#until the next time they can afford some bigger ones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojomamashouse · 1 year ago

Text

I certainly can. And I did. Well, sort of. I took some creative liberties with this one. Crossposted on Ao3.

Warnings: 18+ Content Vaginal sex, Praise kink, Loss of virginity (both reader and Mike), soft!dom Mike.

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Reader

Summary: From the name written on your sneakers to the hickey on your neck, Mike had left his mark on you in more ways than one.

Words: 5.8k

According to fandom wiki, Mike is 25 in the movie. The timeline of this story is based on this fact.

In Permanent Marker

1995

Mike has a problem. An even bigger problem than his annoying younger sister, or the bills he cannot pay that keep piling up. That problem is you, his new next-door neighbour.

It all began when he had been unloading the boxes from the car, calling out to Abby as she disappeared to explore the new house. The place was small, but enough for the two of them. More importantly, it was as affordable as it could get, given the savings his parents left behind, the money from the government, and his new job. That was all he really needed.

"Need help, there?"

A voice broke him from his thoughts, a voice belonging to you. He did a double take as he looked to his side towards you, nearly dropping the box in shock. He blinks as if you're nothing more than a hallucination, induced by his lack of sleep, dehydration, and the summer heat. Because there was no way that you were standing there. Someone his age. Someone so attractive. Someone exactly his type and talking to him. You take notice of his shocked expression.

"My folks and I saw you from the window," you point to the house left of his, "thought I could lend a hand.”

"Yeah. Yeah, uh," he nods eagerly, breaking eye contact as he fumbles over his words. He looks back towards the house, "If you could watch my little sister while I unload these. She’s somewhere inside…”

“You’ve got it,” you flash him a smile.

—

He’s sweating and close to passing out as he places the last box down in the front hallway, bracing himself against the wall as he catches his breath. He then looks around. There’s no furniture yet. He couldn’t afford movers to help move the couch or the kitchen table from his parent’s old house, instead opting to sell the furniture and find cheaper options once moved in. That meant he’d be eating on the floor until he had time off work again. This also meant he’d have to take Abby table-shopping and listen to her complain every time she picked something out of his price range, then cry the whole drive back home. He groans to himself, annoyed by his endless stream of thoughts. He supposes that’s just adulthood, now. There’s always something to think about.

He hears giggling from down the hallway, grabbing his attention enough to raise himself from the wall. He creeps towards the sound, peeking past Abby's door. A box was open on the floor, toys and crafts scattered across the carpet. You sit cross-legged in the middle of the room at Abby’s side and she’s pointing to her drawings, chattering away.

He wonders how you make it look so easy.

—

"I don't like it here." Abby tugs on the leg of his jeans, "Can we go back?"

It’s the last thing Mike wants to hear the morning after moving in, his back and arms still sore from all that he carried. He looks down to see her lips were pulled into a frown, her brows furrowed. He's leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking instant coffee from a mug he'd managed to dig out from one of the kitchenware boxes, staring at all the shit he has left to do. And, of course, his sister could never let him do that in peace.

"This is where we live now."

"Why?"

"Because it is."

"I don't want to live here."

And I don't want to work shitty hours for shitty pay just to afford this dump, he thinks to himself.

Still, he can't blame her. The place is a downgrade. The toilet in the main bathroom doesn't really flush, her room is half the size of the one at their parent's old place, and he’d discovered more than a few suspicious stains on some of the walls and carpeting around the house.

"Well, that's just too bad."

"I want to go back!" She shouted, her little fingers digging harder into the fabric of his jeans, now trying to tug his leg. He tries to nudge her off, shaking his leg just enough to make her lose her grip, but she doesn't budge. He sighs to himself.

She's at that age. Five years old, and a complete menace. She was smarter than she looked and had begun to realize that sometimes creating a fuss could get him to bend the rules for her, which now meant she was constantly defying him. Constantly picking a fight. Constantly whining about something. And as much as he loved her he could not stand to hear another tantrum, especially not this early in the morning.

"Stop it, Abby. I'm not dealing with this today."

"Nu-uh!"

She screams when he tugs her away with his hands, lifting her in the air while she tries to kick and shove him away. He knows he's bound to have bruises from where she kicks his torso and scratches where her nails dig into his skin. Had he any energy left in him, he might have been tempted to raise his voice at her. That's one good thing to come out of his restless nights, at least.

The doorbell rings and she's still whining when he places her down on the floor. He kneels to her level, hands on either of her little shoulders.

"We can talk about it later, okay?" He lowers his voice, desperate for her to be quiet. Anything for her to be quiet. "Behave. And quit being such a baby."

His words were enough to render her silent, by some miracle, and so he goes to the door, only to see you standing there. You . He knows he's ogling again and he hates himself for it but he can't help himself, not when you're so pretty. He leans against the doorframe, clearing his throat.

"Hey, uh. What are you doing here?"

"Good morning to you, too. Thought you might need more help," You lean forward, taking a peek inside the place and noting all the boxes, "Judging by all this, I guess I thought correctly."

"Guilty as charged," he holds his hands up, cherishing the sound of your laugh.

The moment doesn't last long. He fails to notice that behind him, his sister is teary-eyed, her lower lip quivering. You furrow your brows, about to say something, but the little girl beats you to it.

"You— you jerk!" Abby finally lets out, and you stand dumbfounded at the door, watching the crying girl. She turns to Mike. "I hate you!"

She runs off to some room somewhere and slams the door, the distant sound of sobs easily heard from down the hallway where you two stood. While you stood there in shock, Mike had grown used to these outbursts, but it didn't leave him entirely unfazed. There was still a tug on his heart like there always was.

"She's just having a moment right now," he sighs, his fingers rubbing his temples, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You're not going to go and talk to her?"

"She hates me. Didn't you hear?"

"You know that's not true," you shove past him, your hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment longer which certainly did not go unnoticed, "come on."

"What do I even say?"

"You're going to go apologize, dumbass."

That's how he found himself standing outside his sister's door. He was about to simply walk in, until you stopped him, your hand on top of his as he reached for the knob.

"Knock first."

He would've asked why but he's too distracted by how your little touches keep making his face grow hotter, so he simply nods and does as you say, raising his fist to the door. He hears Abby's sobs halt the moment he does. He looks to you, and you nod, as if to signal him to start talking.

"Abs?"

There's a sniffle. "Go away."

"Look, I'm sorry for hurting you. Just open the door." You toss him a glare, "Please?"

There's a pause.

"Liar," she hisses, "you're only sorry 'cause they're making you."

Mike is about to retort, but you raise your hand to silence him.

"Abby, we both want to make sure you're alright. Could you please open the door so we can talk?"

There's a pause and then a shuffle, the sound of her moving from the floor to go and open the door. She's red in the face, snot-nosed and teary-eyed. Mike's heart can't help but break at the sight. He's an idiot. A complete and utter idiot.

"I-I'm not a baby," she blinks at Mike, lifting her arm to wipe her snot on her sleeve, "Y-you're always s-so mean to me. I hate that."

"I didn't mean it. I just, uh... I say stuff sometimes." He frowns, a trembling in his voice. He speaks softly as if it will compensate for all the harsh words spoken prior, "I promise I won't say mean stuff anymore. Honest."

"Pinky promise?"

She raises her pinky finger.

"Yeah. Pinky promise."

He raises his own, letting her little finger curl around his. She quickly wipes her tears away.

The rest of the day is spent doing whatever Abby wants. Mike discovers quickly that you seem to love spoiling her. You take her to the park, let her unpack all her toys and leave them tossed all around the house. You end up ordering pizza at her request, as well, and by the end of the day, she’s saying she wishes you were her older sibling instead. Though it’s said jokingly, it still pierces him through the heart.

The day ends with a tired Abby curled up in her sleeping bag on the floor of her room. Now he's with you, you sitting atop the counter at his side while he places the leftover pizza slices from the takeout boxes into ziplock bags. If he had it his way, the day would have ended with all the moving boxes being unpacked, but he supposes a happy Abby makes his life a hell of a lot easier than an unhappy one.

"She's a lot easier than most her age."

"You're kidding, right?"

"I'm the oldest ' kid ' in this neighbourhood. I've babysat for practically every family around here," you sip your drink, "she was very quick to forgive you. Not just any kid does that."

Garett had been the same way. Every prank he played, every cruel joke, he forgave him for because that’s just what older brothers do. The difference being that he was a child back then, not an adult. He may be Abby’s older brother by blood, but he needed to be more than that now. She needed him to be more than that.

He finishes packaging the last slice and throws the leftovers in the fridge. He's now fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie— a poor choice of clothing for the midst of a summer heat wave, but he didn't exactly have lots of options. He supposes he should add clothing shopping to his already long to-do list.

“What am I doing?” He says aloud, “I can’t do this.”

“Don’t say that.”

"This always happens. I get annoyed, she gets hurt, and it’s going to happen again.”

"Nobody's made for this at our age,” you gesture around at the house, then at him, “You're bound to fuck up, that's just inevitable."

"Yeah, thanks,” he deadpans.

"That’s not what I meant. You live and you learn, that's what you do. No one's perfect but we can always try.”

“What if me trying isn’t enough?”

“It’s better than not trying at all.”

He looks back down the hallway, at Abby’s door. Does she care that he's trying? Does she know how much he has sacrificed to give her a semblance of a normal life? He scoffs at himself internally. She's a child, of course she doesn't. That's not her fault. It’s not her responsibility either. She’s the kid, and he’s the adult now. It’s unfair on both sides but that’s the way things are.

"Thank you. For all the help, and everything," He finally says, turning to you.

"That's what neighbours are for, right?" You’re hopping off the counter. It was dark outside now, and fair to assume you’d be on your way home. Only, you halt in your tracks for a moment. "Wait, one more thing."

You pull out one of those disposable cameras from the pharmacy. It’s scratched and beaten up, evidence of its use. He freezes up when he feels your arm draping around him to pull him into the frame and snap a quick picture. He blinks from the flash, and you laugh at the way his eyes squint, shoving the camera back into your pocket.

"The hell?" He raises a brow, "that's going to be an awful one, just so you know."

"I don't care if photos look good. It's about the memories and all that." you roll your eyes, "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early. We're going to finish unpacking.”

You're out the door before he can even reply.

—

He starts to learn who you are, piece by piece. He learns that you don't know a single thing about keeping your curtains drawn shut and that you're completely oblivious to how he's seen you in your room in your pyjamas at night, talking on the phone while you twirl the telephone cord around your finger. He learns that you go to college out of state, which is why you're so insistent on taking photos of everything you can because you get homesick so easily. He learns, that because of that, he won't be seeing you after the summer for many months and struggles to figure out why that thought leaves a dreaded ache in his heart.

The ache only grows the more time he spends with you, whether it’s with Abby or one-on-one. He thinks he’s going to die when he sees you packing up your car at the end of the summer, but offers to help you out regardless.

"Have fun," he says to you, hating how disingenuous the words feel on his tongue.

Your car is now packed, and you're on the steps, him standing on the stone path below. You look up at him with a smile while you're lacing up your shoes. It's those damn shoes you always wear, always torn up and dirty and desperately in need of being replaced. He's not one to talk when it comes to proper footwear, but he swears they are only a thread away from being torn apart.

"I'll try."

You finish doing up your laces, and pull out a permanent marker from your pocket, handing it to him. He gives you a confused look.

"Sign it."

"What?"

"My shoe," you repeat, and he takes notice of your sneakers, varying names written along the white rim already, all in different colours and sizes. "It's something I've been doing since high school. Just to remember."

Knowing how you treasure your photos, it only makes sense to him now. He kneels down and signs it in the black marker, his handwriting atrocious, but evidently an effort to make it appear more legible than normal. He lets go of your ankle when he's done and you smile, raising it to look at his handiwork.

"I tried."

"Hey, it's not that bad."

"It's pretty bad."

You both laugh, and you stand up finally, stepping down to his level. He tries not to show his shock when he feels your arms wrap around him, pulling him tightly towards you. He happily accepts the embrace, soaking up the affection like a dried-out sponge.

"One last thing," you whisper to him, and he feels your hand slip something into his pocket. “Look at it later, ‘kay?”

"I'll miss you."

"I'll be back."

And though he wants to believe you will, he can't help but stare into your dark windows that night, counting down every day until your return. Not everyone in his life has, after all.

He checked his pocket the moment you left earlier that day. It was the photo of the two of you in his kitchen, from one of the first days you met. It was blurry and dark but he could make out the sight of your smile and his face of confusion. The back side has the date written.

He places the photo on his nightstand and rolls over on his back, staring at the Nebraska poster on his ceiling. He took his meds not long ago, his eyes drooping, but his mind unable to stay focused, his thoughts drifting towards you.

—

1996

The last time you called his home line, you said you'd be home in a few weeks, but he still hasn’t seen you yet. The light in your bedroom window remains turned off. He wishes the thought of seeing you again didn’t have him so restless.

Today is his birthday. A whopping twenty-one years old. If he were a normal person, he'd be out with friends, pouring liquor down his throat until he couldn't drink anymore. Instead, he went to work, then returned home late to greet the babysitter on the couch, her middle school textbooks sprawled on the coffee table and Abby already in bed. She’s gone the moment he hands her a twenty-bill, peddling away on her bicycle.

Though the house now has furniture, it still feels so empty. He sits alone on the couch, the sounds from the TV turning into a soft humming. He doesn’t want to think about the dirty plates in the sink or Abby's toys and crayons that littered the living room floor.

His heart skips a beat when he hears a knock on the door. He tentatively gets up, swallowing dryly. It couldn’t be you. You would have called him or said something, right? He’s never been so thankful to be wrong in his life because when he sees you standing there on his steps, in those torn-up sneakers with his name on them, with a six-pack of beer in your hands, he’s immediately grinning like a child.

"Where the hell have you been?" he looks down at the alcohol in your hands, "what's this?"

"A gift for the birthday boy," you grin, "twenty-one. That's a pretty big age."

"Are you twenty-one yet?" He raises a brow.

"You want the beer or not?"

"Alright, alright," he looks into the house, the place dead silent save for the TV. "Let's go out back. Abby has school tomorrow. I don't want to wake her."

Sharing the company of another had become so foreign to him at this point that he forgot how nice it feels to be human. To feel the summer breeze through the fabric of his t-shirt, to feel the condensation from the cold can drip down his fingers, to feel the warmth of the alcohol sitting nicely in his stomach. Hell, he doesn’t even mind how shit the beer you bought tastes, though the initial shock causes him to cough the moment the first gulp is downed.

"Don't tell me you actually waited until now to have your first drink," he hears you say.

"I didn't, but I don't drink that much. Especially not this," he eyes the brand name on the can.

"I was tired of college parties and all the watered-down shit alright? I needed something different."

"Must be exhausting . Getting invited to so many parties."

"Oh, shut it," you shake your head, "trust me, college is lonelier than you think."

He stares down at your sneakers, noticing that not a single new name has been written. One part of him wonders how anyone could not want to become your friend. The other part of him is proud that he’s the last person to sign it, his name standing out compared to all the other old, faded-out ones.

"That's one thing we have in common."

"I take it life's not so great, either?"

"Abby has been acting out less but now she barely talks.” He sighs, “It's... another thing to think about."

There’s a pause.

“Then don’t think about it. Not tonight.”

“Easier said than done,” he rolls his eyes.

"Come on, it’s your birthday and we’re out here moping on your back porch. That's no way to celebrate."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Something. Anything. I dunno, you're the birthday boy. What do you wanna do?"

"I..." his eyes trail down to your lips and stop. He knows he's being obvious but he's tired enough to where he doesn't really care anymore to hide it. He sees how your brows knit together, and he looks away. "I'm fine doing this."

"That's not what I asked." He feels your hand creep over to his, flat against the porch. Your touch is electric. He allows himself to look at you again. Your eyes are determined and your touch is intentional, he's sure. "I asked what you want ?"

Hesitantly, he lets his hand intertwine with yours. He's barely able to meet your eyes, embarrassed by his cheeks which he knew were most likely pink by now.

"I want you."

His other hand raises to your cheek, his cold hand against warm skin. His eyes speak to you, though his mouth says nothing, asking for permission. You lean in yourself, tired of his hesitation. You can taste the alcohol on his lips, his mouth so tender and sweet against yours. He's gentle and endearingly clumsy but above all else, he's desperate and he kisses you like you'll disappear the moment he lets you go. His hand is tighter around yours and the other that had first been against your cheek drifted to the back of your neck. You hear him let out a sound when your hand runs through the back of his hair and you're both pulling away, still craving something more.

"How much of me do you want?"

"So much," he gulps, "so much more."

There's a grin on your lips as you drag him by the hand, abandoning the half-drank beer cans as you enter the house. Careful not to alert Abby, who was sleeping next to his room, you both tip-toe down the hallway, unable to help the giggles that escape your mouths. Then, the moment you're in his bedroom, you're pushing him against the door, seizing his lips. You feel his abs under his T-shirt, realizing just what he had been hiding under all those hoodies last summer. You feel the warmth radiating from him, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You smile against his mouth when you feel his hand at your waist, slipping under your top to fit right into the arch of your back. He's holding back, you can tell, and it only makes you want to fan the flames and let him burn even brighter.

You tug him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards the mattress until his legs hit the edge and he’s sitting, your body crawling on top of him. And, for someone who had been concerned about not waking his sister, he sure allows himself to make so many pretty noises. He pulls away for air once again and looks up at you like he worships you, his hands on either thigh while you lean your forehead against his own. He then lets out a laugh, still genuine, though hushed.

"What's so funny?" You murmur.

"This is the best birthday gift I've had in years."

"But you haven't even unwrapped me yet," you quirk your brow. "You said you wanted more, didn't you?"

"I did," he hums, his eyes dragging down over your body, shyly. "Still do. If that's what you want, too."

"You already know I do."

He brings his fingers to the hem of your shirt and slowly lifts it, your arms raising to help him slip it off. You feel yourself shudder under his analytical gaze, even though the night is sweltering. You feel the goosebumps rise under your skin as his fingers brush over your body as if to memorize every curve and texture with his fingertips. And though you had done your best to mask your inexperience all night, it became obvious to him, the moment you were squirming before him— topless— the truth.

"I've never done this before," you admit before he can ask you, feeling more vulnerable than ever as he stares up at you, the most anyone had ever seen of you beneath your clothing.

"That's okay," he tilts his head, big brown eyes looking right back at yours, "if it's okay with—"

"I've already told you it is. Everything is okay with me. Please. "

He nods, his hands reaching behind you, and you feel his fingers at the clasp of your bra. There's a flush on his face as he fumbles with it, brows scrunched as he tries to pull it apart. Then, it hits you. The look in his eyes, the uncertainty in his actions, the constant need for reassurance. He's been trying to hide it just like you were. Had your own mind not been so clouded, perhaps you would have noticed it far sooner. You reach behind yourself, hand brushing past his own to unclasp the bra yourself, before letting it slide down your shoulders. There's a glimmer in his eyes as he takes in your half-naked form, mouth parted slightly.

"You've never done this either, have you?" You ask, hands looped around the back of his neck as you seat yourself better in his lap. You try not to make a sound when you feel his erection through his gym shorts, pressed right up against where you need friction the most.

"Never," he manages to say, somehow. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"We'll figure it out."

You're kissing him again, and this time you're the one fumbling to remove his shirt, unable to properly admire his exposed body as his mouth is pressed against yours the moment the garment is removed. You feel yourself start to crumble at every little noise he makes, every little touch and grinding of his hips into yours. Then his mouth is trailing down your neck and his hands are on your breasts, his touch gentle but his lips hungry. You feel his lips suck on a particular spot on your collarbone and hiss, your fingers threading through his hair.

"You're gonna leave a mark.”

He pulls away, not quite sporting a grin, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s proud, regardless.

"Is that a problem?"

"Bastard," you retort.

With that, you're pushing him down until his back is against the mattress, leaving your own trail of kisses down his neck and chest, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach every time you hear his noises, and whispers of praise. You reach down for his shorts, tugging them down, this time you're able to get a better view of him beneath you. Your hand traces the outline of the muscles on his abdomen and chest, feeling your face heat up, again reminded just how built he was. As if he couldn't get any hotter, you notice the trail of hair leading from his belly button, disappearing beneath his boxers. You suck in a breath, your pupils blown wide.

“I'm gonna go insane if you don't touch me right now,” he says, allowing you to realize just how long you had been staring him down.

The words go straight through you, reminding you of your arousal between your legs, and how you were currently sitting right on top of his dick, the only barrier between you being each other's underwear. You rock your hips against him and hear him whine, your hands flat against his chest. It almost scares you how good it already feels, without having done much of anything at all.

"You have any condoms?" You ask.

"Yeah, think so," he stammers, his eyes darting towards his dresser.

You get up, feeling his eyes on your ass as you dig through the drawer, sifting through clutter. Momentarily, you smile when you find the photo you gave him last year— before returning to the task at hand. You find a condom buried at the very back.

"Were you prepared for this?" You tease.

"I don't think that far ahead. They’re free handouts from sex Ed, senior year."

"If you actually paid attention in that class, you'd know that condoms have an expiration date."

"I did pay attention," he says as you settle yourself back on top of him, the foil between your fingers. "They're not expired yet ."

"Yeah? What else did you learn?"

You suppress a yelp when you feel your position forcibly switched, your back now against the mattress with him hovering over you. The condom had disappeared into his hand.

"That you probably shouldn't be on top for your first," you feel his hand at your panties, brushing your clit over the fabric, "and that you're gonna need more foreplay than just dry humping."

You notice how he looks at you for approval before tossing your underwear aside, admiring how your slick coats his fingers. You'd touched yourself enough times before to know what this feels like but somehow, when it's him doing it instead of yourself, you already feel you'll fall apart at any moment. Your clit is swollen and your hole flutters around nothing as his fingers continue to tease you. Fortunately, he slips his middle finger in before you can scold him for being a tease— and fuck it's so much more than you're used to. His fingers reach inside you better than yours ever did you feel your mouth go agape, your hand reaching to clasp over your mouth out of fear your noises will echo through the mostly silent house.

"Mike," you plea, but to no avail, one hand still desperate to muffle your sounds while the other gripped the bedsheets.

“Is it… am I doing it right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “please, don’t stop.”

You’d heard horror stories before from others, about how aggressive some men were with their first times. But you think Mike is the opposite. So gentle and considerate— uncertain and awkward, sure, but with a willingness to learn and try.

“Doing so well,” he whispers sweetly, “you’re so perfect.”

You're so close to reaching your high that you almost wish you could strangle him the moment he pulls away, leaning down to capture your lips into a kiss. You then hear the sound of the foil being torn apart and the feeling of his dick rubbing against your centre. Despite his smile, you notice the worry behind his eyes. He's terrified. So, you bring your hand to his cheek.

"I want this," you reassure once again.

He nods.

He slips the tip in and your body spasms, the intrusion feeling so foreign. He watches your expression change with each passing moment he spends pushing into you. He loves the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter shut. Loves how your brows scrunch together. All because of him. You’re so soft and warm around him and he’s struggling to cool himself down.

"So much," you comment, your eyes half-lidded when he finally bottoms you out, your bottom lip pulled by your teeth. He tries not to let the compliment get to him, otherwise, he knows he’ll be finishing faster than he wants.

"You're doing so good," he whispers, his hand intertwining with your own, "taking me so well. Can you keep doing that?"

You nod, and he whimpers, taking another thrust. Your nails are digging into his shoulder blades but he doesn't care. It’s another distraction, helping him hold himself together while you take him. He takes another thrust and nearly loses it when he watches you whine, tilting your face to the side.

“More,” you let out.

You feel every inch of him inside you, pressing against your most sensitive parts and though the initial discomfort hadn’t fully yet faded, you start to feel yourself getting lost in pleasure the more you accommodate him. You continue to drag your nails down his back, the knot inside of you growing tighter. You reach down to touch your clit, aching for more stimulation, but he’s quickly replacing your hand with his own, rubbing circles into you.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He stammers out, finding it difficult to string words together in the moment.

“You feel so good, Mike.”

He didn’t realize how fucking hot it would be to hear you say his name while you’re fucked out like this until you do, and he feels himself losing a grasp on himself.

The feeling inside of you starts to snap and your body is thrashing around as you approach your high. He feels you grasping onto him like he’s your lifeline, shaking through your cries, which are muffled by your hand on your mouth. He, too, reaches his limit, and he’s burying his face into the crook of your neck in the hopes that he isn’t too loud.

All that’s left is the sound of both of you breathing when it’s over, and you hear him get up, throwing the rubber away. The bed dips at your side and you feel him on top of you again, head buried into your neck as he holds you. You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, your fingers raking through his brown curls.

It's different from all the times you've touched yourself beneath your sheets in the dead of night. Instead of coming down from your high and laying your head against a cold pillow, your head is against him. You can feel every beating of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. You can feel the stubble on his chin and jaw tickling the crook of your neck. You're shaking, sweating and your whole body aches, yet you want nothing more than to lay here with him. And though you could have given yourself to some other person in college, you know it would not have been the same with anyone else other than the messy-haired brunette who lay atop you.

"Missed you so much," he whispers, "please stay?"

You stare at your house through his window, choosing not to think too hard about the view he has into your bedroom from this angle. Your family wouldn’t care.

"I'm here," you respond, pressing a kiss to his head.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x you #fnaf x reader

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cursingtoji · 2 years ago

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— 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧; 𝐹𝑢𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑜 & 𝐺𝑒𝑡𝑜; 𝑌𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑧𝑎!𝐴𝑈

part of the Don’t Mess with the Yakuza series, a collab with @thekillingtimethekillingmoon 🖤

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Description: As a professional hitman of the Gojo clan, Geto was assigned the task of dealing with a whistleblower, but he’s nowhere to be found, only his beautiful little wife is at home. To lure the target he will need to work with his business colleague and former Zenin which already has a filthy plan using the wife as bait.

Warnings: fem!reader, stalking, dub-con(ish), sub!reader x dom!geto x dom!toji, manipulation, a gun, explicit photos, oral (f -> m), pussy slaps, dacryphilia, reader is pretty much manhandled a bunch of times, cheating, mentions of domestic violence (mahito is an abusive husband). 6k words.

To better understand the character’s roles check this headcanon.

Extra: Geto Visuals — Toji Visuals

┗━————————-°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°————————━┛

Geto has been watching the blue house for three days now, he still doesn’t get how his target hasn't left even for a second. Even when other men were watching the place. Nothing was reported back to him.

The only one that comes out is his target’s wife, always with a pair of sunglasses on. Stretching on the sidewalk before going on her morning jog. A sight for Suguru’s sore eyes. She waters the plants at noon and buys some house supplies in the afternoon.

Gojo had ordered his best hitman to take care of the casino owner, Mahito, who used to be an associate of his, but now is about to testify against one of his men next week, the manager of a small front company of his. It was a small case too, Gojo could afford to throw someone in front of the bus and lose a company, easily moving money someplace else before the federals could track it back to him.

Geto just had to get to his target, maybe threaten him to give up testifying at the trial, or something more appealing if the target knew more than what Gojo suspected.

Yet, now, three days and no sight of said man, the hitman starts to get suspicious. Mahito hadn’t even shown up at the casino he owned to work for three days, according to the other men Gojo had put under Suguru’s orders, and he definitely wasn’t traveling for business or pleasure.

Some theories start to form in his head as he scribbles his notebook.

Injured? — someone may have gotten to him first (check if he’s associated with any other families).

Ran away to not witness? — the wife is still here.

No. Scratch that. His car is not in the garage, but according to Suguru’s research, it hasn't left the state either.

Witness protection program??

He circled the question twice.

Still. Why is his wife so calm? Was it possible the man had left her behind and joined a witness protection program? The police wouldn't force him to bring her along, he could easily say she was going to stay with some family member in another city or something like that. Why, though?

Here she is again, leaving her house at sunset whistling a melody, with a tote bag under her arm.

If the witness protection theory is true, then the police have a case bigger than just that one front company. Something that can put Gojo in some serious trouble. Geto can’t let this happen.

There's only one way to figure this out.

The hitman watches as the woman heads to the superstore nearby. Perfect.

He starts the car following behind her from a safe distance and ends up parking his car in a spot close by the entrance. Eyes on her until she passes through the automatic doors.

He steps out of his car, thinking about his options there.

Wait for her to leave, force her into the car and take her somewhere for interrogation.

It’s the middle of the day though? Someone will easily notice and call the police.

Break into the house and check around for clues?

Neighbors will see, besides the house has an alarm system.

The best option now is to try to approach her, the new target.

It doesn’t take long for Geto to spot her once he enters the store as well, she has a trolling cart and a rather long list in hand as she checks the shelves looking for a bottle of wine, Suguru keeps an eye on her from a distance while she gathers the stuff in her list. There’s no way that tiny tote bag will fit all the stuff she already has in her cart.

A brilliant idea pops in Geto’s mind.

Leaving his target, he goes to the clothing area of the store, taking a red polo and a zip-up hoodie. The shirt is the same color as the store staff, with the exception of the logo. He enters a fitting room removing his black shirt and dressing the one he picked with the hoodie on top to cover his heavily tattooed arms and the place where the logo would be but also leaving the zipper open enough to show the shirt’s color, removing the labels and discarding his black shirt as he leaves.

As part of his plan he stops at the wine aisle picking that same wine his target had picked some minutes before.

Once Geto finds her again he waits until she heads to the cashier to do the same.

“Is that all, sir?” the cashier asks once he placed that one item in front of him.

“Yes, cash” he gives the bill to the cashier leaving with his bottle on a plastic bag casually looking back to check his target that is still removing the items from her cart.

That will give him some time to call his boss.

Geto goes outside, pretending to be interested in the plants to disguise himself until the target leaves the store.

“I’m in the middle of something here, Suguru, this better be important” Gojo says answering his phone.

“I’ll be quick, is there any chance of Mahito knowing more than just that one company?” he asks in a low tone.

Gojo gets quiet, Geto hears an ‘excuse me’ and a door closing.

“There’s a chance, yes, I had a couple of meetings in a private room of his casino, a few with the Zenins. Mahito always found some excuse to enter mid-game. I thought he just wanted to check how much money we were spending there, but he could be eavesdropping.”

“The Zenin, huh?” Geto hums.

“Do I need to know what's going on?”

“Not yet, I’ll be approaching the target’s wife in a few.”

“Wife?” Gojo laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Didn’t know he was married, the fucker literally told us about all the croupiers he fucked” Geto spots his target leaving the store, struggling with her bags like he expected.

“She’s here, gotta go” he hangs up, waiting till his target walks off a little more to approach.

“Excuse me, miss” he calls. The woman with sunglasses on turns her head slightly, finding a tall man with his hair tied in a bun running towards her, “You forgot one bag” he raises his hand with a potty wine inside a bag.

She recognizes the wine she picked, Geto can see she also spotted his blue shirt, as he expected.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I completely forgot I didn't have the car today and got more stuff than I could carry” she smiles at him. No wonder why, the handsome stranger was incredibly charming, he had to be, as part of the job.

“Well I just clocked out, my coworker was the one that asked me to hand you this on my way out, do you live nearby? I can help you carry some bags.”

“Ah yes, that would be great, I’m just a few blocks away from here” she smiles as the brunette bends to pick some bags out of her hand.

The woman leads the way.

“Pardon, ma’am, you said you didn’t have your car today? Is there something wrong with it? ‘Cause I have a mechanic cousin to recommend” Geto lies with the sole intent to throw a bait. He knows the car hasn't been in her garage for a few days.

“Hm… no, actually my husband took it for a business trip. I used to have my own car, but he sold it, apparently its too expensive to maintain two cars” she looks down.

Something doesn’t smell right there. A casino owner claiming he can’t maintain his wife’s car? A business trip? No, Gojo has people inside the Cassino, and they haven’t said anything about a business related trip.

“And please don’t call me ma’am, makes me feel old” she says her name, brushing off the topic of her husband. Geto notices that up close she really looks younger than the expected for a suburban wife.

They walk by each other in silence while Geto thinks how he can get more information without her getting suspicious.

Before he can even realize they are already in front of her house.

“Come in, i’ll get you something to drink” she opens the door and Geto walks with her to the kitchen, “I didn’t get your name by the way.” she turns after placing the bags on top of the counter.

“Ah Suguru, it’s been a while” a strange voice echoes from the living room.

Both the woman’s and Geto’s head turn to find the intruder, looking at a wedding picture frame she kept well displayed.

The man is big, he wears a white dress shirt, tight on his arms and chest. He takes his eyes off the frame, piercing green eyes finding the woman in the pictures standing right there, a scared look on her face. Geto on the other hand seems surprised and a little bit angered.

“Fushiguro.”

Confusion is noticeable on your face.

What the hell are these two strangers? Who is that man in your living room and how did he get there?

“Why you so formal?” he tsks “Just call me Toji already.”

Something screams danger as your hand gets in the tote bag to look for your phone and call the police.

“What are you doing here?” Suguru asks, from where he stands he notices your hand wiggling inside the bag on the counter, he sighs realizing all his disguise is ruined. What a shame, it was going so well.

In one stride he’s behind you, pulling your hand off the bag and holding it behind your back

“Be a good girl while your guests are talking, will you?”

Your heart races at the sudden personality change of the man that was walking you with groceries.

“Sorry to ruin your role play here” Toji approaches, not seeming sorry at all, “But three days watching? Come on, that’s too much even for you.”

“Answer me” Geto demands, easily holding his target with one hand as you try to get rid of his grip.

“I’m here for the same reason as you” Toji takes a folded paper out of his back pocket, a photograph of your husband, “But apparently he was taken to a safe house so I have to improvise, isn’t that right, darling?” a rough hand comes up to hold your chin and makes you look straight at him.

“Safe house?” you ask. What the fuck is that?

“Shit” the man behind you curses.

“Oh you didn’t know? I’m impressed. Satoru gives you so many resources.”

“How did you know?”

“I have my own resources too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you try to shake your head out of the man’s grip, your arm still being held behind your back.

You watch Toji’s eyebrow furrow once he takes in a certain yellow tone behind your sunglasses.

“Let’s take these off, you don’t need those inside.”

You try to back away from him but only find Suguru’s body behind you, holding you still.

Your sunglasses are removed and even trying to hide your bruise from his sharp gaze he still sees it, his face too close to yours.

“I see, it seems like you married a true piece of shit sweetheart, what was it? His money?” you manage to wiggle an arm out to slap the man’s face, but your hand is caught mid-air, “Ops, touched a sore spot” you truly feel like doing more than just slapping his presumptuous face.

You are turned and the grip on your arm is released before you can attempt another violent act.

Suguru bends down slightly to check the yellow and purple bruise under your eye, now it was almost healing. You swallow dryly when his nose almost touches yours. What the hell is with these people and personal space? Something looks like it clicked in Suguru’s mind after seeing your bruise.

You can’t help but notice how handsome he is from this close.

“To summarize,” Toji says, contouring the counter to be in front of you and behind Suguru. Side by side you notice how the one with a bun is slightly taller while the one with the scar is more built. Both are dangerously attractive, “Your husband has been cooperating with the federal police, he was going to testify in an upcoming trial but now the feds are building a bigger case, that’s why he has to be kept in a safe house so that bad men like us don’t kill him and destroy the only witness they have. That’s where you enter, darling. Why are you here?”

The engines start to work in your head.

Bad men like us.

Kill him.

That’s where you enter.

Your heart races at the realization these men will kill you.

“I don’t k-know anything, I swear” your body shakes and your eyes start to water. I don’t wanna die, especially not because of something that the son of a bitch did.

“Shh, just tell us what we need to know” Toji takes something from his waistband, your eyes widen when you notice the gun he places on the counter beside him. A silent threat.

“Actually Toji-san, I think she’s telling the truth” Geto proceeds to tell him the story you told him about your husband being on a business trip taking the only car you had, selling the other one a couple weeks before the said trip, “The bastard knew he couldn’t take his beaten up wife with him to a house guarded by cops, a domestic-violence accusation mid case could have ruined his testimony.”

“Hell, leaving her behind sounds like advice from the cops themselves” Toji snorts.

“What are you going to do with me?” you ask in a low weak voice.

The men in front of you almost smile, how a cute little thing like you married a piece of shit like Mahito?

“You know darling, I kinda came here to use you as bait for your husband to leave the safe house and rescue his pretty little wife. But now” his rough hand comes to your face, thumb rubbing your bruised cheekbone lightly. One tear drops from your eye, sliding down your face to your parted lips. Toji realizes he likes to see you crying “But now I don’t think he’s that much of a good husband.”

A bait?

“No, he’s a terrible one” Geto murmurs, “In fact I don’t think his plan was just leaving his wife behind so he wouldn’t face domestic violence charges” he exchanges a look with Toji that makes you very confused, but he seemed to have understood.

“Motherfucker thought he could play us like puppets.”

“You haven’t signed a prenup, have you, doll?” Geto asks and you shake your head in denial.

They exchange that look again, like all made sense in their heads.

“I don’t get it, what is going on?” you manage to ask even though your head is dizzy with all that new information.

“Your husband figured we would come for him, what would happen if only his wife was home?” Geto says.

“The bad guys would have murdered her to send a message” Toji completes.

“That way he wouldn’t need to lose half of his casino in a divorce, free to marry one of his work pussy.”

“What? No” you bring your hands to your head trying to process all that, “Mahito would never hurt me.”

“Is that so? Then I assume you just ran into a wall there” Toji taps his index on his own cheekbone.

“We argued, it was an accident” you cover your cheekbone, the painful reminder of your confrontation.

“Argued huh?” Geto approaches, removing your hand, “Let me guess, his clothes had a sweet perfume?”

“A lipstick stain on his neck?” Toji says suddenly on your other side.

“I-I saw a text message” you confess.

“Oh that’s worse” Geto coos in a faux sympathetic voice.

“Terrible” Toji goes along, “I bet you would do anything to get back at him.”

“Anything…” you wonder doubtfully.

“Well, we could test Toji’s theory and see what happens when he finds your dead body” Geto runs a finger on your neck giving you goosebumps from both his touch and words.

“No! Anything but that” you exclaimed.

“I have another idea, you need to cooperate though, sweetheart” Toji puts a strand of your hair behind your ear. You nod slowly in agreement, body tingling with the unknown.

The influence those strangers have over you is uncanny, you can’t put a finger on it, maybe it’s how they call Mahito by names, names you called him in your head too. Maybe it is how they seem to treat you so carefully, even though they talked about the option of actually killing you, right in your face, but still gently touching you.

In a blink you realize you’re in your bedroom, sitting at the bed and processing the flow of information while the taller assassin goes through your underwear drawer.

“What are you doing?” you rise from the bed only to be pulled back by a big hand on your shoulder.

“You agreed to do anything to get back at him” Toji reminds sitting right behind you. You agreed?

“But why is he—“ your thoughts are interrupted by a lingerie set being thrown on your lap.

“You still are the bait, love” Toji whispers in your ear.

“If we can’t bring your husband back using the love in his heart, we will do it using his dick.”

You look down at the set, something you haven’t worn in a long time, why would you? Mahito hasn't shown any interest in you in months.

“I don’t think it’s going to work” you shake your head.

“Don’t underestimate how horny a man in a safe house can get” Suguru kneels down before you, removing your shoes slowly as he rubs your ankles moving up.

“I—“ you open your mouth to protest at the forgotten feeling of having a man’s hands on you.

“We’ll make this pleasant for all of us, how about that?” Toji finds the hem of your dress, bringing it up over your head.

“Just be good, okay?” Suguru hooks his fingers on your underwear as Toji holds your waist so the other man can slide it down your smooth legs.

You have no time to feel exposed as Suguru removes his hoodie and shirt in one go, his bun getting undone in the process leaving possibly the most handsome man you’ve seen half naked in your bedroom.

His torso and arms are like an illustration book of japanese art, you catch a glimpse of some figures before he’s pushing your legs apart and getting in between them.

“Say, Toji-san, why would a man leave such a beautiful woman in his house to look for crumbles of pussy somewhere else?” Suguru kisses up your thighs.

“I have no idea what goes inside a crazy man’s head” the assassin behind you run his hands up your arms, stopping to pull your bra strap and release it on your skin, causing you to hiss.

Suguru raises one of your legs and sinks his face in your core, his hot breath hits your sensitive folds, it alone makes you moan.

Suguru smiles, it’s not usual for him to have a married woman squirming like a virgin.

“Guess hubby was not a big fan of pussy eating, was he?” Toji chuckles, opening your bra and sliding it off your arms. As soon as his rough hands touch your soft mounds your head falls back on his shoulder.

Toji never had much respect for Mahito, he ran into the casino owner once or twice but everything about him screamed mediocrity, now Toji understands whatever primitive feeling he had about Mahito was right.

Now, playing with his wife’s breasts as she melts on his arms, Toji can confirm he has absolutely no respect for that excuse of a man.

The contrasting years of negligence almost make you mad.

Almost.

It becomes harder and harder to think about your husband when Suguru latches on your clit, his long hair tickles the inside of your thighs. Suguru is attentive and smooth, you like that.

Toji maneuvers your arms into the straps of the white lingerie set Suguru picked. The delicate piece looks like something you would’ve worn on your honeymoon, Toji wonders.

In fact you did, five years ago, when you were young and in love, ignoring all the red flags and hoping marriage would fix the little flaws your man had.

You whine in protest when Suguru drops the leg he was holding and moves away from you.

“Hang on a bit, doll” he murmurs, picking the white underwear and helping you dress it.

“I still don’t understand how—“

“Look here, darling” Toji puts your phone in front of your face to unlock it.

“Hey” you protest.

“Shh, shh” Suguru rises from his knees, taking your neck and pulling you into a distracting kiss while Toji finds Mahito’s contact and begins a conversation pretending to be you, his needy and horny wife.

Suguru works his magic on your mouth, holding you still with a firm grip on your neck as his tongue explores your cave. He opens an eye to look at Toji, who gives him a sign.

Suguru backs away leaving you with an open mouth and cloudy eyes, Toji acts quickly pushing you down until you’re laying on your bed with your arms above your head.

The long haired male whistles at the sight, the off-white lingerie he picked looked so good on you, hugging the right places, the lying position you were in made your breasts look more full, he could actually see your nipples with how sheer the piece is.

“Focus, kid” Toji tosses him your phone.

“Is that really necessary?” you question squirming as you try to release your arms from his hold. Toji is much more aggressive than Suguru, rough hands take a firm hold on your soft skin like he’s not afraid to break you.

Toji smirks, looking down at your submissive position underneath him. You gulp when your eyes fall down on his pants, the fine trousers he wore had a big tent on it, made your mouth water.

“Wanna a taste, baby?” he teases.

Suguru takes the opportunity to snap a few pictures of your body from above, in a position you would take yourself, from the neck down, and sent to Mahito, reading the conversation Toji had started and continuing it.

< Miss you so much … >

“Hey, doll, what do you call each other?” Suguru asks, looking up from the phone to find Toji opening his belt and you looking at his crotch like a dog waiting for a treat.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, baby, master…” Suguru gives a few examples, “What he likes to be called?”

“Hm, sometimes… sir” you murmur, kind embarrassed.

Toji chuckles loudly and Suguru snorts, you know they are not laughing at you but you still can’t help the heat that comes to your face.

< Miss you so much, sir >

Suguru completes the text and hits send.

“He doesn’t deserve a sweet obedient thing like you” Toji pulls down his pants only enough to free his cock.

A big man like him already gave you a hint of his size down there. Large shoulders, perfect to be a football player, tall enough for your face to be right at his pectorals, biceps so big he must lift weights every single day.

Yet you underestimated how large his cock would be, now that is right in front of your face. With your hand barely able to wrap around it completely, you gave his tip kitten licks. Toji is standing up by the bed, while you lay down on your back, having to take him in your mouth sideways.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you can do it better” he tangles his fingers on your hair, bringing your head closer to his pelvis, from kitten licks you start to take him inch by inch, forcing your mouth and throat to accommodate his width.

He’s so far from anyone you’ve ever had, his smell was enough to intoxicate you, the trimmed yet thick pubes make you rub your thighs together imagining how they would feel right against your clit.

Suguru tsks watching you squirming like that just from sucking Toji’s dick, his own one rock hard and forgotten.

Mahito replied after a few seconds typing.

< oh? how much you miss me? >

Suguru sighs, dirty texting his target while his rival gets a blow job from the target’s wife was not how he planned this whole night to go down.

The long haired assassin raises both of your legs, placing your feet on the bed, the movement making you hum on Toji’s cock, he groans, enjoying the vibration. You attempt to close your legs, not seeing what was going on with Suguru down there, he gets impatient though, delivering a slap on your covered pussy.

“Stay like that” and open your legs enough to give him an angle to shoot a picture. His middle finger runs between your pussy lips, pushing the thin material of your underwear between them to showcase the outline of your pretty pussy, he goes up till your clit, where you yelp, gaging on Toji’s cock as he holds your head, fucking your throat upside down.

Your legs automatically shut as your back arches.

“I said” Suguru gives you another slap, this time right on your clit, “Keep it open” you obey, slowing and tremblingly spreading them again.

Suguru is quick to snap a picture of your folds from up close, there was a wet spot already from when he was eating you out but after his slaps on your cunt the wet spot seemed to have grown.

Suguru sends the picture with some cheesy line about how wet you were.

< you should’ve thought about that before i left bitch > Mahito replies in no time.

“Scumbag” Suguru curses, Toji hears, but decides to take a second for himself there, too lost on how pretty you look crying over his cock abusing your mouth.

Toji extends a hand to wipe your wet cheek covered with tears and drool, he thrusts faster, a large hand falling to your throat, where he squeezes a bit, being able to feel his cock there, he knows you won’t be able to handle it for much longer, your nails digging on the skin of his pelvis and thighs.

He pulls away, pumping himself as he finishes on your face and neck, the thick white fluid painting your delicate features.

“Matches your outfit” he smiles watching you cough and breathe heavily, your big teary eyes looking up at him, face dipping all sorts of liquids, “What a view” he bends beside you, holding your face as he forces his tongue in your mouth. You moan shamelessly at the act.

Mahito would never do that.

But this man…

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to feel pleasure with your husband again after having a taste of a real man.

Toji backs away from your lips and gives your face a lick, from your jawline to your eye, taking all the tears and drool and gathering in his mouth only to spit it back into yours.

“Fucking—“ Suguru curses again watching the way you swallowed his spit, the lewd scene alone making him almost cream his pants. Even though he’s trying to focus on texting he gropes his cock over his pants.

Toji turns his head, giving his rival a sheepish smile.

Who would’ve known Gojo’s dog was a voyeur… Definitely an interesting piece of information for the experienced assassin to use in the future.

“What did the deadbeat say?” Toji asks, still inches from your face.

“He’s playing hard to get” Suguru throws the phone to Toji for the older one to see for himself.

Toji adjusts his posture to read the conversation.

“Come here” Suguru takes advantage of Toji’s distraction and pulls you by your knee, making you slide on the bed just enough to be on the edge. One leg hangs off the bed while the heavily tattooed male holds the other, his hand moves from the back of your knee to your ass, groping the flesh shamelessly as he places one knee on the bed, the erection confined in his pants rubbing right against your sensitive folds.

He bends over to kiss you. You moan on his lips, hands experimentally running over his chest and abdomen.

Suguru is quite impatient now, the misinformation regarding his target’s location, the three days he hasn't had a proper night of sleep and having to deal with Toji interfering with his job had put in a bad mood.

He moves down sucking and biting your neck, pushing your bra down to do the same with your nipple.

Without leaving your chest, he extends one hand to Toji, silently asking for the phone back.

Toji sighs, after exchanging a few messages with Mahito he thinks they might crack him and make him come back home soon.

Suguru sits on his knee, opening the camera once again and roughly taking your hand, positioning it on your exposed breast, like you were groping it. He takes his hand away, snapping a picture and sending it with another pleading message.

Toji whistles at the picture once Suguru gives him the phone back.

Your pussy is acting with need, you can see in Suguru’s face he’s not pleased, but something about the erection in his pants makes you think you can help out. You reach for his belt loops, pulling to you.

“Horny little thing, you’re finding this hot?” he says in a low voice unbuttoning his pants and lowering it along with his underwear.

You bite your lip checking out his cock, it’s not as thick as Toji’s, but it’s so pretty, he’s shaved too.

You wiggle out of your panties as he pump himself a few times, his anger serving as motivation.

Meanwhile Toji found himself a chair across the room, somewhere he could enjoy the show. He’s bare from the waist down, shirt unbuttoned but keeps it on as he continues texting your husband, he scrolls up every second to admire your lewd pictures feeling his cock getting hard again. He looks at you and Suguru. Your small frame trapped under his rival, as he starts to align himself with your entrance, placing your leg on his shoulder. Toji takes his own phone from his pocket and starts to film quietly.

You whine at the stretch, Toji zooms at your face, managing to get a glimpse of Suguru’s too before he kisses you and his hair falls hiding your face from the camera. Toji smiles, ending the video.

You never know when a sex tape will come in good use.

He runs his hand slowly on his cock, squeezing the base as he watches, you turn your face to him, gasping at the sight, your mouth is open as pretty moans come out.

Toji stands up and walks towards you, losing his shirt on the way and a proud erection on.

He taps something on the screen and drops the phone beside your head.

Toji is smooth, he sits beside you, index finger rising to his lips as he looks at Suguru, you have your eyes shut, lost in pleasure as the man between your legs rolls his hips.

“Hello?” you hear Mahito's voice beside you, your head snaps to find your phone on a voice call.

Toji doesn’t give a moment to question, instead he reaches a hand down between the two bodies in front of him and pinches your nipple, your high pitched moan filling the silent room.

Mahito says something you can’t understand, probably an insult.

“Say his name” Suguru whispers in your ear, opposite from the phone so Mahito doesn’t suspect there’s someone else with you, he’s now trusting slowly in order to not make any sound the man in the phone could hear.

Toji moves his hand down to your clit and you moan Mahito’s name.

“Please—�� you add, not actually talking to Mahito, but begging Suguru to go faster, craving your nails on his shoulders.

“I’ll be there in 20, you better not fucking cum” this time you hear him.

Toji hangs up, high-fiving Suguru.

“Relax now, kid” he pats his back condescendingly.

“Yeah” in a quick move Suguru turns you around, grabbing your hips and making you raise your ass, “There you go” he gives your cheek an encouraging slap before entering again.

“Months of absolutly nothing and now she comes up with this bullshit…” Mahito mumbles to himself while speeding up on the highway, a painful boner in his pants making everything worse.

The feds told him to not leave the district, but he’s far from it now, returning to his own home to fuck some respect into his wife.

It would be quick, empty his heavy balls on her, get some more clothes and make up an excuse about an early meeting next in another city, come back to the safe house and act like nothing happened.

20 minutes later or so he finally arrives in front of his house, parking like an asshole but who cares? He had more urgent business.

Upon entering the house, faded whimpers and cries echoes in the dark hallways.

Mahito slams the door of his own bedroom open, blood boiling the second he realizes there was a man on the bed with you. You sat on his lap while his hands ran over your ass and thighs.

“You stupid fucking b—“ Mahito strides to bed, his voice alone makes you want to run away and hide.

But before he can get any closer, Toji welcomes him with a mighty punch.

The time that it took for Mahito to arrive was enough for Toji to get his duck wet for a second time, fucking you from behind while standing up by the bed, Suguru nowhere to be seen for a while, but the second Toji finished on your back the long haired assassin returned, pulling you to sit on his lap and whispering some instructions you couldn’t fully understand. Two of his fingers messed with your clit, putting you in a cloudy state of mind.

You could hear Toji in the bathroom, the large assassin gave his face a splash of water and put his pants back on, knowing Mahito would be arriving soon.

And so he did, the scream scared you off Suguru’s lap, like a wakening call your heart began to pound and you became conscious of your naked body, urgently trying to get the sheets to cover you. But Suguru holds you tight, arms shielding you from your nightmare man while very slowly pulling the sheets up.

“You’re going down the worst way possible you piece of shit” Toji mumbles while punching him enough to get him unconscious, “With a boner on and tongue off” he gets up spitting on the man.

“What are you gonna do to him?” you ask in a whisper after seconds of silence. Toji looks over his shoulder to you. The sexy woman he was with for the past hour reduced to a trembling traumatic mess, curled in the inked chest of his colleague.

It disgusted him. Not even 2 minutes this pathetic man entered the room and he managed to fucked you up psychologically that badly.

“It’s better if you don’t know, sweet thing” Toji finds his dress shirt and starts to put it on, “But let me get straight with you…” he takes his sweet time buttoning up, “Things will be different from now on, if you tell anyone about what happened tonight. I’ll—“

“Toji.” Suguru cuts him with a strict voice. Both men stare at each other for a while.

“Fine” Toji squats to pick up Mahito and throw him over his shoulder, by the weak whimper he was still alive, “She’s your problem then” Toji stops by the doorframe and looks over his shoulder one last time, taking in the protective embrace Suguru had on you. He smirks, the low light shadowing his eyes and lip scar, giving the man a predatory look.

Only then you managed to take a deep breath, something in your chest building up to your throat and causing you to cry, of relief or fear, you didn’t quite know.

Suguru held you to his chest, the other hand picking his phone to text Gojo behind your back.

< It’s done >

Note: guess who’s back… kinda. this has been sitting around for months cause i wasn’t feeling well enough to finish anything really, but i’m glad i did so please let me know what you think <3 if anything got confusing kindly let me know as well.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #getou suguru x y/n #toji smut #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #toji x reader #toji x self insert #geto x y/n #geto x toji

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 months ago

Text

Dracule Mihawk's older sister headcanons (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This idea was born from a conversation with @giurochedadomani, as well her amazing blog. This is part two of two, part one is here.

If you're expecting an happy ending, please go read somewhere else.

*****

🗡️ The lord dies unexpectedly, a sudden heart attack as he sleeps. Informed by his sister, Mihawk returns immediately; they haven’t seen each other in two years, and as they embrace, she marvels at how much he has grown up, how tall and strong he has become. He is still her little brother, quietly affectionate and attentive to her needs, who kisses her hand and holds her against him as if never wanting to let go, but there is a new inflexibility in him, the steel-like determination of a man who goes his own way, content with his own company and leaving everything and everyone behind him, because he respects few and has patience for even fewer. She doesn’t fully know whether this is a new facet of his personality, born of the solitude and the hardship of his life as a pirate, or something that has always been part of him, and the last two years simply brought it to the surface; what she is sure of is that she doesn’t like it.

🗡️ They take part in the lord’s funeral, standing arm in arm, both all too aware of the gossip fluttering around them. She looks straight ahead, simply but elegantly dressed, making sure to offer her condolences to the lady but otherwise avoiding small talk; she knows they are talking about her, her impoverished background, her time as a maid for the lady during which she waited on some of them, and their improved situation thanks to her brother’s piracy. She ignores them; she has nothing to be ashamed of and she knows, and why should she care for those people’s opinion when none of them ever cared for her and hers?

🗡️ Mihawk utters maybe ten words in two hours; he stands for a while in front of his old teacher’s grave, aware that the man had nothing more to teach him, but also of everything he owed the lord, who gave him the chance to become the man he is and to take care of his sister, who cared for him when no one else did. Their relationship was close but formal, he wouldn’t say he loved his master like a father or that he was loved like a son; but Mihawk mourns him, and I’ll never forget what you have done for me, he promises in the privacy of his heart. I swear I’ll make you proud.

🗡️ Mihawk should technically sleep in the master bedroom, the one that once belonged to their father, but his sister knows him and has prepared his old one - after having a bigger bed moved in. Mihawk promises to stay until her upcoming birthday; he’s happy to see her, and relieved to see her happier and more confident than two years back. She has made friends with some women in the nearby town, she excitedly tells him, and has started helping one of them who owns a photographer’s studio, having developing an interest in the art; one day, perhaps, they can formally start working together, because while it is a relief she doesn’t need to worry about the future or that her leg will prevent her from earning her living, she needs to keep herself occupied. She offers Mihawk to discuss their expenses, because she wants him to know she’s not wasting his money, but he assures him there is no need, because he has full and complete trust in her and actually would be happy to know she can now afford whatever she wants, be it a new dress, a lady’s maid (ah!) or a palanquin to ride around. That is a sort of life he could never be happy, or even just content, with, but she is, and Mihawk is proud he can now repay everything she has done for him, taking care of her as it is her duty as a brother.

🗡️ Before he leaves, she takes a picture of the two of them together, makes two copies, one the size of the pretty bedside frame she has bought recently, to keep next to their mother’s old painting of the two of them, and the other small enough to be carried around, and gives it to her brother. “I know we have no need of tangible tokens to remind us of each other, and you are not the sort of man who wears a locket, but please, keep this with yourself. And remember you can always come back, no matter where you are, no matter what you have done. I don’t care about the money, or the house; I just want to know you are safe.” He promises; he gifts her a ridiculously precious necklace for her birthday, with a gem carved in the shape of a rose, and two days later she sees him leave once more, and she misses, and fears for, him again before his little ship has disappeared beyond the horizon.

🗡️ Years pass. Mihawk’s name is now known all over the four seas and the Grand Line, and many are the swordsmen who both fear and admire him, but Mihawk’s mind is focused on two goals. The first is to find a sword worthy of him, one capable to channel his strength and power without breaking; like any swordsman worth his salt knows, though, the best swords are conquered, not simply bought, and while he wouldn’t be against killing a fellow fighter to take their sword, were it worth the effort, for the time being he resigns himself to wait for the right weapon to come his way. His second objective is to find the greatest swordsman in the world and defeat them to conquer their title and have the whole world witness his strength. His sister, while aware that ambitious outcome is well within her brother’s abilities, suggests him to wait, since he is still so young and still hasn’t found a sword worthy of him, but Mihawk is determined: his opponent, a man whose name is not spoken but whispered all around the world and who even the most veteran Marine officers fear to face, is getting on in years, and unlike what many others would do in his place, he plans on facing him before he starts losing his strength and Mihawk’s victory is devoid of any value.

🗡️ The man, mainly known by the moniker The Blue Crane, doesn’t bother to hide his whereabouts, aware that only a fool would search for him with the intent to cause trouble. Mihawk (the fool) easily finds him. He challenges the Blue Crane to a fight to the death. The man accepts. The fight is hard, brutal, bloody, several centuries-old trees felled and enough blood lost to support a whole transfusion centre, but in the end the result is the one any witness aware of the history of the two opponents would have expected…

🗡️ … Mihawk has been defeated. Soundly, unquestionably, and sustaining injuries serious enough to make the doctors doubt his survival. His sister is called, and runs to his bedside; for ten days (and nights, so much that the doctors start worrying about her) she watches over him, thinking this cannot be the end, not for him, not for them, not when he is still so young and she has barely had the time to learn to miss him while he’s gallivanting around the Grand Line. She doesn’t pray, she never has; but she talks to him, even though he remains unconscious for days and she doesn’t even know if he can hear her; she begs him to be strong, to return to her, because he has a whole life ahead of him and can’t leave her alone…

🗡️ In the end, he wakes up; the recovery is long and slow, which is frustrating for a man who has never idled a moment in his life, even more because he knows he has been lucky and he survived only because the Blue Crane thought he had already killed him and let him be. It is not the first, but it is the bitterest defeat of his life; he was able to hold his own against the strongest swordsman in the world, he should be proud of himself, but he is not and, he swears, one day he will regain his honour by killing his opponent, even if it means losing his own life in the process.

🗡️ He doesn’t share his intentions with his sister, but she has expected it ever since she was informed of what had happened; she knows how important it is for Mihawk to conquer the title of the Blue Crane, and that he would let nothing and no one stop him. She has always promised herself she would never get in the way of her brother’s dreams, because he must be free to live his life as he wishes to and she doesn’t want to clip his wings, but she is exhausted, still scared and already convinced that no matter how powerful he becomes he is destined to lose his life before he gets his first grey hair, either because of an opponent’s stroke of luck or the Marines who have sent a whole platoon to capture him (they have already tried. Thrice.) or whatever danger he may encounter in his life as a pirate.

🗡️ For the first time since he was a child, and for the same reason as the other, they fight; bitterly and loud enough the whole hospital hears. Mihawk tells his sister she doesn’t get to mollycoddle him, because he’s an adult and he will not let her stop him from achieving his full potential; she calls him a conceited egoist, who thinks being able to wield a sword gives him permission not to care about everything else and who has never matured beyond the child who was abandoned by his father. They are both hurt; they both forgive. Mihawk recovers, goes back home for a while (because he has missed his sister and does need to rest, but most of all to please her and because he knows he owes it to her) and promises that he will not challenge the Blue Crane again before he has improved sensibly. It is quite possibly the least reassuring promise he may have made; but she accepts it, and never speaks of it again.

🗡️ He has known Shanks since they were boys; Mihawk has told his sister about the red-haired pirate, and she was happy to learn her brother has something akin to a friend, but Shanks knew nothing about her until one day he found her and Mihawk’s picture, fallen from his jacket’s inside pocket. “Who is this pretty lady with you, Hawkie? Is she single?” he asks; Mihawk knows he’s merely joking, and in any case Shanks is not the sort of man who bothers women, but he glares at him with such ferocity the red-haired pirate raises his hands and swears he meant nothing by it.

🗡️ Their father dies. Neither cares.

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister starts working in her friend’s photographer’s studio; she doesn’t really need the money, but enjoys it and soon becomes good enough at it her services are requested for private events and newspapers ask to print her pictures. At a party given by her friend, she meets the hostess’s brother, a man who is as different from Mihawk as he could be: shy, a bit awkward, but friendly and openly kind and who is content with a tranquil, predictable life, with his job as an accountant and, one day, a family. Their eyes meet across the room; he smiles; she waves, but neither has the courage to approach the other until the hostess takes both out of their misery and introduces them. When at the end of the night he shyly asks for her company at dinner, she is flabbergasted: she is well beyond the usual age for women to be courted, and considering she has been called bland in the best of cases and the situation with her leg has not improved since she was twelve, she never expected someone she just met to be impressed with her. But he is; and she says yes, and this is not the sort of exciting, thwarted love story teenage girls like to read about, but it is theirs, and it is true, and it makes her happy.

🗡️ Exactly ten years after Mihawk has taken to the sea, both siblings experience a turning point. Mihawk finally finds the sword he had spent a decade waiting for; it is the fruit of the work of a famed swordmaker, an old woman who had disappeared years before and who everyone thought dead. Mihawk meets her by sheer coincidence, and immediately asks her to forge a sword for him, whatever the cost may be; the artisan replies that she cares not for money, but will only put her art at the service of a man who deserves it. She puts Mihawk to the test, some terrible endeavour that brings his strength as a man and as a fighter to their limit; still, he succeeds, and true to her word, the swordmaker gifts him a huge black swords: it is her masterpiece, that she has spent months creating a decade before, after her own master had come to her in a dream to tell her she would one day find a man worthy of it.

🗡️ The sword is beautiful, huge but light in his hands, as if it were really made for him specifically; Mihawk likes the black blade and the gemstone-ornated hilt. This is no cutthroat dagger, nor simply one of the greatswords some try to use in the hopes the length and weight make up for their lack of talent; it is precious like a jewel, beautiful to look at, but severe and forbidding, openly dangerous enough anyone would think twice before approaching it - not unlike Mihawk itself. This is his sword, and he is its wielder; a perfect match, the sort of feeling other people experience about a soulmate.

🗡️ He’s so satisfied he decides to show the sword to his sister, returning home for a surprise visit; she welcomes him with open arms, and is happier than ever to see him, and impressed by his new weapon, which is way bigger than her. “They say the best swords have names.” she points out “Any ideas?” Mihawk shrugs; he’s content with simply having conquered a weapon worthy of him, and doesn’t feel the need to name it as people do with a lapdog or a country house. He is more interested in his sister’s own news: her gentleman friend has asked for her hand, and she has accepted. “He is a good man, and he loves me very much; he treats me very well. I love him too, Mihawk, I really do; I am not asking for your permission, like you wouldn’t have to ask for mine, but it would mean the world if you approved.” The dinner during which he meets his future brother in law is slightly less tense than they all expected; Mihawk finds his sister’s fiancé a bit insipid, not to mention he is already losing his hair, but he must admit the man does seem to treasure his sister, and the research Mihawk has charged a detective to do on him, to make sure the man is not a fortune hunter or in the habit of hitting or cheating on his partners, yields reassuring results. He gives his sister his blessing; he accepts to give her away (actually, he would have been offended if she hadn’t asked) and only asks her to write a prenuptial agreement with her fiancé, to protect her interests in the event things go bad. He still thinks she deserves better; but she is happy, and so he is as well.

🗡️ They decide for a spring wedding, and the ceremony is just a month away when Mihawk receives the Marines’ proposal to join the newly created Warlords of the Sea. As they have always done when one of them is faced with an important decision to make, he asks for his sister’s opinion, but she is unsure: knowing her brother no longer has an enormous bounty on his head would reassure her (even if bounty hunters have never been a danger for Mihawk and the few who have challenged him quickly learnt that he may not be the greatest swordsman in the world yet, but he’s already too superior to be bothered by people of their sort) and the alliance would give him more leeway to pursue his business as he wants. On the other hand, joining the Warlords could do more harm than good. “They may need you, but you don’t need them; this simple fact suggests you have nothing to earn from allying with the World Government.” she points out one day as they enjoy an evening stroll, walking leisurely close to the rose garden that is her pride and joy “I know you are too strong and clever to let the Marines order you around; but why should they send you to deal with their problems?”

🗡️ As usual, even though she’s not a pirate herself, she has understood the matter perfectly, giving him valuable insight while leaving the choice to him; Mihawk doesn’t need his sister to decide for him, but he values her opinion and knows she is cleverer and more capable than her gentle disposition and reserved nature may suggest. Whatever decision he may take, he promises herself, her security will be his first priority: what if, once he joins the Warlords, the Marines look for something to use against him should he refuse to do as he is told, discover her existence, and threaten her…?

🗡️ Mihawk has always done his utmost to protect his sister, even since he was still a child, and especially after he took to the sea; the small, sleepy town she lives in is a safer place than most, and she knows better than to wander about after dark by herself, but he has hired three guards to ensure the safety of the house, and who escort her every time she travels by carriage - a precaution she deems excessive, but she has accepted for his sake. He has made good on his promise to provide her with a cane with a blade hidden inside, even though they don’t have much time to practise its use together; she makes sure to have all doors and windows bolted at night, as well as the main gate.

🗡️ All those precautions are put to the test exactly once; and they prove futile.

🗡️ Mihawk has never forgotten the promise he made to himself, as well as to his sister, to wait before challenging the Blue Crane again, and he feels the moment has come to reclaim his honour and conquer the title he has desired since he was still a child. His abilities have improved enormously since their first, disastrous fight, and he has not met an opponent worthy of him in years; almost as important, he now owns a blade capable of withstanding any attack and to channel his full strength. He is ready, he feels it in his bones, in his blood. He decides to wait until after his sister’s wedding, to make sure she is not alone in the event that the fight claims his life; once she has settled in, he will go meet his destiny, and this time he knows he will emerge victorious.

🗡️ What Mihawk doesn’t know is that the Blue Crane has also been obsessing about him, and their duel years ago. The greatest swordsman in the world is all too aware that advancing age has been sapping his strength for years; no challenger has defeated him yet, but it is simply a matter of time, and he, the man whose name has made any fighter in the world quake in their boots for decades, will be disgraced, bested not by a superior opponent but by the simple weakening of his muscles and reflexes. Nothing in his life has ever mattered but his title, and soon, maybe in a matter of months or even weeks, some callow youth who simply had the good fortune of being born a few decades after him will take it, and the Blue Crane’s name will be forgotten…

🗡️ … and then the man opens a newspaper, sees the picture of a familiar hawk-eyed man, and his heart sinks.

🗡️ No one in maybe thirty years has been as close to defeating him as that young man; no one’s ferocity and disdain for his own safety and life if it meant emerging victorious from the fight has scared him as much as his. The Blue Crane might have admired and even liked him, if that young man, that Mihawk, hadn’t forced him to use all of his strength and ability in order to win - in order to survive. The young swordsman’s strength and willpower had been like nothing he had ever seen; the Blue Crane, who in his life had defeated and killed hundreds of opponents, had known in his heart that had Mihawk been just a little more mature, just a few years more experienced, the outcome of their duel would have been very different. That thought alone had made him feel ashamed of himself, and he had made sure to kill his opponent, to avoid the risk of a more mature and fulfilled Mihawk returning to ask for a rematch.

🗡️ Or at least, he was convinced he had killed his young opponent, even though the newspaper tells a different story. How could Mihawk have survived his wounds? And why did he simply leave, without checking to make sure his opponent was actually dead? Is old age making him lose his wits, as well as his strength and speed? The Blue Crane reads of Mihawk’s exploits in the newspaper, and his fears are confirmed: the young swordsman has come into his own, becoming a feared pirate and an even formidable fighter. Why hasn’t he returned to ask for a rematch? He doesn’t seem the sort of man who would be cowed by his past defeat, and the danger of losing his life. Is Mihawk still training, aiming to further hone his skills before challenging him again? Or does the young man consider him too old now to represent a worthy opponent? The thought makes the Blue Crane seethe with anger and helplessness; but whatever the truth, he decides, he has to do something, to prevent his honour from being besmirched by that bird-eyed man. He can’t help ageing, with all the consequences the process entails, but he is the strongest swordsman in the world, and he wants to die with the title grasped in his hands, which means… that he has to kill Mihawk before Mihawk comes to kill him.

🗡️ Finding where Mihawk lives is harder than he expected, but the Blue Crane is able to call in a few favours, and to track the younger swordsman down to his old family house where, he hears, Mihawk is expected to return soon for a family wedding. He arrives at night; he makes quick work of the guards standing outside and penetrates the house, hoping to take Mihawk by surprise, and unharmed - the only way, he must admit, he is sure to win. Unfortunately Mihawk is not at home, his return having been delayed because of the bad weather; but his sister is, sitting at her desk despite the late hour and busy organising the RSVPs she has received for the wedding, her white dress hanging from the wardrobe’s shutter, ready to be worn on the next morning. She hears a noise coming from the corridor, but before she has time to reach for her cane and go check, the door opens, and an older man appears in front of her; she has never seen him, but he is holding a sword in his hands, which explains everything - or at least most of it.

🗡️ “Mihawk is not here. Whatever you want, coming here without his permission is the stupidest thing you could have done.” she calmly states “Now you need to leave; return in two days, and you can challenge him…” The Blue Crane doesn’t listen; he understands this woman, whoever she is, is trying to protect him from Mihawk’s ire, which from his point of view is so offensive it hurts physically. If the younger man really doesn’t consider him a worthy opponent anymore on account of his age, he reasons, maybe he should prove the master of the house he’s still as dangerous as he was twenty years ago, and that it would be highly unwise to take him lightly. He’s usually not the sort to harm innocent civilians, especially women, and he realises that harming a relative (or fiancé? No, it can’t be his wedding as well, the Blue Crane reasons, this woman is too old) would make Mihawk even less merciful than he normally is, but he is not afraid (really, he’s not!), and this will at least mean his opponent will take him as seriously as he had on their first fight…

🗡️ To her credit, as she realises the man intends to hurt her, maybe to send a message to her brother, Mihawk’s sister reacts quickly; she grabs a heavy paperweight from her desk and throws it towards him, hoping to distract the man at least for a moment, and then quickly reaches for her cane, at the same time filling her lungs to scream. “Help me!! Please, help…!” Neither attempt yields results; the guards are dead, and even if she could reach her weapon she is no match for the Blue Crane, for his resentment and shame and hopeless rage. He grabs her by the hair; she can feel the gelid kiss of the blade across her naked throat, and a moment later a waterfall of blood is splattering over the front of her dress. She stammers, trying to ask for help, to ask for her brother to save her like so many times he has promised to do, even if it meant dying himself; she had forgotten how helplessness felt, and being reminded like this, now, is terrifying. She knows she is being killed for something Mihawk has (or hasn’t?) done, but feels no anger or resentment towards him; only sadness, and regret, they won’t have more time to spend together, and she won’t get to marry, and be happy with her husband, and perhaps even though she’s probably too old they had been planning to have…

🗡️ It’s brutal, and excruciatingly painful, and somehow dispassionate, the man not even looking at her as he robs Mihawk’s sister of the gift of life, as if he were carrying out a task he finds no interest or pleasure in, because he doesn’t care for her, who is simply a means to an end, a message he wants to send. But at least it’s quick, and a minute later, as he cleans his blade on the skirt of her dress, the Blue Crane is contemplating whether he may as well wait for his opponent or it’s best to leave and return once he’s sure Mihawk is at home, when suddenly he’s not alone anymore. Mihawk has returned; he has been hit by a sense of foreboding the moment he stepped on land, back from one of his first raids as a member of the Seven Warlords, a full hour later than expected and inexplicably sure something terrible was about to happen, and he has run home, fearing to find out his sister had been cheated on, or even beaten, by her fiancé, or that she had had an accident.

🗡️ The truth is immensely, irremediably worse, and he is more and more worried (more and more scared) as he finds no trace of the guards patrolling the house; he enters, and the Blue Crane is looking down on him, literally since the older man is standing at the top of the long staircase leading to the upper floor where the bedrooms are, and the man is not known for his violence towards women and civilians, not to mention his sister would pose no danger to him, but Mihawk just needs to look at the older man, at his gelid and triumphant expression, to feel his legs give way under him. What have you done to her, you bastard?!, he’s about to ask, a moment before realising he doesn’t need to.

🗡️ He doesn’t ask why; he doesn’t need to, and he doesn’t care. If only I hadn’t waited, he thinks, and a moment later he has grasped his sword and launched himself towards his enemy. Not a word is uttered. Swords clash; Mihawk’s fury is terrible, merciless and bloodthirsty, and the Blue Crane has barely the time to realise how big of a mistake he has made before Mihawk kills him, not using one his most sophisticated techniques, like most swordsmen would deem appropriate when facing a worthy opponent, but with a brutal, simple lunge at the heart - and through his back. He lets the body of his opponent fall tumbling down the stairs as he runs towards his sister’s room, abandoning his sword unheedingly on the floor and hoping against hope it’s not too late, that there’s still time to save her, but there isn’t, and while her body is still warm and the blood still dripping from her wound, Mihawk knows she’s already gone. He cries, holding her in his arms and kissing her brow, and remains by her side for what feels like hours, feeling himself victim of a terrible nightmare he cannot wake from and at the same time all too aware what has happened is true, real, and is only his fault.

🗡️ He doesn’t cry at the funeral, even though he knows his broken heart will never feel whole again; part of him wishes he could, even though it wouldn’t make him feel better, so much that he looks with envy at his sister’s friends (she has so many, she who had long thought she was too shy and demure and uninteresting to be liked) who weep openly, unashamed in their pain. He has informed his sister’s fiancé of the identity of her killer, as well as the fact he has been punished, but the other man doesn’t blame him, doesn’t accuse him of being the reason of the death of the woman they both love; part of Mihawk wishes he would, and while he has never particularly liked or respected his former-future brother-in-law, he now feels a kinship between them, and when the other man says he will never stop loving her, Mihawk believes him. They mourn her together; but in his heart, Mihawk also knows he’s saying farewell to the best part of him, the one capable of kindness and compassion, and that after spending his whole life despising their father for abandoning them, he has now committed an even more unforgivable sin.

🗡️ She is buried in the rose garden, her engagement ring on her finger and her favourite necklace on her breast. Mihawk plans on closing the house as soon as he can, without putting it on sale, to make sure nothing and no one will ever disturb his sister’s sleep; he has never felt so guilty and ashamed, and most of all so alone, in his life, but he knows he deserves that pain, he accepts and even relishes in it. He has let her down, he thinks as he looks at the casket being lowered in the grave, leaving her alone when she needed him the most, and even if he could he wouldn’t ask for forgiveness because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He is now the strongest swordsman in the world, uncontested, but he feels no joy; he feels the weight of his sword on his back, thinks back to a brief conversation he had with his sister years back, and the hint of a joyless smile appears on his lips.

🗡️ There are roses on her gravestone, their beauty as eternal as her kindness and grace deserved to be, and then the date of her birth and of her death, and an epitaph Mihawk has carved himself…

Lady Dracule Yoru. Beloved sister. Wherever I go, I will carry you with me…

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Dracule Mihawk #Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader #Mihawk x sister!reader #Steven John Ward #Bellona's stuff

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husbandhoshi · 1 year ago

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Congrats on 3k!! You deserve it sooo much💌

If you have the time (and only if you have the time!) I would like to request a sort of a short bullet point fic. Or more so just your thoughts on the following: moving in with seventeen. Who is the one that labels every box? Who will live out of moving boxes for the next year. And yeah, just overall the vibes of new beginnings and promises😶‍🌫️

Pls only do write something if any of this inspires anything, if not pls don't feel burdened to write anyway!

I love your writing, so once again: congrats on the succes💗

seungcheol thinks it's one huge adventure. yes, he will be the person lifting the stupidly heavy boxes at the store. yes, he will make it a competition to build furniture as fast as possible (and race to take it all apart when you discover the desk legs are all different lengths because someone thought he could figure it out without the manual). even among the graveyard of boxes and bubble wrap and those huge styrofoam slabs he keeps chasing you with, seungcheol is happiest to lay with you on your bare, naked mattress (because he forgot to order sheets). he's planning what pictures of the two of you he wants to put on the walls. this is the first time he's owned a welcome mat and he's not even mad about it. it's all yours, together, and there's no bigger adventure than that.

his walk-in closet. bowls the perfect size for a portion of ramen, plus an egg. the lego taj mahal with two pieces missing that he insists will turn up sometime. these are some of the things jeonghan's not sure he can bring to your new apartment. it's not that he doesn't want to move in with you--he just doesn't know if he can. hell, you kissed him for the first time on the tiny futon in his living room, and he just learned it's too small for your new place. it's not until he watches you, later that day, play jenga with the toiletries on his bathroom counter because there's never been enough space for the two of you, that he realizes maybe it isn't such a bad thing to try something new. he imagines leaning you against a new sink, with that carrara marble you've been talking about, and he might even say he's looking forward to it.

you don't think there's a day you haven't seen joshua on zillow. look at my pinterest board, he'd say, and you wouldn't have it in you to ask how the hell you're affording that couch or if you really need a salt lamp that badly. you've lost count of the times your thursday nights consisted of a: your favorite chinese takeout and b: watching celebrity architectural digest videos. but joshua can't help it--to him, there's really nothing that would make him happier than waking up next to you in a bed you picked together. now if it was a midcentury modern canopy bed? even better. he can't wait to use his fancy little espresso machine to make your morning latte and grab your coat from the rack you got from that shop in LA before he kisses you before you head off to work. but they're all just things (pretty, shiny ones, albeit)--more ways he can show you the love you deserve.

junhui loves a good open house. early on in your relationship, you would dress to the nines before pretending to shop for a mansion you could never afford. junhui would comment on the door handles and the crown molding like he was a property brother, and then you'd finish the night off making out in the mcdonald's drive-thru. things are a little different now that you actually can afford a home. what if you end up not liking it? will you get tired of the wallpaper? will the closet be big enough? but surprisingly, none of this seems to matter when you walk into the house. (what's on your mind? you ask him. n-nothing, he says.) but he's really thinking about feeding you in that kitchen and spending the morning looking out those bay windows. how beautiful you'll look greeting him from that front door. needless to say, he's sold.

you find soonyoung hiding in the kitchen at your housewarming party. just an hour earlier, he was dumping cans of sparkling water in the jungle juice to make it more "adult" (as if it would erase the fact that an entire bottle of everclear had already disappeared into the mix). the hour before that, he was cleaning like a madman despite there not being much to clean yet. he held the duster the wrong way and you think he got more windex on the ceiling than on the windows. darling, what's wrong? you ask. his little, drunken hands wrap around yours so he can bring them to his cheeks. i just realized this is all ours. like, all of it, he wails, teary, and you realize he is far too many drinks down. it's only after you've sent him to bed with a water and a kiss that you really think about what he said. the hardwood floors, the duvet, the misshapen tiger plushie on the couch, him--all ours.

wonwoo is not an easy person to live with. the first three things he unpacked were, in order, his table, his first monitor, then his second monitor. then he ruined your perfectly curated aesthetic with his neon red keyboard and a gaming chair that would make any interior designer cry. the final straw is when wonwoo manages to kill the one and only houseplant you have, the single thing holding your home decor together. but he's trying, he really is. he's bought a silly little throw blanket for your couch (aren't the tassels fun? he says, wiggling the fabric between his hands). his ugly lamp has been replaced by a strange glowing cat light and there's a sticker on his computer tower. he buys a succulent and you have a little naming ceremony in your kitchen. and it lives, against all odds!

jihoon doesn't know the difference between a chaise and a sectional. cherry and mahogany look the same to him. and god forbid you ask him to choose between terrazzo and subway tile because he really thinks both of them look good and, no, he's not just saying that to make your life harder. jihoon isn't good at the hgtv stuff, but he's happy to move all the boxes. it's only when he's unpacking said boxes that he finally gets it. (the vase that came with the first bouquet of flowers he bought you. the record player you got him for your first anniversary, now fingerprinted, well-loved. matching valentine's day teddy bears, worn and baby pink.) you're standing on a stool stacked on top of another stool trying to hang a poster, and this is what home looks like.

seokmin wants to live in the ikea showrooms. you can't blame him--sometimes, when there's nothing better to do, you'll spend your afternoon in a bedroom that's not yours. seokmin will try on the lumpy blazer from the closet, and you'll beckon him to your sprawling king size bed, the one sat next to the painted on windows and floating shelves. honey, come to dinner, you'd say. he'll peek over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and you open the lid to a big, steaming pot of nothing. micke or lagkapten? you ask, completely unseriously. but he's thinking about it, really thinking about it. in his mind, he's building a home together, silly furniture piece by piece, counting down to the days when you really can agonize over plants and how many drawers you want in a desk.

when you got the keys to your new place, mingyu insisted you eat jajangmyeon to commemorate move-in day. unfortunately, he failed to account for the series of delays that led to you having absolutely no furniture to move in on said move-in day. but mingyu is nothing if not a man with a plan, so he runs to the store and buys the cheapest assortment of kitchen tools and ingredients for the world's most unlikely dinner. we really don't have to do this, you laugh, the backs of your legs cold on the kitchen counter. but i want to, he insists, holding out a spoon for you to taste. we have to christen the apartment. you eventually do christen it the right way (involving: lots of tongue, even more laughter), but you might prefer, just a tiny bit, the night you sat on the empty kitchen floor and fed mingyu out of a pan.

minghao has rearranged the living room four times now. every time you walk in, it feels like you've entered someone else's house. it doesn't look right, he says, hands on his hips like his life depended on it. you don't know how to tell him they all look right, every single version. in the first version, all cardboard furniture and plastic wrap, you gave up on deciphering the wifi setup and built a fort instead. the second involved an ottoman in the walkway, which you almost immediately stubbed your toe on (and laughed so hard you cried). in the third, the couch faced away from the adjoining room, and you accidentally spooked minghao so badly he almost broke his knitting needles. but it's all perfect, every iteration, because you're doing it together--a hypothesis he's more willing to believe when you shut him up with a kiss.

don't look now, but seungkwan is buying another doodad at your local sunday swap meet. it's a small painted figurine of a bear in a nightcap, which he simply points to and says that's me. you don't have it in you to mention the fact that you're currently unpacking his seemingly never-ending assortment of doodads and you couldn't possibly know where one more would go. it's only when you're getting ready for bed that you catch the little bear in the glow of the alarm clock light. there's already a turtle with a hat in the medicine cabinet (jeju, last summer). on top of the fridge, a woodcarving that says EAT. (tj maxx, 2 years ago. it still makes you laugh). even though you just moved, all these little seungkwan-isms make home a little more home.

you wouldn't call vernon a planner. his version of housewarming is watching you play the sims. but real life doesn't have nearly as much poolside drama or five story houses--just packing peanuts and 50 page appliance manuals. aren't boxes just drawers? vernon asked you one day. no, but that's how it always starts. two weeks after move-in, vernon cooks you breakfast with a pan procured from a cardboard box. by three weeks, you know the exact box everything is in. (you still haven't been able to find vernon's avril lavigne let go album, though.) it's only when you're eating dinner on top of the box that your dining table is in when you say, vernon, baby, i think we need to actually move in. he takes one look at you, who's wearing mismatched socks and his boxers because your shorts are underneath the tv box, and his smile nearly splits his cheeks. yeah, i think so too.

if you had asked chan what his dream house looked like, he would say it had a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, and a pool. your new apartment has none of those things. the length of your bedroom is a little more than one and a half times the length of his body and he's not even that tall. if he looks out the window he can see right into his neighbor's apartment (three cats and no bitches. almost like he's living next to wonwoo). and his feet stick out of the tub. but he's learning how to live in small spaces. he likes the squeeze of your bathroom, how you have to sit on the counter if you want to both brush your teeth together. he likes the bump of your elbows when you wash the dishes together. most of all, he likes falling asleep with you slotted to his side--even in your tiny bed, he wouldn't mind having you a little closer.

#sorry this took forever it got stupidly long #thank you for asking!!!!#ask #anon #mine #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt fluff #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt x you #svt x reader #3k celebration

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edgarapoecolouredglasses · 2 months ago

Text

Little mastermind part six

You know the drill

THE GIF IS NOT MINE

Pairing: Troy Otto/Reader

Summary: The clock is ticking and Troy is desperate to protect his people.The only out he can think of is to make an appeal to the mercy of an old friend.

Part: 6/at least 10

Masterlist

——————————————————

Troy sat for hours, wracking his brain, staring at the maps scattered across the desk, trying to think of a way to keep his community safe. It wasn’t just a group anymore—it had grown into something bigger, something more meaningful. A real community.

He glanced out of the study’s window to the scene below: people doing laundry, others cooking outside, always making something out of nothing, every single day, despite how low the supplies were running.

The children ran around, laughing as they played, while some of the teenagers sat in a corner, passing around old comics.

Guards stood on the perimeter, men and women who had willingly taken up the responsibility of protecting everyone inside.

His gaze drifted over to the makeshift hospital room they’d set up in one of the rooms. He hadn’t seen Tracy with the other kids, which meant she was probably in there, talking Y/N’s ear off like usual. Trying to help

He smiled to himself, the brief thought easing some of the weight on his shoulders. His girls.

But then his eyes caught movement in the woods beyond the fence. A guard quickly took care of a small group of walkers, and Troy’s smile faded.

They couldn’t stay here forever. The supplies around the compound were thinning out, the walkers kept coming, and even though everyone was holding on, he needed to find somewhere they wouldn’t have to constantly look over their shoulders, wondering if the next day would be the one they lost it all.

As he stared down at the map again, his head lifted when the static of the radio filled the room.

Another broadcast from PADRE rang out through the crackling noise.

“If you lost your child or think that they might have been taken, come to the following coordinates…”

Troy reached over and turned down the volume, sighing heavily as the message played on.

It was the same voice, Madison’s voice, that he had heard when he first arrived at this compound. When he heard it for the first time, something had ignited in him. Years of rage, of anger, of grief that he thought he’d buried, all came roaring back at the sound of her voice.

He had wanted revenge. Needed it, even. After everything that had happened, after what she had taken from him, the idea of her being out there, still breathing, still talking, made his blood boil.

But now, weeks later, with the community growing and his responsibilities piling up, that desire for vengeance had dulled. Not because he didn’t want it anymore—he did—but because there were other things pulling at him. Things more important than settling old scores. Tracy. The people here. Y/n.

He rubbed his temples, the weight of it all pressing down on him again. His focus needed to be here. On them. Not on the past.

The radio message faded into static, and Troy switched it off completely. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment, wondering how long they could really keep going like this. How long until something gave?

He stood up, pacing the room, the tension building inside him again. There were decisions to make—ones that would affect everyone here. Ones that could either save them or destroy everything they’d built. He couldn’t afford to make the wrong choice, not now.

Troy glanced back out the window at the people below, the kids laughing, the adults working together. They were counting on him.

————————————————

A week passed, and everything seemed to be moving at a whirlwind pace. More survivors had come to us, and among them, there was a couple—doctors. Actual doctors! When I first heard about it, I nearly burst into tears from relief. It felt like a miracle, like we had finally caught a break.

Up until then, I had been living on a prayer, doing everything I could with whatever knowledge I had. Guesswork. That’s what it had been. If someone got an infection, I hoped I had enough antibiotics or herbal remedies to treat it. Heart problems? That was another beast entirely. I did what I could with the knowledge I had gathered over the years, but I knew it wasn’t enough. And every time someone came into the med bay, a part of me feared that it would be something I couldn’t fix.

But now, with real doctors, it was different. I worked closely with them. They were patient, showing me things I hadn’t known—how amputate a gangrenous limb, how to handle certain illnesses I’d only ever read about. It was like a weight was slowly being lifted off my shoulders. We finally had real medical expertise on our side, and it was one less thing to worry about.

We had also moved to a new building—a place that, for now, felt safer than where we were. An old library, dusty and worn, but with sturdy walls and enough room for everyone to have a bit more space. It felt strange, though, living among all the abandoned books, as if we had found refuge in the remnants of a world that no longer existed. It was depressing and made me hopeful at the same time.

But even here, I knew it wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t. The building was secure, but our food supply wasn’t. There wasn’t enough land nearby to grow our own, and the scavenging teams were coming back with less and less every day. It was only a matter of time before we’d have to move again.

I was deep into a book on radiation treatment, trying to soak in every detail, when I heard footsteps approach. Looking up, I saw Troy standing there, an unusual expression on his face—almost as if he was hesitant.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Are you up for an errand?”

I raised an eyebrow, immediately cautious. “What kind of errand?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes held mine, and for the first time in a long while, I saw something almost…pleading in his gaze. Something was off.

But instead of pushing for more details, I closed the book and stood up. “Okay,” I said, my voice soft but certain. I would be wherever he needed me to be. I always had been.

Without another word, Troy nodded and hurried off to grab Tracy. I gathered my gear quickly, slipping on my jacket and checking my weapons. Whatever this was, it didn’t feel like a simple supply run.

We left the library in the biggest, sturdiest vehicle we had—an absolute tank of a car that had been patched up more times than I could count, but it still ran.

Tracy sat between us in the front seat, unusually quiet, her small fingers tracing the outline of the map spread across her lap.

The silence in the car was thick. I kept glancing over at Troy, trying to read him. There was something he wasn’t saying, and it gnawed at me. I opened my mouth to ask again, but then caught his gaze, and the words died in my throat.

Whatever we were headed for, it was important. And he needed me to trust him.

Troy spoke suddenly, breaking the tense silence without looking away from the road. “I’ve been hearing Madison on the radio.”

I blinked in surprise, turning to look at him. My first instinct was disbelief, and I didn’t bother hiding it. “Madison? As in the Madison.. Madison Clark?” I stared at him for a few seconds, then, half-joking and half-serious, I reached over and placed my hand on his forehead, checking for a fever. “You feeling alright? You sure it’s not a hallucination?”

Troy tensed, clearly not in the mood for jokes, and shooed my hand away with an irritated sigh. “Stop.”

When we had a very random and brief encounter with Alicia, which ultimately caused Serena’s death, she seemed pretty sure that her mom was dead. And that was years ago, so pardon me if I felt like Troy bust have been seeing things.

Tracy, giggling beside me, mimicked my movement, reaching up to put her tiny hand on his forehead too. Troy quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled it away, his tone sharp. “Tracy, please,” he said in that serious, annoyed voice I’d rarely ever heard him use with her.

Tracy was treated like an absolute princess by him. Tracy asked Tracy got, as far as it was possible in this new world. When she was told no, it was always gentle, with a lengthy explanation of why she couldn’t get what she wanted.

The only times I’d ever seen Troy use his strict dad voice like this, it was either because he was very stressed or on edge, or when she had put herself in danger and he was so worried that it turned into anger. It caught me off guard, and I immediately stopped playing around.

Troy glanced down at Tracy with a brief, guilty smile, as if to apologize for his tone.

He was more tense than I had realized. This wasn’t just some passing comment about a radio broadcast; this was something weighing heavily on him. He finally exhaled and continued, “I’ve been hearing Madison… took over PADRE. It’s this organization… you’ve heard of it from those new people, right?”

PADRE—the stories we’d heard about them were grim, nothing good. I didn’t know much, but what I did know made my skin crawl. Children, ripped from their families and molded into soldiers? My thoughts raced, but Troy’s voice brought me back.

“She gave coordinates in the broadcast,” he continued, his voice quieter, more reflective. “For parents to come find PADRE. Look for their kids.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in the car like a lead blanket. What was he thinking? What was this errand really about?

Troy paused for a moment before adding, almost too quietly, “The place seems… safe.”

Safe.

I glanced over at him, searching for more than what he was saying, but his face was unreadable, eyes fixed on the road. The wheels in my mind started spinning faster. Safe. In a world like this, what did safe even mean anymore? And why was Troy—who never trusted anything easily—considering it?

“What are you thinking, Troy?” I asked, my voice soft but filled with concern. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but I needed to hear it anyway.

Troy’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the worn leather. He exhaled deeply before speaking, as though admitting his plan out loud made it more real. “I’ve been thinking of going there.”

“To PADRE?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat. “Troy, what—”

“I’d have to swallow my pride,” he interrupted, his voice flat, but I could sense the weight of those words. “What she did to me was… unforgivable. You know that. I hated her for it. Still do.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “But I’ve got more people to think about than just myself now.”

I blinked, my heart pounding. This was a side of Troy I rarely saw—the one that wrestled with something more than survival. His eyes remained focused on the road, but I could tell this wasn’t easy for him to admit.

“If swallowing my pride gives us any chance of a safe place for this community… for you, for Tracy,” he continued, his voice lowering, “then I’ll gladly do it.”

I stared at him, trying to piece together the full picture. “Why do you need us to come?” I asked, my heart sinking as it confirmed this wasn’t just some regular errand.

Troy sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before speaking. “I’m hoping she won’t kill me on the spot.”

“What?” The word tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Troy—”

“She has no reason to let me live after everything that happened at the dam,” he said, cutting me off again. “I need her, not the other way around. There’s nothing in it for her to keep me alive, except maybe the goodness of her heart—and I’m not sure how much of that she’s got left.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me. I knew about the dam. I knew what had happened between them, even if Troy hadn’t shared every detail. Madison had done something unforgivable, and Troy wasn’t one to forget easily.

“Then why… why bring us?” I asked, my voice trembling with worry.

“She knows you,” Troy said quietly. “You two parted ways on good terms—before you knew what she’d done to me. She definitely won’t hurt you. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

I shook my head slightly, trying to wrap my mind around it all. “And Tracy?”

Troy’s eyes flickered toward the backseat, where Tracy sat quietly, unaware of the gravity of the conversation. “I brought her to show that I’m not a threat. That I won’t try anything. I need her to see that I’m trying to protect my daughter now. Maybe if Madison sees my family... I was reckless at the ranch, I know that I was a danger. I had nothing to lose, my father was dead, my brother had chosen Alicia over me. I was alone, and that revenge felt justified.”

The car felt smaller with the weight of his words. His eyes found mine again, softer now, but filled with an apology that neither of us had ever fully addressed. But, maybe we should have talked it over one of these days.

He remembered, just like I did, that I had been at the ranch too when he unleashed his reckless fury. Back then, I was just another casualty of that herd made of his grief and rage.

“I didn’t care what happened to anyone,” His voice cracked slightly. “But now… it’s different. There’s Tracy and if we want any chance of Madison letting us in, she needs to see Tracy.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with uncertainty. I looked at Troy, my chest tightening with a mixture of fear and understanding.

He was risking everything—not just his pride, but his life—for the chance to secure a future for all of us. And even though I hated the idea of facing Madison, I couldn’t help but feel the same sense of hope Troy was clinging to.

“Troy…” I started, my voice soft, unsure of what to say.

But he just shook his head, his eyes hard as he looked back to the road. “We have to try.”

As they drove, the coordinates on the map became more and more confusing. The further we ventured, the more the land seemed to narrow, and soon we were staring at a stretch of water that separated us from their destination.

Troy slammed the car door, stepping out to look at the map again, disbelief etched across his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

I followed him out, glancing over his shoulder. The coordinates pointed to a small dot on the other side of the water. “Is that… an island?”

“Looks like it.” Troy ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “No wonder we couldn’t get there by road. They’re on an island.”

I squinted across the water, the outline of the distant land barely visible. “How are we supposed to get over there?”

Troy didn’t answer at first, his gaze scanning the shoreline. After a moment, he turned, his eyes landing on something half-buried in the sand at the water’s edge. “Hold on,” he said, already moving towards it.

I followed him, watching as he knelt down beside what looked like the wreckage of an old speedboat. The metal was rusted, the frame battered by weeks, maybe months of neglect, but Troy’s eyes lit up with a spark of determination.

“Think this can still work?” I asked, doubting it could float, much less get them across.

Troy didn’t respond immediately, his hands already inspecting the boat, checking the engine. There was still fuel in there that didn’t seem to be more than a few months old “It’s going to need some work… but yeah, I can fix it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? This thing looks like it’s been sitting here for years.”

Troy gave a dry laugh, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Months, it’s worse off because of the humidity. And you’d be surprised what I can get to work when I don’t have a choice.” He pulled out a toolbox from the boat car, setting it down beside him. “Besides, I’ve fixed worse.”

I watched him as he started tinkering with the engine, loosening bolts and replacing parts with scraps he’d salvaged. It was strange seeing him like this — calm, focused, in his element.

After a while, he glanced up at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, when I was in my teens, before the militia, my father used to make me work on tractors and cars after I got kicked out of school.”

I blinked in surprise. Troy never talked about his past anymore, let alone his father. The image of Jeremiah’s face, drained of blood and hollow after he shot himself still sent shivers down my spine.

“Yeah?” I prompted, leaning against the side of the boat.

“Yeah.” He kept working as he spoke, his tone casual but with a hint of bitterness. “He told me that if I couldn’t get my brain to work, ‘I better get those damn engines to work’” he said, mimicking his fathers voice, as far as he could still remember it. “I could at least be useful around the ranch. So, while my brother was off at college getting praised for being the ‘smart’ one, I was out in the fields fixing everything that broke down.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for him but didn’t say anything, knowing he wouldn’t want pity. Instead, I just watched as he worked, slowly but surely bringing the engine back to life.

“I guess it paid off in the end, though,” Troy continued, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Because now, I can get this thing running and get us to where we need to go.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. I knew his father wasn’t really the best dad. He neglected him for years while he was being abused by his mom. Jeremiah told me that himself. But I knew how much Troy still loved his father, and how much he wanted to prove himself to that old bastard. “Your dad would be proud.” I say

Troy chuckled, shaking his head. “I doubt that. But maybe he’d be impressed. A little.”

After what felt like hours, the boat finally sputtered to life, the engine coughing before settling into a steady hum. Troy stood up, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a magic trick.

“There,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans again. “Told you I could do it.”

I stared at the boat, amazed that it actually worked. “You never cease to amaze me, Troy.”

He shot me a playful look. “I’m full of surprises. Come on, let’s get moving before the tide changes.”

When we arrived at the gates of a small island, a teenage girl with brown hair and a fighting stick stepped forward to open it. She looked us up and down, her eyes sharp and calculating. “What’s your business here?” she asked.

I forced a calm smile and lied smoothly because Madison had to be the first person to see us and hear us out, “We’re looking for my missing child.” Tracy squeezed my hand as the girl sized us up, then nodded and led us inside.

She sized up once more before sighing “follow me.”

She guided us to a small office, which looked more like an interrogation room. “Wait here,” she said before disappearing through another door.

The moment she left, I glanced down at Tracy. She tried to keep a brave face, but I could see the fear in her eyes, even if she’d never admit it. I squeezed her hand tighter, offering some comfort, though a shudder ran through my back as well.

Troy, always observant, noticed and pulled me into a hug. His embrace was strong and steady, but I could feel the tension radiating from him too. He knew as well as I did—this wasn’t the Madison we once knew. Eleven years had passed, and while Madison and I had parted on good terms, things had changed. Madison had changed. She had to have grown colder, harder. After all, who could stay the same after everything that’s happened? I was with troy, and I was sure she hated him.

I had faith that she wouldn’t hurt a child, at least not intentionally, but the thought still gnawed at me. Without a word, I bent down and lifted Tracy into my arms, even though she was getting too big for it. I just needed to hold her, to feel her close. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her head nestled into my shoulder.

Then, the door creaked open.

All three of us turned toward it, the tension thick in the air as we braced for what—or who—was about to step through.

Madison’s face twisted with shock the moment her eyes fell on Troy. She froze, her expression a mix of disbelief and something close to fear, as if she were staring at a ghost. In a way, she was.

Her voice came out in a stunned whisper, “But… I killed you.”

Troy didn’t respond immediately. His jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his neck tensing as he bit his tongue. I could see the battle going on behind his eyes—the anger, the pain, the memories of everything she’d done to him.

I reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm, squeezing just enough to remind him that I was there. Supporting him. His eyes flicked to mine for a second, and I gave him a soft nod. We were in this together, no matter what came next.

Madison’s gaze darted between us, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. Tracy shifted slightly in my arms, sensing the heaviness in the air, but she stayed quiet, her small hand clutching at my sleeve.

Finally, Troy exhaled, his voice low but steady. “As you can see I’m alive and kicking,” His face did nothing to hide the glare coming from his eyes as he spoke “You didn’t finish the job, Madison.”

———————————————————

As always let me know what you liked and what you didn’t like.

I’m always open for critique

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added)

@elleirbag50 @aldenenjoyer

#troy otto #troy otto fanfic #fear the walking dead #ftwd #ftwd troy #ftwd x reader #troy otto x reader #troy x reader #troy/reader

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9w1ft · 4 months ago

Note

What's the vibe you're getting off of these recent things that happened in the Kaylor world? Do you think we're heading towards a public reunion of sorts or it's just regular koincidences they coordinate before bigger stunts?

(just for the record, i don’t think bearding and koincidences have some essential link wherein one is done for the purpose of counterbalancing the other. i think it’s closer to bearding being a part of their daily lives in a way which affords a sense of safety from within which they might feel more comfortable to express themselves (clown around). ultimately, it’s a big reason why people beard, the sense of safety, and i think that framing it as “stunts” counteracted by what are essentially received as gifts, or offerings in anticipation of them, unnecessarily inserts fans into the equation of the rhythm of their daily lives, which i feel makes things emotionally taxing for a lot of people, imo, okay, off my soap box..)

i think in essence this month has at the very least been another step in a long through-line of moments that has opened up the potential to reintroduce karlie into taylor’s friend group, which would be a next milestone.

but i don’t have a timeline for that.. and things could always change. even if i somehow knew one or had a good idea of a timeline, it ultimately might not work out, so, I wouldn’t want to place bets on it or get people to expect it or in the habit of expecting it. it’ll happen if and when it’s best for them, and i trust them on deciding the timing since they hold all the information.

my other more funny answer would be that, it’s not lotto ticket time yet (10 18 20 25) so i’m not expecting anything soon! but again, i really didn’t have a clue that karlie was going to go to eras (well… until about a week before) so, things can always happen unannounced!

as for what else it could be, i feel like this could just as easily be fun surprises for the lead up to rep tv, for example!

#i hope you enjoy my non-answer answer

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copperbadge · 1 year ago

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Radio Free Monday

Good morning everyone, and welcome to Radio Free Monday!

Just a note because I've had some inquiries lately -- it's always fine to include more than one way to give when submitting an item for RFM! It's always best to have a crowdfund page of some kind (gofundme, fundly, etc) and only list a direct payment processor like paypal or venmo as a secondary, but including multiple payment methods is okay, as long as you don't mind your paypal/venmo/etc being public.

Ways to Give:

hi-this-is-ali-rae is getting top surgery, scheduled for January; they're preparing for the surgery and the healing after, and raising funds to cover out-of-pocket costs and make their recovery as comfortable as possible. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

Anon linked to The Big Gay Market, a LGBTQ+ owned-and-operated pop up maker's market in Madison, Wisconsin, which has been in operation for nearly a year. They're looking to move into a bigger venue after receiving fantastic community support, and are crowdfunding via Kiva loan for a down-payment to reserve the space for their next market. (When you support organizations and people via Kiva it's a no-interest loan from you, so the money eventually comes back to the lender.) You can read more and contribute to the loan fund here.

nehirose's cat Winston had to go to the emergency vet last night for pyometra; they were able to get antibiotics and fluids, but she's fundraising for the visit fees and follow-up and spay with a non-emergency vet, which is a struggle with rent looming this week. You can read more and support the fundraiser here, read more and reblog here, or give via paypal here.

News to Know:

Anon wanted to remind folks that the US government is offering another round of free COVID tests; you can order four tests per household, and if you didn't order tests in September during the previous round, you can order eight per household. You can order tests via the post office or the COVID.gov website.

Recurring Needs:

Anon linked to a fundraiser for Alchemia and Bugland, who have urgent financial needs after the loss of their home, and are also looking for media contacts who would be interested in covering their story, or advocacy and legal support in Illinois, particularly support for people with disabilities, autism, blindness, and/or who are LGBTQ+. You can read more at Dreamwidth here and support the fundraiser at GoFundMe here.

gwydion's very elderly car broke down in late October; the repair, to a cooling hose, has cheap parts but expensive labor, and ate most of zir budget for the month. Ze can't do without a car, being disabled, but can't afford to replace it either; ze's raising $280 to help cover bills and the repair. You can give via PayPal here.

gwydion linked to a fundraiser for Squirrel, a good friend who has recently lost his job and needs to raise about $800 to cover bills and food; Squirrel has had a lot of interviews and believes he will have an offer but won't start work until December. You can give via paypal here.

gwydion linked to a fundraiser for a friend, whose dog Rosie needs medical care, dental work, and special food; you can read more and give here at gofundme.

mid-nighttiger linked to a fundraiser for a friend, Katherine, a cosplayer (501st and Rebel Legion, among others) who was in a serious car accident and has had a gofundme set up for her medical expenses; you can read more and reblog Mid-Nighttiger's post here or support the fundraiser here.

rilee16 is raising funds to cover utilities after having to use bill money to cover rent and late fees; Rilee also needs to be able to pay for medication. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.

#radio free monday #charity #philanthropy #fannish community

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thornpixie · 1 year ago

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Rewatching xo Kitty knowing the outcome, and I'm more convinced than ever that Dae deserved far better

Be warned, it’s a long one

That boy went through so fucking much. He TRIED to tell Kitty what was going on. He really tried.

He only got involved in the fake relationship thing with Yuri because he was at risk of being kicked out of school. His girlfriend lived on the other side of the world, as far as he knew, and the relationship with Yuri wasn't real. He is a teenage boy; he probably thought no one would get hurt. Yes, he was wrong to presume that. This isn’t a ‘Dae is perfect’ post. He isn’t. That’s what makes him so likeable to me. But he said himself - he only agreed it with Yuri four hours before he saw Kitty at the welcome party. He was completely blindsided by her, and STILL one of the first things he said to her was 'I need to tell you something'. HE TRIED TO TELL HER! But Yuri cut in. He cared about Kitty, but this was his future, and I completely understand why he went along with it. Given the chance to explain - which Yuri promised him he could do the following day - he knew Kitty enough to know she would understand. But he couldn't risk his future. One night wasn't worth getting kicked out of school for. Kitty completely blindsided him showing up out of the blue, and he was put on the spot. But this was his life. His education. His entire future.

It sucks that Kitty got hurt, but she was the one who flew across the world without telling him. Dae had to do what was best for him and his family, which was accepting Yuri's financial aid. Even after that, he tried to explain to her again. She refused to talk to him. And I get it, I really do. Again, these characters are teenagers and acting emotionally. Kitty was understandably furious and hurt. But Dae did not get the opportunity to explain then either. He tried again the next day, but there were bigger, far more powerful people involved, pulling the strings and manipulating him. This isn’t a grown man who should know better. This is a SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY! He is going through a lot. His mom has recently died. His family is brassic. His sister is being bullied, made worse by the fact her shoes are falling apart so everyone knows the family is poor, and you could see how upset Dae was that he couldn't help by getting her new shoes. He is at risk of getting kicked out of school because he can't afford the tuition. It seems obvious to me that his father is not coping well, and Dae is forced to step up and be there for his sister. At the same time, he is trying to be there for Kitty who, yes, has lost her mom, but she has no idea of the other struggles Dae faces. Should he have respected her enough to confide in her about his family situation? Probably. But I understand him making bad decisions as a teenager.

So someone comes along and offers to make all that stress go away. They're going to pay some of his school fees! And all he has to do is pretend to be in a relationship with them. Who wouldn't accept that offer? Then he is told to sign an NDA. Again, he is sixteen. He hasn't got a lawyer who can explain the implications to him. All he knows is he is getting a job and a salary and security for his family out of this deal where he just has to pretend to date a girl. The reality of it doesn't hit him until Yuri reminds him that he cannot tell Kitty about anything because now he has signed an NDA and will be sued. Everything he has been offered, all the great things for his family, are at risk of disappearing if he tells Kitty the truth. And at first he's going to do it anyway. He loves this girl, he trusts her, and he would do it to be with her... until Kitty herself proves she can't be trusted. She spilled the secret about Min Ho. At that point, he does the right thing for everyone involved. He literally cannot be with Kitty and tell her the truth without potentially getting himself SUED. He might love her, but they are teenagers. No high school romance is worth that risk, I don't care what anyone says. So he ends the relationship rather than string her along. And you can see it kills him to do it (big up Minyeong Choi's acting), but it is best for everyone involved. And tbf, he has little choice. His dad could lose his job too, and that is not worth it. It's just not. He doesn't have the luxury of acting out against his parents, like Yuri, and knowing she'll still never have to worry about a thing. He doesn't have the luxury of being able to do whatever the hell he wants, like Min Ho. He has a loving and supportive family unit in his father and sister, but everything they have is at risk. And he can fix it. He can make their lives easier by breaking his own heart. It is a selfless thing that he does.

I don't blame Kitty for her reactions. Again, she is a teenager, and she has an amazing family, a supportive step mom, financial security... ultimately, Kitty is a little spoiled by that. It's understandable. But she creates a lot of problems for herself with her lack of life experience. She needs to grow up a little bit, realise she doesn't know and understand everything, and give people a chance.

Min Ho was never really Dae's friend. He is a spoiled brat. He missed hanging out with him so he decides to throw his toys out the pram and be a jerk, just to have Dae back? That’s not teenager behaviour, that’s toddler behaviour. Okay, is he sweet to Kitty at times? Undoubtedly. I think he genuinely does grow to care about her. It doesn't make him any less of an asshole though. He could see how much his supposed 'best friend' was hurting, and he actively stirred the pot between him and Kitty, for his own agenda. Calling Yuri to tell her about the outdoors club. Insisting that Kitty was flirting with him. Pushing the 'Portland stalker' narrative. Telling Professor Lee about the dorm situation. Trying to make her get mad at Dae again when the truth came out and they got back together. GOING BEHIND HIS 'BEST FRIENDS' BACK AND TELLING THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE THAT HE WAS ALSO IN LOVE WITH HER AND BEING HAPPY SHE BROKE UP WITH HIM. He is an awful friend to Dae. And I'm not saying Dae is perfect, and there are definitely things he could have done better. But Min Ho is a spoiled, pretentious asshole who really doesn't care about anyone but himself and I hope Kitty doesn't develop feelings for him in return. He is used to getting everything he ever wanted, with no consequences (none that he cared about, anyway) and it’s boring. Kitty has shown zero romantic interest in him. Long may that continue.

Ultimately, Q is the only true friend that Dae has. I hope they will maintain that in season 2 by having him come clean about Florian. Otherwise, everything Dae has gone through for his family will be for nothing because he loses his room and board scholarship. I think Q has a strong sense of right and wrong, and a good moral compass, so regardless of his feelings for Florian, he will do the right thing. At least, I truly hope so.

Kitty and Dae need some time apart. They met when they were like twelve? And have been online dating ever since. They’ve never looked at anyone but each other romantically, and their entire being has been tied to this person who they couldn’t physically be with. That takes a toll. They need time apart to figure themselves out. Kitty, to explore her sexuality, and Dae to just get his life back on track. I truly believe that, in time, they could grow back together. I don’t think they can survive without each other. They’re too interwoven.

Anyway, a parting thought - JUSTICE. FOR. DAE.

#xo kitty #dae x kitty #kitty x dae #xo Kitty Dae #Minyeong Choi #anna cathcart

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written-in-flowers · 2 years ago

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Kimura Delivery Service: Pt. 1

Pairing: OC x S.W.O.R.D leaders (yes, you read that right)

Genre: smut, fluff, angst,

Word Count: 9k

Fandom: High & Low: The Story of S.W.O.R.D

Summary: After a life of swinging her fists, Sakyia is hopeful about her easy going job of delivering packages…However, her aunt neglected to mention the “regulars”: The gang leaders of S.W.O.R.D. and the undeniable affection they all grow to have for her.

Overall Warnings: blood and violence, fighting, gang activity, crime, mentions of death, multiple relationships, girlboss being a girlboss, not really ‘poly’ but girl has a string of lovers.

Prologue < | > Part 2

Tagged: @belle643

Chapter 1: S is for Sannoh Hoodlum Squad

The apartment above the store was smaller than her old home, but it looked cozy. Even with the old furniture, chipped wallpaper and musty carpet underneath her feet, she felt a sense of warmth throughout the room. Looking around, they’d certainly have to fix it up to be comfortable. With a separate bedroom on the side, the bathroom remained the only other room. She figured her and her mother would be sharing a room until they could afford a bigger place. She didn’t mind. It was better than having no bed at all. She opened a window to let out the stuffy air, and saw the spectacular view…

A small courtyard and the opposite building behind them.

When her mother and aunt came back up, Sakyia noticed they’d brought two young men with them. One was tall with long black dreadlocks, and his companion was darker and shorter. She guessed these were Junpei’s friends. The boy with the dreadlocks smiled when he saw her, then nudged his friend, who also grinned.

“Sakyia,” Hana said, “I’d like you to meet Tettsu,” the tall one waved, “And Dan,” the short one bowed slightly. “They come and help me from time to time.”

“Because Junpei tells them too.”

“Cobra doesn’t force us to do anything,” Tettsu immediately said, placing down one of their boxes. “We’re always here for our neighborhood. It’s what Sannoh Hoodlum Squad is about: protecting and caring for the town.”

She tried to stifle a laugh, “Sannoh Hoodlum Squad? That’s your gang’s name?” It wasn’t the worst name she’d ever heard.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Cobra is our leader.”

“His nickname is ‘Cobra’?” she snickered, picking up the box of kitchen items. “It would be.”

“Sakyia!” Midori furrowed her brow, “Stop being rude.”

“I’m not being rude,” she put it on the counter, giggling softly, “Just voicing an opinion. You told me Sannoh is a good place to live.”

“It is,” Dan told her reassuringly. “You’ll see once you’re settled in. Sannoh Hoodlum Squad isn’t like the ones you’re probably used to seeing. We take care of our people.”

“You can come to the diner and see for yourself,” Tettsu suggested. “It’s called the Itokan Diner.”

“Ooh! That sounds nice!” Midori said. “Is it a new place? I haven’t been home in such a long time; everything’s changed around here.”

The pair began explaining it to her as Sakyia helped unload the car downstairs. They seemed nice, but most gangsters did. However, looking them both over, and listening to them talk, they did not seem the type to be in gangs. They were friendly and helpful to her aunt, who appreciated them enough to offer rice balls the next time they came. They didn’t brag or flaunt any fancy things they’d bought. Should she have passed them in the street, they’d appear like any normal youths. Sakyia knew more than most that appearances can be deceiving. She decided she’d leave her judgment for more contemplative hours; she had work to do.

Sakyia spent the rest of the day putting things away and trying to make something of a home in the apartment. She made shelf space for her art supplies and books; her mother brought small potted plants to place along the window sill for some life. Family photos went on shelves and walls; they’d put her father’s remains in an ornate wooden box on the bedroom dresser. By the time they’d finished, night fell and the apartment seemed less empty and shabby.

“We need food,” her mother frowned when she saw the empty fridge. “I’ll order take out for tonight. Burgers, Blossom?”

“I guess,” she shrugged.

“Don’t get burgers,” Hana said, unpacking the last kitchen box. “There’s a perfectly good diner down from here that serves way better food.”

“That diner your friends mentioned?” asked Sakyia.

“You’ll love their food,” she insisted. “Naomi is such a great cook, and the prices are reasonable.” Midori looked at Sakyia with raised eyebrows, and Sakyia shrugged again. They turned to Hana who nodded, “I’ll place the order. Sakyia can go pick it up. You can walk there, it’s not too far.”

“Ugh, Auntie,” she groaned, plopping onto the couch. She let her body sink into it as she said, “I’m so tired. Can’t they deliver?”

“They don’t do that,” Hana replied. “Stop being lazy. You’re young. Besides, Junpei might be there.”

“Um okay, so?”

She caught her mother and her aunt looking at one another. She groaned and let her head fall back on the couch. It was inevitable that this would come up: Cobra was a young man. Sakyia was a young woman, new in town. “He’s a man of few words, but he’s very nice-” Hana began, but Sakyia cut her off.

“-I literally just arrived,” she said. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m looking to sit down and never get back up again.”

“We weren’t thinking that at all,” her mother said unconvincingly. She grabbed a bottle of wine that Hana brought, and said, “Your aunt was telling us what a nice young man Junpei is, that’s all.”

“Mh-hm, your mom keeps complaining to me about how you’re always at home, you don’t go to school, you don’t have a lot of friends-”

“-Well, I wasn’t really in a place to make any friends.”

No, she hadn’t been. Yes, there’d been fighters she became friendly with in the warehouse, but nobody she saw outside of the place. Twelve years fighting on dirt and sawdust, her hands and wrists wrapped up, forged her into something. A weapon. Jiro took up most of her time, so she never went out with friends or her mother all that much. The one person she'd grown closest to sat in a Rasen prison cell. Sakyia recalled the times she’d tried fitting in with girls at her school: going shopping, wearing makeup and pretty clothes; talking about boys they liked and things they did over the weekend. She wanted that life. She wanted a circle of friends who stuck by her side, and lifted her up. Often, she imagined going shopping with a group of friends, and visiting her mother's salon togethet.

But, Jiro pulled her away from that to fight in the pits. Plus, the bruises kept people at a distance. Thinking of the endless fights night after night already tired her out. She withdrew the small sketchpad from her bag with a pencil, and returned to her drawing.

She was done with fighting. She did not mind a bit of practice to keep herself in shape, but fighting people? Sakyia refused to do it ever again. She’d wasted her life on pointless fighting. She’d only done it because of Jiro; otherwise she might’ve given up on it entirely and focused on her art. Martial arts used to be something her father and her shared. When he died, it felt meaningless to continue. Sakyia looked forward to helping her mother in the salon, doing simple tasks and meeting people. Maybe she can enroll in a beauty school and become a stylist herself. She could still go, if she wanted; she was only twenty-five. She still had so much ahead, and with Jiro and the warehouse gone, she could be something more than that.

“-Alright, she’ll come by to pick it up,” Hana said over the phone. “Thank you, Naomi. Have a good night.” She turned back to Midori and Sakyia by the television, “Alright you, time to go. Here’s the address,” she scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Sakyia, “She says it’ll be done in thirty minutes or so.”

“Then, I’ll go in thirty minutes.”

“No, young lady,” said Midori, picking up her glass of wine from the coffee table. “You’ll go now. That way it’ll be hot when you bring it back.”

“You two just want me out of the house so you can have the wine to yourselves,” Sakyia accused, putting her pad and pencil aside.

“That’s right,” she smiled, pouring her sister a glass. “I haven’t drank properly since I married Jiro,” she said to Hana. “He said he thought women drinking was an ugly trait. I can’t believe I actually listened to him.”

“I can’t believe you married him!” said Hana, sitting on the sofa between her and Sakyia.

This was her cue to leave. She slowly stood from the couch, slipped on her jacket and shoes, and headed out the door. Once outside, she entered the address into her phone and began walking. The sky started changing from day into night, and she saw businesses already closing. She did receive curious looks from locals who’d never seen her, but she nodded politely. Walking down the street, Sannoh did not seem like such a rough place. It did appear a bit run down in places, yet she liked that. It felt real. Sakyia saw herself living in this small town. She could inherit the salon or start her own art gallery and sell her drawings, if they were good enough. She smiled softly. This could be a good place for her and her mother.

She found the Itokan Diner wedged in a corner of the street with a small sign bearing its name in bold letters. Sakyia took a deep breath, and then pushed on the door. Her stomach growled at the scent of savory food in the air. She took a look around the small diner: it had bench tables, posters and words plastered on the walls, and chandeliers made from glass bottles. The rustic, comforting look must draw in a good amount of people during the night. She then noticed the room going quiet when she walked in.

“Hey, Sakyia!” Tettsu called to her from one of the tables, “You actually came!”

“Um, yeah,” she said, caught off guard by his grin, “My aunt ordered some food and I’m picking it up.”

Behind the counter, a short slim woman with brown hair stirred a pot over the stove. Sakyia guessed this was Naomi, the woman her aunt mentioned. She turned around when the door opened and smiled at Sayika.

"You must be Sakyia," she said. "Hana said you'd be coming by to pick up the food. It won't be ready for a while, so if you want to sit and have a drink, you're welcome to."

"Thanks," she took a seat at the bar. "They kicked me out so they can have all the wine to themselves. What do you have to drink around here?"

"Beer mostly," she replied.

Beer wasn't her favorite, but she asked for one. She gazed around the diner and noticed a drawing on the wall. It was a crown with two tigers on either side with the gang's name on a banner. She snorted. It was a decent design. She'd still seen worse. She took a swig from the beer Naomi placed in front of her and noted the photos on a shelf nearby. Two men stood together in front of a familiar logo on the wall. Two snakes tangled together in a circle underneath the words "Mugen" was a familiar sight to her.

"This used to be Mugen’s place?" the question came out before she stopped herself.

Naomi finished wiping a glass and said, "Ah, no. My brother, Tatsuya, was in it before he started the diner. The other man was his best friend, Kohaku. Why? Did you know them?"

"Not personally, but guys in the warehouse used to wear their vests and talk about them." She took another drink of beer when Naomi moved closer to her.

"Warehouse?"

She'd said too much. If this woman's brother was part of Mugen, she might not know about their part in the fighting rings. "I used to be a secretary in a warehouse in the bay area. With so many men around, they all try to impress you and say they know guys in Mugen or are a part of it."

"A lot of guys used to do that," said a male voice behind her.

She turned to see a dark haired man sitting not too far away, his own plate of food in front of him. His wide shoulders slimmed down his torso, though hidden behind the green sweater he wore. Judging by his face, he didn't like what Sakyia was saying.

"Doesn't mean Kohaku was involved," he said. "Guys in Mugen used its name to do bad things like deal drugs and women. But we weren't involved in that."

"Never said they did," she replied, a bit taken back by his reaction. "Just things I heard." She noticed another photo with Cobra and the other man with the first two. They also wore Mugen vests. It explained the man's reaction.

"She was only saying, Yamato. She didn't mean anything by it," Naomi defended her.

Men were so sensitive. She wondered what Yamato might say if she told him that Mugen members liked to fight and bet in the warehouse. Drinking her beer, she remembered a boy she'd fought who boasted about being part of Mugen. He made it sound as if she should've been scared of him. Sakyia would admit he dislocated her shoulder, broke her upper lip, bruised up her stomach and nearly choked her, but she'd beat him. He lost when a swift kick to the temple knocked him out. Sakyia smirked to herself. She recalled what she'd said to his manager.

"It appears that Mugen isn't as tough as they say."

"You were a part of Mugen, then?" she asked.

"Cobra and Yamato were," said Tettsu, coming over to her side, "But the rest of us joined them when they started the Sannoh Hoodlum Squad."

"Is there a signup sheet or something? How do you even join a gang?" The idea amused her. Naomi laughed as she turned back to the stove.

"Well, um, you sort of show up to the base and, kind of, join?"

"Why? Are you interested?" a deep voice asked from nearby.

She turned around to see Cobra sitting in a corner booth, a motorcycle magazine in front of him. In the dim lighting of the diner, his hair shone a dark gold color and softened his features. She understood her mother's suggestion at once. Even Sakyia wouldn't deny it: he was handsome. He didn't smile and spoke in a low voice.

"What if I was?" she asked, leaning back on the bar. "Do you accept women?"

The men in the bar laughed, but Cobra gazed at her. She tried not showing her uneasiness at his silent staring. His eyes remained absent the usual flirtatiousness; they observed her closely, as if they could see through her act. He studied her and she didn't like it. It reminded her too much of the men at the warehouse, who examined her like a horse for sale. The men who trained her said she had a slim body good for dodging and speed. She often fought men and women larger than her and her size came in handy. Cobra looked at her the way they did now.

"Depends," he said, "How good of a fighter are you?"

"Fighter?" Dan furrowed his brow.

Yamato turned to him in surprise, "What do you mean by that? She's a girl."

"That doesn't mean she couldn't fight any of you," said Naomi, who continued stirring her noodles. "She's got the body for it. She’s smaller and probably quicker than you, Baldy."

“Hag,” Yamato spat back, though his smile gave away the affection.

"Oh, I can't fight to save my life," Sakyia fibbed, finishing her beer. "I can't do all that fancy, tough guy martial arts stuff that guys do nowadays." It wasn't anyone's business what she could and couldn't do. Her father used to tell her not to show off or boast about her skills; that way she had the element of surprise. "I don't mind watching though. It’s kinda hot when guys fight each other," she added, winking at him. She expected a reaction, but didn't get one. He continued staring, and she stared right back. "What about you guys? What's your gang all about?"

"We protect the town," Cobra said. "There are other gangs around here who like hurting people and stealing. We stop them. We look after each other and make sure everyone is safe."

"How admirable. Most gangs I know deal drugs and fight all the time."

"Don't be fooled," said Naomi, putting rice into a small styrofoam container. "These guys use their fists to solve their problems all the time. You won't believe the amount of times they walk in here all bruised up and bleeding."

"But we win," Yamato quickly added, digging back into a hot plate of food.

"That’s not why we fight though,” said Cobra, going back to his magazine. “We fight hard because this town is worth fighting for. We all came together because of that shared love for our town. If you stick around long enough, you'll see it for yourself."

"Who could possibly want to mess with this little place?" she asked, the smell of the food making her hungry again. "There isn't anything here."

"People who want to step on the weak," he said. "The people who steal from those who already have nothing."

“I suppose my mom and I should be glad we moved into such a well protected area then,” she said, smirking at his righteous statement. She found it funny how serious he sounded. “So, do I call you if I ever need ‘protection’ or do you guys operate like Batman, and you happen to show up at the right time?”

The younger members chuckled at the joke, but stopped once Cobra stood up. All the nerves inside Sakyia lifted her shoulders slightly. She didn’t want to fight. Cobra came a few feet to her, then said, “I don’t think someone like you needs protection in the first place.”

“Meaning?”

“You claim you don’t know how to fight,” he said, “But then explain the scars on your knuckles.”

Sakyia looked at the hand on the bar, where a long scar stood out against her skin amongst smaller ones. “Accident,” she answered quickly. “It’s how I got this too, if you were planning on mentioning it,” she tapped the thin scar where Yoshi busted her nose. It healed well enough, but left a mark. “I was riding on a motorcycle with a friend, and it turned over. I broke my knuckle bone and my nose. Nothing suspicious about that.”

Cobra’s seriousness broke into a shadow of amusement. “I’ve been riding my motorcycle for years. I’ve never seen people get such specific injuries from an accident.”

“Are you some kind of motorcycle accident expert or something?” she spat back, “I got them from an accident, that’s it.”

"Your mom said she was opening up Sungmi's salon," Tettsu said, taking your attention from Cobra and his questions. "Will you be working there too?"

"Yeah," she nodded, peeling her eyes away from Cobra. "I'm not a stylist or anything, but she says I can clean and do reception."

Naomi came to her holding three styrofoam boxes. "Oh, she's opening back up the salon?"

"She'll be helping run it, yeah."

"Thank god!" She sighed in relief, "All the women around here have been going to the barber because the salon’s closed. It'd be nice to get a proper haircut."

"And a manicure or pedicure," Sakyia added. "My mom is hiring some nail artists to bring in more clients. She's going to have it properly running in a week or so. She actually does my hair," she showed off her short wavy bob, the ombre colors of brown and black fading out. "You should stop by when it's open."

"I definitely will," she said, "And I know plenty of other women who will stop by."

"I can come too," Tettsu chimed in eagerly.

"Salons are for women, Tettsu," Yamato rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with a man going to a salon," Sakyia said to him. "Same as a woman going to a barber shop.”

"Then I will come by," Tettsu smiled. "And you can come to my family's onsen."

"Your family's bathhouse is for men," Naomi told him.

"We could make a private space for her."

Sakyia chuckled, "The offer is nice, but no thank you."

"Well, if you change your mind…" he blushed, turning away. “You can just, you know, drop by or whatever.”

"What's with your nickname anyways?" She turned to Cobra again. She hated how he’d seen her scars and deduced their cause. She needed to prod him back. Her mother might scold her, but she didn’t care. "Is it supposed to compensate for something?"

Yamato nearly choked on his food. Dan and Tettsu stifled laughter and Naomi busied herself with putting the food in take out bags. Cobra didn't smile but he didn't glare either. His lack of reactions had begun to annoy her. Also, his stare made her squirm inside.

"In school," he said, smiling somewhat when he saw she wasn't being malicious, "There was this grapple I learned how to do. People said I did it so tight, it was like a cobra squeezing them. Someone said it and the name stuck," he shrugged.

"Maybe you can show me," she suggested, picking up the plastic bags Naomi handed her. "You know, since this town is so dangerous and I'm a defenseless woman wandering the streets at night."

Yamato gawked at her, "Wow, this girl's bold!"

“I doubt you’re defenseless,” Cobra smirked.

She tried not laughing at their reactions. She paid for the food and drink, thanked Naomi and said her farewell. Once outside, she giggled to herself. Men were so easily shocked by bold behavior. They seemed like a decent group. She decided she might stop by the diner more often.

That was how people made friends, right?

When she returned to the shop, she climbed the stairs and heard her mother laughing behind it. Sakyia stood outside the door for a moment to listen. She hadn’t heard her mother’s laugh for a long time. Full of mirth and giddiness, she’s sure the wine is helping it along but Auntie Hana’s presence adds to this. A surge of hope actually swirled in her chest. Maybe things will work out for them in this little town.

“Ma, I’m back,” she called into the apartment as she entered.

“Oh, good! We’re starving!” Hana sighed in relief, coming to the kitchen counter where Sakyia placed the bags. She began opening the bags, deeply inhaling the food, “Perfect. Naomi is a great cook. You’re both going to love her food.”

“Okay, okay, let’s get to eating.”

Her mother grabbed utensils, and passed them around. Sitting at the small dining table next to the kitchen, the women dug into their meals. Sakyia agreed with her aunt about the food: it was delicious. The tender chunks of meat stew melted in her mouth, full of seasonings and spices that complimented the bed of rice underneath. Only her mother’s own cooking surpassed it. Dipping a piece of broccoli in the sauce and eating it, her mother spoke.

“Sakyia,” she began, “Your aunt and I have been talking while you were gone.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hana asked, affronted.

“Because whenever she starts a sentence with ‘your aunt and I have been talking’, it’s about to be something crazy.”

“Ah, hush you,” her mother nudged her with a smile. “I know we talked about you working with me in the salon, but Hana here told me she’s been looking for a delivery person for the store.”

“Okay…” she listened, eating another piece of saucy steamed vegetables.

“I think it’d be a better fit for you,” she stated, eating a bit of her own rice. “You’d be bored in the salon. You used to whine and wail about it when you were little, and you haven’t changed since then. Going around the districts, seeing the different places and meeting new people might be better for you. You’d be occupied and stimulated instead of sweeping floors and listening to gossip.”

“I wanted to sweep floors and listen to gossip,” she said. After the years she spent in the rings, she’d somewhat looked forward to ‘boring mundane work’.

“No, you didn’t,” her mother said. “You only want that because of, you know, your last…job.” She watched her daughter for a moment, seeing the way she avoided her gaze. “It’d be good for you,” she added. “You might make some friends that way and have a normal life.”

It sounded convincing, she wouldn’t lie. Sakyia knew deep down she’d get tired of working in the salon. It’d been the same during her childhood. She looked at Hana, “What would I be doing? Just delivering stuff to people?”

“Yes,” she nodded, drinking some of her wine. “People drop off their packages or send them in through other people; I charge and stamp them, and you’d take them where they need to go. Before you ask, a lot of these people don’t have the means or the time to give the packages and letters themselves. The family service is there to help them out. Besides, it’s good money,” she eyed them both before eating from her bowl. “It’ll help you greatly to have two incomes instead of one.”

“She’s got a point,” her mother agreed, washing down her food with water. “It’ll be good for us to have extra money coming in; then we’ll be able to get our own place quicker.”

Sakyia mulled this over while she ate. Her mother and her left their old home in a hurry, leaving them with little chances to find a proper and affordable place. If they save enough money, they can move into an apartment and leave the dingy flat above the postal shop.

“How would I get around?” Sakyia asked, seeing the flaw right away.

“You can use Koichi’s scooter,” she said. “He left it behind when he moved out of town. It’s in the courtyard between our building and the ones behind it.” She saw Sakyia’s hesitancy. “It’ll be good for you. Trust me. Not to mention,” she smirked to herself, “Some of my regulars are rather handsome.”

“Ooh!” her mother smiled, eyebrows raised at Sakyia.

“I’m not interested in that.”

“Oh please! A heartbreaker like you? I doubt it,” she rapped her arm and Sakyia smirked. “I remember all the little boys your mother used to tell me about; all of them trying to gain the attention of Tanaka Sakyia and being ignored. You don’t have to marry them, but,” she sneered, “It doesn’t hurt to have some fun.”

“My daughter is not that kind of girl, Hana.”

“I never said she was, but come on, Midori. We used to do the same when we were her age. You didn’t have a proper boyfriend until you met Kenji. But, that’s not important,” she said. “The job is easy and simple. The clients tip well for the service, and they’ll tip twice when they see how pretty you are. You won’t be fighting anyone or be in any sort of danger.” When Sakyia did not appear convinced, she continued, “Look, try it out for a week. I have clients around the district here, so you’ll at least get familiar with the area before you make a decision. How about it?”

Sakyia weighed the pros and cons of this job. It’d include a lot of travel and talking to strangers, going into places of the district she’d yet to explore. Yet, she’d be making her own money, and contributing to her home rather than sweep floors and take calls in a salon for free. This new job will give her something to do, since little Sannoh did not appear to offer much. She looked to her mother, who smiled at her encouragingly. Sakyia felt slightly disappointed. Boring work sounded so nice. No bloody fists. No broken bones or bruised skin. No rings. She’d have only a broom and dustpan; a phone and a computer to write down appointments. With this little bike and parcels, she may run into trouble, which she wished to avoid. But, looking around their new home, they needed the money.

“I’ll give it a shot,” she finally said. “How hard can it really be?”

Hana cheered and smiled widely, “Excellent! Oh, you’re gonna love it! It’ll be an easy gig for you, I promise.”

“You’ll do well,” her mother added, gripping her hand gently.

“I hope so.”

The three women finished their dinner, and then Hana left for the night. Sakyia felt too tired to unpack anything else, so she showered in the small bathroom and crashed onto her new bed. The full mattress squeaked, and felt slightly firm underneath her. It was better than nothing. Her mother took the bed on the other side of the room, and both of them fixed their beds for sleep.

“I think this will be good for us,” her mother said, her voice breaking the silence in the dark room. “This is the new beginning we needed. No debt collectors. No punks. No Jiro. Just you and me and this shabby apartment.”

Sakyia smiled to herself, turning her head to look at her mother a few feet away. “We’ll find a way to make this apartment a home, until we find our own. You’ll buy Sungmi’s salon and have your own business again.”

“And maybe you’ll finally make friends.” She then hesitated, “Possibly even boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends?” she scoffed. “As if.”

“Eh, well, you’re a lot more popular with boys than you’ve ever realized. Jiro kept you so close and isolated, you never noticed the boys. Maybe now that you’re older you’ll become the little heartbreaker your father said you’d be,” she snickered at the last point.

She snorted, pulling the covers to her chin. “He never said that.”

“He did,” she insisted. “He kept saying he’d have to train more to fight off the line of boys that’ll be at our door.” She then said, “Just make sure he’s a nice boy? You know, who comes from a good family, has a job, is kind and gentle with you. A real gentleman.”

“Oh, Ma, can we stop the boyfriend talk, please?”

Midori laughed at her daughter’s groaning, remembering briefly how her husband used to do the same. “Alright, fine. Goodnight, Blossom.”

“Night, Ma.”

****

Her mother busy with setting up the salon and acquainting herself with employees, she’d left Sakyia to her own devices. She ate a quick breakfast of leftovers and washed up. Pulling on her father’s bomber jacket, dark navy and worn in the seams, she tied up half of her hair and went downstairs to find stacks of parcels left on the counter. Hana moved around them, smiling at her.

“Ah good, you’re here,” she said, kissing Sakyia’s cheek. “I got some packages that need to be sent as soon as possible. Don’t worry, I picked out local places so you can get familiar with Sannoh first. That way, if you decide you don’t want the job, my regulars won’t be accustomed to you.”

“Sounds good to me,” she nodded. “What do I do with them? Can that little bike hold all these?”

Hana began explaining the job to her. People normally made calls to have packages picked up or dropped off from one place to another. Sakyia only needed to drop it off, have them sign for it, and she went on to the next place. To pick up orders, she’d have to go to the address on the appointment sheet, and make sure to be there on time since the longer she took, the lower her tip is likely to be. The job sounded easy enough, especially with the bike in the back.

“Here it is,” Hana led her to the courtyard behind the shop, each woman carrying stacks of boxes.

Against a wall leant an aquamarine and white motor scooter. The previous owner painted orange and red flames on the back, and plastered bumper stickers that were later scratched off. Sakyia never rode one before, but it could not be much different from a motorcycle, which she knew how to navigate decently. Attached to the back was a wire cart, which she guessed added extra space for parcels.

“It’s not the fanciest thing in the world,” Hana said, putting her stack carefully in the cart. “But it runs well. If you ever have trouble, there’s a little mechanic shop in town where you can go. Yamato is very good at fixing bikes.”

She recalled Yamato from the previous night. “Hm, noted,” she said, adding hers beside them.

“Here are the keys,” she handed her a small set of keys. “The first place on your list is the Dan Convenience store. The owner is a good friend, but he’s too busy with the store to pick them up. Make sure they get there in one piece.”

Sakyia looked at the clipboard her aunt put on top of the parcels. On it were several names, addresses, and times to be delivered. Her aunt must’ve spent the early morning making phone calls to get them. She supposed she should start right away. Putting on the matching helmet hanging off the handle, she guided the bike around the side of the shop and onto the street. She typed the address into her navigation app, and saw a clear path to the little store. She planted herself firmly on the seat, nerves starting to numb her fingers and toes as she turned on the engine. It hummed to life underneath her, and she pressed the pedal to jolt forward. The first few starts startled her, but once she finally turned onto the street, she got the hang of it. Thankfully, years of maintaining balance helped.

The app took her to a small store a few blocks away. It appeared to be the typical convenience store, with the wide windows displaying special deals or sales. She turned off the bike and removed her helmet. She went over what she’d say as she picked up the first of the big boxes. A simple ‘hello, package for you’ might be a good start. It did not need to be a whole conversation. Though, being the newcomer in town, she might have to actually have a conversation. She’d done fine the other night in the diner. This won’t be any different. Keep things easy. Keep things flowing.

“Welcome!” Two voices said in unison.

Twin girls stood up from the register counter, hands behind their backs and formally bowing their heads when she walked in. She noticed they wore pink and black jackets, and long pink aprons. They were also tall. They almost towered over her.

“Um, good morning,” Sakyia said, “I have some packages for the owner…” she looked at the name on her clipboard, “Dan?”

“Dan’s not the owner,” said the twin with long brown hair.

“His dad is,” said her sister, who had shorter hair in two braids.

“He’s not here right now.”

“You can leave the packages with us.”

“Alright…” she said, but then someone else came up.

“Oh, Sakyia, you’re here.”

It was Dan, one of the Sannoh members, she remembered. Tall with black hair parted to the side, he gave her a smile as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“Morning, Dan,” she said, showing she hadn’t forgotten his name. “I take it by the name, this is your family’s store?”

“Yes, it is,” he nodded, taking the box from her carefully. “My dad’s not here, but I can sign for the packages.”

“Okay, good.”

She handed him the clipboard, and stared around the store. She recalled the empty fridge back home, and considered picking up some of the basics. Sakyia knew she had time in between locations to put the things back home. “Do you sell ready-to-eat meals?” she heard herself ask, peeking the fridges along the wall.

“We do,” he nodded, handing her the clipboard. “We sell lots of things here for a lady on the go,” she noticed his friendly smile, “As well as necessities.”

“Hm, good,” she nodded. “My mom and I moved in yesterday, and neither of us has had time to shop.” She checked her phone for the time. She could do a bit of shopping.

“Oh, so you’re the newcomer,” said the long-haired twin. “Naomi mentioned you. I’m Oshiage-”

“-And I’m Shiba,” said the short-haired one. “She said your mother’s a hairstylist-”

“-And that she’s opening up Sungmi’s salon.”

Did they always do that? Sakyia nodded slowly, “Yeah, she’s working there. She’s really good at what she does. Her salon back home was really popular.”

“Where was, um, home?” Dan asked, hands in his back pockets. “Ms. Kimura mentioned you came from another district.”

“Chikuni Bay,” she answered. “We lived near the warehouse district by the water until we had to move.”

“Gosh, it must’ve been nice living by the water,” he smiled, gazing over her face. Why was he doing that? It unnerved her.

“She’s not interested,” said Shiba, irritably.

“Stop being a creep.”

“I’m not being a creep!” he exclaimed, mouth agape and a blush tinging his cheeks. “I’m only being friendly, that’s all. She’s new and as part of the Sannoh Hoodlum Squad, it’s my duty to make people feel welcome here.”

They rolled their eyes together, unconvinced by his argument. “I think I’ll go, um, get the rest of the boxes-” she began to say, backing away to the doors.

“-No, no, I’ll get them,” Dan insisted. “You can take a look around the shop in the meantime.”

“Alright, thanks.”

She left him to get the packages, while she picked up a basket. Scanning the different aisles, she picked out bread and fruits for the home. She’d been looking at the refrigerated area, examining the different types of ready-to-eat meals on the shelves, when she heard another person enter the store.

“Hey Junko,” the twins said together.

“Hey Twin Towers.”

Sakyia did not really pay much mind to the women who walked into the store. She’d been deciding between a curry meal or a bento box when footsteps approached. The chicken curry and rice sounded more to her mother’s taste. She’d be fine with a bento.

“Hey,” a voice caught her attention. She looked to see two girls dressed in black with long pink and white jackets standing a few feet from her. The one with the short black hair seemed to have spoken. “You’re Ms. Kimura’s niece?”

“I am,” she nodded, putting the two items in her basket. “Who are you?”

“I’m Junko,” she said. “This is Asuka,” she nodded to the girl wearing a long ponytail behind her. “We’re part of Ichigo Milku.”

“Strawberry milk?”

“It’s our favorite drink,” said Asuka. “It's our gang name.”

Ah, another Sannoh gang. “That’s…cool,” Sakyia said, “I wasn’t aware Sannoh had a girl gang.”

“We’re the only ones,” Junko said proudly. “We take care of the women in Sannoh, and make sure they’re safe.”

“How admirable,” she checked her time again, and saw she was running out. “It was nice meeting you guys, but I gotta check out and then get back on my route.”

“We heard your mom’s opening up Sungmi’s salon,” Junko said. “Is she any good?”

“She’s amazing,” she told them honestly. “She does my hair all the time.” Like with Naomi, she showed them her hair cut. “It’s faded out, but she retouches it for me when she has the time,” she added, in case they thought the dye job was bad. She walked over to the register, putting down her items. It wasn’t much, but enough to get them until they could shop together. “She’s hired nail artists too, if you all are interested in that,” she said, “and all the old stylists that used to work there before Sungmi left.”

“That sounds great!” Asuka beamed, “I’ve been dying to get my nails done!”

“Us too!” the two twins said.

They began scanning her items when she spotted the cupcake display. Vanilla and chocolate cupcakes with different colored frosting and sprinkles lined a small case by the register. They looked good. Sakyia could not remember the last time she ate anything sweet. Jiro often kept her on a strict diet, and prohibited sweets. She knew if he stood next to her, he’d sharply scold her for thinking about it. It made her want one even more.

“-Junko,” Asuka whispered her name and nodded to the door.

Sakyia saw Junko’s hard exterior melt once she looked at the door. She turned to see Cobra walking into the shop, hands in his pockets. Sakyia guessed Junko liked him by how she stared at him with dreamy eyes. It reminded her of the girls she used to know in school. She recalled how they acted around boys they liked, and the stupid things they did to get his attention. Sakyia never had time to care about boys; Jiro took up most of it. Cobra noticed them all in the shop, and his eyes locked with hers for a moment. He was as broody today as he’d been last night. Still such a mystery to her.

“Morning,” she said politely, nodding her head at him.

“Morning, Sakyia.”

He took a spot behind her in line, and she noticed the nervous glances Junko and the other girls gave one another. She turned back to the twins, who finished scanning and bagging her meager selection.

“You’re taking up Koichi’s job then?” Cobra asked her, much to the shock of the other girls.

“I am,” she nodded, fishing for her wallet in her jacket pocket. “It helps out my aunt’s business and gives me a little extra money.”

“I’m glad Hana’s back in business,” he said. “Her service helps a lot of people in Sannoh.”

“And helps me out at the same time,” she said, trying her best to joke. He made her nervous with his stare and his handsome face and his presence. She looked at the dessert display again. “How much are the cupcakes?” she asked the twins.

“216 yen each,” said Shiba.

She sucked her teeth. Her slight against Jiro would have to wait another day. She paid for everything, and stepped aside. Another check of her phone told her she needed to get going before her next appointment. She hated her impulsive decisions. Dan having removed his packages, she had space for her bags.

“I’ll see you all around,” she said. That’s something friendly people say, don’t they?

“See ya, Sakyia!” said Asuka and the twins.

“Bye Sakyia!” Dan popped out from the back with a wide smile. “Come back whenever you want, really!”

“Ugh, you’re so pathetic, Dan,” said one of the twins.

Junko seemed too transfixed on Cobra, who only nodded at Sakyia. She felt his eyes on her still as she left the shop. It bothered her so damn much. Why did he have to stare? It made her hot under the collar, and her cheeks flushed pink. She set her bags down inside securely, then looked to see that she needed to get to her next location soon. She entered the next address on her phone when someone came up beside her.

"Here."

Cobra stood next to her bike, handing her a small bag. Inside, on a plate, sat a vanilla cupcake with baby blue frosting. Sakyia looked between him and the cupcake, a bit confused and stunned.

"Thank you," she said, gingerly taking the bag. "You didn't have to do that. I would've gotten it another time."

"I wanted to," he replied, shrugging.

She straddled her bike and put on her helmet with urgency. The small gesture reminded her of another person she’d known. He liked to give her random gifts as well; he used to brush it off too. Jesse was never one for grandiose gestures of affection even at fourteen. She placed the cupcake bag with the ones in the cart, and looked back at him.

“Why?”

“You looked like you could use it.”

“I could use a lot more things than a cupcake.”

“Still, we can find happiness in the little things too, you know.” Her phone pinged, and he said, “Looks like you have a busy day ahead.”

“Seriously busy,” she said. “My aunt’s orders are super backed up; there’s more waiting at the store. I’m sure it would’ve been worse if your friends hadn’t helped her before.”

“Your family’s business helps a lot of people around here, and Hana’s a good friend of my parents,” he said. “It would’ve been cruel of me to not lend a hand. She also helps keep the balance around here.”

“Balance? What ‘balance’?”

“Between the gangs in SWORD,” he answered. “There are five gangs in Chikuni, and we all use your aunt’s business when we want to deal with one another. That way, nobody walks into each other’s territories without warning first.”

“SWORD? The city’s Chikuni though.”

“It’s the nickname. I thought your aunt told you?”

“She neglected to mention it to me,” she grumbled. “Five gangs? Are they dangerous?”

“They can be, if you’re not careful. But, I’m sure once you tell them who you work for, they’ll lay off you,” he explained. “I’m sure Hana’s already informed the other leaders about you too.”

“Lovely. She warns them, but not me.”

“She probably didn’t want to scare you off the job,” he suggested. “Besides, perhaps she thinks you’re capable of handling it. Koichi was a pretty good fighter too.”

“Fighting?”

“Like I said, ‘five gangs’.” He stepped forward, “I could, you know, come with you? That way, you’ll have some protection.”

“I don’t need it.” She said this quicker than she meant to. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Her sudden rejection didn’t upset Cobra. He smirked and said, “Yeah, you will be, huh?”

She hated the feeling that smirk gave her. Cobra’s gentle eyes and words made her nervous. Not in the ‘fight-or-flight’ way she’d become so accustomed to either. Her mother used to call it ‘the butterflies’, and she didn’t like them. They made her warm and hopeful, like she’d been as a girl in school.

“See you around,” she said quickly. “Thanks again for the cupcake."

"No problem."

Sakyia started the scooter and went on her way. Chikuni City had five gangs, all controlling different parts of the city, and her aunt’s little delivery business kept them from fighting. Sakyia knew the job sounded a bit too good to be true. She decided she’d ask her aunt about it later, but she’ll keep it from her mother. Her mother worries plenty about everything else; Sakyia won’t pile on any supposed possibilities. She just hoped she did not have to fight. She was done fighting. Sakyia pushed Cobra and the gangs to the back of her mind, then carried on with her day.

She dropped off a few more packages to different locations, meeting her aunt’s customers and people around the town. The gangs aside, the people of Sannoh greeted her with friendly smiles. Mrs. Saito owns an antique shop, and she gave Sakyia a small beckoning cat keychain for good luck. Mr. Ito runs a grocery store, and told her amusing stories about his youth in Sannoh whilst she waited for his signature. People seemed to know all about her parents, and her mother opened the salon. Sakyia did what she could to spread the word herself, hoping it’ll help. She’d gone to the salon for lunch, giving her mother one of the meals she’d bought, and told her about her morning.

“Ah, I remember Mrs. Saito. Your grandmother loved going into her shop. She has a lot of interesting things in there,” she smiled fondly at the memory. She sat across from Sakyia on one of the hair drying chairs, who sat on the barber chair. “I missed this place,” she said, chewing a piece of chicken curry with rice. “I always meant to bring you here one day so you can see where your father and I grew up, but I never got around to it.” She noticed the cupcake Sakyia had sitting with the rest of the groceries. “You bought a sweet treat, huh?” she smiled, “Jiro would’ve scolded you if he was here.”

“It’s why I wanted it, but I didn’t have enough for it.”

“Then how did you get it?”

She slurped some of the chicken broth in her cup, then said, “Junpei.” Her mother hid her grin behind a scoop of rice. “Ugh, it didn’t mean anything. He was only being friendly.”

“There’s a difference between ‘friendly’ and ‘friendly’, she smirked. “Your aunt tells me he’s a very nice boy.”

“Ma…” she said warningly.

“Alright, alright,” she finished off her meal, and dumped it in the trash. “I’ll lay off. But, you can at least try making friends your own age. I know that’s easier said than done, but I…I want you to have a life, Sakyia.”

She knew this. Jiro robbed her of a proper social life and childhood. From thirteen to twenty-five, Sakyia cannot say she had any ‘proper’ friends.

“You know who you should call up one day?” her mother broke into her thoughts. “That boy you used to hang around with when you were younger. What was his name? Skinny boy with black hair? Never wore his shoes the right way?”

“Jesse?”

Sakyia’s stomach rumbled, and she stopped eating her ramen. She remembered Jesse vividly. A lot of teenagers fought in the warehouse pits during her time there. The managers often pitted them against one another to keep things fair, but occasionally she’d fight people bigger than her. Jesse was one of the kids she often fought against. Strong and fast with lots of stamina, it always took several rounds before either of them went down. Jesse never yielded. He either knocked her out or she knocked him out. One night, after a fight, they got to talking in the locker room and clicked. She often met up with him at the warehouse since he lived in Little Asia, and she lived near the bay. He liked her. She didn’t know at the time, but as a woman now, the signs were obvious. He went easy on her in fights; he often tended to her wounds afterwards; he hung around her before and afterwards, and even brought her a flower for her birthday.

“I heard he’s in prison,” she said, remembering the boy who wore his sneakers like sandals. Word spread that he’d been lifted by police and gone to Rasan Prison, where he’s been for a long time. “So, there isn’t any way of ‘calling him’.” Not that she would. It’d been so long ago, she doubted her recalled her at all.

“What a shame,” her mother mused, going back to fixing up the hair station. “He’d liked you a lot.”

Her phone rang in her pocket, and Sakyia sighed. “I have to go, Ma,” she told her, cleaning up her spot and dumping the garbage. “Auntie Hana gave me a long list of drop-offs for today, so I might not be back until later.”

“Be careful, Blossom,” she said, kissing her daughter’s cheek.

They said their farewells, and Sakyia went back on her route. Sannoh didn't seem like a bad place. People were friendly in a way that threw her off at times. She blamed it on the places where she received nothing but grimaces of pain or dirty glares. She briefly remembered Jesse, who'd always smiled at her approach. He did it when he fought her too, teasing and goading her into charging at him. Sannoh might've been different after all.

The sky turned dark by the time she finished delivering packages around the area. She’d driven back towards home when she noticed the gas tank dial. The tiny yellow hand pointed dangerously close to the ‘empty’ symbol. She’ll admit she’d put off getting gas since she wanted to get to her drop offs and pickups on time. Yet, cruising through the streets, she worried she may not make it home on a near empty tank. She remembered passing a gas station on her way southwards, so she searched on her phone for the station and drove in its direction.

‘Hina Gas’ went across the top in bold letters. It appeared a bit run down, but nothing that threw her guard off. Sakyia parked the scooter by a pump, then went inside. ‘The butterflies’ made their return. Cobra sat behind the register, magazine in his lap and his feet propped on a counter. His head poked up when the doorbell jingled throughout the small store.

“Hey,” she heard herself say out loud.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be home?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I live nearby.”

“So do I.” Why is everything an inquest with this man? “I just needed gas,” she nodded to the pumps outside, “Otherwise I’d get stranded.”

She walked up to the counter, and he stood from his chair. The air remained tense and quiet. They didn’t have to talk. It’s not needed. Yet, the butterflies continued fluttering in her stomach. Cobra put in the gas charge, and she fished through her bag for the cash.

“How was it?” he asked, processing her payment.

“Huh?”

“Your day,” he specified. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, um, it went well. My aunt kept most of the addresses in Sannoh, so at least I can see the rest of the place,” she said, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Her fingernails picked into the polyester strap, dragging over the prints nervously. “It’s actually a nice place. The people I’ve met are nice, at least. Mrs. Saito from the antique store gave me this little cat charm,” she showed it to him, the golden cat hanging from her keychain. “For good luck,” she continued. “Overall, not a bad day. How was yours?” it only felt right to ask, since he did first.

The corner of his mouth twitched at the cat. He handed her back the bills, and said, “It’s been a quiet one, that’s for sure, but not unpleasant.” He hesitated, about to add on to it before stopping himself. “It is, um, you know, getting late though. Sannoh isn’t always as pleasant at night. You really shouldn’t go on your own.”

“I have my scooter. No worries,” she insisted, putting her money away. “I can just ride away if danger comes near me.”

“Still,” he said, looking over her face, “Be careful.”

“I will, thanks. Night.”

“Night.”

She moved to leave when someone else entered the shop. Seeing his black hair hanging over his eyes, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, Noboru leaned on a walking stick as he walked in. He looked different from the young man who’d come to her old house a month and a half ago. His eyes met hers, and he gave a friendly grin.

“Oh, hello, Sakyia,” he said, giving a bow of his head. “I heard you and your mom moved into the neighborhood.” He went over to the counter, giving Cobra a fist pump. “I hope you settled in okay.”

“We did, thanks,” she said. “What happened to your leg? You weren’t injured when we met.”

“You’ve met before?” Cobra asked, looking between them.

“An accident,” he answered Sakyia. “It’s a bit of a complicated story, but I no longer work for the Iemura family.”

Sakyia did not need him to tell her more. He must’ve upset them somehow, and they’d punished him for it. She pitied him. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” she told him. “You and Kawata helped my mother and I a lot. She told me later you’d been the one who suggested the exchange.”

“I thought it’d benefit everyone involved,” he shrugged. “You and your mother could have a new life somewhere else, and Iemura would get their money.”

“And Jiro?” she asked cautiously.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “They’re still looking for him, from what I heard.”

Jiro escaped them. She figured he would. He’s too cowardly to own up to his mistakes. It was why he forced Sakyia to do it. “I know this might sound harsh to say, but I hope they do find him,” she said. Knowing Jiro, he’ll crop up somewhere eventually. “He deserves whatever they give him.”

“That is a bit harsh-”

“-I’m sorry, but how do you two know each other?” Cobra asked a second time, a bit louder.

“Sakyia’s mother sold her salon in Chikuni Bay to Kuryu,” he told him before Sakyia could intervene. “I heard she’s managing Sungmi’s salon though,” he looked at Sakyia. “I was just talking to Naomi, and she told me.”

“She is.”

“Why did she sell her salon?” asked Cobra.

“Because we were moving,” Sakyia lied. “She couldn’t manage it from somewhere else, so she sold it to start over.”

Cobra did not believe her. She could tell in the way he slightly raised his eyebrows. “I gotta go,” she said hurriedly. “It’s getting late, and my mom’s waiting. I’ll see you guys around.”

“Night,” Noboru said innocently.

“Night.”

She left the gas station before any more questions came up. Her mother waited for her at home, and she’d been out too long already. She didn't have time for anyone’s prying questions.

Especially not Cobra’s.

#high & low #high and low #H&L #High and low the story of SWORD #cobra x reader #high and low fanfiction #high and low fanfic #hina junpei #junpei hina #iwata takanori

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