you seemed to disappear in them.

“Manji,” you grazed his cheek and he titled his face closer, chasing your touch. “Manji, I… I—”

“I know.” Words were never enough and they weren’t needed, not when he could hear every whispered line of your heart speaking to his. “I feel the same way, too.”

The tears welling in your eyes made you seem more beautiful than any wonder of nature he had encountered in his life. “You do?”

Taking your hand and placing it on his chest once more, he smiled down at you, the gesture as wild as it was uncommon on his ordinarily sordid mien.

“I told you, baby,” he said, gripping your hand tighter in his. “All of me. Forever.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

There were many instances in his life that Kakucho has heard Mikey’s unfaltering composure give way.

Once, when an unlucky bozo had bad-mouthed his older brother and he had gone into a killing frenzy so fierce that they were scrubbing blood off the meeting walls for days. Another time when he broke off in deep thought at the mention of his sister’s name; and finally, at the sight of a twisting dragon design graffitied onto a wall opposite a seedy sake place they had encountered after a hard night of money laundering.

Mikey was not as indomitable as many thought him to be; he was still very much human and where others would openly express their emotions in heaps, he preferred to let it trickle in condensing drops around the people he truly felt comfortable with.

A muted grin curved across his scarred face at Takeomi’s sudden scowl of realization.

The floorboards above them—directly in your bedroom—were creaking, quick and soft eek eek ekks that should’ve been written off as salacious in nature, but to the others, the implications were immense.

Mikey never fucked a woman near his men; never claimed her in the face of his organization so openly and brazenly. To do so would be a signed death deal for any poor lover the most wanted man in Japan took to his bed. All the women in his life were shadows; flitting disparities between the realm of innocence and sin. They never lasted more than a month—meaningless flings that ultimately kept Mikey free from the strings of the life he led controlling his every gesture.

Witnessing the unraveling of his control, the confidence of his claim… why, even the most jaded member of Bonten had to smile.

The quiet eek eeks eventually petered out after a frenzied finale, and peace exhaled itself into every pore of this shabby but heavenly space.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“The pipe is frozen.”

That early morning before Christmas found yourself standing by a pot full of oil with a fresh batch of strawberry taiyakis, bringing it out of the warm depths and setting it down on the counter to cool. Your furrowed brow attracted Mikey’s attention away from the steaming hot snacks, charting your gaze towards Sanzu who was fidgeting at the doorway. His pink hair settled like a messy halo around him, apologetic expression exacerbated when he walked in on your lover hovering close to you, bending his head forward to murmur how nice those delicacies looked.

“Oh,” you murmured and pursed your lips, already mentally calculating how much it would take to unclog it especially when it was close to Christmas and fixing rates would definitely be through the roof. “Do any of you men know how to fix a pipe?”

“I could force my brother’s hand through the pipe if you want to get it unstuck,” Sanzu retorted with a gleefully sadistic glint in his Artic blue eyes.

Mikey’s frown made him stop short and clamp his mouth shut on the numerous methods he could annoy and potentially hurt his older sibling. “Get Rindou on it. He did reroute an entire plumbing system back when he was in Tenjiku.”

“Right,” Sanzu drawled, the recollection coming back to him. “Tch, I remember—when he spilled shit water all over those goon’s apartment floors. Sure, I’ll tell him that—oi, Rin!”

Leaving you both alone once more, Mikey sighed and knocked his head into your shoulder. “Don’t wanna go,” he muttered childishly and your heart squeezed at the reminder. In less than 48 hours, he would leave and go back to his life of corruption and violence in the city while you would be left all alone in the countryside. Neither of you had even made plans for the future; you didn’t know if this would be the last time you would see Manjiro again.

Twisting your fingers, you murmured, “Will you visit me?”

Mikey’s quiet confirmation was done with a hmm. “I’ll try, baby.” A soft kiss was planted on the back of your neck. “You saved me, remember? Would be a damn fool not to see my angel again.”

You couldn’t help the bright grin worming its way onto your lips. Turning around to smile at him, you wrapped him in your embrace, those dark eyes swimming in mirth at how such simple praise could get you beaming at him as if he hung the moon in the sky.

Before he could bring you closer, plant his lips on yours to taste the sweet strawberry flavor of your lip balm, a loud shriek pierced through the silence. You jarred away from his touch to peek worriedly past the blinds. A mop of purple locks poked through, followed by Ran’s sheepish smile.

“Uh, don’t worry about that—Rin just stepped on some goat shit, s’all.” Giving the both of you a thumbs up, he ducked back out into the cold. “Sorry for interrupting!”

Growing irritated at how his men were determined to cockblock him, Mikey swooped you back into his arms and tucked you under his chin. “So, whatcha planning to make for Christmas?”

“Some turkey and stuffing, fried—” you glanced around to make sure Momo was not in the vicinity; not wanting your dearest pet to overhear of your audacity at serving her own kind for the season’s feast. “C-H-I-C-K-E-N from KFC and a salad.”

He grinned at your antics, resisting the urge to pinch your cheeks and pepper kisses onto them. Though he was not one for public displays of affection, there was literally something so endearing about you that he wanted to discard his icy façade and give in to his urges to shower you with his devotion. “Sounds heavenly, babe.”

“You’re gonna help, right?” you mockingly put on a stern tone and felt his chest rumble with laughter. “Y’know, if you’re gonna be with me, you gotta do some heavy lifting, right?”

“I’ll convince you not to,” he said, all confidence and unshakeable faith.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged and bit down on a grin. “How’re you gonna change my mind?”

“Easy.” His hands slid up to cup your breasts, ignoring your squeak of surprise when his thumb and forefinger pinched and rubbed your sensitive nipples through your thin cotton shirt and bra. “I am well-versed in psychological tactics to get whatever I want.”

You squirmed in his touch, tone drenched in a light warning. “Manjiro—”

“Y/N,” he countered and you could hear that infuriating smirk even without looking at him.

You sighed and let your head fall back against his chest, looking up at him with a soft smile.

“You’re horrible.”

“And you like me for it.” He kissed the top of your head, a complete mushy mess for you. It was just luck that his men were not here to see how soft he was for you; the antithesis of the invincible Mikey. Here with you, he was just Manjiro, your lover and special person.

His yawn touched the shell of your ear and you fought back a teasing remark at how he could sleep anywhere and anytime; the dark circles that weighed his eyes down had lessened since his stay here and there was a vitality that was a stark difference from the young man that first found himself awake in your farm.

“I do,” you said softly, twining your fingers with his. “I really do.”

A beat of silence. “Those men that are after you won’t ever touch you again.” You could sense his reassurance flowing out and aching to soothe any lingering worry you may have.

That was a relief to hear. “I owe you for that, Manji.”

“Nah,” he muttered, leaning against the counter and enjoying the soft scent of your hair drifting into his senses. “No more debts. It’s all cleared out.”

Tears sprung into your eyes and you swallowed down a sob; a heavy burden had been removed from your shoulders, all because of this young man who had appeared into your life like a gift.

“I never thought I would find myself feeling the safest in the arms of a yakuza boss,” you mused and he snorted softly.

“And I never thought I’d find myself in love with a girl who talks to chickens.”

That monumental yet subtle slip-up had you tensing in his arms. But, in an immensely Mikey-like fashion, he did not even seem perturbed at how easily he let his true emotions show. The ticking of the wall clock was loud in your hollow ears.

“You… love me?”

He hummed again. “Was it not obvious?”

Shyly, you turned to face him, pink dusting your cheeks. His dark gaze—always so unfathomable and detached—was filled with the sheerest of pleasure at the sight of your flustered countenance. “I… I love you, too, Manjiro.”

He leaned forward, rubbing his nose to yours. “I know.”

Before his lips could meet yours in a quiet explosion of reciprocated longing and desire, a loud bang made the both of you jump back from each other.

“RINDOU!”

“—s’faulty! Not my fucking—it just hit the wrong bend!”

Wishing he had his gun so he could put a bullet into both Ran and Rindou’s throat for ruining this moment with you, Mikey murmured I’ll go see what happened and stalked out of your kitchen, closing the rickety door firmly behind him.

Snatches of voices pierced through the thin wooden frame of your home.

“—what—”

“—dunno… shit—will I die?”

“I’ll kill you first—”

You tuned out the men’s bickering, content to swipe a strawberry-infused glaze onto the already cooled fish-shaped snacks, humming under your breath. Outside, it had gone awfully quiet and that occurrence was more alarming to you than the yells of threats and disagreements. Carefully picking up seven of the nicer pieces to offer them for their help, you opened the door to encounter a sight that came out straight from your wet dreams.

There was a geyser where your rusted faucet once was, spewing water in the air where it fell like rain, drenching all seven men. Mikey was glaring daggers at each of them, Kakucho was working hard to staunch the flow with his bare hands, bending next to Rindou who held two halves of a pipe in his hand, completely soaked and beyond panicked.

Ran was groaning, carding his fingers through his hair, “Just so you know, this fucking fade cost me 34,000 to maintain—”

“Shut up, my keratin treatment costs double than that and it’s fucking ruined,” Kokonoi whined, trying his best to avoid the spray but it had caught him full-on in the face, his silver hair hanging like limp tendrils around his sharp scowl.

“Can you two pussies stop bitching about your hair for one fucking second and help?” Takeomi growled and lifted a spanner, going back into the fray to staunch the leak. Rindou, purple mullet slicked down and dripping, cursed under his breath, the color leached from his cheeks.

“That was our only water source,” Mikey grumbled, not doing anything but standing there, glowering like a soaked puppy who was denied playtime.

Spurred on by their boss’ displeasure, Sanzu hurried to his brother’s side and removed his shirt, trying to wrap it around the broken joint. All that did was cause the material to soak through and the water to completely dampen it; one shirtless, pink-haired gangster shivering in the cold.

“Do we have plumbing tape?” Rindou bellowed, looking around frantically. You hid behind the pillar so they wouldn’t see you—this was one experience you wanted to stick around for a little while.

Ran rolled his eyes, and at his brother’s dismissal, Rindou ripped Sanzu’s paltry attempt at fixing the leak, the water erupting straight into the older Haitani’s face.

“Hey—”

Not one to be deterred at this sudden pettiness, Ran scooped up a mixture of mud and snow from the ground and hurled it at his brother, the glob landing smack into Rindou’s chest.

“RAN!”

Where there was once the tenacious bond of civility, it was ruined once the two brothers started having a mud fight; poor Kakucho was caught in the crossfire and in an attempt to not ruin the limited clothing they had, they all had the same brilliant idea to remove their shirts. Your eyes widened and your cheeks reddened at the sight.

Sensual beats over a playful rhythm could’ve played in the background and it would not seem so out of place; Gwen Stefani’s sultry vocals on Luxurious seemed extremely fitting for how your heartbeat was rising at a drastic rate at the glorious sight that unfurled before you.

Droplets of water ran down scarred torsos, licking between divots of abs and ropes of muscles adorning sculpted arms. Every man had a physique like he was lovingly crafted from a deity above; faded bruises and white lacerations from old wounds exacerbating their attractiveness. Cupping your hand over your mouth to keep from squealing, you watched as seven grown men abandoned all rationale and hurled balls of mud and snow at each other—even Mikey was not exempted from this impromptu fight.

Kokonoi’s silver hair had gone loose from its messy bun and whipped around his handsome features, his tongue sticking out playfully when he slammed a literal mud pie into Ran’s chest. In retaliation, the older Haitani bared his teeth in a manic grin, gathering large ammunition and lobbing it straight for Koko’s incredibly defined stomach. You touched your forehead; despite the chill, you were burning up.

All the while, water continued to rain down, kissing rippling skin and muscles in slow motion; your mind overdosing on sensory overload.

Mikey’s abdomen muscles seemed to move like a perfectly crafted wave when he avoided Sanzu’s target, slipping down on the muddied ground to tackle the pink-haired man and pie him in the face with his own rendition of a nuclear slap—with mud, of course. Rindou was calling for them to stop, but in a twist, it was Kakucho who slapped a muddied hand on his chest, covering half of his tattoos, much to his chagrin.

You held your breath. It was no secret that amongst a sea of Gods, Kakucho was given extra attention in his physique, his broad chest undulating with deep chortles when Rindou gathered a globe of mud and snow to launch it smack dab in between his pecs. Even Takeomi who was leaner than the rest had his biceps defined with the slush, giving him a feral look, especially when he grinned and returned the favor, ganging up with Mikey to take his younger brother down.

Were there cameras around you? One swift look and you realized that this was truly happening; seven incredibly hot and physically perfect men were dancing in between falling water and mud, getting dirtied right in your fields amongst your clucking chickens and excited goats.

“You slapped shit on me!” Sanzu squawked and Takeomi chuckled evilly, reveling in his payback for all the stupid things his brother had done to him.

“My bad; it suits you, though.”

Before the fight could escalate, Mikey called for a truce; Sanzu was poised to hurl a handful of that sludge right into his face.

“What would Y/N say if we messed up her fields?” their boss intoned quietly, but his men heard him clearly.

All too soon, the magnificent wet dream was over and the men grumbled, falling back into their reticent countenance. You set the taiyakis down on the small table on your porch and scuttled back into the kitchen.

Get it together, Y/N. Get it together. Your cheeks were mercifully starting to cool down.

Rummaging in your storeroom, you returned outside with a roll of plumbing tape, handing it to one sheepish Kakucho who worked with Rindou to fix the leak. Staring at the mess they had made and the mess that was slipping down their bodies, you pitied all of them and walked back to the back of the farm, attaching your hose to the now-fixed faucet and letting them know that they could wash themselves down.

Once the last bit of mud was out from their clothes, skin, and hair, you threw half of your firewood into your fireplace to create a roaring flame, black smoke expelling from your chimney while all seven of them got warm in your living room. Hot tea was brewed and poured into chipped cups to be given to each man; your quiet chastisement that they would fall sick if they did not take care of themselves echoing loudly in this newfound comradeship.

That night, to reward them for their work (and the little show they put on for you), you cooked beef stew, miso soup, and fried seaweed for dinner—huge portions that could feed an entire army completely emptied after three rounds from each man. After dinner, the doorbell rang and you rushed to get it while the others soaked and hung up their clothes to dry by the fire.

Walking back into the room, you called out for Sanzu and handed him a rather large box. His ice-blue eyes widened and almost glimmered with tears at your gift.

“T-thank you, Y/N,” he choked out and you had to bite down a laugh at his expression. He looked like a man who was given respite from the cruelest cold; gratitude so strong that his lower lip wobbled.

The futon you had bought for him slotted in perfectly between the Haitanis’ sleeping place and Mikey’s couch. For the first time that night, Sanzu did not have to sleep on the cold, hard floor. For the others, you passed them razor blades and shaving cream, their appreciation second to the sudden warm glint in Mikey’s eye when he observed how easily his men took to you; the level of respect you commanded amongst Japan’s most dangerous criminals was amusing as it was awe-inspiring.

You didn’t have to house them, you didn’t have to feed them or spare what was left of your dwindling budget to ensure their comfort, but you did. And you did it all without a word of complaint leaving your lips and without even a second thought.

Mikey had made a number of horrendous choices in his life, but allowing his men to stay here on your farm, to genuinely see what he saw in you, would definitely not be one of those decisions.  

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Cold air pinched his cheeks, the farm aglow with Christmas lights that flickered softly in his periphery.

The string of lights fringing your porch—courtesy of Ran and Kakucho’s help since they were the two tallest members—seemed like specks of fireflies in his half-mast gaze. The farm was lulled into a comfort; chickens cooing softly in the background, the goats all sated from a good meal and rest in their pens; the end of the year rush slowing down for everyone to take a breath.

Including you.

Mikey had never seen you look this calm and stress-free. Your cheeks were radiant, smile bright, and movements fluidly easy when you maneuvered around the kitchen, fixing dinner for later. The smells coming from the tiny space were heavenly; his men were getting antsy for tonight’s fare.

The farm was cleaned up, the last of the feed stored away and when evening came, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. You had asked the men to get cleaned up and dressed well for tonight, and it was a sight to find the seven men groomed to the shadow of themselves, back in their suits and dress shirts.

“Give me a second!” you called from upstairs.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” Rindou muttered, shifting his lilac gaze across the room, waiting for your arrival so they could all start feasting. A creak from the stairs and everyone turned around at the same time.

Mikey felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

There you were, hair down in loose curtains and held back by a pearl clip, a wrap dress in the purest shade of white adorning your frame to show off every single curve and dip of your body in the most tasteful fashion. A gold necklace with a pendant glinted from your neck and your blush rose lips were lifted into a soft smile that touched your eyes. His men could not seem to reconcile the simple farmer girl usually in floral dresses with this demure goddess before them, as evident from their shifting gazes and pink cheeks.

Their silence caught your attention and you glanced at each of them quizzically. “Is everything all right?”

Mikey gripped your waist and pulled you closer to his side. “Everything’s fine. Let’s start?”

Not registering his possessive claim in front of his men, you nodded and set the table, much to their consternation at having been caught ogling at their boss’ woman. Dinner went by without a hitch, laughter filling the air and his men diving into food after a quick thank you for the meal. Later, with bellies full and hearts light, Takeomi brought out a huge bottle of sake that he had managed to swipe during his excursion to town and used the remaining shot glasses for a drinking game.

Never have you encountered a game of rock, paper, and scissors as intense as the one that Bonten played. Each man was determined to undermine the other and get him drunk enough to vomit blood, it seemed. The most competitive were Sanzu and Rindou, their dynamics as the younger Akashi and Haitani respectively, causing them to wage war against their brothers and anyone around them who was brave enough to go against their drinking prowess.

A game of truth or dare where Kakucho admitted to having a crush on Mikey’s secretary and Ran had to give Jiji a kiss on her cheek when the goat wandered into your living room saturated the night in peals of laughter. All the while, Mikey never let his arm around your waist fall, always keeping you either by his side or on his lap. You were too drunk to care that your cheeks turned pink whenever he peppered soft kisses down your throat, reveling in your last night together with your newfound friends.

The Christmas cheer went on past midnight and at some point, Sanzu had fallen asleep on top of Rindou, their older brothers having to shift them onto their sides in case they choked on their own puke. Takeomi and Kakucho helped to wash up, the numbers dwindling as the men nodded off after a hearty meal and drinks, leaving you alone with Mikey in the kitchen.

A sudden wave of sadness at the thought of tonight being your last one sprang into your mind, the cheer from the holiday receding into a growing sadness at the reality of your home growing empty and quiet once more—the men’s absence echoing off the walls. You would worry for them; there was no doubt about it. Though you may not know everything about the life of a yakuza, you could hazard a guess that it was filled with bloodshed, sadness, and loss.

It was that thought that spurred you to reach out to Mikey, burying your face in his chest. What would happen when he finally left your side? What if those thugs that caught him had another group and came after him? Sure, he was Bonten’s leader, but he was still a man. He was your Mikey; if anything were to happen to him, you were sure that your heart would not make it. His name was written like a prayer through every heartbeat. He had come to you like a wayward seed on the back of a strong wind, planting himself in your life that you could not imagine these walls without his presence—could not imagine waking up every day without him by your side.

Sensing your sadness, he sighed and cupped your head closer to his chest. “Y/N?”

“I don’t want you to go.”

That exhaled admittance was enough to get his heart squeezing in absolute sadness. “I have to, my love.”

You sniffed and shook your head, tears falling like diamonds down your cheeks that he could not resist kissing them away, every press of his lips on your skin was a cherished wish that he did not have to return back to his life. “Don’t leave me, Manji. Stay with me. Be by my side. I want you to t-tell me all about your day; I want to wake up next to you; I want to spend every day with you.” Another errant sniff and the hot tears would not cease their reckless descent. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Those words hit him like the force of a thousand bricks and for the first time in his life, Sano Manjiro wished he wasn’t himself. He wished he was a regular man with a 9-to-5, someone who could leave the dark shadows of his world for the woman he loved and give her everything she wanted. And he would’ve given you everything you wanted. All you had to do was bat your pretty eyes and he would stick himself to your side, build you a home, put a ring on your finger, fill your belly with his children to quench that deep loneliness inside both of your souls…

But, he could not do that.

He was not an ordinary man as much as he wanted to be.

Exhaustion lined the cracks of his soul and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Even if the circle of his arms was small and his heart was far too shallow to hold onto the depth of your love, he would dig deeper, fortify its walls to fill it with the presence of your sweet smile.

“Y/N, have I ever told you that you saved my life?”

You hesitated, the reminder of his blood-soaked body coming to mind. “Y-yes. When I found you at that roadside, right?”

He was shaking his head even before you were done. “If you could… if you could know more about my life…” A stuttering breath and the words he desperately wished he could hold back could no longer be fought off.

“Y/N, you have done more than just save my life. You know… sometimes the wrong train takes you to the right station. It was like that for me, too. Throughout my whole damn life, I’ve always felt like I was on the wrong train. There were so many times I wanted to give up. I didn’t want to go anywhere and thought of jumping off that train. When I met you… look where I am now. I took the wrong train again—a very wrong one, at that, because it brought me to a destination I cannot stay in for long. Still, I want to think about that future with you because no matter how much life has fucked me over, in the end, I arrived at the right station at the right time.

“Even if I have to worry about throwing you into my fucked-up world and losing you every day, I want to have you in my life. Even if it breaks my heart because it’s a dream that can’t come true, I’d like to sincerely dream about our future.”

His words struck you deep and you sobbed quietly, looking up into his lachrymose dark eyes. Manjiro was laying his heart for you bare, the tracks of tears on his cheeks faint but still ever-present. He was scared—he was so fucking scared of bringing into his life because all it reeked off was death and loss. You were like the unattainable flower that he had fallen in love with; he could only stare at you with admiration, but if he plucked you from your roots and preserved you in the currents of his fake world, you would wilt.

“M-Manji, you came into my life like a gift and I’m so grateful for that. I’ll still be here waiting for you; I don’t want you to forget me.” Mimicking his movements, you picked his hand and placed it on your chest, your lower lip trembling. “But even if I disappear from your eyes, I will always remember your smile, your love, and how you made me feel s-so safe. My heart is so full of you and I will always look for you. I’m always on your side, Manji.”

Your admittance shook him to the core and Mikey exhaled a stuttering breath, your shared tears streaking down both your cheeks rapidly, the moment trembling between the both of you like a shattered sob.

That night, you brought him into your bed for what felt like the last time, skin on skin, breaths unraveling and tangling in between shaky lips. The pleasure was second only to feel the other as deeply at the moment; to imprint the memory of his touches and kisses deep in the recesses of your brain and the layers under your skin so that when morning came, every fiber of your body and soul was wrapped in the sweet sound of his name.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Some days, you wondered when the taste of loss would stop stinging your tongue.

Even from your perch by the doorway, merely feet away from the fancy cars and silhouettes of the men you had come to appreciate and trust to have in your life, everything seemed all too far away for you. The futons were rolled up, the house cleaned and the farm underwent one last surveillance from the seven men who had changed your life in such a big way, you could not resist wrapping your arms around each of them in a quick embrace.

Kakucho patted your shoulder, Rindou and Ran stood stock still with mirth in their gazes, Takeomi smirked fondly at you, Sanzu nudged you away in favor of bringing Jiji into his arms for one last time and Kokonoi had a look of consternation on his face, but nonetheless embraced you back lightly.

“You take care, okay, Y/N?” Takeomi’s low voice from somewhere in the back.

“If anyone causes problems for you, let us know—we’ll kill ‘em for you,” was Ran’s solemn promise, a stark difference from the mischievous man with perfectly coiffed hair when you first saw him.

“I have no doubt that you all will,” you fondly retorted and touched your gaze with a pair of dark onyxes.

For Mikey, you let your arms linger around him, feeling the press of his body curved against yours, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I’ll come back for you,” was his exhaled promise. “I don’t know exactly when, but I will.”

Uncaring of the six other eyes and witnesses, he sealed his assurance with a soft kiss, drinking in your growing smile against his lips despite it being tinged with sadness.

The shawl around your shoulder was the only thing that provided you with warmth when you watched all seven of them pile into their expensive cars. Mikey gave you one more lingering smile and your heart clenched, Momo in your arms as you stroked the hen’s head. You waved goodbye, smiling fondly when Sanzu sniffed loudly and patted Jiji’s head. “I’m gonna miss you, girl,” he said shakily and the goat echoed his sentiment, maa-ing sadly and bumping her head against his hip.

Even Kokonoi gave the farm one last sweeping gaze before getting in the shotgun of Kaku’s Vanquish with a loud sigh that his comrade noticed. “Hajime?”

Frowning at his roughened hands, Kokonoi reasoned that he should’ve been happy to go back; should’ve been happy to return to his Egyptian sheets and expensive keratin treatments. But, why did it feel like he was saying goodbye to one of the best holidays of his life?

“Santorini can’t compare,” was all he muttered under his breath and Kakucho gave him a questioning look once Mikey and Takeomi slipped into the backseat. The purr of the engines was like the start of a heart-breaking melody as the cars pulled away from the small gravel road, your silhouette growing smaller and smaller in the distance until they rounded the corner and you had completely disappeared from view.

A sad smile etched on your lips and tears in your eyes; you swung the gate closed with a dulled thud, silence falling over the farm in such pressing waves, it suffocated the sobs out of your chest.

In the back of the Vanquish, Mikey’s chest squeezed in a similar manner and he exhaled a loud sigh; twisting his body back to catch the rise of the farm’s thatch roof before it was engulfed by foliage.

Takeomi noticed his sorrow but did not comment on it, letting his boss work through his emotions; studying how he touched the newly formed calluses on his hands from days of working on the fields. Before he left, you had given him a packet of strawberries and a huge jar of jam that Mikey was sure to savor till the last dollop and piece.

“Wipe out all the debts we accumulated from people who can’t pay.”

Kakucho nearly swerved into an errant tree and Koko actually gasped, turning around to face him with an incredulous look.

“Sir—”

“I want all the debts that family members owe from the loans that their dead loved ones took out completely erased.”

Thinking about the mountain of paperwork that waited for him back in his office, all Kokonoi could do was sigh. “As you wish, boss.”

His third and advisor who had the right to question him on his decision were more delicate in this matter. Takeomi caught Kakucho’s eye through the rearview mirror and shrugged.

“If that is what you want, Mikey.”

A firm nod of his head. “No more hush money from small businesses, too, Hajime. Tell the attack division to not threaten them anymore. We need to find a new source of income before the first quarter. I trust you have a few ideas.”

Oh, the Bonten treasurer did, but he was so stunned at Mikey’s callous forgiveness that he had to huff a soft laugh. Look what you did to him, Y/N.

Outside, a light snowfall picked up. Mikey perched his chin in his hand, charting the white drops building up by the ledge of this bullet-proof window, his mind a million miles away from his body and definitely not in the same car as his other executives.

Idly, he wondered if the check he left amounting to nine million yen in the dining room where his gun used to lay would be well-received by you.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

One year later

“Your payment is early,” Iwata-san said with a short laugh, taking in your bright cheeks and happier smiles. “The farm must be booming, yes?”

His words were an understatement.

With the money that Manjiro had left for you, the farm had managed to stay afloat long for you to form a plan and pay off your primary debt; the plan being opening a strawberry taiyaki shop using the recipe you perfected together with him as the main attraction during those hot summer days when the tourists were after a lighter snack.

Manjiro had sent you an invoice for at least twenty packs of his favorite snack in a strawberry-glazed edition, sharing pictures of his men fighting over the last piece much to your wry delight. You missed him with every fiber of your being but remembered the promise he gave you before he left your tiny farm almost 12 months ago. In the world where you could still reach him, you counted each blessing, as well as every passing day that brought you closer to his arrival back into your life.

“What are your plans for Christmas, Y/N?” Iwata-san’s innocent question brought you out of your reverie and you fixed the man with a small smile.

“An old friend is coming to visit,” you told him and did not elaborate, even when he prodded you on it.

“Is it your boyfriend, Y/N-chan?” he teased you, unlike how you imagined your father would if he was still alive, incited by your blushing cheeks.

“Have a good Christmas, Iwata-san,” was all you said and waved goodbye, the box of strawberry taiyakis you left with him on the countertop the subject of his slightly confused stare before it lingered on your smiling face.

There was mail for you back home and you perused through stacks of advertisements for end-of-year sales, new shop lots opening around you, and a single white envelope with just your name written on it. Prying open the flap, a glossy card slipped out, with a picture of the Tokyo bridge on it, and three words written behind it that made your soul soar:

I’ll be coming home for Christmas. Wait for me, my love.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

“… and the latest territory our team has secured is— Mikey-san?”

The grating voice of Yamaguchi rang in his mind, bringing him back down to earth. He turned his listless eyes to the large balding man beside him. It had been one year of working side by side with this mercenary agent to obtain a foothold in Seoul for their export of Glass—a new strain of molly strong enough to leave a person high for twice as long and could not be detected in a human’s system after five hours.

Many trials, negotiations, and arguments later, and Mikey was about done with this project. His mind was not in this meeting room—in fact, it wasn’t even in Tokyo—rather it was somewhere beyond the city skyline in a small farm that he was supposed to be traveling to an hour ago if it wasn’t for his secretary accidentally double-booking him.

Takeomi stepped in to bring his boss back up to speed. “Yamaguchi and his team were just listing down the confirmed entrance points of Glass and—”

Swiftly standing up, Mikey’s impulsive movement caused a pressing hush to blanket amongst all the men who eyed him with thinly veiled terror at what he would do next. But, the Bonten leader merely stretched his neck and zeroed his bored gaze onto Takeomi and Sanzu who were both waiting for his next command.

“You know my stance on this—make sure it’s wrapped up. I have to be somewhere.”

No one dared to impede him on his way out of the meeting room. Calling for his secretary to prepare his car, Mikey packed a bag full of his essentials along with a very important velvet square box that was currently in his pants pocket; driving himself down the highways he had dreamed of traveling on ever since that very day he left you alone outside by that gravel road.

The thick and choking fog of the city eventually made way for paddy fields as far as the eye could see, yawning ahead and all around him like a green embrace; welcoming him back like an old friend.

Driving way past the speed limit, Mikey could barely keep his excitement in, despite how he kept on fidgeting with the square box in his pocket, turning it this way and that in between his slim fingers. In what seemed like the longest two hours of non-stop driving in his life, he finally sighted the small sign that said welcome to Kawagoe; a few more minutes of settling his anxiety and he soon approached the tiny gravel road—the brown picket fences of your farm which he had once helped painted a landmark for the quick rush of felicity that flooded his heart at a sight he had dreamed of every night before he tried and failed to fall asleep.

At the sound of a familiar engine purr, your front door flew wide open.

Like the violet sunset that always appeared and lined his sights every evening, there you were—hair flowing in the wind, the hem of your floral dress whipping up as your eyes widened with recognition and filled with happy tears. You ran over to him, a piercing cry of his name leaving your lips.

“Manjiro!”

Mikey had never heard his name uttered so sweetly in his life.

Fumbling for the door handle, he nearly tore it off in his haste to reach to you and the moment you slammed into his embrace, the both of you released simultaneous sobs of relief. With his heart in his throat, he could barely keep himself upright. For you, he had appeared just like a dream, the snowfall barely fazing you as you glanced up at him, snowflakes beading the tips of your eyelashes as it hit you that you both were no longer under different skies.

He was here. He was right in front of you. Manjiro was back in your arms.

Burying your face in his shoulder, you expelled a stuttering sob that had him pressing soft kisses into your strawberry-scented hair; a scent that was more important to him than oxygen right now.

“I’m here, my love. I won’t lose you again, I’m here. I’m here.”

His reassurances were met by your shaky sobs and equally trembling nods. “You’re still exactly as I remember you; I was so afraid of time and that I would not be able to see you again. I missed you, Manjiro.”

Your choked rendition of his name broke the last strand of his patience to be gentle with you. Falling into the black hole of your touch, he welcomed how it tore him apart, his lips crash landing into yours.

A quick gasp from you and he ignored Momo screeching at his heels, picking you up and bringing you back into the sacred warmth of your home. Legs locked around his waist, mouth molded on his was how your back met the wall, his touch healing the ache you felt for him for the past one year; the cracks sealing over. Like a mountain of yearning that was blown into dust, its weight disappeared from your shoulders.

Clawing at his shirt, he swiftly removed it, your dress all but flung to the floor in his haste to feel more of you. The fire was roaring and its warmth spilled over your two twined figures on the couch, his lips now on the juncture of your neck.

“Y/N,” he breathed and you missed how your name sounded from his mouth. Picking your hand and placing it on his chest in a heart-achingly familiar manner, the tears smarted in your eyes once more. “You’re in front of me, you’re here. I won’t ever let you go again.”

“Please, Manji,” you choked out, close to tears from the immense pressure of missing him. “N-need you. I’ve waited too long for you.”

He fulfilled all your desires and more, leaving you holding onto him like he was your anchor in the middle of a stormy sea when you were his fate that he had dreamed of making his own since that day he left half of his heart on this little farm.

Your throat hoarse from crying out his name and his body pulsing in satisfaction, the both of you allowed the delight of this long-awaited reunion to fracture all around you like the most tender afterglow. You brushed back his silver hair, touching his dark circles, drinking in his features with a fervor that he returned. Heart finally full of him, you leaned forward and touched your forehead with his.

“Manji,” you exhaled his name. “I love you.”

But, he did not reply to you, thinking this was a good enough time for what he had planned to do next. Leaning over you to rummage in his pants pocket, his closed fist hovered in your periphery and when you turned your face, a diamond nestled in folds of velvet waited to greet you.

Eyes growing wide, you scrambled to sit up, the woolen couch cover around your figure almost slipping off as the ring he held in his palm carved itself into your recognition.

“Manjiro,” you breathed and touched your eyes to his dark ones. In them, an unnamed emotion was roiling and you almost could not believe what he was about to do.

“I know a year of just texting and calling is not enough, but I want to do you right, my love,” he said in a soft voice, brushing back your hair and tucking a stray strand behind your ear. “So will you finally ease my suffering and stay with me… forever?”

Turning lachrymose wide eyes to him, you touched your chest, too overwhelmed to speak. “Manjiro, a-are you sure?”

“I’m so sure, baby,” the young man replied, taking your hand in his free one, the other one holding the promise of a lifetime together shaking slightly. “I will protect you; I will do everything in my power to make sure we’re both safe. You leave all the worrying to me, okay? All you have to do is just say yes, my love.”

The answer slipped from your tongue the moment he quietened.

“Yes. A hundred, million times—yes.”

Both of your hands trembled­—his when he wrapped the engagement band around your finger, and yours when you held it up to the fire to catch its glint. The ring was modest yet beautiful, a simple band and small diamond not too ostentatious but undeniable in its implications. A lifetime with Manjiro—what a heavenly thought.

His lips met yours and you leaned into the kiss, his reciprocated emotions loud enough in the silence for you to sense its unraveling. I am so fucking happy.

The sounds of twin engines had been completely missed by the both of you. Before you could deepen the kiss or playfully nip his bottom lip, a loud, “Jiji—my girl! I missed you!” caught you both off-guard; the front door fell wide open to reveal six towering figures.

In the blink of an eye, a warning shot ricocheted past their heads, the gun in Mikey’s hand smoking. You yelped and buried your face in his neck, your mind immediately shifting to how the hell he was fast enough to whip out his weapon even without you realizing it.

Shielding you with his figure, Mikey glared at all of his other executives. “Just what the hell are you all doing here?”

Kakucho, to his credit, did not drop the turkey he was holding due to his boss’ shot or even the sight of both your near-naked forms. Sanzu, who was carrying a maa-ing Jiji that was nipping the ends of his pink hair affectionately, snickered at the sight before him.

“Were we interrupting something?”

In a flash, Mikey threw his shirt at his second, wiping away his smart retorts and lewd smile with a face-full of cotton. Ran laughed at his superior’s pout while the rest of them pointedly looked away, mortified at having caught their boss with his pants literally down. One quick terse command from Mikey and they all left you alone to get changed. Despite the moment that was interrupted, your heart swelled to twice its size and like an image that came into your mind, you could picture a laden table filled with seven familiar figures, their laughter lighting up the air.

“You didn’t tell me they were coming,” you teased.

“Neither did they,” Mikey replied back testily, but you could tell he was happy at having his close friends around, especially when they caught sight of the ring on your finger. Raucous cheers and claps resounded in your small home, their congratulations bouncing and reflecting in Mikey’s rare smiles at the sight of his two worlds seamlessly blending together.

As for you…

After praying for an eternity with him, you had gotten your wish. Mikey was here. Forever, in your heart, and by your side.

Forever.

Though the start of your love story was less than ideal, it was all because of fate that brought him to you—perhaps fate and your father’s meddling, if you so recalled your tearful pleas to him for a sign.

And look where it has gotten you.

Despite the dark winter and the coming cold nights, you were still able to smile. Because of him, you could fully live today and because of you, he would never be lonely again.

Tis’ was the most precious season to live in each other’s eyes and hearts for the rest of your lives.

THE END

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost

[reivenesque]

My Fanfiction Masterlist - Chriseva (Skam)

📕 - Multi-chapter/Completed work

📖 - On-going

✒️  - One-shot

📕 A Family We Chose For Ourselves »  AO3

Characters: Eva Kviig Mohn, Chris Schistad & Ensemble Cast

Ships: Chriseva, Noorhelm & Evak

Summary: 

The Penetrators and Yakuza rivalry run much deeper and more dangerous than anyone even realized, until one of them ends up paying a heavy price. 

Chris was on his way to the Kose group Christmas party that night. 

He never made it there. 

Chapters: 9 of 9 / Completed.

Word count: 49,916

📕  Cindereva »  AO3

Characters: Eva Kviig Mohn, Chris Schistad & Ensemble Cast

Ships: Chriseva & Noorhelm.

Summary: 

Eva is a young girl, orphaned by the death of both her parents, who lives in a cottage in the woods with her two dogs, her two cats and a variety of animals that she calls family. 

She doesn't live a terrible life, only a lonely one, until one dark, stormy night, she stumbles across a mysterious, seriously injured man; a soldier from the enemy nation, and brings him home to care for him. She didn't know then how irrevocably her life was about to change.

Maybe through it all, she might even find - love? 

Chapters: 12 of ?

Word count: 49,555

✒️ Snapshots  » AO3  (x)

Summary: 

Snapshots of Eva's life from the age of fifteen to the age of thirty. 

Word count: 2,978

✒️ Vignettes » AO3

Summary: 

(Sequel to Snapshots) Snippets of Eva's life as she and Chris finally tie the knot. As they start building the kind of life they wanted to have together and the beginning of their true adventure following the birth of their first child.

Word count: 2,742

✒️ Two Halves of a Perfect Whole  »  AO3

Summary: 

Eva and Chris made a promise just before Chris left for the army, to meet once a year at the same spot on the same day until the day would come that they either fall in love with other people, or they fall in love with each other. 

Every single year, until their time finally runs out. Eventually, it does. 

[Post 4.10/Future fic] 

Word count: 7,616

✒️ Chicken Soup for the Soul  »  AO3

Summary: 

The downside of being sick on a school day was the fact that everyone else would be in school, except the person who was sick. Luckily for Eva, she knew someone who was no longer bound by the rules of school, not that that would have stopped him anyway. 

In which Eva is sick, and Chris becomes her (very annoying) balm. 

Word count: 1,887

✒️ Meet the Parent, Part Deux »  AO3

Summary:  

Eva and Chris are together in bed - after all, what else is new? - until his mom suddenly walks in. 

Word count: 1,520

📕 A Very Chriseva Christmas  »  AO3

Summary: 

In the days leading up to Christmas, Eva worries a lot. After all, what do you get a guy who doesn't want anything besides your attention and love? 

Word count: 6,984

✒️ Good Girls Don’t Cry »  AO3

Summary: 

Series of events leading up to and taking place during Eva’s birthday party in episode eight. Basically, Eva and Chris make out a lot, and you know...  talk about feelings and shit. 

Word count: 3,359

✒️ The Price of Forget-Me-Nots  »  AO3

Summary:

Eva was unsure of many things in life. Her own goals and ambitions, what she wanted to do with her life and where she was headed. But there was one thing she was absolutely not unsure of, and that was how beautiful Chris really was.

Word count: 2,495

✒️ (I’m Just) Sucker for Pain »  AO3

Summary:  

Chris's thoughts through the events of the series, more importantly, through the precarious, rough and tumble relationship he shared with Eva. 

Word count: 6,349

✒️ A Little Less than a Thousand Miles

Summary:

Fic Request: Little fluff where Eva and Chris are watching movies or netflix in her bed and she just asks him if he wants to go to the Eid pre-party with her. :)

[spikemelikeavolleyball]

iii : rules ( part two ) ( high low )

high low ; miya atsumu x fem! reader

i. ii. iii. iv. v. [masterlist.]

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

[name] [surname] was off limits--

except miya atsumu finds himself

flirting with danger and becoming

rapidly addicted to the sparks between

them.

what osamu doesn’t know won’t

kill him. will it?

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

 tags; mafia au, sexual content,

violence, strong  language, blood,

gore.

this chapter: alcohol,

miya atsumu (because he needs his

own warning label), suggestive content,

some violence.

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

three ; rules ( part two )

    Your arrival in Japan, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed. While your guard detail--see “glorified babysitters”--had reassured you that the press wouldn’t have a chance to corner you into an interview, there was still some concern over people seeing you and hurting people in order to get close to you. It had happened once, before, the hour predating your first official collaboration with Wisteria. Your guard had gotten a black eye so awful that it had lasted for weeks. He had gotten a very hefty bonus for the trouble, though.

    “I should have worn something more incognito,” you mumbled to yourself. The private jet’s bathroom mirror was floor length, so you had a good idea of how your outfit looked and what kind of presence it would give off. Most of the time, you would wear something cute or flashy to fuel your fan club’s activity--you were a sucker and liked browsing through their twitter feed on a private account--but today you weren’t feeling the energy for it. “I forgot I even had these.”

    After rummaging around in your bags for something that was comfortable, and not sky high heels or chiffon or silk or outrageously expensive t-shirts and jeans, you had come across a pair of Osamu’s old Inarizaki High volleyball sweatpants. You hadn’t even thought twice about throwing them on and rolling the ankles up to suit your height, even though the name printed on one leg and the jersey number on the other would have your fans tracking him down like the bloodhounds they were. You matched them with a black hoodie, socks, and a mask to hide the irritation underneath your nose, but even then you still stood out like a sore thumb.

    It had to be the way you stood, you thought, adjusting your stance to seem more lazy and laid back.

    It didn’t work.

    With a sigh, you exited the bathroom and found that your things had already been unloaded for you by your glorified babysitters. All that was left was your purse, which you snatched up and hooked over your shoulder, and your phone, which you glanced at and shoved into your pocket. It sunk down so far in the sweatpants pocket that you felt it bounce against the side of your thigh as you walked.

    “Nice pants,” one of your guards teased, poking fun at the name printed on the leg. “You sure you don’t want to change them and avoid the media scrutiny?”

    “I’m too tired to go back and find something else,” you hummed. One of the guards--there were three in total, at the request of Ushijima-san herself--held out a hand and helped you down the flight of stairs that were a bit too steep for your jetlagged brain to walk down in confidence. “What are we driving in today, my good men?”

    “Might I suggest the classic Phantom?” one of them joked, falling into formation when you began walking down the flight portal. “Just kidding. We’re taking the Audi today, since you want to be low profile this afternoon.”

    “Good.” You had missed riding around in your trusty Audi; not that a Ferrari or Lamborghini was something to scoff at, but you missed the frugal lifestyle you had when you were in highschool. Once your career took off, you rarely struggled for anything and college had been a breeze. Though, you had no clue what you were going to do with a nuclear engineering degree now that your modeling gig paid more than that ever would. “Make a stop for some cheap drug store coffee and we’re all set.”

    “I’ll add it to the memo.”

    Before you could open your mouth once more and ask if you could stop by a nearby pastry shop and stuff yourself full of crepes and cake, you entered the main terminal and were immediately bombarded by cameras flashing and people yelling.

    “[Name]-sama! We love you!”

    “I LOVE YOU!”

    “What do you have to say about Wisteria’s latest lingerie line? Do you think these styles should be changed to reflect Japanese standards?”

    “[Name]! What are your thoughts on the funding cuts to the women’s centers all around the world?”

    That last one caught your attention. You continued to smile behind your mask and wave, shoving a pair of sunglasses over your eyes, and mimed blowing kisses to the adorable teenage girls holding posters that had ‘you’re my idol’ scrawled over the front. You spotted Kuroo and Sayaka standing somewhere near the back, mostly due to Kuroo’s giant rooster hair, and blew double handed kisses to them as well, although the fanboys in the front thought it was for them and nearly fainted on the spot.

    You watched them sway with a chuckle, then watched Sayaka grab the kisses and press them to her heart with a goofy wink.

    “Hey, Julio?” You didn’t look at the guard as you made your way to the revolving doors in front, watching Kuroo and Sayaka make their way outside to where your car had been parked out of view. “Remind me to send a donation to that women's wayhouse charity by the end of today.”

    “Isn’t that a job for your assistant?”

    “Nope. I fired her.” You shrugged when the guard fixed you with a bewildered look. “What? She stole my nice Louboutins. And had a gangbang in my house in Calabasas, but we don’t talk about that incident.”

    The cleaning crew you had send to bleach down that place had cost you a pretty penny--but Daishou had been kind enough to text you the number of his go-to cleaners (you didn’t ask why, nor did you want to know, but you had an inkling) and had requested that you send him the number of one of your cute co-workers as payment. Needless to say, you had, and that girl had come to work brighter than a lightbulb on Christmas, unusually chirpy and walking just a little bit funny. Your text to Daishou later that day had been along the lines of,’Dear God, Daishou, what did you do, break the poor girl’s hips?’

    His reply had been typical of him. ‘It wasn’t anything she didn’t ask for ;)’

    Your face of disgust had been timed perfectly. You had been sitting outside, eating a parfait--vegan, of course, due to your diet that you planned to ignore in favor of eating all of the meat you could get your hands on (pun might not be intended)--right in front of someone taking candid shots of you for a drama magazine. Your face had been plastered all over Twitter, with some people going as far as to send hate to the nice place you had gotten your dessert from. You had nipped that little situation in the bud, clarifying it was a text that made you make that face and not the dessert, although you didn’t help things when you had been forced to eat a green tea flavored one to prove that you weren’t lying.

    The forced smile you had made to the starstruck owners had been enough to sear it into your memory for eternity.

    “[Name]!” Sayaka’s high pitched exclamation knocked you out of your fantasies of parfaits and coffee. She nearly knocked you down with a hug strong enough to make your spine pop. “I missed you so much! You have to tell me how Moscow was! Did you have a good time? And oh my gosh, you  just have to see Osamu’s shop, it looks amazing!”

    You smiled guiltily at her at that last part, but didn’t say a word. Osamu had asked you to pick out the tiling and countertops, unwilling to trust his own sense of color theory--it was really just awful--and even the tables, which you discreetly paid for and blew off as an anonymous donation. He knew it was you, of course, because who had enough money to pay for genuine marble tables, but he had been kind enough not to say it to your face. Yet.

    “One thing at a time, Sayaka,” you laughed, returning her hug with gusto. You then moved on to Kuroo, who wrapped an arm around your neck and scrubbed his knuckles into your once perfectly curled hair. “Damn it, Kuroo! What was that for? I just wanted a hug!”

    The former Nekoma captain fixed you with a mischievous grin. “That was for dropping twenty thousand dollars into our account without asking for permission.”

    Ah--another one of your random acts of generosity at three in the morning while slightly tipsy. You had Kuroo and Sayaka’s banking passwords and they had yours in case anything happened to them or you, especially with the connections the former Yakuza member had and still kept to this day. You had written them into your will, as well as Osamu, and your fortune would be split between the three of them if you died or wound up missing. Even the contract all of you signed was legally binding.

    “What can I say?” You shrugged when Sayaka looped an arm around your waist, tugging you to your Audi. “I saw that you’d been getting a little low and your college bills were running high. I decided to chip in, like the good friend I am. And no, you can’t give it back.”

    “You know I don’t like taking your money,” Sayaka whined. “I can make my own just fine.”

    You sent an accusing glance her way, followed by a glance to her stomach when Kuroo shook hands with one of your guards. She had the sense to look ashamed at not telling you, at least. “A waitress gig won’t take care of that. And while I’m sure Kuroo makes enough for both of you, I’d like to be a responsible woman and at least pay for your wedding.”

    From behind you, Kuroo laughed. “Who said we’re getting married?”

    “Yeah,” Sayaka said, her tone slightly dimmer than before. You patted her back in comfort and turned your head around to glare at Kuroo, who was only mildly taken aback by the ferocity--he only realized what he had said as you were collapsing into the backseat of your car, squeezing into the opposite window seat as your two friends followed.

    When neither of them opted to break the silence that had developed, you unlocked your phone and shot Osamu a quick text.

'Osamuuuu, what are you doing?'

    When he showed no sign of replying, you sighed and locked your phone again, turning your gaze to the couple sitting awkwardly beside you.

    “Hey, driver, can we stop by McDonalds?” You waved your hand towards the giant yellow ‘M’ down the street--which was also, coincidentally, packed with people. “I want something to eat.”

    “Yes ma’am,” he replied, switching lanes and jerking Sayaka into Kuroo. You grinned at him through the mirror and he did it again; you loved it when your guards pitched in on your plans. “Drive-thru?”

    “No, I think I’ll eat inside,” you winked, and his turn into the parking lot was rough enough to jostle all three of you. “Coffee and hot fudge sundaes, here I come!”

    By the time the guards signaled you that they were done arguing maybe an hour and a half later, you had--admittedly--stuffed yourself far too much on ice cream and piping hot syrup. It would require a harsh workout to get all of the calories off, which you knew Wakkun wouldn’t mind helping you out with since he had a game soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it as you popped a french fry into your mouth on the way out.

    “Are we done?” You asked, grinning at Kuroo and Sakura from between your guards. You could practically feel the stares from two men sitting at the outside tables, one of them on your legs and the other right on your face. “Then let’s get going. I need a nap before I can do anything else.”

    As you gave Sayaka and Kuroo their food--both of them grinning at you and nudging you playfully--you locked eyes with one of the men sitting at the table.

    And, unknowingly, you had just broken one of Osamu’s most important rules.

    You just didn’t know it yet.

[five-wow]

on to 10.16! the valentine’s episode!

fjdkfdjkfd a very worried-looking woman accepts a valentine’s bouquet and i was like, did she kill her husband and he’s lying on the floor somewhere and that’s why she looks so awkward about it? and then there’s a BLOODIED HAMMER and A BODY and i was probably right, omg, i love it.

oh! looks like she maybe called hpd herself? that’s an interesting twist.

oh my gosh, noelani is getting surfing lessons, and that alone is cute enough but then suddenly there’s a whoop and it’s tani on the beach giving vocal emotional support and I LOVE THAT. after a very, very long draught, this season is so good for us when it comes to female friendships.

lou is mad that adam put his niece’s life at risk, and that’s fair, but maybe... also be mad at adam for doing crimes? like, that’s bad? maybe?

fjdkfd we ended the last episode with danny and steve in the kitchen and that’s also their first appearance in this one. this is beautiful.

steve: “i do have a date, indeed.” danny: “with who?” steve: “a lady.” LISTEN, i am taking this as the “a lady” part being not just an evasive maneuver, but intended to be an actual answer, because it could also not have been a lady. bi steve. it’s canon now.

steve LOST COUNT of how many dates he’s been on with brooke (the lady he’s ironing his shirt for on valentine’s day) and he’s kind of smiling while he says it and that’s cute!! i like that for him!! but also. when the fuck did he go on all of these dates with brooke when he was also dating the vet in between, out of the running entirely for at least a month or two, and he’s been continually living with danny since he got back to hawaii and danny apparently knows nothing about these dates. what kind of stealth techniques has steve been employing? has he had brooke sneak in through his bedroom window at night so danny wouldn’t find out? how many times did he have to cancel a date because danny refused to sleep on the couch and there was no space left for brooke in steve’s bed? (i kid, but seriously, what is this timeline?)

danny: “i’m glad somebody has a life.” steve, pointing at danny: “oohhh, tani and quinn are going to the movies tonight...” fdjkfd, first bi steve, and now tani and quinn have a movie date. good stuff. i’m enjoying this.

fjdkfjdkf, steve, whAT. “tell you what, buddy, if i finish up early with brooke, i’ll give you a call, we can hang out.” i mean! that’s really sweet! but also very wtf, because he’s essentially going “hey, maybe this thing i have to do (date my girlfriend, ugh) won’t take very long and we’ll have time to hang! :D” and i just. god. i’m laughing, but i am so glad brooke is not a real woman because i feel very sorry for her.

danny a) recognizes signs of domestic abuse and b) has done his research and c) is appropriately gentle with this woman, even though they have her in custody and she’s already admitted to killing her husband and she potentially started an international conflict by doing so, and just. yes. good. this is a danny i love.

side note: adam is just randomly present at hq with the rest of the team when steve and danny are on the phone with them. and, oh my god. did he not just kidnap a suspect to make a secret deal with a yakuza boss? is that not the sign steve had been looking for, the reason why steve’s spidey sense had been tingling around adam? they still trust him currently and he’s just back on the job without so much as a warning? i mean, to be fair, steve is the type of guy to be all for crazy shit if it gets results, so maybe he’s glad adam did what he did, idk, but i am genuinely so confused at this point about what the writers are telling us about where adam stands, both with the team and in his own life, and with the yakuza, for that matter. is he now an active gang member while also trying to earnestly protect the law in five-0?

i love how this episode is escalating, omg. first we’re told the wife killed her husband, then he’s a thai diplomat, then the wife’s boyfriend killed the husband, then he didn’t, then thailand wants the wife while five-0 knows she didn’t do it and so they STEAL HER. taking a page out of adam’s book, i guess, though at least this time the entire team knows what’s going on.

except for tani and noelani, who are being held hostage by two amateur criminals in a convenience store, which is also a subplot i really like! honestly, not a bad moment in this episode so far.

okay, one very minor note though: please, for the love of all that is holy, do not let this woman they’re saving become a love interest for danny. they have a lovely talk in the back of a truck during the grand escape and that’s wonderful and good and i like it, but i can’t help but be really scared that the show is aiming to somehow make that romantic at some point because oh, dear lord, danny has dated enough abused women under questionable circumstances. doooon’t add a third one to the list, i beg of you.

the amateur criminals are trying to get cash that they need for MEDICAL CARE. god, i hate a world in which your options are a) commit crime or b) die. it’s a good plot, though!

kamekona is providing a safehouse for danny and the woman and he’s being very kamekona about it - warm and welcoming, but warning danny off of texting too much with kamekona’s phone because it’s ten cents per message - and it’s glorious.

oh dear lord. the couple robbing the store can’t afford the surgery the husband needs, so tani presents mandatory medical attention for prisoners as a solution, and that’s a good way to talk the wife down and probably also the best the couple can hope for in their current predicament, but it’s also very fucked up. you shouldn’t have to wave a gun around to get help for your brain tumor.

danny and the woman are found and get arrested, and the VERY NEXT SHOT is danny turning to steve in the car and asking how he got him out so fast. that WAS very fast, danny, you’re right. zero seconds has to be a new record, dang.

steve: “i may have promised yang that if she didn’t release you immediately i was gonna make a whooole lot of noise.” i do understand what this means, but i also enjoy the thought of steve literally making noise. any noise. if you don’t release danny, steve will appear at your door and start quacking like a duck very loudly. you’ve been warned, state department!

ahhh! they solve the case, find the actual killer of the abusive diplomat husband, make sure the wife gets to stay where she is and reunite her with the concerned doctor boyfriend who didn’t kill anybody!! this makes me very happy, all the more so because they won’t have her date danny if she’s already dating someone else, which puts my fears to rest. this season continues to be better about things than this show has been in the past and i appreciate the heck out of it.

adam gets an ominous warning to watch his back from a criminal he’s delivering information about hpd to. are we supposed to be on adam’s side? i’m still very confused.

fjdkfd, danny walks into the house to find the entire team getting ready for a night of hanging out and wonders if he invited everyone and forgot about it, and steve walks in, already chewing on something, and says “it’s possible, because you’re old now”. what a brilliant burn, steve. very impressive.

i won’t recount everything that happens because i know i’d end up writing a stupidly long paragraph but i do adore everything that happens and want that noted. the whole team just chilling and arguing about whether love actually is a romcom or a christmas movie? yes, please! a hundred of those.

danny takes steve aside to tell him he doesn’t have to worry about danny and steve gives an unconvincing reason for why he totally didn’t arrange this because he was worried about danny, which essentially makes it canon that he did plan all of this for that exact reason, which is SO EXTRA. they live together, they’ve spent the entire day together, and then steve cancels a valentine’s dinner with his girlfriend (who he told earlier that he didn’t want to involve danny in their relationship, because he’s too nosy) and invites like six other people just so he can hang out with danny again.

annnd they end up snuggled together on the couch. on valentine’s day. you know, like homies do.

THIS. WAS A VERY GOOD EPISODE. thoroughly enjoyed practically every second of it, 10/10, would like more like this.

[roseisread]

My Year in Movies: Favorite Non-2018 Feature Films (Part 2)

Continuing the countdown of my favorite movies I saw for the first time in 2018 that were released in previous years... for part 1 of this list, click here.

39. Tokyo Drifter (1966, directed by Seijun Suzuki, country of origin: Japan)

Seijun Suzuki pulls together his favorite tropes from the Western, film noir, and Yakuza genres and throws a post modern, new wave sensibility on top complete with lots of neon and surrealism. The end result is one of the most stylistically bold movies I’ve ever encountered, and its influence extends to modern auteurs like Quentin Tarantino, Jim Jarmusch, and Nicolas Winding Refn. Tokyo Drifter (which has nothing to do with the Fast & Furious franchise as far as I know) follows a gangster on the run, but the plot really is secondary to the overall feel of the movie. Really fun and one I can imagine revisiting a lot just for its aesthetic choices and action set pieces. Rent it on Amazon Prime; in the meantime, here’s a pretty decent fan-made trailer.

38. Born to Kill (1947, directed by Robert Wise, country of origin: US)

Hollywood’s original bad boy Lawrence Tierney stars in this nasty little noir that fully lives up to its violent title. Sam Wilde (Tierney) is a gorgeous, amoral social climber who doesn’t let a little trifle like murder stand in the way of getting what he wants. Helen Brent (Claire Trevor) finds herself strangely drawn to him, even as she learns of his criminal leanings. There’s a particularly lustful scene between Sam and Helen that could be a direct influence on Natural Born Killers, actually. The fact that this picture was directed by Robert Wise, best known for his work on The Sound of Music and West Side Story, makes it all the more interesting--this pulpy film doesn’t have any musical numbers but it certainly is well-crafted and choreographed. If you love a good antihero, you owe it to yourself to watch this. Available for rent on Amazon, YouTube, and Vudu. 

37. Throw Momma From the Train (1987, directed by Danny DeVito, country of origin: US)

This comic riff on Strangers on a Train starts off with murder on its mind, but there’s a surprising sweetness lying just below the surface. I’m sure most people have already seen this film but in case you haven’t, you’re in for a hilarious and endearing story that showcases peak Billy Crystal and Danny DeVito. Anne Ramsey plays the titular “Momma,” and she was nominated for both the Oscars and the Golden Globes in this supporting role. There are lots of ways to watch this movie for free, including Amazon Prime, YouTube, Vudu, GooglePlay, and Showtime. 

36. Johnny Guitar (1954, directed by Nicholas Ray, country of origin: US)

The title refers to Sterling Hayden’s outlaw cowboy, but the real star of the show is Joan Crawford as Vienna: a saloon owning, jeans wearing, piano playing woman who takes on the whole town in a showdown. Portrayals of women in Westerns vary, but few emanate such power and self-assuredness as Vienna. 

Another woman, tellingly named Emma Small (played by Mercedes McCambridge), has set her sights on getting rid of Vienna and her establishment once and for all, and she will stop at no amount of violence or trickery to make it happen. So basically this is Mean Girls but in the Wild West. Offscreen, Joan Crawford was hooking up with director Nicholas Ray; and she’d previously been romantically involved with McCambridge’s now-husband. Both ladies also consumed a fair amount of booze while filming. This led to their rivalry bleeding into real life, and perhaps added to the tension we see on screen between the two. 

This movie didn’t have the warmest reception when it premiered stateside (Bosley Crowther on Crawford’s Vienna: “...as sexless as the lions on the public library steps and as sharp and romantically forbidding as a package of unwrapped razor blades.”) But European audiences devoured it, and it became beloved of people like Francois Truffaut who saw it as a major influence. You can watch it now on Hulu or rent from a number of streaming platforms. 

35. Sonatine (1993, directed by Takeshi “Beat” Kitano, country of origin: Japan)

Takeshi Kitano wrote, directed, and starred in this cult take on Yakuza films. In it, he plays Murakawa, a gangster who dispatches (often in creatively cruel ways) anyone his bosses happen to dislike. But he’s starting to grow weary of this way of life when he gets sent on a new assignment that has him mediating a dispute with a rival gang in Okinawa. He suspects that he may be the real target, but goes along with the order. While hiding out between confrontations, Murakawa and a batch of young recruits find ways to pass the time--shooting cans off each other’s heads, playing a roulette version of rock paper scissors, pretending to be sumo wrestlers, and more. 

There’s not a lot of dialogue here, and Kitano plays his character with a stoicism that Buster Keaton and Alain Delon no doubt influenced. But the poetry and emotion are all in the action (and inaction) on screen. Here is a man whose main accomplishments are surviving bloody shootouts and racking up the body count for his employer--no wonder he hallucinates about self-destruction and walks the beach in a daze. There’s actually a good bit of comedy here too, as the movie isn’t afraid to veer into cartoonish moments and satirize the very genre it portrays. I also have to specifically call out the action scenes, especially one near the end--completely memorable, unique, and gorgeously shot. Watch this via rental on Amazon, YouTube, and GooglePlay--especially if you’re a fan of movies like Drive, Kill Bill, or Le Samourai. 

34. Metropolitan (1990, directed by Whit Stillman, country of origin: US)

My first encounter with Whit Stillman came via 2016′s Love and Friendship, his adaptation of a Jane Austen story. When his debut film appeared on Filmstruck, I realized what a perfect fit Austen and Stillman really are. This movie follows a group of (mostly) wealthy teenagers in Manhattan, who attend debutante balls and gather at each other’s homes for long pretentious conversations and romantic sparring. If Austen were alive today, no doubt she would have written a novel in the same setting, filled with the same biting wit (no pun intended) that Stillman displays. If you like your movies with a lot of action and plot twists, this may not be your cup of tea; but if you enjoy the works of, say, Woody Allen/Noah Baumbach/Wes Anderson then you will definitely find this a subtle delight. No big names amongst the cast; and many of them only did one or two other projects after this, but I think that adds to the feeling of naïveté and naturalism. Random observation, but when I watched this movie I found connections between a number of its characters and the cast of The Breakfast Club--see if you agree. Right now you can rent this via iTunes, and since it takes place around Christmas and New Year’s, this would be a great time to watch. 

33. Radio Days (1987, directed by Woody Allen, country of origin: US)

This might be the sweetest, least cynical movie in Woody Allen’s filmography. It’s a love letter to the 1930s and 40s, when families would gather around the radio (rather than the TV) for music, serials, and news of the outside world. Seth Green plays the Woody stand-in as a child, Mia Farrow plays an aspiring radio actress, Larry David pops up as the Communist next door neighbor--it’s a real hoot. The music (from the likes of Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, and Glenn Miller) is gorgeous and it’s fun to see old New York recreated for this film. Suitable for all ages and utterly delightful, you can watch it on Hulu with a subscription or rent it on Vudu for $2.99. 

32. Pickup (1951, directed by Hugo Haas, country of origin: US)

I caught up with this low-budget B-movie noir during Noir City Chicago, and fell head over heels for it. The director plays the lead character, a lovable but lonely railroad worker named Hunky (he does not live up to this name in appearance). When he encounters the gorgeous and sassy Betty (Beverly Michaels) at a carnival, he can’t believe a guy like him could hold the romantic interest of such a hottie. As luck would have it, though, she’s more attracted to his life savings than to him. What a golddigger. What sets this movie apart is the addition of a little plot twist: Hunky loses his hearing in an accident, which is just fine by the conniving Betty who can now scheme and talk trash around her husband. But when Hunky’s hearing unexpectedly returns, he doesn’t tell anyone and discovers that his beloved wifey is plotting his demise. Bonus: There’s a pretty adorable puppy in the mix. This isn’t available on DVD, sadly, but someone has uploaded it to YouTube and if you have 77 minutes to kill, I recommend checking it out.

31. Ghost (1990, directed by Jerry Zucker, country of origin: US)

Look, I love Demi Moore and Whoopi Goldberg and Patrick Swayze just as much as the next person, but for some reason I had always assumed that Ghost was this really cheesy paranormal romance. Wrong! It’s a charming murder mystery with some legit scary moments a lot of comedy, and, yes, some romance too. So if you have somehow missed this gem, you can catch up with it for 99 cents right now on Amazon or rent it for a Few Dollars More on other streaming sites.

30. One False Move (1992, directed by Carl Franklin, country of origin: US)

In part one of this list, I mentioned watching multiple Bill Paxton movies in 2018. This one features Paxton as a small town sheriff with illusions of grandeur--instead of settling small time domestic disputes, he’d love to one day solve murders and thwart serial killers and arrest drug kingpins in the big city. He gets his chance to do something bigger when a car full of murderous fugitives rolls into town. The LA detectives on the case don’t quite know what to make of Paxton; but he views them as heroes. When he gets his chance to show them what he’s made of, he doesn’t flinch. 

Billy Bob Thornton co-wrote the screenplay and co-stars in the film, another connection between this and the other Paxton entry on my list (A Simple Plan). Here, he’s a vile and brutal sociopath (a role he’d go on to play in the TV adaptation of Fargo), with a girlfriend named Fantasia (Cynda Williams) that might be having second thoughts about their relationship. Director Carl Franklin is perhaps better known for the Denzel Washington neo noir Devil in a Blue Dress; and Franklin himself introduced a double feature of these two films at Noir City Chicago. He’s a brilliant, economical director with a deep well of classical film knowledge and a knack for capturing defining character traits in the space of a few frames. Rent this movie on Amazon, Vudu, or YouTube and prepare for a gritty, moving ride. 

29. Peeping Tom (1960, directed by Michael Powell, country of origin: England)

I caught up with this out of print masterpiece (purchased at my local library sale for 50 cents on Criterion DVD!) during my October horror viewing, and immediately wanted it to find a wider audience. Reviled upon its initial release, it follows a talented but troubled young filmmaker whose obsession involves recording the final moments of his murder victims’ lives, as they realize their fate. Pretty twisted, I know. The exploration of voyeurism and the relationship between the camera, its subjects, and an audience really make this a fascinating watch, both from a technical perspective and as a critique of moviemaking and consumption. One can’t help but see the influence this movie has had on horror filmmakers from Wes Craven to John Carpenter, particularly in the way it forces us to identify with the psychologically damaged killer instead of centering the narrative on his victims. Massively underrated, and deserving of your attention if you consider yourself a fan of horror movies. Watch it via rental on a number of streaming platforms. 

That concludes part 2 of the list! Stay tuned for the next segment, coming soon! 

[kinkyacademia]

Either Kai's or Kurono's (you choose, I love my babies equally) s/o first christmas with the yakuza and they find out that those guys don't really celabrate it and now the s/o tries to change that (too specific?)

Let Father Pasta tell you all something; Even if I don’t celebrate most Christian holidays, I do love decorating for Christmas. Muahhahaha, LIGHTS!! So, you get a lot because i n d u l g a n c e.I feel like I need to explain this; Kai’s S/O is always very high in the “Yakuza hierarchy” so almost all members of the Yakuza speak to them only when the S/O speaks first. I didn’t know if you Meatballs knew this :> 

-Mod Pasta🍜🍝 2

Chisaki Kai:

Kai happened to start dating you, a lovely barista at a coffee shop that he fancied, a few months before Christmas. He never, ever told you about the Yakuza until a few weeks before Christmas. He wanted you to move in with him, and it seemed like a big obligation until he pulled out the dominance guns. No, he didn’t bring a real gun, but he did push you into a wall and take your virginity enough to convince you to move in with him. Getting used to his “coworkers” was a hoot, but you soon fit in. They’ll always be a bit rowdy and dark, but you managed just fine.

Since he still liked seeing you every day at the shop, he let you keep your job. Since you were the baker for the pastries, you started making more and more peppermint and Christmas themed goodies. Kai never really celebrated Christmas, and you soon found out why when you baked some peppermint chocolate cookies for him and his “coworkers” one morning. You left the house about an hour before Kai woke up each day (obviously you were escorted to your bakery by a guard without your knowledge), so he would come get a coffee every morning from your coffee shop. Your friends thought his mask was a bit creepy, but overall they were just happy that you had someone you loved.

“(F/N), ah,” The clockwork ring sounded, and your boyfriend entered the shop. You were already briskly bringing the baggie of cookies to the front with a breathless smile across your face - the sweet bread for the morning shift was almost done. You could tell that he was smiling under his mask as he nodded to the cashier. You handed him the caramel mocha and cookies, and he lazily raised his eyebrows and almost opened the baggie.

“Wait, no, I made them special!” You exclaimed, causing a few people to turn your way. You shyly smiled around, then quickly leaned over the counter to place your floury baker hands on top of his strangely smooth own. He seemed mildly surprised, but your grin kept him waiting.

“I understand. I’m coming to pick you up after your shift, (F/N),” He nodded, and you nodded back before briskly taking a few steps back towards the baking room.

“Alright! Looking forward to it!” You happily waved to him, giddy for him to get the pre-Christmas surprise. Your coworkers and friends teased you about it all day, but you just knew that he must have loved them.

When he picked you up, you didn���t seem to sense anything special about him. Your ever-present and energetic smile were quite bright today, and he questioned it. You tried to lie and prod about how his morning went, but his response threw you off.

“I usually don’t eat sweets for breakfast, but your cookies are an obvious exception. Peppermint compliments chocolate quite well,” He then slid his arm casually over your shoulder, resting his hand over your chest and leaving you without your outlet for energy.

“You’re missing the point - they were Christmas themed! I even put candy cane striped frosting on them,” You whined, and he sighed.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re so hyper. (F/N), I don’t cel-the Yaku-we’ve never celebrated Christmas,” He seemed to stutter in his words, something you have never heard him do. You gaped, then grinned wickedly. His arm stiffened slightly - he had grown to be cautious of that face.

“Well, it looks like I have some work to do!”

-

“You are insanely lucky that I love you, (F/N),” Kai muttered as he slipped past you. You yelped, then sighed as you went to go join in the general happiness of the Yakuza household. It was usually so dreary in here, but the overnight lights and Christmas theme really seemed to bring out the best in everyone. Kendou had taken his helmet off, and everyone else was chatting in a much more lively manner.

Kai had gone off to talk to Kurono about some sort of business, and you spoke with Joi for a bit before Kai returned. You felt a bit uneasy at his general silence, and Kurono seemed out of character as he removed his mask and striked a conversation with Shin. You turned to Kai, your hair flipping slightly, but you couldn’t spot him.

“Quite crazy, don’t you think?” Joi tried loosely to continue with the conversation you had started, and you quickly turned back around before forcing your sunny attitude to kick into high gear. Sure, his coworkers would never be quite “delightful,” but this general chatter was a huge step up from complete, uneasing silence.

When you felt an arm wrap around your waist, you yelped. Joi quickly waved you off, his eyes spelling the words out instantly; Kai’s coworkers have always been afraid of him in some sort of way. You leaned back into your boyfriend as he dragged you off, mumbling a few things like, “You’re being so vulgar,” and, “Kai! You’re being so forceful!”

“(F/N),” One simple word brought your impatient silence, and he finally pushed you into the wall outside of his bedroom. He let go, and you felt slightly awkward standing in front of him like some sort of war criminal. You glanced at the floor, then into his absolutely emotionless eyes. You forced yourself to assume something good was coming out of this.

“Do you like the lights? Some are from my old apartment, but I got some more after my shift,” He was silent, and your smile became painfully large. You wondered why his eyes were slowly narrowing as his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your jaw, fear shooting through you as he angled your face upwards to directly face him as he became insanely close.

“Do you know what you did?” His voice edged on annoyed, but it was overall angry. You grumbled, lightly pawing at his hand and complaining about how tight it was. You didn’t know how normal inflicting pain upon others was to him - no, only in the bedroom for you.

“N-No?” You mumbled, and your lips started to pucker up with how much he was pushing you. You whined loudly, and he leaned his mask past your ear to where his lips were close enough to hear his breath.

“You avoided your escort. Have you not realized that, when I don’t come get you, I have a guard follow you back here?” Your eyes widened. You didn’t realize that Kai loved you so much… You were just too oblivious to the obsessive side of this, and you felt yourself relax into his grip.

“I’m sorry, Kai, I didn’t know you do that,” You whispered, and he pulled back and let his hand fall from your face. You hadn’t realized that you went on your toes, and you fell back onto your flat feet. His arms wrapped around your waist, his hands sliding into your back pockets and forcing you to stay close to him. You didn’t mind, and wrapped your arms under his jacket and around his back. The silence was comfortable until he spoke again.

“Thank you for livening the place up, the others needed it,” He sighed, sounding more defeated than thankful, and rested his chin on your head. You closed your eyes, simply enjoying each other’s embrace. This was a common sort of “cuddling” position for you two, since Kai could easily slip away if he was needed instead of having to untangle his arms and other appendages.

A few minutes later, Kai pulled back. You leaned forward, but he shook his head and patted yours, “I need to do some paperwork, let’s go,” He then grabbed his door handle.

Chisaki Kai is the master of reading body language, but for some reason, he couldn’t sense your sudden giddiness as he pushed the door open. He did sense the mass of Christmas decor decorating his room, though, and he quickly whipped around to shoot a glare at you.

“Merry Christmas hunny!” You exclaimed with a squeal, scampering down the hallway and past mistletoe branches and random little snowmen charms on the windowsills. You heard ghostly footsteps follow you like a hunting dog, and it didn’t take him long to catch you. Your gleeful laughter even elicited a chuckle from him as he carried you back to the room and half-assedly scolded you for decorating your and his’ room without asking him.