#then the second one is more like majima leaving his past behind

[gladoswantscake]

Beautiful In My Eyes - Goro Majima x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: You haven't been feeling comfortable in your own skin recently. Goro is about to change that.

Warnings: A bit suggestive 👀

A/N: I've been experimenting with the Character AI recently to help me brainstorm with creating new works. It's really fun.

Also, writing a suggestive content is WAY out of my comfort zone but wanted to try something new. I hope it's not cringe 😭. Let me know if ya'll think its yay or nay.

Available on Wattpad // AO3

You stare at the mirror wearing the dress that Majima gifted you. The dress accentuates every curve to your body. You hated the feeling of something that hugged your body. It was something you were never used to, but you yearned to wear something that made you want to feel beautiful that you didn't feel in a long time. The negative thoughts were eating away at you until Majima approaches you from behind with his arms snaking around your plump figure.

Majima's main love language was physical affection. It wasn't something you were used to receiving but took a while for you to get used to his hands roaming your body.

"You look beautiful tonight." He closes his eyes and places a kiss on your neck, taking in the rich alluring perfume smell that earns you another kiss.

His attire was a bit different tonight. He wore a black dress shirt with a few buttons unbuttoned and he was planning on taking his snakeskin blazer when the two of you leave despite trying to get him to wear a different blazer.

He knew you haven't been feeling like yourself the past week, so he wanted to take you out to a nice restaurant.

You had doubts during your first few months with Majima and yet the two of you have been together for nearly a year and he's shown no second thoughts.

"What am I worth to him? I feel like nothing more than a piece of meat. Would if he eventually gets bored with me?" The thought ate away at you as your mouth begins to quiver.

Majima immediately takes notice of your body language. He places his hand on your shoulder and turns you towards him. You stood there with your head bowed down in shame and fighting back the tears to prevent your makeup from being ruined. He knew you always had a hard time being at peace with your body image and always made it his priority to make you feel good about yourself at the end of the day.

"What's got ya all upset, hon? Is it the dress? I can get ya a much nicer one."

You shook your head. "I love the dress, but... I just don't think it looks good on me." The fabric of the dress feels like it was starting to wrap around you tighter making you more agitated and uncomfortable.

He thought getting you the dress you had been eyeing for a while would boost your confidence, but he felt like he accidentally made you feel worse.

"Don't be sayin' that about yerself! Any man would be one lucky sum' bitch to have you." He lifts your chin to see your eyes glistening. The sight of seeing you tremble in front of him made him frown.

"I sometimes feel like I'm not good enough to be with you." Your voice cracks. The longer the thoughts got louder in your head the more you wanted to break down into a sob. "I mean what do you see in me that you don't see in all the other women? They look like models compared to me!" Tears rolled down your face.

The dress felt like it was glued to your body the longer the insecurities got to you. Majima watched with a sad expression as you tugged at your dress. "I-I'm sorry, Goro." You carefully wiped underneath your eyes. "I haven't felt this bad in a long time and I didn't mean to spew out my insecurities tonight. It's just these thoughts have been eating me up bad lately."

He pulls you to him. "There ain't nothin' wrong with talking about it, but it ain't good keeping them bottled up." You feel his hand reach for yours, his thumbs brushing your knuckles before he brings his hand up to his chest.

"Yer more than enough." He raises your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on your hand. "I know compliments are still a challenge for ya to accept, but I mean every word that I say: Yer the most gorgeous and thoughtful woman I've ever met. A real man would be lucky to have a gal like you in their life."

He could see a small smile slither onto your face. "A lil' bit of fat ain't gonna ruin the way the dress looks on ya. Yer body really brings out that dress." Majima smiles. "Besides, I love worshipping a body like yers."

Majima's thumb gently wipes away the tears from your eyes. "Ya wouldn't wanna ruin all that makeup on that beautiful face of yers after spending so much time it."

Then an idea immediately comes to Majima's mind making him grin. His hands travel down to your waist seductively. "I know we had some plans this evening, but I got something that's better. Tonight, I'm gonna make ya feel good about yerself."

Even though the two of you have made love in the past, getting intimate was always a challenge for you. You've always hated being vulnerable due to being taken advantage of in the past. He understood where you were coming from.

He always put on a facade whenever he was out and about in public to protect himself. He was known as the Mad Dog to his friends and foes. He liked that about himself. He was able to be taken seriously. Constantly having to put on an act every day eventually became tiring, but when he met you, he eventually was able to let his mask slip. He was able to come home to you to relax and let his Mad Dog persona be put to rest until he went out the next day. He feels like he's able to be himself around you without being judged.

Majima could see you getting lost in your negative thoughts once again. He instantly pulls you back into reality with his hand cupping your face.

"I understand that yer shy when it comes to being intimate. If ya wanna do something else, we can go-"

You pull Majima into a kiss. Something inside of you clicked. Making the first move was out of your comfort, but the way he held your body close to his and his words of affirmation made you crave him.

It caught Majima by surprise. He gives in to the kiss, soon you feel one of Majima's hands groping your ass. In the past, you would have been embarrassed, but this time it didn't bother you.

Majima pulls away first to catch his breath. His breathing is hot and heavy on your neck. Both of his hands grip your waist.

"I love what yer doing." His lips graze your neck planting a few kisses. "I'm proud of ya."

Majima guides you to the bed and lays you down. He removes his dress shirt leaving his torso bare. He climbs onto the bed and waste no time with removing your dress. He then notices you immediately tensing up.

"Just relax, love. There ain't nothing to be ashamed about." His voice is low and reassuring. "I'll take real good care of ya. I promise." His lips move to your collarbone as his hands slowly roam down your thighs.

When it came to Majima making love, he always savored every kiss that he leaves on your body; on the places that you felt the most conscious about. That's what you loved about him. Especially his sweet nothings that he whispers into your ear that earns him a giggle from you, the way his beard slightly tickles you whenever he kisses you, and the way his hands would caress every inch of you, driving you crazy.

The kisses are now longer and more intense. Both of your hands grasp both of his biceps followed by a breathily moan escaping from your lips as he found your sweet spot.

Your grip tightens as one of his hands trail down to your underwear.

"I don't think you'll be needing these anymore." He pulls away briefly to remove your underwear. He takes in a full admiration of your now nude body.

"Ain'tcha beautiful sight to look at." His accent thickens. His warm fingertips trace the stretch marks on your stomach.

He hovers over you just inches from your face. You could feel his lower region grinding against yours. "And it's all mine to come home to."

His lips go to your neck to devour with love bites. Each kiss and bite are more sensational. The feeling of your hands clawing at his back is driving him crazier.

His groans are loud and hungry sounding in your ear. Each thrust is sending the two of you over the edge. It's only shortly after he pulls away to remove his pants. He spreads your legs apart to position himself and then crawls back on top of you. He inhales your perfume once more.

"I'm gonna show ya how much I love ya." He whispers in your ear.

#imma regret writing this semi smut'ish oneshot (if that made any sense. its like 1am now) xd #i hope this doesn't flop 😭 #yakuza #yakuza oneshots #goro majima #majima goro #my creations #UPDATED

[simminglytimeladies]

Slugger Mode

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #ts4 renders #yakuza #ts4 edits #goro majima #majima goro #help im obsessed with this man #the first one is somewhat inspired by an album cover that featured majima #then the second one is more like majima leaving his past behind #seriously i love him #btw that bat was recolored by me #and no im not gonna release that recolor cuz idk if it looks good in the sims #in blender sure but not in the sims #this took me hours lol #it's just that i wanna make these renders look perfect <3 #btw i just need an excuse to use my version of y0 majima #(yep you can tell that i love y0 majima the moment i see him on screen) #(but i do love the current majima because he's being himself <3)

[gorochanfanclub]

Change of Plans

Majima x Original Female Character

Summary: Alternate Goromi origin story. Majima is trying to train his assistant to be a hostess for his latest Kiryu scheme, but gets more than what he bargained for...

Contains: Goromi, sexually suggestive content, a couple curse words, a very jealous Majima

A/N: Haven’t posted anything here in a hot minute but had this idea and wanted to share. Only reason I didn’t make this an x reader is because the way I wanted it to end, it wouldn’t have worked :/ The only really defining traits of the woman in the story are that she’s a very tall American, has big b00bie, and her name is Hiromi. Also... please don’t take this too seriously >.< it was just something silly I thought of lol. This isn’t usually the type of style I like to write in, but I thought it might be fun to make something not so serious or heavy for a change! I hope you all do enjoy it!!

Running her hands down her body, Hiromi looks at herself in the mirror, turning slowly to view herself from every angle possible. The pink leather shines and gleams in the dim light of the dressing room, flashes of snakeskin detail sparkling in the mirror. She barely felt her ass held into the garment, the highest parts of her thighs getting a cool breeze from the fishnet stockings on them. Her broad shoulders poked out the top, her breasts pushed nearly to her chin. 

The entire ensemble was loud, definitely something she couldn’t possibly imagine herself wearing usually. However, she hadn’t been the one to pick out this outfit in the first place, her boss did. Majima, in another one of his crazy antics, had dragged her to a cabaret club of all places, thrown the clothes in her arms, and shoved her into the back room, demanding she change instantly. 

Groaning, Hiromi wonders if Majima really intended for her to leave the room dressed like this. It showed so much skin. She barely remembers the last time she was out in public showing this much skin, even swimming, Hiromi always opted for more conservative attire. 

A loud knock at the door draws her from her thoughts, her employer’s voice shouting yet muffled by the wooden slab. “Hey, Hiromi-chan,” he barks, “Ya been in there for a while now. How long does it take for you to put a dress on?” 

Looking back at herself in the mirror she grimaces. “Majima-san?” she calls over her shoulder, “Do you really want me to wear this?” She pauses, “What is this even for?”

Even through the door, she can hear her boss groan. “I don’t pay ya to ask questions, Hiromi-chan.” 

“I know you don’t, sir,” she snaps back, “You pay me to drive you around. Not wear…” her eyes find her reflection once more, “less than modest clothing.” 

The doorknob starts to giggle at her remark. “I’m sure ya look great,” Majima mutters, saying something under his breath afterwards Hiromi can’t quite hear. “I’m comin’ in, ya decent?” 

Nodding with a hum, Hiromi watches the door fly open, her boss standing in the doorway, the cabaret club’s owner hot on his heels. Eyeing her up and down, Majima soaks her up. A wicked grin plasters itself on his face. “Hot damn, girly!” he exclaims, “Ya look great! The boys are gonna eat you up.” 

Blinking rapidly, Hiromi stares at him with eyes like saucers. “‘Eat me up?’” she repeats, “Don’t you think this is…” she can’t finish, only looking at the vast amount of skin showing from under her clothes. 

Majima tilts his head, “It’s what? Don’t like what I picked ya?” 

Hiromi shakes her head rapidly, “Uh, no it’s fine, it’s just a little… revealing… is all.” 

Making his way across the room, Majima claps a gloved hand on his assistant’s shoulder. “Of course it is!” he shouts, his booming voice echoing in the room, “When yer in this line of work, ya gotta show off the goods.” With a flirtatious wink that makes Hiromi’s cheeks feel on fire, he adds, “And trust me, girly... you got ‘em.” 

Majima then steps back, looking her up and down once more before stopping at her breasts. The dress was barely holding them in and it made Majima chuckle, “Not to mention, I think Kiryu’s got a thing for big knockers like yers.” 

“What?” Hiromi snaps, “This is a Kiryu thing? You’re dragging me into this now?”

The one eyed man only shrugs, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? Yer on my payroll and I gotta use the tools I got on hand. Right now sweetheart, that’s you.” 

Slumping her shoulders, Hiromi knows it was best to simply accept her fate and take her orders. There was no arguing with Majima once his heart was set on something. The man was not only stubborn, he was determined. Sighing, she asks, “Alright, what would like me to do, sir?” 

Cackling maniacally, Majima claps, rubbing his leather gloves together in anticipation. “That’s more like it!” he shouts with glee. 

He then steps to Hiromi’s side, wrapping an arm around her bare shoulders, leading her past the club owner and out into the main section of the club. “Now,” he explains, “here’s the plan; yer gonna use,” he gestures to her body, making a particularly large gesture to her chest, “all this, to lure Kiryu-chan in, right?” 

Hiromi nods in acknowledgement as he continues, “Get him all buttered up ‘n’ shit. Then…” he snaps loudly in front of Hiromi’s face, making her jerk backwards for a second, “I’ll swoop in for the kill- start disrespectin’ ya and all. Kiryu’s a real gentleman, there’s no way he’ll pass up the chance to fight fer a girl’s honor.” He ogles her breasts once more, “‘Specially one as busty as you.” 

The woman stutters nervously and incoherently before clearing her throat, “Do you really think I’ll be able to win him over, Majima-san?” Looking down, she rubs the back of her neck, “Kiryu seems to be a rather tough nut to crack. I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this.” 

Walking them to a table in the back Majima chuckles once more. “I know yer, not,” he states blankly, much to his assistant’s surprise. “That’s why I’m gonna train ya…” 

Before she can protest, Hiromi feels herself being shoved onto the plush velvet sofa behind her. With a huff, she flops down, looking up through her hair to see Majima situating himself next to her. 

Sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face, Hiromi meekly asks, “Wh-what kind of training do I need, sir?” Looking down, she notices how far up her risque dress has ridden up. With a faint blush dusting her cheeks, she tugs it as close to her knees as possible, the action completely foiled by the lack of fabric the dress had. 

Leaning back, Majima makes himself comfortable. Crossing one of his leather clad legs over his knee, he sighs, “Gotta make sure you can handle Kiryu-chan.” Noticing the look of absolute fear on her face, he grins, waving a hand in dismissal, “Just relax, girly girl, we’re just gonna do some talkin’.” 

Majima reaches inside the inner breast pocket of his jacket, pulling out his packet of cigarettes and nonchalantly lighting one. As he inhales, a nostalgic smile works its way across his lips, tugging gently at the corners, “Y’know, I used to do this fer a living. Kinda miss it too…” 

He turns slowly to the woman on the seat next to him, “So yer in good hands, Hiromi-chan, nothin’ to worry yer pretty little head about.” 

She nods, taking his words in. Hiromi takes the chance to admire Majima as he prepares for his training session with her. The way the smoke floated around his head, it made him look like an angel, resting above the clouds, looking down on the world that belonged only to him. 

Majima could feel her eyes on him, watching him intently. Suddenly he felt nervous about being here with her, especially with the way he had dressed her, she was practically naked. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all… 

“Nuff about that, tho,” he beams, snapping himself from his dull stupor, pulling Hiromi from hers as well. “Let’s get down to it,” he sighs, raising a inquisitive eyebrow, “Ya ever done anythin’ like this before?” 

Touching a finger to her cheek, Hiromi tilts her head in thought. Majima smirked, finding the action somewhat cute. “Well…” she starts, “I’m not quite sure how ‘this’ all works but… I used to flirt a lot with men at the bars back in my clubbing days,” she turns to her boss with an expectant look, “Does that count, Majima-san?” 

Nodding, he smiles brightly, “That’s exactly the way you gotta act. Talk ‘em up, get ‘em to buy you more drinks,” he points a finger at her, “and usually I wouldn’t say this but since these’re special circumstances… there’s no such thing as ‘too handsy.’ Kiryu-chan’s been in prison fer ten long years, I imagine a perv like him would go wild havin’ a nice little thing like you pawing all over him.” 

Hiromi grins, nodding as she takes in her instructions. She hums, “I think I’m beginning to understand what I need to do.” 

Majima leans back, fluffing up his jacket then smoothing it down as he situates again, “Alright then, we’re just gonna pretend that I’m Kiryu-chan and yer gonna do yer best to win me over.” 

The woman nods shortly leaning back herself. In an instant, she crosses her long legs at the knees, the heel of her left foot tapping the glass table in front of them with a heavy thud. 

The action shocked Majima. His eye looks down to the pink stiletto next to his own thigh, the toes so dangerously close to grazing his leg. Trailing his gaze up her toned legs, he notices the fishnets end right at the thickest part of her rather voluptuous thighs, the elastic squeezing them ever so slightly. 

Following her body further, Majima trains his eye on the way the dress hugged her body in all the right places. From the way it strained against her hips, bunched slightly at her waist, then nearly ripped at her chest, he realized maybe he went a little too far with the outfit. 

Finally, his gaze meets her face. A blush threatens to creep onto his cheeks with the way she is looking at him. It was almost like she had flipped a switch inside her. The usual stoic and no nonsense Hiromi he relied on during a day to day basis was gone. In her place was a tigress, dark eyes staring him down like a wounded prey, ready to be devoured. 

Majima swallows, trying his best to keep his composure. He grins again, hiding his discomfort, “Hello there, my name is Kiryu Kazuma, what’s you’re name?” he asks, doing his best impression of the deep voiced Kiryu. 

The woman tilts her head with a wicked grin, “Hiromi. It means ‘generous beauty.’”

And what a beauty she is, Majima thinks to himself before tilting his own head in confusion, “‘Hiromi?’ That’s a Japanese name, ma’am. Don’t you think you’re a little tall for a Japanese lady?” 

Majima feels something grace his leg and he looks down to see one of Hiromi’s pink shoes rubbing itself gently up and down his thigh. She chuckles, “Astute observation Kiryu-san. In fact, I’m from America. Have you ever been?” 

Shaking his head, Majima shrugs, “Can’t say I have, Hiromi-chan. In fact, I’ve never left Japan.” 

Suddenly, the soft sensation of a foot rubbing his thigh is lost. Majima nearly lets out a displeased groan, choking it back at the last second. When he looks up to meet her face again, he is greeted with her leaning forward, her left hand supporting her and her right resting on the sofa in the spot her foot had previously been. 

“You should make a point to go sometime, Kiryu-san,” Hiromi mutters, her voice barely above a sultry whisper. Her hand begins to trace up Majima’s leg, palming his thigh gently, “I’m sure you’d get lots of young American ladies on your arm, what with you being so big and handsome.” 

This time, Majima isn’t able to hold back the blush on his cheeks. Here he was, sitting in a cabaret club with his long legged, scantily clad, foreign, assistant, and she’s fondling him like they’re lovers. It didn’t help that she was so close he could smell the mint of her gum from earlier still on her breath. 

“Maybe I’d rather stay right here,” Majima counters, “Why go to America when I have a gorgeous American girlie on my arm right now?” 

With a laugh, Hiromi’s fingers dig into the muscle on Majima’s thigh. With them so close to his manhood, Majima couldn’t help himself from jumping in shock. She really took his instruction to heart when he told her to get handsy. Swallowing, Majima wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. 

“You flatter me too much,” Hiromi laughs. Batting her eyelashes she smiles that predatory smile once more, “But… I can’t think of any other place in this world I’d rather be, either.” 

Flattening her palm once more, she trails her touch up Majima’s leg, onto his toned stomach, feeling every contour of his chiseled torso. Taking her other hand, she hooks a finger underneath Majima’s chin, forcing him to look at her, also bringing him a bit closer. 

“I’ve got everything I could possibly want right in front of me…” she whispers. Instinctively, Majima grabs her hip, desperately needing someplace to put his hands. This earns a light chuckle from Hiromi, “Touching already, are we? At least buy me a drink first.” 

Looming over her shoulder, he waves to the club owner to bring something around. Turning his attention back to the woman in his arms, he nearly stutters, “So, Hiromi-chan, ya got any special guys in yer life? Can’t imagine a sexy little broad like you going to bed alone.” 

The hungry gleam in his eye starts to grow, almost matching her own hungry gaze. She smiles, grazing her fingertips across Majima’s collarbone, “There might be one, and if he plays his cards right tonight…” The grip on his jaw tightens as she pulls his ear to her lips, “I might just go home with him.” 

With fake shock, Majima opens his mouth wide, “That so? Well I hope I do, then. Wouldn’t want to pass up the opportunity to wake up next to ya.” His grip on her hip strengthens, his gloved fingers squeaking against the leather of her dress. 

Continuing her motions on his chest, trailing over the edges of his tattoos, Hiromi asks coyly, “Do you have any ‘special’ women waiting for you at home, sir?” 

Majima only chuckles, “Now, if I did, would I really be at a place like this, lettin’ you fawn all over me?” She only shrugs, “You might, I couldn’t possibly know.” 

Shaking his head, Majima smirks, “Nah, I only got one lady in my life, and that’s you, darlin’.” 

Hiromi chuckles, pulling away from Majima once more. The loss of her hands on his skin leaves him feeling lonely and cold. However, suddenly, he finds Hiromi spreading her legs, arcing one over Majima’s hips to straddle him. 

Hovering her bum just above him, she grabs his shoulders, one of her knuckles outlining his jaw. She mumbles against his cheek, her breath causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise, “Then I think we should enjoy our evening together, Kiryu-san.” 

Kiryu-san. 

Up until she said that, Majima had completely forgotten he was supposed to be training her for a night with Kiryu. Suddenly, the idea of having to watch her touch Kiryu and whisper into his ear the way she was doing to Majima right now seemed extremely unappealing. 

Something inside him boiled at the thought of that. He wasn’t sure what it was but with the way her lips were grazing his jaw and the way her weight was pressing upon him, he wasn’t sure he could stomach watching her do all the same things to another man… a man that wasn’t him. 

Leaning back, he meets her eyes, still dark, still hungry. Majima’s good eye darts to her lips, plump and covered in a hideous, gaudy pink shade that didn’t suit her at all. He was half tempted right then and there to kiss it all off, just to return her to her natural glory. 

Still playing the game Majima had abandoned a long time ago, she smiles, “What do you say, Kiryu-san? Can’t we have some fun?” 

Hearing her say his name again was just enough to pull Majima from his daze. Tapping her hip, that he previously had been gripping for dear life, he mutters to her, “Alright, get up, this isn’t gonna work.” 

Hiromi instantly stops her motions, furrowing her brow at her boss, “Wait- what?” 

Majima, with a bit of difficulty, and reluctance, pushes his assistant off him, sending her stumbling onto the velvet where she previously sat. “I said this ain’t gonna work, girly.” Standing up he glances over her body once more, taking in all the curves, “Kiryu ain’t gonna fall for all that. The guy may be a pervert but he ain’t stupid.” 

Sitting up as fast as she can Hiromi shakes her head, “What do you mean? Was I doing something wrong? Maybe I could try again. Was it too much?” she sputters, desperate to please her boss. 

Was it too much? Majima scoffs internally. She nearly was grinding against him and she had the audacity to ask if it was too much. Fact of the matter was, she was way too good at this, Kiryu wouldn’t have stood a chance. Five more minutes and Majima himself would have lost control.

Waving his hand to quell her blabbing, Majima shakes his head, still trying to pull himself back to reality. “Nah, it’s useless. We’ll have to think of something else. Yer just not cut out fer this, dollface,” he lies. 

Hanging her head in defeat she sighs, “I’m sorry, Majima-san, I really was trying.” 

Sighing himself, Majima feels a pang of guilt, “Don’t worry about it.” His eye falls to the hem of her dress that had ridden up a little too high. Finding it hard to breathe looking at her, he turns away, “Why don’t ya go get changed? That old thing is ugly as fuck anyway.” 

Hiromi nods, standing up and smoothing her dress down, “Yes, sir,” she states. Before she turns to leave, she looks down at herself one more time. She chuckles once then glances to Majima, “It’s a shame no one will get to see it, though… In fact, it might actually look pretty good on you, Majima-san.” 

At that comment, a lightbulb shines in Majima’s head. He darts his attention back to his assistant, eyeing the pink leather dress. “Say that again, Hiromi-chan,” he commands. 

Her smile falls, face contorting in confusion again. She slowly repeats herself, “‘It might actually look pretty good on you?’”

Of course, Majima thought. If Hiromi couldn’t get Kiryu to fight him, Majima could. What in this world would piss Kiryu off more than embarrassing him in front of an entire cabaret club by having drinks with a yakuza in drag? And if that didn’t work, Majima knew he could think of something on the fly. 

“Hiromi-chan,” Majima starts, “Yer a genius, I could kiss you right now.”

Her eyes go wide as her face goes dark with a blush, “You could... kiss me?”

Realizing what he just said, Majima nervously rubs the back of his neck, “Jeez, it’s just a figure of speech. I just mean... oh nevermind... come here a sec. I wanna see somethin’.”

Doing as she’s told, Hiromi walks up to her boss meekly. Majima moves to stand beside her, comparing his height and build to hers. Seeing how similar they were, he asks, “Say, Hiromi-chan, looks like we’re about the same size.” 

She only nervously nods, “Why, yes, sir. I’m a rather large woman and, with no offense to you, you’re a rather slim man. It isn’t too far fetched to think we’d be a similar size.” 

Grabbing her shoulders, Majima shoves her towards the back of the club, to the dressing room. “Great, now go take that thing off… and hand it to me when yer done.” 

“Hand it to… you?” 

***

After a long hour of doing his hair and makeup, Majima came out of the dressing room looking like a new man or in this case… woman. 

While he may not have had the assets to fill the garment out, Hiromi couldn’t deny that it indeed fit him like a glove. Not to mention, the pink faux snakeskin looked so much better on him. 

Arms crossed as she watches him prance around, fully drowning himself in his new character, Hiromi shakes her head in disbelief, “I had no idea this is what you had in mind as a backup plan but… color me impressed, sir. This might just be your greatest scheme yet.” 

With a feminine chuckle Majima flutters his eyelashes, “Why, thank you Hiromi-chan.” Stopping for a moment, he looks into the mirror, a scowl on his face, “Just need a name to match this pretty face.” 

Perking back up, he whips around, “I got one. Goromi.” Gesturing between them, he nods, “It’s my name and your name put together. What could be more perfect?” 

Hiromi nods, chuckling, “Very clever, sir.” Turning her wrist over, she checks her watch, “Majima-san, it’s getting late, should I phone Kiryu-san and have him swing by?” 

A manic grin spreads across Majima’s lips, the anticipation of violence making him giddy. “Do it. I think it’s time for Goromi to make her debut…” 

#majima goro x reader #goro majima x reader #goromi #majima goro x ofc #goro majima x ofc #hope you all enjoy :)

[ikemencrossedmythwrites]

Morning Fun with the Patriarch

Pairing: Majima Goro x Kiryu Kazuma

Fandom:  Yakuza – Ryu ga Gotoku

Summary:  Majima kisses Kiryu before going to work, but one thing leads to another and they end up staying in bed

Rating:  18+, smut

Count:  2,531

Warnings:  anal sex, anal fingering, rimming, oral sex, face fucking

Kiryu was fast asleep as the bed underneath him shifted from the weight being moved around.  The sheets moved against his bare skin, exposing his muscular upper chest.  He opened one of his eyes as the light hit his face from the morning sun pouring in through the window.  

Majima was sitting up in bed and stretching his arms wide and high, releasing the grip of sleep from the night before.  Kiryu opened his other eye to get a good look at Majima.  His arms were stretched over his head as his muscles moved beneath his firm skin.  His hanya tattoo stared back at him with wide eyes, shifting along with Majima’s movements.

Majima turned and looked down at Kiryu, who still lay with his head on the pillow.  Kiryu looked up at Majima and reached out to touch his arm.  Majima smiled at Kiryu with bright and glossy eyes.  The two held each other’s gaze as Majima leaned forward and closed the distance between them.  He darted his tongue out to wet his lips as he grazed Kiryu’s mouth. Kiryu closed his eyes and reached a hand behind Majima’s head.  He could feel the beginnings of a knot tightening in his core.  He placed his lips firmly against Majima’s, causing him to breathe in heavily with anticipation.  

Kiryu took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, both tongues beginning to intertwine with their combined essence.  Majima grabbed Kiryu by the hips and pushed him flat on the bed and straddled him.  He released himself from the kiss and looked down at Kiryu, whose eyes were glowing with eagerness.  

“Ya know Kiryu-chan, I’m suppose ta be goin’ to work right now, but there ya go making me fuckin’ crazy.”  

Kiryu began to fidget slightly at his words, knowing what was coming next as he took deep breaths.  He could feel his dick begin to harden underneath Majima’s hips.  Majima ducked down and began to kiss Kiryu again with sloppy movements.  Kiryu groaned into his mouth and tangled his fingers into Majima’s hair giving it a quick tug.  Majima grunted and moved to suck on Kiryu’s neck, twisting and slurping his tongue on his pulse point.  He gave his neck a soft bite as Kiryu began to thrust his hips up into Majima’s crotch.

The feeling of their skin moving against each other created a spark of electricity that ran through Kiryu’s body.  His palms were beginning to sweat, and his mind was completely taken over by Majima’s ministrations.  Majima moved down to Kiryu’s chest as he gave his right nipple a light bite as he twisted the other between his fingers.  Kiryu’s heart began to pound as he bit his lip. Majima continued to lick down the lines of his abs, enjoying the slight tang of skin, making his way to the place where Kiryu wanted him most.  

Majima looked at Kiryu’s now hard cock.  His dick was standing at attention, wanting and waiting for some sort of care from Majima.  Majima leaned in and licked a stripe from the base of Kiryu’s firm dick to the tip of his head.  Kiryu’s mouth fell open as he tipped his head back into the bed with a soft thud as Majima began to swirl the tip of Kiryu’s head with his warm and wet tongue, savoring the taste of Kiryu’s precum that was beaded on the tip of his aching head.   He closed his mouth over the tip and released with a light ‘pop’.  Kiryu gripped the sheets tightly as his breathing became more labored.

“Fuck Kiryu-chan, ya taste delicious.  I’mma make sure ya feel so good that we’ll both want to stay in bed.”

Majima then took hold of Kiryu’s cock and slid his engorged shaft all the way into his throat.  Kiryu’s hands shot to the back of Majima’s head as he cried out his pleasure into the room.  His deep voice filled with the unbridled joy of having his hard dick encased deep in Majima’s wet and tight mouth.  Kiryu began to push slowly in and out of Majima’s mouth, enjoying the feel of Majima’s tongue on the underside of his dick, moving and twirling on his stiff manhood.

His breath quickened as he began to pick up the pace, the tip of his head hitting the back of Majima’s throat.  Majima hummed his satisfaction, creating vibrations that intensified the feeling of sliding in and out of Majima’s slick mouth.  Kiryu was building up speed with each shock of excitement that was sent to his dick being worshipped and lapped by his lover.  

With each passing second, his hips smacked harder against Majima’s face. He was soon slamming his dick into Majima’s waiting mouth as Majima gripped Kiryu’s hips in an effort to keep taking his vigorous onslaught.  Kiryu’s moans and heavy breathing were music to Majima’s ears as Majima kept moving and swallowing the mixture of precum and saliva that pooled in his mouth with each pump of Kiryu’s powerful hips.  

Kiryu could feel the coil almost fully tighten, indicating that he was close to his rapid release.  The tip of his dick was slamming past the back of Majima’s throat and into his neck, causing Majima’s name to become a whispered prayer on Kiryu’s lips as he continued to propel his hips forward violently.  

Majima’s neck was creating a tighter cavern to draw out his lust. Each time his cock entered Majima’s mouth fully, the tip was encased by the tight muscles in his neck.  His thrusts were becoming messy and stronger as he closed in on the high of having his dick in the patriarch’s mouth.  His balls slapped against Majima’s chin as he gave his hips a few more heavy slams before pulling Majima’s face flush with his hips as his hot cum poured down Majima’s throat.  

“FUCK, FUUCK!!” Kiryu screamed as goosebumps broke out over his tightening skin, his eyes closed, and head thrown back in pure ecstasy.  A sheen of sweat covered Kiryu’s body as he struggled to contain his heavy breaths, his muscles glistening in the aftermath of his release. Majima pulled away from Kiryu with a loud slurp, saliva connecting him and Kiryu’s girthy length.  Kiryu put a hand over his eyes, feeling his body sinking deeper into a sleepy postcoital state.  

Majima looked at Kiryu’s half-hard cock and gave it a wet kiss with his tongue on the back of the head.  Kiryu gasped and cursed at his overly sensitive member being teased.  Majima ran his tongue around the base as he fondled and cupped his balls.  He licked sensually, making his way down to Kiryu’s tight ass.  

Majima could smell Kiryu’s scent, the scent of man.  He ran his hands on the underside of Kiryu’s thighs, before reaching the back of his knees.  He pushed up his legs towards his chest, exposing his wrinkled hole.  Majima licked his lips in delight as he neared twitching hole and gave it a light kiss.  Kiryu’s hole winked back at him, enticing him to continue.  Using the flat of his tongue, he covered the puckered hole and began to suck, tasting Kiryu’s skin.  Kiryu cried out as he reached his hands down to cover Majima’s that were supporting his legs to his chest.  Kiryu gripped tightly as he shyly bucked his pliant and excited hole closer to Majima’s mouth. Kiryu could feel his desire beginning to burn as Majima continued to caress and curl his tongue into his forbidden entry.  Majima’s now hard cock was leaking precum onto the bed, as he thrust into the covers seeking the invisible grip of the hole he was now devouring.  Kiryu was panting as Majima’s tongue delved deeper into his tight ring of muscles, exploring inside of his clenching walls.

Majima groaned and gripped Kiryu’s leg tighter as he continued to taste, spreading saliva around the edge and inside of his back entrance.  He could feel the shivering and contracting of Kiryu’s walls around his tongue.  The muscles seized and pulsed, surrounding his tongue in a warm vice grip.  Majima stroked his tongue inside of his lover, searching for the sweet spot of maximum ecstasy.  His tongue found the little nub inside and began to rub and graze harshly as Kiryu’s moans spilled from his open and gasping mouth.  

Majima removed his hands from Kiryu’s legs, leaving Kiryu to hold his legs apart for him.  Grabbing the lube, he poured the liquid onto his middle finger and teased the succulent hole, dipping inside.  Kiryu’s muscles quivered around his finger as Majima continued to push deeper inside of him until his finger was in all the way.  He slowly pulled out and then pushed back in, creating a rhythm, leisurely pumping in and out as the tight ring of muscles attempted to fight the intrusion.  Majima then placed his pointer finger against the hole and pressed inside to join his other finger.  Both of them now stroking in unison against Kiryu’s prostate.

“How do ya feel Kiryu-chan?” Majima said.

“All right, I guess.”  Kiryu replied, but his body signals were betraying him.  It was more than all right, it was sublime.  All Kiryu could think about was how Majima was touching his constricted hole, how good it felt and how he did not want him to stop.  

“Just, all right? Hmm, looks like I need to do a better job then.” Majima said with a smirk.  

Kiryu turned his head to the side into the pillow, struggling to maintain even breaths.  Majima began to scissor his fingers, slowly opening him up for his much thicker cock. Majima could see inside of Kiryu’s hole, looking at the muscles that would soon be surrounding his throbbing dick that was in much need of attention.  He pulled his fingers out all the way, hitting the cool of air in the room.  He once again grabbed the remaining lube and generously emptied the bottle onto his red and aching rod.  He spread the lube around and grabbed hold of his member, lining it up with Kiryu’s warm and eager hole.  Kiryu looked down between them, waiting desperately for Majima to take him. Majima pressed the tip of his dick into Kiryu, the tight heat pulsing around his head.  Majima shuddered and closed his eyes.  Pushing in slowly, an inch or two at a time, he rocked himself slowly inside of the clenching hole.  Kiryu’s body broke out in a blush as he covered his face with his forearm, attempting to hide how good he felt as the patriarch continued to massage his way deeper and deeper inside of him.  Majima gave a gentle prod and filled him up to the hilt.  Kiryu’s ass was flush against his hips, all of his dick being sucked in by Kiryu’s fluttering walls.  Majima closed his eyes and threw his head back, his hands gripping Kiryu’s hips tightly as he groaned.  He pulled back his hips until just his head was left inside, then drove back in sharply.  He could feel the ring of muscles sucking him in and clenching him tighter, betraying Kiryu’s shy state.  He wanted more.  

He began a slow pace of thrusting in and out, the sound of the wet lube was accompanied by shallow pants and moans from both men.  Majima reached up and grabbed Kiryu’s forearm.  

“Look at me Kiryu.” Majima whispered.  

Kiryu turned his head from the pillow to look into Majima’s eyes. Majima continued to thrust as he spoke slowly.  

“Ya make me so fuckin’ crazy Kiryu, everything ya do and say makes me want ya all the more.  I love everything about ya.”  They both continued to look into each other eyes, panting and covered in sweat, both bodies moving in unison to the movement of Majima’s hips.  Kiryu’s gaze turned serious and shy.

“Majima, I-I love you.” Kiryu began to blush fiercely, a shade of crimson covering his entire face.  He couldn’t believe that he finally said it.  After so many times making love, he had never gathered the courage to say it. Majima stopped mid-thrust and looked at Kiryu with a big goofy grin.  

“I love ya too Kiryu-chan!  I love ya!” Majima leaned forward onto his elbows to kiss Kiryu as he began to move faster.  Majima stooped down to suck and lick at Kiryu’s neck as Kiryu grasped at Majima’s back.  Kiryu dug his fingers into Majima’s back as each thrust reached deeper than before, Majima now pounding him into the mattress below.  The slow lovemaking now turned into ravenous slamming.  Majima quickly pulled out and pulled back so he was on his knees.  Kiryu was panting and looked quizzically at Majima.  

“Turn around and get on your hands and knees for me, Kiryu.”  

Kiryu quickly turned around and could feel Majima lining himself against his decadent entrance.  Majima plunged his hard cock into Kiryu and began to pump in and out at breakneck speed. Kiryu cried out and lowered his head to the mattress, his ass and hips being held up by Majima’s strong hands as he continued his voracious assault on his trembling hole.  The bed was rocking back and forth from Majima’s thrashing, the bedframe cracking against the wall loudly with each quick and powerful ram of hips.  The sound of wet skin slapping against skin filled the room, the sound of their cries and moans as they both neared closer to their climax twisted and caressed their senses.  Majima was now pummeling into Kiryu’s juicy ass, his hands digging into his hips would surely leave bruises after they were done.  But neither of them cared.  Both of them were too caught up in the desire of taking and being taken.  

Kiryu’s hole was being stretched by Majima’s length as it attempted to squeeze and tighten around the pleasing invasion.  Majima was now pummeling into his ass, his only thoughts on the pleasure he was receiving from being so deep and surrounded by Kiryu’s hot constricted hole. Kiryu was a hot mess, the continuous feeling of having his prostrate pressed by Majima’s hard rod had blanked out his mind.  He was filled with ultimate bliss as he leaked continuous precum onto the mattress, his dick hard and pulsing, veins visible on the surface as his dick attempted to get harder still.  

Majima could feel his balls begin to tighten, his thrusts now sloppy and quick, impaling Kiryu’s quivering hole onto his rigid member.  He reached around to grab Kiryu’s strong and taut dick and gave it a few quick pumps, sending Kiryu into another state of pure satisfaction and he came hard onto the sheets below.  Kiryu bore down onto Majima’s dick, tightening the hold he had on Majima’s cock inside of him.  Majima gave a few more driving lunges into the now pulsing hole as he came, covering Kiryu’s insides with his white hot cum.  A couple more languid pumps and he fell over on top of Kiryu.  Both men were covered in sweat, breathing heavy from the intensity of their stimulating frenzy.  They both lay there catching their breath, Majima laying on top of Kiryu.

“Hey Kiryu.”

“Yeah.”

“I love ya.”  Kiryu smiled.

“I love you too.”

#Yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #kiryu kazuma #kazuma kiryu #majima goro #goro majima #kiryu #majima #kiryu x majima #majima x kiryu #kazumaji #kazumaji smut #yakuza smut #ryu ga gotoku smut #kiryu smut #majima smut #kiryu kazuma smut #kazuma kiryu smut #majima goro smut #goro majima smut #ikemencrossedmythwrites #icmwrites

[hazeldough]

okay while i’m playing judgment (i’m only at the beginning of ch 4 before meeting with higashi ahdfsdf) and i have SO many thoughts-- mainly what if 6 didn’t happen?

like do not get me wrong-- i love 6 and it’s my second favorite game, right behind 0, but i also wanna see everyone’s daughter haruka kick some ass!!!!

im gonna rattle off of headcanons and just overall thoughts

basically Y6 never happened, or won’t happen until at least 5 years later

Haruka is 20 years old

Haruka arrives in Kamurocho in 2017 and went to Akiyama for help after doing odd jobs

Stuff happens at Sky Finance, and Yagami gets involved. Haruka wants to help because Akiyama is currently indisposed and Hana needs to manage Sky Finance in his absence.

While solving Akiyama’s case, Haruka and Yagami bond a bit because they both have a past they keep on getting reminded of by other people that they don’t want to bring up.

They also walk in on Kaito’s expulsion from the Matsugane family

After they close the case, Haruka asks if she can join Yagami Detective Agency and Yagami lets her on, because she’s been really helpful and insightful when it comes to talking to people and finding clues.

Also she doesn’t fear most yakuza and honestly Yagami and Kaito are really impressed by that

The overarching story would be how Haruka is waiting for Kiryu to be released from prison, but he never turns up so she’s WORRIED

Yes, it’s Tojo Clan drama again

The main theme is everyone acknowledging how important Kiryu is to them and also acknowledging that he’s been the band aid solution to Tojo Clan problems since 2005

Haruka’s main goal is to get her dad to actually live life as a civilian

Haruka’s side story would be her helping out an agency on its last legs and offering her expertise as a former idol for the people there

She says that she isn’t sure if people would be okay with her on and each substory or progression would be people understanding that she’s a good person and so is her dad

It’d be a combo of Majima’s cabaret club where there’s some aspect of micro managing and Y5′s dance battles where Haruka has to do them again to enlist new dance instructors, vocal coaches, or security

Haruka gets 3 mentors and 4 fighting styles in total, something similar to Y0 where the 4th style is unlocked after completing her side story

Honestly, this is where most of my self indulgence goes-- as if this isn’t all already self indulgent lmao

Miss Tatsu - Beast style

Miss Tatsu is introduced when investigating Akiyama’s case and they run into her while she’s out collecting

Miss Tatsu talks about an old acquaintance of hers and Haruka connects the dots along the way.

Haruka’s brute strength is built up and it’s REALLY focused on flow and momentum.

Nair - Parrying

Nair is introduced also while investigating Akiyama’s case and she’s back because she needs Yagami’s assistance

Nair teaches Haruka a more balanced fighting style, but with a focus on parrying and using her enemy’s strength against them

Areshi - Breaker

Areshi is introduced when Haruka’s side story opens up

He’s an instructor now, but he still wants to make a break

Areshi helps Haruka develop the skills she learned as an idol into battle

Komaki is present and offers help, but Haruka would say that she wants to develop her own path-- so he’s just there as a pillar of support.

Haruka’s 4th style combines the above 3. I’d like to think that she’d basically be a human beyblade at some point, maybe as a heat action LMAO

Haruka’s dynamics with everyone!!

Akiyama, Yagami, and Kaito have BIG uncle energy lol

Akiyama watches out for her the best he can, but entrusts her to Yagami since she’s working for him

Haruka and Yagami get along bc of similar feelings towards their past

Haruka gets along with Kaito because he reminds her of her dad and Rikiya

Haruka and Hana bond too!!

Hana acts like she isn’t a little happy when Haruka comments that she and Akiyama act like a married couple

Haruka and Daigo low key acknowledge each other as siblings because of how Kiryu’s acted like a father towards them

They both bond over how they were in a position they were too young for but how they grew from it

They think about while it Was troublesome along the way, they’re just glad that Kiryu put That much trust in them and that’s what motivates them

Saejima really watches out for Haruka because she kind of reminds him of Yasuko

He talks a lot about Yasuko to Haruka

Majima and Haruka are only A LITTLE awkward around each other

They haven’t really seen each other in over a decade-- maybe a LITTLE bit but not much

Majima gives Haruka a legitimate apology for kidnapping her when she was 9. Haruka says that she gets why he had to do it, but she hasn’t really held a grudge over it-- especially after Saejima told her what Majima said to him.

TEAM BATTLE THROUGH TOJO CLAN WITH HARUKA, DAIGO, SAEJIMA, AND MAJIMA!!!!

Final fight is up in the air but wouldn’t it be something if Haruka fought essentially a girlboss character LMAO

Basically the main antagonist is trying to take over the Tojo Clan and honestly she makes some good points-- but she has horrible execution of it

Since this is self indulgent: Haruka may not shoot to kill, but she may shoot as a warning

I want Haruka to be the type of character that Does refuse to kill, but also wouldn’t leave a weapon lying around within reach of the antagonist or she’d do something if the antagonist is threatening multiple lives

At the end, everyone reunites

Kiryu sees how Haruka’s metaphorically and literally fought for him and his freedom and how Daigo’s been doing his best to keep the Tojo Clan in line

One nice happy family :^)

I mainly focused on Haruka here, but I feel like it’d REALLY work if the second protagonist would be Daigo

Yes, he’s the chairman, but he has to be on his own away from the Tojo clan for Reasons lol

And then Y6 happens ( but with some differences )

#aj rambles #what was it that one tweet said? something about seeing a character and just developing more background and stuff on them? #that's me with haruka #rgg #haruka sawamura #someone enable me in haruka kicking ass indulgence #like i loved the dance battles in y5 but i also feel robbed of her throwing down y'know? #saves

[imagine-the-fanfics]

Honesty -- Part 2

Characters: Goro Majima x Reader X Daigo Dojima

Warnings: Abuse (verbal), cheating, softcore (brief), toxic relationship traits

Inspiration: Prompt – “I stay awake constantly. I’m always awake. Always. I’m scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll see your face, and I can’t do it. I just can’t.”; “i hate u, i love u (feat. Olivia o’Brien)” by gnash; “Invincible” by Crossfade; “Everything Stays (feat. Olivia Olson)” by Adventure Time

A/n: I don’t know what to add. I feel like I’m not having a lot to add to fics lately.

Months had passed since you saw Majima last. His existence haunted yours; every so often he would randomly pop into your mind, memories the two of you shared playing back like a movie. It was at its worst when you dreamt about him, only to wake up next to Daigo.

The relationship was toxic, that was undeniable. There was nothing good that came from it, and it was better that it die and be left behind.

The love was consuming, that, too, was undeniable. You had never loved anyone as fiercely as you loved him, and you fully believed you would never feel that deep of a love for anyone else.

When your relationship with Daigo went public, your life changed. Majima was forced back into your life, and it was painful. Every time you saw him was a stab to your gut. He always had this blank look in his eyes, the fire that had drawn you in was barely an ember now. He was still the Mad Dog, but the mask slipped more than it stuck these days. You’d heard that he was seen around town spending his money on women and whiskey; rarely spending more than a handful of nights with each of them, and those nights were never in succession.

A year passed since your break up with Majima, and your engagement was formally announced.

Your engagement party was the worst of those moments. Daigo had picked your dress, just like how he picked everything in your life now. Once you agreed to marry him, he had started being more controlling. If you went anywhere, you went with guards. If you wanted to go shopping for clothes, Daigo had final say over what you bought. If you went out to eat, he ordered for you. You knew walking into this that you would likely end up in a loveless marriage, but you hadn’t expected to end up feeling like property and absolutely fucking miserable.

So there you stood, in a black halter dress with a cut out window creating a pseudo sweetheart neckline. The halter straps emerged from the side of your dress, connecting where your collarbones met, leaving you and your cleavage very exposed. You overheard someone joke about how your breasts looked ready to jump out and join the party, but Daigo paid it no mind. The bodice was so tight you had a hard time breathing, but skirt was a floor-length A-line with a slit in the side starting at your hip. Diamonds decorated your neck, your wrists, your ears, your feet— the wealth of your fiancé displayed on you like an intricate mannequin.

You stood next to your fiancé, smiling and thanking people as they gave the two of you wishes of congratulations. Some of them had gifts, but they were directed to a table where they could be placed. So many people came and went that the endless parade blurred into one single stream. So many new faces to memorize, even more returning faces you scrambled to remember. There were easily a thousand people here, if not more. You were here to greet all of them.

The Majima’s depression was written in his blank stare, the bags under his eyes, the smell of whiskey on his breath. He’d watched you from afar, greeting everyone while at Daigo’s side and it made him sick. He slammed the rest of his whiskey before getting in line.

Your heart broke when Majima came to offer his congratulations. He was clearly well on his way to being drunk, and he looked like he was completely dead inside. Still, you kept the façade of a happy bride-to-be, smiling and thanking him. You could feel Daigo’s eyes on you, watching for any hint of an emotional connection to Majima, and you were more than happy to deny it. Still, you couldn’t help but watch as Majima left.

After the greeting was dinner. You and Majima couldn’t help but make eye contact, and each time it became harder and harder to keep the façade together. You managed to choke down the food you’d been served with a smile on your face. Once dinner was finished, you asked Daigo for permission to step outside. He waved you away and you stepped out onto the balcony, looking at the bustling street below.

You hadn’t expected to see Majima already standing there, leaning against the railing with a cigarette in his fingers. You watched him take a drag, and you kept watching him after. There was so much inside you that you wanted to say, that you had to say. Instead, you turned to go inside. The peace of mind you had come here to find was nonexistent.

“You don’t have to leave,” Majima said before you could take another step. You turned your head and torso to look at him. “Not on my account at least. You’re Dojima’s woman now, you don’t have to worry about me trying anything.” The fake accent you had loved was gone.

You looked inside for a moment and then towards the railing of the balcony, continuing your path to the railing. You leaned against it next to Majima.

“Mind sharing?” You asked, looking at his cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” Majima asked with a raised eyebrow but a tone of concern. Still, he obliged, handing you a cigarette, letting you put it to your lips before lighting it. He watched you and frowned. “You used to get on my ass about my smoking. Sayin’ I was going to die of cancer. Now you’re smoking?”

“Reminds me of you,” you admitted absentmindedly. When you realized what you said you coughed. You saw Majima staring at you with a slack jaw. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Don’t want your fiancé to hear, after all,” Majima said with disgust.

“Tell me about it,” you grumbled. “I can’t even pick out my damn clothes anymore.”

“I was wondering about that dress,” Majima said, looking at you. “Doesn’t seem like you at all.”

“Because it’s not, but Daigo wanted to show off his trophy, I guess.” You took a drag from your cigarette, exhaling out just a slice of your frustration. “I don’t hate him, but I’m getting there. I resent him. Looking at him makes me sick. And fucking him? I—” You looked at Majima and saw the pained grimace on his face as he returned his gaze to the street below. “Sorry.”

Silence settled over you as the two of you stood there in silence.

“I stay awake constantly,” Majima admitted. “I’m always awake. Always. I’m scared that if I fall asleep, I’ll see your face, and I can’t do it. I just can’t, Y/n.” He took a drag, a tear rolling down his cheek as he regained his composure. “Watching my boss dangle you in front of me like a toy I can’t have pisses me off. You’re not a toy. I know I treated you like shit, but you’re a human being; you’re not a doll to dress up and show off to your friends.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you said nothing. Another drag, another exhale. Silence settles in again. The two of you listen in to the traffic below.

“You haunt me,” you admitted quietly. “It comes in waves. Sometimes it’s just a spec of a memory; sometimes it’s all-consuming.” You flicked your ash and let it fall from the balcony to the world below. “I’ll dream of you and wake up next to Daigo and… It’s devastating. I see you everywhere, in everything. Daigo put on a movie with zombies and I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d like this one. I see a couple fighting on the street and I get nostalgic. Nostalgic, can you fucking believe that?” Another drag. “You can’t sleep, but I can’t seem to exist.”

More silence. You finished your cigarette, putting it out on the railing and flicking it out onto the street below before leaving Majima on the balcony to be alone with his thoughts.

It wasn’t long after that that the dancing started. Majima stared at you as you danced with Daigo and others, watching you with a mix of devastation, love, and anger. He didn’t say anything – he wasn’t dumb enough to do that – but he sipped his whiskey. The whiskey didn’t dull the edge of the pain he was feeling. The whiskey did nothing but make those emotions stronger. Seeing him broke your heart one piece at a time, and when it was completely shattered into dust you excused yourself, leaving the rented ballroom and sobbed in the hall. Thank God that you could afford the best setting spray for your makeup.

Seconds after you started crying Majima was taking your hand and leading you to an elevator. “No one can see you cry or the façade is off and Dojima is made a fool.” Thankfully, it didn’t appear anyone had seen you leave. When you were on the elevator, he hit the button for his room’s floor. The door closed and the elevator started to rise. “I’m taking you to my room. You can cry in peace there, but if you take too long people are going to question where you are.”

You watched him, but he just stared at the buttons. Your crying stopped, he looked at you, and the next thing you knew he had against the wall of the elevator, his lips on yours. You put one hand on his chest, the other resting on his neck as the two kissed like it was oxygen after the two of you had nearly drowned in the sorrow of the other’s absence. You didn’t care when he slid your skirt to the side, one hand against the flesh of your hip, the other tangled up in your hair as he slid a leg between your legs. It gave you something to rub against, and you rocked your hips on his thigh, the sweet friction making you 

The elevator was still going. You had no idea how long you had left in this moment, but you didn’t care. This was much needed bliss. Toxic as the two of you were for each other, the love you shared for each other would never die, no matter how desperate the two of you were to leave it in the past.

The elevator dinged; the door opened up. Majima immediately backed off at the sound, running a gloved finger against his bottom lip. Your skirt fell to its intended place and you were left panting. He took your hand in his and led you to his room, taking his hand back as he flipped his wallet open, removing his keycard to open the door. The whole process was second, but it felt like eternity.

#Yakuza #Goro Majima #Majima #Goro Majima x reader #Majima x reader #Daigo #Daigo Dojima #daigo x reader #daigo dogma x reader

[shinadog]

Time to (finally) update Mob! Go check it out, it's full of tears.

Summary : Something happened after Haruka’s concert. (PART 1) (AO3 Link)

2 - TEARS

He had been crying for what felt like hours.

Days, even.

None of this felt real.

He vaguely remembered talking to people. Distant family members, coworkers, neighbours. Nice, friendly people with their sorry, pained expressions and their kind words. They all came flocking to him the second the news talked about it.

He hated them.

Hated how he felt them struggle with his own raw grief. Hated the sad tint of compassion in their voices as they told him they couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Hated how they looked at him as he cried, scared of that pathetic display.

He was scared, too.

But mostly, he was angry.

His anger, at first, was directed at no one in particular. Or everyone at once. He blamed the people who made this concert happen. He blamed the girl, the idol who started this disaster. He blamed the yakuza who had raised her. He blamed every single fucker who had been in the crowd that night.

He blamed her, too.

He hated himself for that.

When some journalists managed to track him down, asking him about what happened, what he felt now that his world had been turned upside down, he could barely believe it. These people were vultures. All of them. Hounding him down, following him everywhere until he cracked and talked to them. And even then, as he allowed some of them into his house, he was speechless. Their questions barely made sense, he barely remembered saying anything, his eyes lost in the camera in front of him. He doubted any of his answers made any sense. How could they? Nothing made sense anymore.

All he could offer to the good people of Japan, who were in no doubt watching because they wanted to see what a broken man looked like, were his tears.

He kept crying long after everyone had left.

**********************************

Kiryu was awake. And, like all the times he had been conscious enough for it, he was begging. Bargaining. Trying to win over whoever was in front of him, to be finally allowed to leave this damn room. Today’s target was Akiyama, who was trying to avoid his desperate plea by looking at something outside, through the window. The man was being particularly stubborn today, not even meeting Kiryu’s eyes as he made small talk, attempting to distract him. Well, Kiryu was stubborn enough. He knew he would win at this game, eventually.

He tried to brute force his way out of there several times, only to be pushed back in his bed by Saejima or Majima. Sometimes both. Apparently, the two oath brothers were standing guard next to his door at all times, making any escape impossible. For the time being, at least. Kiryu couldn’t wait to be back in full force; to show them what it means to try to stop him.

For now, he was still far too weak to even attempt to fight anyone. Last time he tried, punching Majima in the nose after he stupidly got a bit too close, the nurse gave him something that made him sleep for an entire day. His punch was so weak it didn’t even manage to break Majima’s stupid nose.A total flop. After that, Kiryu was forced to behave, not wanting to lose more time than he already had.

The big bad dragon of Dojima, grounded. Stuck in this hospital room when all he wanted was to see Haruka.

Not being able to be with her was driving him crazy.

So he begged.

Asked as soon as he was awake, no matter who was in front of him. The nurses, the doctors, Majima and Saejima, Date that he only saw once or twice, Akiyama… They all gave him the same answer. Not today. Not yet. You’re not strong enough.

If today was any indication though, he was making some progress. He felt it as Akiyama wriggled uncomfortably, back on the chair he usually sat on next to Kiryu’s bed.

He knew if anyone was going to cave in and give him what he wanted, it was going to be Akiyama. The man was crushed by his guilt, and Kiryu wasn't ashamed to exploit that. He'll feel bad about it later.

“You do look better, today.”

Too busy focusing his thoughts on trying to win him over, Kiryu almost didn’t hear Akiyama talk. He blinked stupidly, trying to process what had been said.

“Good enough to take a walk?” he asked, daring to hope it would be enough to work. He would have tried to smile, but his face kept its usual stoic expression, hoping he looked at least strong enough to walk out of here.

Akiyama just stared at him, and for the first time since he had walked into his room, Kiryu noticed how truly exhausted he looked. He usually looked tired, with bags under his eyes and his dishevelled suit, but everything about him looked worse right now. Having lost track of days ever since he woke up, Kiryu didn’t know how long the man had been in the hospital, keeping watch over him or checking in on Haruka. He would have been thankful for it, if his mind was not solely focused on finding a way out of his cell.

After what felt like an hour, Akiyama finally talked again, his voice weirdly hushed. “It’s a bad idea.”

And just like that, Kiryu was set free.

Well, more or less.

Taking a walk was apparently out of the question. Kiryu had to admit he probably wouldn’t have been able to take a step on his own, but he refused to admit it as his friend pushed a wheelchair that he got from who knows where in front of him.

It would do.

Finally being able to get out of the room felt unreal. Kiryu immediately felt the anticipation of it all making him dizzy, his body still aching from his wounds. Still, he said nothing as they started moving, afraid any comment about his pain would take him back to his room.

Akiyama was pushing his chair, mumbling to himself some more about what a bad idea that was while Majima and Saejima were following like two nervous shadows. Kiryu was more or less sure they didn't ask anyone’s permission before they took him out of the room. Not that it mattered now, no doctor's order could have stopped him, anyway.

Kiryu felt better than he did when he first woke up, his head wasn't spinning as hard anymore, and he could more or less focus on what was happening around him. Still, he felt numb. Wrapping his brain around what happened after the concert was hard, no matter how many times it was explained to him. Even now, as Akiyama kept talking to him as they advanced through an empty corridor ("It looks worse than it really is" , "Doctors say she was lucky" , "Her chances of waking up are very good", things like that), Kiryu's mind was blank. He didn't know what to make out of those words. He was probably still high on painkillers. And probably a bit in denial, too.

He heard Majima take a deep sigh behind him and wished he could have punched him again. He wasn't sure why.

Maybe because they had finally taken a stop near a small room, similar to the one Kiryu had just left.

Maybe because Date came out of it, looking more glum than Kiryu had ever seen him.

Maybe because right now, fighting someone, anyone, sounded better than getting inside this room he had begged again and again to be in.

Now that he was here, he was scared of what was inside.

Date was talking to him, no doubt saying the same kind of things Kiryu has been hearing while he was being pushed here. This time, he couldn't focus on his words at all, barely aware of how his own hands got on the wheels of the chair, making a move for the room. Akiyama showed no resistance and let go of the chair, taking a step back.

Scared or not, he had to do it.

Once he was inside the room, everything went too fast. Everything he saw was too much for his still fuzzy head, but it was still enough to make him stop in his tracks. Feeling as if his blood has frozen in his veins, Kiryu took in the details of the horrid scene laid out before him.

The slow beeping of machines and, louder, the respirator, filling the room with a hypnotic rhythm.

The bruises on her face, deep purple in places, still way too vibrant after so many days.

The terrifying paleness of her skin.

The catheter lodged in her arm.

The fact that it was her, the child he swore he would stay far away from, for her own sake, lying here, completely still. Haruka.

Kiryu only managed not to fall down because he was already sitting in the wheelchair.

He did break down, though.

He wasn’t sure when he had started crying. The world was spinning again, his body screamed in agony, and the only thing that made him take his eyes out of the bed where his daughter laid way too still was a hand on his shoulder.

Date. The man was suddenly next to him, kneeling next to his chair, at his eye level.

He was crying, too.

All that Kiryu could think about as their eyes met is that it felt wrong. Date wasn’t supposed to cry. He wasn’t supposed to cry, either. And Haruka wasn’t supposed to be here, wounded and unconscious.

It was all wrong.

**********************************

Majima ran away as soon as everyone started falling apart around him.

It was not that he was scared of that unbearable display of vulnerability. No, really. He was tough, he could handle a few tears. But when he heard some actual wails coming from the room, he felt as if he’d rather be somewhere else. It did not help that both his oath brother and that loan shark guy looked absolutely mortified, the latter looking like he was going to burst into tears as well at any moment. Majima really didn’t want to be here to see that.

So he turned tail and quickly put some distance between himself and all those unpleasant emotions. He did hear Saejima call for him, but he was already far enough to pretend he didn’t notice.

His quick, angry steps disturbing the stupid silence of the hospital earned him a few suspicious looks from staff members and patients alike, but Majima didn’t mind. He couldn’t exactly blame them, the place was quiet enough than a tall, obnoxiously dressed yakuza stomping around stuck up like a sore thumb. That was alright with him. If anything, looking at the nurses glaring at him as he zoomed past them made him forget about his thoughts for a hot second. Which was nice. Not much, but nice. He gave them a wide grin, baring his teeth as they quickly looked away.

He would have accepted anything to distract himself from the voice in his head, his own voice, what he had said to his oath brother right before their fight echoing at the back of his mind.

He loves her more than life itself.

God, he hated being right.

He had known Kiryu for long enough to know the man cared too much about pretty much everyone he met. He forgave backstabbers without a second thought, worse, he was the kind of sad sap that would grieve for a fallen enemy like he would for a dear friend. Most of all, the bond between Kiryu and that kid that somehow ended up in his care was something else. Sure, Majima couldn’t pretend he knew much about what being a parent was like. Hell, Kiryu had what, a dozen crying orphans? A whole pack of sad little fuckers, waiting for him at home, that he surely cared about just as much.

But Haruka was special. Had always been.

And, right now, she was in pieces. Broken by the very same morons who swore they idolized her right before she had the nerve to open up to them. And, just like Majima had predicted, this also broke Kiryu. He felt an unpleasant shiver creeping on his neck as he thought of the other man crying in the depressing little room where his daughter laid.

Still, things could have been worse - at least, the kid was still alive. For now.

Alright, so trying to not think about it wasn’t working as well as Majima had hoped. He needed to think about something else right now. Find an actual distraction, since wandering through the hospital aimlessly didn’t work.

He needed someone to pester.

He went straight for Daigo’s room.

As he made his way through the much nicer hospital aisle, with the fancy rooms they kept for the important, wealthy guests, Majima frowned. The place felt strangely empty. No body-guards in front of either of the corridor’s end, no guy standing in front of the room’s door, and, surely enough, no one inside.

He sighed.

One of these days, they were going to make a “ Who’s the biggest dumbass who had ever led the Tojo Clan ” poll, and Majima wasn’t sure who would actually win that title. Sure, Kiryu was a colossal meathead who kept putting himself into impossible situations, but Daigo was no slouch either. What he lacked in stupidity he made up for in impulsivity. The only reason he was still in the hospital at all was because he kept finding ways to escape his room, and, way too often, fuck up his stitches again.

It had been years since Majima had sworn he would keep an eye on the chairman for Kiryu’s sake, and the guy had managed to throw himself at all kinds of dangers with a frightening regularity ever since. Though he had joked when he proposed keeping his boss on a leash last time a major crisis happened, Majima found the idea pretty reasonable right now. That would at least cut the poor nurses some slack. They were always running after their patient, and, if the emptiness of the room was anything to go by, they didn’t have much luck in finding him this time. That, or they simply gave up. Majima wouldn’t blame them.

Still, they probably didn’t look that hard, because as Majima got down a few floors, abandoning the quiet fancy corridors to come back to something more modest, he found Daigo in his usual spot, standing guard in front of room 407. Well, “standing” was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration,  as he was sitting in a wheelchair similar to the one Kiryu was probably still weeping in. A few Tojo clan men were scattered in the corridor, keeping an eye on their chairman. As Majima walked past the closest one, a sweaty brat who literally looked like he had never worn a suit before, he had to stop himself from barking at them to get lost. If the way the guy bent over as he passed was any indication, shaking and sweating even more, he would have obeyed pretty quickly, too. Those body-guards might not have looked like much, and looking at them shaking as they stared at him did nothing to make his bad mood better, but they were at least doing better than their predecessors, so far. After the whole Aizawa fiasco, the only thing Majima asked of these guys was to be born and raised Tojo men, no more wolves in sheep's clothing bullshit.

So he settled for a grunt of acknowledgment, leaving the bodyguard behind to go sit on a chair placed conveniently next to his boss. As if Daigo knew he was coming to bother him. Majima was grateful - he had been standing still for too long while Kiryu was unconscious, and though he wouldn’t say it out loud it, he was starting to get a little tired. He frowned, realizing this was basically just him admitting he was getting old, which was not something he needed right now.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in your room, boss? Ya know, getting some rest, not playing hide and seek with the nurses, that kind of stuff?” he said as he collapsed on the chair with a loud thud, making all the body-guards suddenly stiffen. Majima paid them no mind, focusing his attention on Daigo who… Certainly looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a week. Which, to be fair, was how he usually looked, but still!

Before he could attempt to make fun of him for looking like shit, Daigo answered his question with another, not even taking his eyes from the door he was surveying. “Aren’t you supposed to be in front of Kiryu’s room?”

“Yeah, about that…”

That got him a reaction, at least. Majima appreciated for a few seconds the fact that his boss finally stopped staring at the door like an exceptionally sad looking guard dog to glare at him, before he took pity on him and grumbled some kind of explanation. “They took him to see the kid. Went as well as you’d think.”

“And by “they”, you mean…?”

“That loan shark guy. And Saejima, I guess.” Majima decided to omit he too had taken part on their little excursion to Haruka’s room. It wasn’t like it was his idea. And it wasn’t like they could have kept Kiryu from escaping forever. “He felt better, today. Hell, he has always been quick to heal, the fucker. So taking him to her room didn’t sound like such a bad idea.”

“How bad did he take it?”

“Eh. If he hasn’t fainted by now, he’s probably still wailing in there, I bet.”

As if summoned by the growing tension in the corridor, a nurse got out of room 407, freezing in her tracks as she realized a bunch of yakuza were staring at her. Still, she said nothing and left the scene as quick as she had appeared. Majima guessed when you worked in a hospital, you had no time to lose on a bunch of criminals looking at you funny. He assumed the conversation would just continue, but the chairman’s eyes were once again wandering to the now semi-open door of the room.

“That friend of yours is doing okay, I heard?” Majima only had a brief knowledge of who was the patient of room 407. Some guy that Daigo knew from high school, who ended up fighting alongside Kiryu and his ragtag bunch of buddies, because, of course, why not. He was also the one who was actually AT the concert that night, and who didn’t exactly save the day. That was a bit of a touchy subject, though, so Majima thought he would rather focus on something safer. Like what the guy was called, for instance. “Shit, what’s his name again? Swear Saejima told me, but-”

“Shinada.” Daigo cut him off, still focusing on the door, his brow furrowed. “I don’t think I should be calling myself his friend. He’s only in there because I meddled with his life. Again.”

Majima was musing on what that “again” meant when he noticed a worrying twitch of Daigo’s eye, as the man lowered his head slowly, his shoulder sagging. It occurred to him that perhaps he had just fled a crying chairman to come find another, and frankly, this pissed him off.

A good subordinate would have said nothing or, better, changed subject to spare his chairman the embarrassment of showing some kind of vulnerability, something the bodyguards were doing very well, as they all mysteriously started to look in different directions. Majima wasn’t exactly a good subordinate, though.

“If you start crying, I’m going to sucker punch you.”

The exhausted glare Daigo gave him was miraculously tear-free, so that was nice. “I’m not going to cry. And it’s not exactly a sucker punch if you warn the guy beforehand.”

“Maybe. But hey, let’s look at the big picture, yeah? The clan is still standing. Most of our guys are still alive.” But a lot of them were dead, Kiryu’s kid was in a coma and he himself wasn’t doing well at all, the clan’s hierarchy was once again all shaken up… Majima gritted his teeth, struggling to find something positive to add, before he settled on what he thought was a particularly nice note. “And shit, almost forgot, Saejima and Kiryu are not going to jail, thanks to ya!”

Majima had been slightly worried when cops started to get into their business shortly after the concert. That they had the nerve to show up at all, claiming that it was time for Saejima to go back to jail, and that Kiryu somehow had to go too, for some reason. It only took a little bribe from Daigo, the you-could-buy-a-house-with-that-much-money kind, to get them to back off and forget about the whole “jail” thing for a little while. They would come back, of course, but for now, his oath brother was free to haunt the hallway of this damned hospital, and Kiryu was free to cry for his daughter in peace. Lucky them.

“They’re not going to jail yet.” Daigo added, still looking pretty glum but at least finding some kind of a normal posture again.

“Yeah, sure. Still, it was nice of ya to do that. They’ll never admit it, the big idiots, but it’s probably better if they stick around, at a time like this.”

Would be a shame for them to miss all those tears, uh?

#yakuza #yakuza 5 #yakuza fanfiction #rgg #rgg5 #weird art of mine #stories #fics #mob

[ancsthctist-archived]

//. 失われた記憶 // memories lost // reijiro

     Sotenbori didn’t change much in the last two decades, did it? Even during the daytime, there was still an uneasiness about it, one you couldn’t quite touch until the sun drowned in the west and the brightly flashing neon nightlife was made more apparent. Reijiro remembers the first night he was here, on Hanzou’s arm, gawking in foreign wonder at the sights, the sounds, the smells. How quickly he forgot that urban jungles had its dangers--how swift Sotenbori was to remind him that this wasn’t the wonderland it was dressed up to be. Even the waters of the river were dark and murky--pretending to be a perfect spot for a boat ride with a loved one whilst hiding bodies floating just beneath the inky surface.

     But Reijiro wasn’t here for the fun of it. Nay, Sotenbori was the last place he wanted to go, and for the reasons he eventually decided to come. With a brief note detailing his trip left for Majima, he booked a hotel for three days prior to taking the long train ride back, wherein he had all but left his body behind in some lucid daydream, only to be woken by the intercom announcing their arrival at the station. Shit. Mind raced to stay on. To take it back to Kamurocho and give the excuse that it wasn’t as important as he thought it was. To pretend to fall asleep, fail to disembark and end up back in Tokyo as a result of human error. Heart jittered in his chest as he stood, grabbed his bag and stepped off the train.

     Part of him hoped that whatever awaited him here was harmless and unnoteworthy. His office had been abandoned and was left untouched by the locals. Reijiro had the deed and never thought of selling it off to anyone--no one ever asked, and Ayumi-chan made use of it at least as a form of storage. But now she no longer needed it, having decided to get rid of majority of the things she kept. Money from selling the property wasn’t needed, but there were was one thing he had left there. Abandoned. To rot and whither to dust. One thing that he had feared then and feared now to peruse. But the time has come. With things settling down in Kamurocho, he decided to make his way to this ill begotten place, leaving Ayumi-chan in charge of the clinic during his absence.

     The hotel room reminded him of his old apartment. Almost like a box. Gray walls, wooden door and floor. Few appliances and a claustrophobia that kept him awake at night. It was enough to make him wonder if perhaps he should see the sights again to kill time before it was dark enough to visit his old office. Dinner from Osaka King calmed him down somewhat. But then it was back to bored anxiety that seemed to slow time down to an agonizing crawl. The closer that time drew near to make for the old place, however, the harder his heart hammered against his chest.

     First night was focused on going through what supplies remained in the old cabinets and drawers, pulling out medical supplies that were still usable and even old books that he had completely forgotten about. Bringing them back to the hotel room and going through them, he tossed what was worthless and packaged the rest in his messenger bag. All in the clinic had been cleaned and thoroughly combed--except his desk. His desk, a nice piece of polished mahogany, only weathered by age and several instances of yakuza shoes kicking it for one reason or another in fits of rage, sat lonely in the front, with all drawers emptied except for one. It wasn’t until the second night that he sat at it in the old leather chair, with his phone in front of him open and with a text readied to send to Majima.

     I hate this place.

     He thumbs the send button. But never quite puts enough pressure for the message to go through. So rattled and anxious with his hand on the drawer, he could swear that he hears the synapses in his brain sparking and short-circuiting, wires crossing and malfunctioning when he needed them to calm. He opens the drawer. A leather bound notebook is inside. It’s not his. But another’s. He touches it with hesitant fingers, leaving his own body behind as he can’t feel himself pull it out and rest it upon the surface of his desk in front of him. He can smell Hanzou in the leather. Even in the years following his death up until Majima was dragged into this very office, very nearly on the brink of biting the dust, he never once even dared.

     But it’s open now. And he hates it. He hates every minute of it and his heart aches and throbs as he reads through the messily scrawled mixes of kanji and hiragana. Some bits are in English for some reason. To practice, perhaps. Reijiro did the same, but transposed. He feels tired as he reads through. Hoping and fearing in equal measure that he finds something earth-shattering. Something that puts the foundation of his perspective in an upheaval. Something that hurts him and makes him feel guilty for growing bitter and angry about their time spent together. Time wasted. But... there’s nothing. Nothing at all what Reijiro had imagined. Hanzou didn’t trick him into coming to Sotenbori. Hanzou didn’t plan to kill him and was stopped by another family member because Reijiro was a civilian.

     I don’t love him anymore. But I don’t know how to let him go.

     That it was that simple made Reijiro’s heart burn. He didn’t know whether to be angry or cry. Perhaps both. But he’s tired. He’s so tired. He fantasizes picking up the desk and shattering it against the wall, howling out his anger like a beast. But instead, his fury is unleashed in a sharp exhale of breath long held. He closes the book and rests his head in his hands, closing his burning eyes and letting his thoughts drift back to Tokyo. Back to Kamurocho. Back to Majima. Leagues apart from one another, these two Yakuza for whom he felt so much. Perusing the long past thoughts and feelings of one lead him to further understanding just how little he knew him. His stomach turned. He had fallen in love with an idea. And the idea persisted to frost the glass that encompassed reality. Microdreams take him back to the arms of a masked demon. And his body goes lax for a moment, reveling in the warmth. He could swear he smells that all too familiar brand of cigarette smoke and he breathes it in. Brief seconds of pleasantness are broken by the subtle clattering coming from a direction that Reijiro doesn’t recognize.

     Head raises and he looks around, grabbing his phone and erasing the message left, hurrying to use it as a flashlight when he hears it again. Going still, he listens. It’s coming from below. A basement? He didn’t recall a basement in his building. The entirety of this slot of land was abandoned, was it not? And why was the noise so loud? Getting up from his chair, he searched throughout the office, before feeling a draft coming from an empty bookcase. He notices scrape lines along the floor, and weathered paint and drywall sticking out from behind it. He moves it, careful not to make a sound as he uncovers a massive hole in the wall that leads to a makeshift stairwell that cuts through the wall of the neighboring building.

     He should leave. He should leave now, burn the deed, and never return. But he doesn’t. He eases himself down the staircase, down into a basement he had never known was there. It was cold down below, and dark. He holds an arm close to himself while the other holds up his phone, using it as a makeshift flashlight to illuminate the new space. There’s little beyond boxes and crates, all old and worn, with a chair, a tarp, and an excessive collection of bottles. There’s an unlit candle and a pack of cigarettes. He approaches this area that appears to be a living space, picking up a bottle and looking it over. It’s a cheap brand. Smelling awful of bitter ale. And he’s blinded for a moment, blinded and looking up at the ceiling involuntarily, startled by the sudden shatter of the bottle on the concrete ground beneath him. Mouth covered, he reaches up to grasp at a foreign hand coming in from behind, dropping his phone and sending it skidding across the floor.

     A sharp coldness pushes him and there’s hot blood gushing from him. He’s grabbing at the hand over his mouth, which turned to an arm around his neck under his throat, as well as the knife piercing the soft flesh of his side. His sweatshirt grows heavy, wet. The blade rips from him and finds its mark again. He can’t scream, but grabs furiously at the hand holding the knife. His teeth bite through clothing and draw blood from his assailant. It earns him another stab and he kicks at a leg behind him. A shriek and he’s released, falling to the floor with eyes blind and ears deaf, all ringing so loudly, so dark and wild and bright and spinning, everything’s spinning. He reaches for his phone, blood spilling from him and body shaking, but he’s grabbed, spun onto his back. The man on top of him is ragged. Eyes wide and wild. He’s frightened with the realization of what he just did. A hand goes around Reijiro’s throat, the other holding the knife up.

     He stops it from piercing his face with one hand, the other desperately clasping the one around his neck. His muscles ache and burn and his bones scream. He can’t feel the pain in his side, only the fierce gale of adrenaline that threatens to blow both of them over an unseen edge. Strength failing, his switchblade finds its way in his hand and he thrusts the steel into the man’s throat, right below the chin. Fear and desperation turn to shock, and the force of the man’s strength was soon to go lax as he coughed and sputtered, blood specking Reijiro’s face. He shoves the man off him, ripping the knife from his neck and pulling himself away. He wouldn’t help. He couldn’t help. His own blood stained his sweatshirt. His pants. A trail of red follows him as he drags himself towards his phone.

     Call Majima.

     He can’t. He shouldn’t. He probably should. But he won’t.

     Text him. He must text him.

     No. This was his journey to make. He must do it on his own. He can treat himself. He can stitch himself up.

     He’s hurt. He NEEDS help.

     He can help himself. This happens all the time in Sotenbori. This is the nature of Sotenbori, so it’s fine. He knew what he was getting into when he booked his trip and hotel. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

     When he reaches the top of the steps and his desk, he collapses on the floor. Tears threaten to bleed from him and he whimpers, blood stained hands gripping the wounds. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want to involve anyone either. This was his issue. And he needed to see it through himself. He was tired of being saved. Tired of being rescued. But...

     A shouting sob escapes him, one hand going over his mouth while the other gripped his bleeding side. Anger wells in him and his eyes are pinched shut, images of Hanzou smiling at him even long after he had written that sentence flashing, and tears finally escape him and he’s crumbled on the floor, shrieking into his palm as his body shakes. The touch of Hanzou’s hand on his shoulder, the press of his forehead against Reijiro’s. The genuine look in his eyes, the deep rumble in his throat and the way the apples of his cheeks perked when he... 

     It’s the smile that kills him. His body all but doubles as he curls up on the floor, heart gutted and lungs starved of breath. How awful he made him feel, only to bring him back up with that smile, a nuzzle on the cheek and a hug to bring it home. A kiss to the top of his head. He feels like a child. Lost. And alone. And he wants Hanzou to come back. To be alive, so he can leave him. Leave and say goodbye, return to Kamurocho, to Majima, with healing in his heart. But he can’t. It’s gone. It’s all gone. And he’s left there bleeding on the floor, screaming out in his pain, pain that supersedes the punctures in his side. Screams drown to whimpers as energy leaves him, as the anger dies back into familiar sadness. His hand presses hard into his side, and he cries until he can’t anylonger. Until his lungs hurt and his face is sore.

     The twilight that pervaded around his clinic is quiet, offering silence to the outpour of grief. He pulls spare twine and sutures from his bag and stitches himself up, biting down on Hanzou’s journal for the lack of pain management. It’s hours before he makes it back to the hotel. He’s the spitting image of the dead, but as predicted, no one was called to check on him as he stumbled through the streets of Sotenbori back to his hotel room, where he makes the bare minimum effort to clean himself up. He takes off his sweatshirt and wraps it tightly around his side, painful and sore as it was. Light blue tanktop and jeans are stained dark in red, but the blood is old enough by the time he reaches the station that it looks like a poor design choice from a distance. Kamurocho is much the same when he arrives, having slept the entire trip back with Hanzou’s journal slipped between the medical books in his bag.

     He leaves the door to his home unlocked when he finally gets inside. He feels dead. Exhausted. Absent of everything and nothing, the only thing that seems real to him is the throbbing in his side. He was lucky the attacker hadn’t pierced his vital organs. He would have hated to have to stay in a hospital in Sotenbori of all places, much less let Majima know that he couldn’t leave his sight without getting the shit kicked out of him. But that was the nature of the world they were entrenched in. Violence for violence’s sake, where hurt had no meaning beyond what it was at face value. Hanzou didn’t treat him like shit for any reason beyond the fact that he was just an asshole. And he didn’t die for any reason beyond that he was in the wrong place on the wrong person’s dime. It was all meaningless. It meant nothing in the end.

     He would leave a trail of bloodied clothes on the floor of his house as he made his way to his bathroom, filling the tub with warm water and epsom salt with weak, shaking limbs. He leaned against his sink and looked into the vanity. He was far more pale than usual. Eyes red and unfocused, hair disheveled. He was a picture of death. Sotenbori had taken its pound of flesh. But it was over. It was over and he could finally ease himself into the tub, flinching at the brief sting of the salt, and close his eyes. He would text Majima later. And tell him he loves him. And that he hoped he’d never have to return to Sotenbori for as long as he lived.

#YAKUZA // . -- 私の血は私が見るすべてです #blood tw #stabbing tw #violence tw

[real-sotenbori-hours]

Receive You: The Madtype - Majima Goro x Fem Reader, Part 1

Summary: The year is 2006 in Kamurocho, Tokyo, Japan and our favorite antihero angel, Majima Goro is outta the yakuza and enjoying life, running the Majima Corporation. Though he deals mainly in construction, his [Zero] days always left him nostalgic for nightlife as a member of the service industry and now a proprietor. He owns a nice little karaoke bar, Takara - something low key, offering secluded tables and party rooms, bottle service, two full bars and a Takoyaki stand right out front.  He spends most of his daytime at the Kamurocho Hills construction site and averages a few nights a week at Takara overseeing operations, schmoozing guests (often vendors, permit holders and officials in the construction business) and occasionally slinging drinks when he’s in the midst of a big pitch or, knowing Majima, an itch for theatrics. 👹 

As his top performer at Takara, the money and rush of nightlife aren’t the only perks to your job... if ya know what I mean. 

 Warnings: NSFW, smut, public masturbation, public trysts, profanity/blasphemy, a touch of B&D and a light dash of fluff...

***

 You love tending bar. Especially in a chill place with a solid staff for an incredible owner. Nothing gives you more pride than servin’ up fine drinks to fine customers under the watchful eye of your fine-ass boss. You take great pride in what you do, but that pride blazes like a wildfire when you think of the business patriarch that benefits most from your impeccable work ethic.

 He’s brash, yet charismatic... he’d do anything for the people he cares about. You love that. He’s wild-eyed yet up close, in the thick of peak hours, he’s attentive and spry, always within earshot to lend a hand.

   It’s unnerving. 

 You’ve learned so much from him. You respect him.   

And you please yourself while thinking of him.   

Almost every night you’d get home, plagued by the faint scent of his cologne and the flush you’d feel every time you so much as brushed past him. Every smirk and nod he’d give you, every conversation... some lighthearted and fun and some even more serious, real, emotionally raw... after putting product away and wiping everything down, you’d be sitting there, counting money, bullshitting and at times, venting. You bonded.

   You figured that over time the more you got to know him, the easier it’d be to shake your insatiable thirst for him. You figured wrong.

   You’ve never been shy about your sexual appetites, but you like to let it build with a slow burn, like easing into a hot bath. A couple of pointed innuendos here, a couple of genuine yet direct compliments there... just to gauge his reaction.

   The first time you let slip anything flirtatious, he grinned widely and later pressed two fingertips into your lower back just above your ass, whispering against your neck, letting you know he was right behind you, passing you on your right. A warm mist shot through you and you wanted more than anything to grab his hand, to place those very fingertips against you, to let your body tell him what you couldn’t yet find the words to say. You wanted your body to show him what he does to you.

   But ya couldn’t. The nerve wasn’t there, just the desire, festering like an infection. But you could keep waiting... after all, he’s worth it. 

 More than anything in this entire world, you wanted him to dick you down. You wanted him to take you hard, fast, with the hunger of a desert animal. Against a wall, bent over any permitting surface, pressed up to the floor-to-ceiling window of the nearest love motel, or all of the above and then some. You wanted him to fuck you into the mattress and then pull you into his arms, burning your skin with his own. You wanted to fuck him senseless. You wanted to make him feel good. You wanted your name to roll off his tongue as he’d topple over the edge, meeting you there. 

 The more you thought about it, you had to admit that it wasn’t just sex that you were after. If you’re being blunt with yourself, you’re pretty sure that you’re in love with Majima Goro. Sure, you love to fuck and you’re used to feeling intensely for every partner you’ve enjoyed... but this one’s different. Maybe it’s because you know that the Mad Dog of Shimano will never let anyone get close to him, that he guards his vulnerabilities not unlike a junkyard dog, feral and frothing, barely restrained. Maybe you like a challenge.

 Or maybe you just want every bit of him that you can possibly get, and if your heart breaks in the process, so be it. Maybe you just want to let your womanhood decide on this one. 

 You want to show him how deserving he is of unconditional love, support, adoration... you want him to see that his past needn’t define him, lest he prefers it. You want him to have the choice. You want to be the woman that shows him he can love and be loved... and you don’t fucking care what kind of danger that could bring you. You’ve never met anyone like him before and you’ll be damned if you let him slip away without making your affections abundantly clear. If he turns away, at least you’ll know, and you could move on. But it doesn’t seem like he would refuse you...

   At work you’d charm everyone in your path, separating them from inordinate amounts of their yen. You fucking loved it. And you loved how closely Majima took notice... if he only knew how wholesome and loving you are inside, how you yearn to lavish him and only him with every ounce of your true tenderness...

  You were sure he could read your intentions, he had to know how you felt by now. Your pining for him was only growing by the day, by the hour... you weren’t quite sure just how long you could keep yourself from blurting out, “Majima-san, I wanna swallow ya whole!” the next time you were alone with him... but as fortune would have it, you would get your chance sooner than you thought.

 ***

   Arriving at Takara, you’re eager to set up. Glassware clean enough that it sparkles, garnishes so fresh you’d almost think them fake, all chairs perfectly aligned, inviting, boasting of the good times and grand nights to follow. You love making this place shine.

   You turn the booth lights down, set the music and take another look around for anything missing. Realizing that the menus haven’t yet been put out, you head to the back office to retrieve them.

   They sat in a neat stack at the edge of Majima’s desk and as you near them, your heart skips and plunges straight between your thighs. His black leather gloves lie right beside them.

   Fuuuuck... you’ve ached at the idea of feeling them on your skin, in any and every way. You want to be spanked with them, gripped by the hands that fill them, choked, smacked...you want to inhale the scent of them so fucking badly, the scent of leather paired with his skin, his pheromones... Jesus fucking Christ this is too much.

   You sneak your head out of the office door, scanning the room for any sign of life. Satisfied that as you thought, you’re the first to arrive and that no one else is here yet, you allow yourself to get brazen. Besides, the only cameras in the house that work are in the lounge and back of house, it’s how Majima keeps an eye on things throughout shifts so he knows when certain guests arrive or if he’s needed right away. You never questioned it, as any closed door meetings that took place in the back office would surely be of an extremely classified nature and you fully understood that a dummy cam was advantageous for whatever they do back here.

   Double-taking once again, the milliseconds are pounding in your temples, your pulse picks up as you wonder, did he leave his gloves here last night? You couldn’t recall, but suppose it doesn’t matter. He usually comes in after service has begun, so it’s possible he’ll arrive at his usual in-time... so if you do the math once again, this means you are all alone and his gloves are still sitting on the desk, teasing you to indulge yourself.

   Fuck it.

 You glide towards the desk, grabbing the glove closest you. Bringing it to your lips, you inhale, closing your eyes, shuddering... fucking salivating. You wipe the corner of your mouth with your other hand and sigh, taking the glove to your cheek, picturing him stroking you with the side of his leather-clad hand. It really is too much. 

 You lean onto the desk, perching on its corner, widening your seat, slipping your hand down your pants, past your waistband... you’re gonna take this moment to let go... and satiate one of your many fantasies about Majima fucking Goro. You’re too hot to care right now, and this is so much easier than trying to make a move on his fine ass anyway.

   You slip your hand into the right handed glove and get to workin’, rubbing your clit with one hand while fully prepared to slide at least two fingers into yourself when the time—when you— come.

   You start panting, trying hard to keep it quiet in case anyone else is in the building... but the moan escaping your lips is beyond your control. You grab the remaining glove, bringing it to the tip of your nose as you’re nearing the edge already, pressing your leather clad thumb on your clit, you begin to convulse, two seconds away from complete release when you hear the click of familiar steel toed boots striding along... closer and closer.

   You jump off the desk just as you hear the footsteps nearing the back office. Planting the gloves back in their respective place, you immediately grab the stack of menus as the door swings open.

   Trying to catch your breath, trying harder than ever in your life to posture yourself like it’s business as usual, you flip the top menu open and pretend to scour it, making sure it’s updated to reflect this weekend’s features as Majima saunters into the room, casually grabbing the stack of envelopes sitting in the tray hanging on the wall.

    “What’s up, Y/N-chan? Yer here early... place looks great!”

  “I’m glad, Majima-san. Thank ya.”   

He steps towards you, setting the envelopes down on the desk, his glance bee-lining straight to his gloves. Your pulse now shoots right up into your throat. Does he know? No fucking way.

   He chuckles and turns to look at you, appraisingly. As much as you’d relish this moment, you’re on the verge of a heart attack so you try to coolly break the silence, running your finger across the open menu in your hands. “Ah, the menus look good, Majima-san... I was thinkin’ we could start using a gloss card stock instead of regular paper, that way we could wipe them off at the end of the night instead of having to reprint them every other day...”

   He grins widely and tilts his head to the side. “Good thinkin’, Y/N-chan. I love where yer head’s at.”

   You pause... yikes. Can he tell that you’re shaking ever so slightly? Because you definitely feel like you’re sitting atop a washing machine right now.   

“Need a hand? I had all of ‘em reprinted so I can help ya set ‘em out...”  

Jeeeeeesus.  

You gulp. “Nah, I’ve got it covered, Majima-san. I appreciate it.” Right now, you desperately need to put as much distance between the two of you as possible or you’ll never regain your wits. Especially not in time to open to the public. His phone beeps and he pulls it from his jacket pocket, examining it with mild annoyance. You take this as your moment to escape, relieved at the distraction. Stepping back, you restack the menus, preparing to wrap your arms around them in order to fit them all in one hold, in one trip.

   Just before grabbing the tower of menus, he steps closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, slowly trailing it down to your lower back. “Mind grabbin’ my gloves fer me? I gotta take care of somethin’.”

  Your breath hitches as your hand shakily reaches for the black leather demons a foot away from you, taunting you to keep your cool. You grab them, wincing as he leans into you to meet your grasp, giggling. His cologne wafts before you, leaving you tingling, intoxicated. If you moved forward an inch, your lips would be at the nape of his neck.

   You feel like you’re gonna pass out. In the name of all that is holy, you just want him to take you against the wall and consume you in every way he sees fit. You want him to hurt you, as nothing hurts more than a desire that burns so fervently with no action. You feel like it’s killing you.

   He pulls away, still standing within a foot of you, his gaze still locked into yours. He slips each hand into each glove slowly, deliberately, all the while keeping unblinking eye contact. He reaches forward and quickly pinches the apple of your cheek with catlike speed, chuckling.

   “Alright, I’m outta here. Back in a bit, Y/N-chan!”

   He turns on his heel and as quickly as he appeared, vanishes.

   You’re panting like you just won the world championship for Hide-and-Seek. Fuck, that was close. You take one more deep breath, collecting the menus into your fully outstretched arms as you make for the door when this time, your heart actually stops.

   A sharp, tiny red light stares back at you, right where you’re standing, just above the door. Since FUCKING WHEN does the back office camera work?!  

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

 ***

 I set out to write this and I am not sorry for where my mind went. So unapologetic in fact that Part 2 is almost complete and I’ll be uploading it very shortly, alongside Part 1 of another Majima fic & Part 3 of my Loki fic, MATM... lemme know if you wanna be tagged in any of my Yakuza fics, for they are APLENTY! xxxxo <3

#majima-goro #majima #goro majima #majima goro #yakuza majima #majima goro fanfic #majima goro fic #majima goro x reader #majima goro x you #goro majima fanfic #goro majima fic #goro majima x reader #goro majima x you #yakuza majima fanfic #majima goro smut #goro majima smut #yakuza majima smut

[majirocksoff]

Majima breaks Kiryu out of prison; now with alt backstories. Majima x Kiryu / Kiryu x Nishiki (implied) Takes place during Y1. (Longfic, 70k words+)

His name is One-Thousand-And-Five.

Yesterday he was someone else, had been given, with the manners of a machine and the politeness of policy, the name, Mr. One-Thousand-And-Six.

Tomorrow he will be someone else again, at the ringing of the perfunctory bell that divorces one day from another: Mr. One-Thousand-And-Four.

In between the going-aways and the coming-tos, he collects names like dust. He goes to the chow hall, and he becomes Wait Your Turn; in going to the yard he becomes Thirty Minutes More. At the shower he gains a uniquely ephemeral identity: Batch-Two-Quickly-Now. He goes in, let the water scald off his skin, be reborn in water burning so hot it strips him red. Coming out shiny like a cooked lobster, he can wear a new identity for the rest of the night: The Dogshit of Dojima.

— —

In his prison cell he is nothing, his action is waiting.

Waiting is not inaction, this is the second thing you learn in prison.

Before prison you have assumptions, and the assumption is that waiting is just something that happens while the rest of your life is unraveling, becoming, acquainting itself to happenstance; fusing itself, in chemical reaction to coincidence, so that events may soon happen. You are always about to do something while you are waiting: buy groceries, run errands, break someone’s neck. Waiting is anticipation, a pre-meditated murder of time.

You were wrong, you know that now. Waiting is action, this is what you learn in prison.

It is an action that must be actively done. You fold yourself as small as possible into diamond-shaped patterns in the privacy of your cell (waiting is not done in public, it is sacred). You may sit cross-legged or seiza, stand on ceremony or leaning coolly, curled up in your bed with an arm tucked behind your head. Sucking your thumb, if you must.

Your exterior does not matter when you’re waiting, what matters is your interior, which must be shrunk. You shrink yourself inside, small-small as possible, until you can be turned around and poured out, and out-plop comes your soul and it won’t fill even a leaky thimble. You do this by stripping identities out of yourself.

Once upon a time you might have wanted to be great, for example, to follow in the footsteps of Kazama-san, to trace yourself in his shadow.

You take this desire and you erase it, line by line from the top, beginning first from the greatest concept then extending to everything else. You first forget the sentence whole; then you dismiss in inches and angry nights everything else: Kazama-san, the concept of greatness, the idea of footsteps, the desire of wanting, an entity of ‘you’, the stretching of time, once of the past, until at last you can be left alone with nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Then you wait.

— —

The first thing you learn in prison, is that you have no identity.

You’re given an ID the moment you step in, and you think philosophical thoughts: ah, is this what I shall be? You were wrong, of course, because a series of number is an identity, and that identity is more solid than what you’ll eventually end up with.

Your identity becomes the days you have left, because 8-1-5-7-6 rankles your ears and bedevils your patience. At roll call, they put existential fear into you: will you be here for eighty thousand days, each by minutes longer than the last? You cannot. You fear. Your soul trembles and weep. You cast it off and take a new name: Mr. Three-thousand-six-hundred, all ten years to be waited tattooed on you; it is a long time but it can be waited. In contrast eighty thousand is forever.

When you take on the others it becomes easier; take them on in the secret corners of the prison where lips can split, skulls can break, nails torn one by one out of grasping flesh. There are many corners where the guards don’t see, willfully blind, and here you can be beaten by anyone: your seniors, your juniors, your hitmen, your old friends, your new enemies. Gradually in blood you extract from them new names:

The Dogshit of Dojima, that fucking backstabbing cunt, the lil Tojo shit, why ya staring, asswankcuntsucker, goddamned cocksucker, oi fuck off, are-ya-happy-now-ya-murdering-cunt, and so on.

They’re fine names; at least they don’t have numbers.

— —

The man with the one eye comes and instantly breaks every rule. He is an earthquake: in his presence you must obey new rules, run for high ground, cower in clear spaces.

He comes, swinging his hips like a new officer, twirling his hands holding an invisible bat, eating with his lips a pop song five years too new for you. He peels back the skin of the cell the moment he arrives. He overturns containers. He looks into the toilet, opens up the flusher, cracks open the sink to examine the deep sadness of the hole in the middle. He takes out his sheets, folds it messily so that he can lay in it like a well fucked boy.

All this you see, his cell is right opposite yours.

“Yo,” He says. He puts his legs up in a cross, carefully, making space for the steel tips he must have worn once. He straightens the eyepatch he was allowed (they had tried taking it from him, but realized too late it was too much a part of him, it would have killed him).

“What’s yer name?”

You are surprised. It is a terrible question, a faux pas, an abhorrent question never asked in prison. How could he, how dare he?

A name? He wants a name? But you don’t have a name, you’re a condemned spirit. You’ve worked hard to get this far. The Japanese dream: work so hard you don’t know who you are. Once you had a name, and it’d laid discarded in a laundry pile. You wait for him to understand how rude he’s been and go away.

“Oi ya deaf? Ya want me to go over there and beat it out of ya?”

There’s three feet of corridor and two sets of bars separating you, and you see that he means it.

You lick your cracked, chapped lips, tried hard to recall…

“My… Name?”

“Just my luck,” He swore. “I’m roomed with a fuckin’ idiot. Your name! Your name! Are ya daft?”

He needs to be patient. Names are the first thing to go, and the last thing to be replaced. He doesn’t know what he’s asking, demanding a name. Oh, the weeks to come, wracked in the throes of identity. Does he not know? Does he not care, how much this hurt, to recall a name?

Reluctantly, slowly (time itself is slow here) it is said.

“My name is… Kazuma. Kiryu. Kazuma, Kiryu, Kazuma. Yes, that’s my name.”

Oh, he says, mouth perfect on an O. The Dragon of Dojima? That Kazuma-fucking-Kiryu? That you? The Dragon of Dojima? The fucking Dragon of Dojima?

“Hell yeah! Always wanted to fight me a dragon! Sit tight in that cell, dragonshit, because I’m comin’ for ya Kiryu-chan!”

— —

Majima Goro was introduced to him in bits of nerve, bones, and tissues.

Kiryu goes as far away from him as he can. Now that he has identity it is not so easy to walk the hallways of the prison; it clings to him like bits of plastic wrap, tight and suffocating, each piece determined to make themselves be remembered. Every nook and cranny and day and night that once he’d lived as a young man of Kamurocho, clamored to be the one to dice his anonymity to pieces. He will not be forgotten, he cannot forget, not if they have any say about it.

In the manner of Majima’s walking and the dance of his fingers on the cutlery he sees the glittering manner of a younger Kamurocho, a visitor, a stranger, here to tell him: time has passed, but not enough time yet so that you can see it firsthand. Time is here to visit. The outside world has been let in, poured angry but fearsome into his cells.

The rattling of Majima’s bars replaces his roll call, his silent private mornings.

“Hey,” He screams (he is always screaming, he has no other verb). “Hey Kiryu-chan! Wake up, I’m bored!”

At night he rattles them like chains, screaming again: “Tell me a bedtime story, Kiryu-chan! Hey? Ya ignorin’ me? I can’t sleep, why don’t ya stay awake too? We could play imaginary shogi, how 'bout that?”

He is gyoku; the king that has come to sweep all of Kiryu’s neat, patiently-allocated time away and replaced it with himself, loud and trying, rolling over all the hallways into the secret corners where he is allowed to beat up Kiryu.

The first time he does this he shatters bone, broke clean through in one piercing fist Kiryu’s entire cheekbone, part of his jaw. Lovingly Majima brought him to the sink and tended his wounds; he tended him five times, smashing Kiryu up-down-up-down onto the metal until it shatters Kiryu’s nerves, it was so loud, and the metal had caught him in the ear. Majima left him tended, tender, tenderized, lying in a pool of blood leaving him rapidly for the freedom of the drains. The water, slow and warm now, cascading over him, lights bright and disorienting, the smell of soap mixed with the secrets of prison bathrooms.

He is made to realize he is fuhyo; a low mere degraded pawn. Like a pawn he could only move forwards, could not retreat, could then only be pushed into Majima’s arms, holding him in a chokehold over metal plates of curry and rice.

“Ya not such hot shit, Dragon of Dojima,” Majima tells him, whispering in his ear. “Ya just plain shit. I’m so disappointed. Ya disappointin’ me here, with your lousy ass performance. Kiryu-chan, ya need to shape up. Ya the best entertainment I’ve got around here and you’re so. goddamned. boring.”

He cracked his neck and laughed the whole time Kiryu goes down.

Once Kiryu remembers, he would have soared with Majima in his clutches and brought him down like thunder, would have stepped on him and never realized it - ah, might have thought, it’s dirtying the soles of my shoe, the little soul of Mad Dog Majima stuck in the rubbery meat he walks on.

“Kiryu-chan!” The hound howls. “Kiryu-Kazuma-chan! Come on, let’s play imaginary shogi! Are ya mad I beat ya? Or are ya mad that I beat ya up? Don’t be such a princess, Kiryu-chan! Let’s play, let’s play, let’s play!”

The hellhound becomes a puppy at night, frolicking in the lonesome cells; his cell bounded by Kiryu’s bounded by others. Only other people don’t matter to him; only strangely, Kiryu mattered to him. Kiryu was fun, Kiryu was gokudo, Kiryu had a past. The others Majima couldn’t wake up, couldn’t ask: who are you? What did you do to end up here? They can’t answer him, all of them mute and anonymous, because most of them have worked hard to forget, and unlike Kiryu could not be brought back.

With their sad sunken eyes and closed eyelids they watch Kiryu and Majima play imaginary shogi; kei-ma leapt over kin over gin, pushing aside hisha, storming onto kaku. Who are you, Kiryu whispers one night in bravado. He pressed his head back against the cell bars, sitting with his eyes closed to better remember the shogi board. Hands folded loosely across his lap, moving invisible pieces around.

I am Kei-ma, Majima whispered. Kiryu collects this identity, examine it in the moonlight, thinks fragmented thoughts –

“Are ya an idiot, Kiryu-chan? It just looks like my name - it’s a joke! Ya stupid ass thinking it means anything?”

He grinned, laughing so hard he overturns their imaginary board; neither can remember now which pieces were where. “This prison getting to ya, you’re a goddamned old fuck now.”

— —

Trapped now in the machine of his identity, Kiryu loses his numbers. He realized this one day when he had to go down to the office, to ask with form in hand exactly how many days he had to wait; the answer came back and surprised him, he is holding less numbers than he thought he had. They had slipped through his fingers and rolled into forgotten corners when he wasn’t watching.

He is now Mr. Nine-Hundred-and-Fifty, a whole month having passed him in scorn. Those numbered days he could no longer wear; Majima had forced his identity back onto him and they won’t go on now, came on like a loose coat, baggy in the elbows. He can no longer wait, at least wait the way he used to. There is no patience to be had, with Majima strolling bored and callous into his privacy, intruding with answers, leaving with questions.

Why are you here, Majima-san, he asked - desperate to give Majima more form, more identity, to know more so that he can become less to Kiryu.

What crime did you commit? Who did you kill? How did you live?

“Wouldn’t ya like to know, Kiryu-chan? I’m bored, bored, so maybe I’ll tell ya - but ya have to beat me first.”

They dance in the yard. They have exactly six minutes before the officers come with batons and extra days, so they must be quick, trading fists until their faces are bloated with blood and torn epidermis; Kiryu dancing better now but still far from a match to Majima, so that Majima danced with him only because he had no better partners. A fallen dragon made of shit was still better than just plain shit. Majima pivots on the officer, says: it’s me, I started this.

An act of generosity. It surprises Kiryu, he doesn’t know what to say, Majima taking this sin into the confession of his records.

“I ain’t plannin’ ta stay here twenty-five years, so what’s a few months that I won’t be around for?” He bared nasty teeth at Kiryu. “I ain’t like ya. I ain’t the wallowing sort. I’ll be out before six months is up.”

Oh, Kiryu said. Glad but sad, sad and glad. He is relieved that Majima in leaving will restore him to his formless mass again; bittersweet that he loses such a strict mold. Kiryu Kazuma Kazama Nishikiyama Dojima. Things he can’t forget as long as Majima is around, rooting him, anchoring him without his permission and against his wants.

“Whoooo—”

— —

The days are slipping away so fast now that he has to seize it with both hands clenched so tight his knuckles go white. Stay, he commanded. Stay. Seizing his miserable days in his hands, he watched Majima prepare for flight. By inches and minutes and lost seconds he withdraws from Kiryu, become more and more likely to disappear during yard time and bath time and free time, to meet with associates strange and shapeless huddling in the other yard.

Lined up against theirs but separated by a fence is the small-timers, the low-hitters, the off-ballers, little people who won’t be doing more than six months in the most deprived luxuries, off-site beside them, counting less than one-hundred-eighty-days.

It is these people that Majima meets, forehead-to-forehead like lovers, whispering convoluted plans calculated like algebra. When they hide, when they bother to hide, Majima scratches at the fence with loose-tipped fingers, plucking the fence like a guitar, plucking tunes at his associates until they come: unwilling but bowed by Majima’s boys who’d sequestered themselves in the smaller prison.

Where is — He demanded.

What is —

How shall —

How does the flight mechanism work? How does Kiryu find out? He finds out in nerves; Majima sometimes, sidling up to him, having the nerve to ask: I have a question. Where is the control room for —

Kiryu frowning, turning away, saying go, go I don’t know, don’t trouble me, I’ve never seen, I couldn’t possibly know, I never meant to go, never meant to leave, this prison is for me, nine-hundred-days only left to be. Majima beating him with his fists until he lay shivering and nurturing wounds on the ground, beating his identity into him.

Tell me what you see, Majima demanded.

“Kiryu-chan, don’t ya lie to me. I’ve been watchin’ ya watchin’ and ya know it. Ya just don’t know that you know it. Well, that’s what I’m for. I’m going to beat your piece of shit memory into your head.” He seized Kiryu by the collar, lift him up so that he could be closer to the sun, shaking him over and over again.

“Tell me! Where is it? You know where it is!”

Come, Kiryu told him, spitting out blood. Led him to the dark places in the prison where things can be seen, push him into corners angled right, take him away from plans angled wrong. You’re not doing this right, he told Majima. This control room is patrolled all the time, six-at-a-go, it’s a no-go, a no-show, what you want, really want, is this other place. You won’t know it unless you’ve been like me; a man without identity, they don’t let anyone see if they’ve got eyes. The crow-pig comes and pluck out your eye, one on each side, if they see you waiting to watch.

“I get it,” Majima said. “Thanks.”

More, “Hey, ya wanna come with—”

No, he said, he only had nine hundred more to go, it didn’t mean anything to him. All he wants is for Majima to leave, and quickly - so that he can once more be subsumed by anonymity.

— —

In bits and pieces he watch Majima assembled his plan; in his patience Kiryu had learned to see everything, and in so seeing saw that his plan would work before Majima himself knows it. Majima shrunk and wrapped himself in ignorance until the plan itself is executed. He goes with the flow, himself. Doesn’t need to have foresight. He’ll work it until it works, even if he fails this time. They waited calm and nerveless in their cells for the escape that will come soon.

“It’ll work,” Kiryu told him sleepily. Tomorrow, he’s thinking. This will be their last game of imaginary shogi, so he slipped: slipped the golden knife in and ate Majima’s king whole.

“Damn, ya good, Kiryu-chan. Ya totally wreck me this time.”

“Thank you for teaching me how to play.”

“Teach ya? Kiryu-chan, ya always knew how to play. Don’t ya know? Don’t ya remember? You could do anything you wanted - that’s why you were the dragon. All I did was make ya remember.”

Oh, he doesn’t remember anymore; all he’d wanted to was forget. Tomorrow when Majima is gone, he’ll go back to forgetting again. Reverse-engineering an onion, putting back layer by layer his thin skin to cover the sound of the silence inside. Eight-hundred-something more days to be lived. The days had leapt from his hands but he’ll have them back under rein again. When Majima is unleashed.

“Good luck, Majima-san,” He said.

“Thanks, Kiryu-chan. Couldn’t have done this without ya,” Majima said.

— —

He comes awake, frightened by the silence.

Kiryu sat in the dark and listened: there were no sounds. Not just the greater sounds of the outside world: cameras that had stopped working, alarms silenced and napping, doors grinding to a halt in mid-air. There is silence in him everywhere that frightens him - he can no longer hear the sound of forgetfulness, he’s forgotten how to forget…

A knife pressed itself tightly to his jugular, nicked him not because it’d miscalculated. Its owner was just sadistic, wanted him to bleed, wanted to see the sheen of a dragon’s blood.

“Kiryu-chan.” whispered Majima. “Ya coming with me.”

“No,” He gasped. “No.” He wanted to stay, was terrified by the outer world.

“I ain’t givin’ ya a choice. Ya coming with me, whether ya like it or no. Ya my present to that fucking Nishikiyama cunt.”

He pushed his knife in. Hissed orders at Kiryu until reluctantly, Kiryu unfolded himself and groped with seeking hands in the darkness. At length he found the thread of the plan, and began to follow it as it unraveled in the darkness of the prison, its silvery length glowing with hope. They walked down the halls quiet and empty illuminated by the shining spool. Somewhere somehow Majima had secreted all the officers away.

The inmates lined row by row in their rat-holes to watch them, trapped in their cell that wouldn’t open. When they realized what had happened, they howled like hell itself - unfair! unfair! unfair! - and hands scratched, brushed, rend at them from all sides. The inmates will drag them down to the pits if they could only reach…

Outside.

Air the same but different; they’re on the other side of the fence now. There is a motorcycle waiting, a snakeskin jacket, a small tanto and a helmet. A set of clothes prepared by someone who thought Kiryu was as big as he’d seen Kiryu last. Untrue, he has shrunk now, made skinny by the weak broth of prison.

“Put on the helmet,” Majima said. There was only one.

“Don’t you—”

“I can’t fuckin’ see with a black glass on, asshole. Vision strictly 10/20. 'sides,” He smiles. “That skull of yours worth ten of mine, isn’t it?”

Kiryu knew nothing; there was too much not being said. He climbed onto the motorcycle, clamped loose hands around Majima’s middle, and then they flew, across snowy landscapes into the cold and a freedom he never wanted but had received.

#kazumaji #majima #majima goro #yakuza #fanfic #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kaz

[breziarchive]

beach majimako plz ty ilu!!!!

just for you, after i said “catch me never writing this”. superficial typos remain because i didn’t have time to edit asdflj

toying around with extending requests since I couldn’t work on them for almost a full day due to being sick, so stay tuned!

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines - ko-fi - majimako zine

~~

“Stopfidgeting,” Makoto implored with a smile as she brushed a straystreak of sunscreen on Majima’s cheek, “No one can see anything,”

“Sure,” Majima grumbled, clearly upset, “But, what if—,”

“It’ll be fine. Just enjoy the summer day,”

Majimahuffed, glancing around the array of colorful towels, umbrellas, andswimsuits as families relaxed, played, and wandered about the beach.The sun was warm but not oppressive, the breeze brisk and refreshing,and the water clear and calm. Makotowas wearing the swimsuit they had bought together, simple and paleblue. He wore trunks and a white button down shirt, all long enoughto cover the tattoos that would ban him from so friendly a beach.Frowning at her from behind sunglasses that barely concealed hisruined eye, he sighed and flopped back on the towel.

“Fine. Ya win this round.”

“Do I?” Makoto asked, amused as she rummaged in their bag, “Tothink, Majima Goro admitting defeat so easily!”

“Oi,watch it,” Majima grunted, “Or I’m gonna start keepin’ scoreand then you’ll be in trouble!”

“WillI be, I wonder,” Makoto mused under her breath as she finally foundthe book she had brought to read. Majima made a noise that suggestedhe had heard her but ultimately the conversation ended in favor ofthe playful sounds of kids running about the beach with the undertoneof the rhythmic waves. Majimadozed. Makoto read.

Thespray of kicked sand jolted Majima awake.

Rowdy, drunk youths cackled as they passed by, carelessly kickingmore sand onto him as they went. Makoto yelped, first in shock thenin worry as Majima started coughing and heaving, curling in panic.

“Goro? Goro!” she brushed sand off his shoulders as he tore hissunglasses off and pawed at his eyes. Taking one of his wrists as herother hand dove into the bag, she started to coo as he cussed andhissed.

“Don’t scratch! Don’t scratch at it, just blink!”

“Blink,”Majima rasped, angry but not at her, “Itfuckin’ burns!!”

“Iknow,” she pulled a water bottle out and frantically twisted thecap off, “I know, I know, here—,”

Takinghis cheek to turn him to her, she frowned, watching him blinking inpanic and pain as tears rolled down his face. Pouring the water overhis eyes and trying to avoid his shirt as much as possible, Makotocontinued to coo and help him rid the sand from his face. She brushedher thumbs as gently as possible along his eyelids, taking care tonote his ruined side once he regained his sight. As she coaxed grainsof sand out of the scar tissue, he scowled.

“Fuckin’shitbags,”Majima spat to the side, “See them get away with that on a tatbeach, I fuckin’ bet they’ll be cryin’ between their ass cheeksin two seconds flat! Whereare they?!”

“No, don’t,” Makoto said quietly, “Let them be, they’ll gettheir own soon enough,”

Grumblingand cussing, Majima still scanned the beach for them, locating themnot too far away causing havoc in their own little circle.Disgruntled, he slouched asMakoto started petting sand off of other areas.

“GuessI wasn’t so different, back then,” he muttered. Makoto chuckled.

“I bet you were a terror,”

“Were?”he pinched her cheek and she playfully swatted him away.

Hehelped Makoto brush the rest of the sand off, slowly building hismood back as they idly chatted about the more innocent parts of theirpast that weren’t too dark for whatever ears could be listening.All the while, though,Majima kept his one eye constantly glancing back to the rowdy youth.Makoto noticed, but didn’tsay anything until she tapped his arm.

“Goro,that family—,”

“Yeah,”he confirmed, low. The youths had started picking at a grandmotherand her two young grandchildren, harassing and kicking apart whatevercastles the youngest was trying to build. Anyprotest was met with the reasoning that they were simply playingGojira despiteabsolutely no invitation. Majimasnarled, snatched hissunglasses back up, and gotto his feet, “Fuck that! If nobody’s gonna give ‘em their ownthen I will!”

Makotodidn’t stop him.

“Oi!One bad turn deservesanother, you punks want sand kicked in yer face?!” Majima toweredover them but they were too drunk on their own might to care.

“Huh? You got a problem, old man?” one challenged, swinging astill-full bottle of booze. The others all turned towards him, whichwas good, since it gave the grandmother a chance to pull her kidsaway from the tension.

Majima grit his teeth, wanting so very badly to escalate farther—hecould pull all the real insults from every orifice and make them crybefore he beat their faces to the dunes. But the round and scaredfaces of the grandkids behind the punks forced him to reel it in andhe swallowed. Summoning a state of mind he hadn’t had to use in avery long time, he adopted the patience of a cabaret manager.

“Listen,guys, if yer gonna cause trouble, do it somewhere else, yer ruinin’some kids’ day fer nothin’, a’ight?”

“What’samatter, can’t take a little excitement in your life?” one of theskinnier ones prodded.

Thecomment roused a chorus of nasty chuckles with compliments to thechef of such a lame insult. Majima narrowed his eye, thinking of allthe many, many, manythings he had done inthe past several years of his life just for the fuck of it only tocome out of them (surprisingly) alive—not that Makoto had to knowhalf of them, but regardless. It popped a smirk on his face.

“What’re you laughin’ at, huh?” the booze-swinger steamed. Atfirst his friends laughed but then they shied away when he, angerclearly triggered, stormed up to Majima, “Somethin’ funny toyou?!”

“Actually, I feel like cryin’,” Majima supplied calmly, “Y’allare just so sad to look at.”

“Youtryin’ to start a fight?!”

“On this beach?” Majima feigned innocence, “I would never. So,listen to yer elder and haul ass outta here if yer feelin’ likethrowin’ down,”

“Idon’t have to listen to anyone!” the youth raged, swinging thebottle wildly.

“F-Furukawa, hey, maybe—,”

“Shutit!!” Furukawacommanded, causing the only dissenting youth to flinch. Majimasniffed.

“Yer friend’s got the right idea. Blow yer steam off somewhereelse, kid.”

“Youcan’t tell me what to do, old man!!”Furukawa roared, swinging the bottle down hard. Caught off guard byhow quickly the kid snapped, Majima grunted as the bottle shatteredover his head, scraping his brow and knocking his glasses off. Hestared at where the sunglasses landed in the sand nextto the bottle’s shards,sake dripping from his harsh features. For a moment he almost wishedit was champagne again, if only because that smelled better. Raisinga calloused thumb to wipe his upper lip, he inhaled, loosening hisshoulders on the exhale. The sake soaked into his white shirt andMajima looked up.

Theeyes of everyone in front of him, from the youths to the grandmotherbehind them, widened until the whites shone in the sun. Majimadidn’t have to look down to know that his tattoo bled through thewet fabric, having hemmed and hawed over it with Makoto some hoursprior.

“C’mon,kid,” Majima said, low and dark and edging on dangerous, “Whatare ya, 21? 20?”

Theyouths huddled together behind Furukawa who was too frozen to cower.The more his tattoo bled through the more anxious they became.

“Ain’tya a little old to be pullin’ thisshit?”

Furukawa’sjaw hung open, staggered, then shut.

“Ifya don’t want a little excitement in your life…,” Majima woundhis leg back and kicked sand at the youths, “Fuckin’beat it!”

They scrambled over each other, tripping and faltering in their hasteto leave the scrutiny of the unveiled yakuza. Majima would’vewatched them go, but the faces of the family in front of him stolehis attention. What must he have looked like? Hiding a tattoo wasterror for the grandma, but for the kids? They couldn’t stopstaring at the hole in his face. Frozen and awkward, he gulped andgave a little bow, earning a flinch from the grandmother. Shit.

“Goro!” Makoto called. Turning on his heel to see herrunning, Majima called back.

“Wait, don’t, don’t! There’s—,”

An ear-splitting shriek left Majima’s throat as he stepped on theshards of glass he was trying to warn her about. Hopping erraticallyon one foot, he attempted to go in her direction. Makoto braced hisshoulders when she reached him, guiding him back to their towel asgracefully as they could manage.

“Shit,” Majima expunged as he collapsed on the towel, “I’dalmost rather get another foot massage from ya,”

“Don’t tempt me,” Makoto said as she pulled his bleeding footonto her lap. Majima groaned, covering his face as she went to workcleaning the wound.

“Makoto?”

“Hm?”

Majima’s voice was defeated like a kid that had lost thechampionship little league game, “Where’s my eyepatch?”

In turn, her voice was gentler than normal, taking time to brush athumb along his shin, “Front pocket of the bag.

“’Kay…,” he mumbled. Keeping one hand covering his face, heblindly pawed around until he found the front pocket. Pulling thepatch out, he sullenly put it back on, wincing whenever Makoto hit aparticularly sensitive spot.

“Call me unprepared…,” She frowned, “But I didn’t bringanything to bandage you up…,”

“Naw,” he dismissed, “I can’t blame ya. This wasn’tsupposed to happen,”

A pause. Makoto rinsed her hands with the rest of the water.

“I’m sorry, Makoto,”

“Don’t be,” she assured quietly, “You did the right thing.”

Majima sighed, then started unbuttoning his shirt. Makoto eyed himwarily.

“You sure?” she asked. He sighed again.

“Cat’s already outta the bag. Plus it’s soaked with booze.Can’t hurt.”

Makoto didn’t argue and simply wrapped the shirt until his foot wasnothing but a bulk of soaked fabric. He seethed, somehow managing tokeep his ticklish foot in place for her. Makoto finally sat back,sighing with him.

“Well.”

“Well.”

She reached up and ran her hand up his arm, soothing with her firmgrip. Majima, his arm over his eye, started mouthing off a countdownas Makoto kept massaging him.

“You there! Sir!” an authoritative but painfully local voicecalled.

“Aaaand right on time,” he grumbled as the policeman jogged up.

Already intimidated by his appearance the policeman was trying coverup any stammering by standing straight. Majima only gave himattention by moving his arm so his eye could peek out.

“S-Sir, this is...This is a public beach,”

“Haw?”

“A family beach,”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tattoos aren’t allowed,”

“Ya.”

The policeman shifted, becoming as annoyed as he was nervous. Majimasqueezed whatever enjoyment he could by watching him struggle.

“Please lea—,”

“Wait, Officer,” an old and sweet voice interrupted. Majimajolted, looking up in utter bewilderment with Makoto. There stood thegrandmother, granddaughter in one hand and grandson in the other.

“Let him stay here for the day,”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer shook his head, “But I was toldthat this man assaulted several youths just now, I can’t allow suchbehavior here.”

The grandmother shook her head, her floppy sunhat following hermovements, “They were lying. This man took it upon himself tointervene and chase those ruffians away. They caused the violencefirst,” she gestured at his foot and brow, “Just look at whatthey did to him!”

“Self-defense?” the officer guessed. The grandmother narrowed hereyes, her voice turning into a harsh scold like he should’ve knownbetter. The officer winced, confused.

“No, those boys attacked first. I’m just thankful he washere to stop them,”

The policeman stammered, trying to bolster his defense. Rules arerules, so on and so forth. But the grandmother wouldn’t budge,resorting to shouting until the officer relented and allowed Majimaon the beach for that day only.

“Oh…,” Makoto said when the officer finally left them alone,“Thank you, really, thank you!”

“Granny,” Majima propped himself on his elbows, “Ya reallydidn’t have to, we can take a little beatin’ here and there,”

“And?” The grandmother turned her scolding to Majima in aninstant, much to Makoto’s giggling, “It’s a beautiful summerday and you deserve a good rest. Come now.”

The grandmother allowed the two of them to entertain her twingrandchildren, Makoto walking the boy into the shallows and pluckingsea shells with him while Majima (injured as he was) stayed on thebeach while the girl dug in the sand. Majima’s leering hannyaglared out at all the rest of the families, but the grandmother wasnever far away to sit and smile, diminishing the fierceness of thetattoo.

“Hohh? Whatchu got there, scamp?” he asked as the girl flinchedbut started poking curiously around a moat she had built. The girlwas much quieter than her twin brother, and simply looked at Majimabefore pointing down. He craned his neck, seeing a small crabscuttling about.

“Ohh yah, got some creatures in yer moat to guard it, huh? Nothin’to sneeze at either. Look,” he reached down and picked the tinything up, “See these claws?”

The girl nodded. Majima grinned, then stuck his finger square in thecrab’s claw to be pinched.

Gasping, the girl brought her sand-covered hands to her mouth. Majimacringed, biting his lip so as not to cuss—the little sucker pinchedfar harder than he had imagined. But still he stuck it out and kepthis wonky smile on for the girl.

“Goro!” Makoto called from the water, “What are youdoing?”

“Important stuff! You ain’t invited!”

“Would you stop hurting yourself at least?”

“Hurtin’? Ow—,” Majima flinched as the crab’s other clawfound the flesh of his palm, “This ain’t hurtin’, it’splaying, there’s a difference!”

The girl giggled. Makoto rolled her eyes so forcefully he could seeit from where he was sitting, and he started to giggle too as the sunbeat warmly on his back.

#majimako #valentine's day boogaloo #majima goro #makimura makoto #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #BEACH. HEAVEN. NOW. #bunbii

[zendozebra]

All the Time in the World Chapter 13

Midoriya was nervous. Sure, he wasn’t as nervous as he had been on his first date with Mina, but he was still a nervous creature. It runs in the family, if his mother was any indication. Every family has some sort of shared trait, like Asui’s bluntness and Kacchan’s temper. Even Kokiri-san told him that he gets his bad memory from his mother. But, he has to “tough it out”, as Kokiri-san would tell him. They leave for the training camp in just a few days, and he wouldn’t get much time to spend with Mina once they left. That meant this would be their last date before camp started, and they wouldn’t get to spend much time together between all of the training they’ll be doing.

Plus, Aizawa-sensei told the class that Kokiri-san won’t be joining the class during their time at the camp, so Izuku won’t have to worry about any tricks during his training. He’ll be able to focus and take his training seriously, instead of keeping an eye out for a flying fish that ends up smacking him in the face. While Kokiri-san laughs at him. Really hard, for like an hour. That day was really weird.

“Alright, I’m back! Hope you like strawberry!” Izuku smiled when Mina put down their milkshakes. This is a shake shop she’d been going to since she was younger, and probably knew the menu better than she knew her school schedule. She knew that he got anxious when he went to new places, so she’d offered to order for them while he found them a place to sit. She herself had gotten something called a grasshopper shake, which she seemed to like. He was happy with strawberry, but he was relieved that she hadn’t order something new and ended up not liking it.

“Oh no, we forgot to make a toast, dangit!” Mina yelled out, starting to frantically look around for something, anything to dedicate their meal to. That was one of her weird little habits, every meal needs to celebrate something. Their first dinner was dedicated to, obviously, their first dinner. Their second date, when they went out to lunch at a small cafe, was dedicated to that cute cat they passed on their way to the cafe. Izuku thought it was adorable, and he always played along because it was something small that made her happy, and he loved seeing that goofy smile on her face and her bright eyes whenever they clinked their glasses together.

“Oh, I got it! Cheers to Iida not-killing Majima-sensei!” That had been a hot topic at school after the exams were over. A few of the students from both classes had been watching the recordings of each exam, and that moment had been pretty popular amongst both 1-A and 1-B. Well, that, and Izuku and Kacchan’s defeat of All Might at the end of the exams. He remembered Iida feeling absolutely terrible after the exam, even though he’d passed with almost flying colors. His essentially lethal attack on their teacher docked them a few points. Iida thought it was a punishment given by Nezu, but Izuku thought it was probably Kokiri-san being bitter.

“Oh, hey, what do you think Majima-sensei is up to now? He couldn’t supervise our study session today because he said he was busy, but did he tell you what he was up to?”

“Oh, he said he wanted to meet up with an old friend of his, so they could gather some information for Nezu-sensei.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

This ought to be easy. Just knock on the door and tell them you want to talk to the boss. He’s done it a thousand times, even a few with this boss in particular. True, that was back when Time Enough was one of the most wanted support villains. Man, the shit he helped to pull off were fuckin legendary. Maybe that was why Nezu set him up to this. He knew all about Majima’s past and all of the connections he used to have, so that’s what was probably going on. Plus, it’s a good thing he managed to find his old costume in his storage locker over in Osaka. It looked almost exactly the same as his hero costume, but with an oni mask instead of a bear, and he wore a red outfit underneath instead of black. It’s weird, he remembered this outfit looking much cooler when he was younger, but now it just looks kinda dumb. Oh god, he really is getting old, isn’t he?

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, watching a slot open up at he saw a pair of red eyes. “What do you want?” Well that was rude, he’d have to get used to that again.

“I’m here to talk to Iwasaki. Tell ‘im Majima is here to see him.” That oughta work, not a whole lot of people forget him and his dumb bullshit. The guy closed the slot and didn’t come back for a few minutes.

“Boss doesn’t know anyone named Majima, get lost.” Excuse me, what? That’s not good.

“Son of a bitch. Tell him it's Time Enough, and he’ll let me in if he knows what’s good for him.” The man raised an eyebrow and closed the slot again. Seriously, it’s like his entire reputation just evaporated over the last 20 years. Sure, he was out of the game for a while, but all of the shit he’s done should be able to get him further than the front fucking door.

Said door was thrown open when Iwasaki himself appeared like a crazed madman, standing there with wide eyes. His breath was ragged, and he looked far older than when they’d last seen each other. He’d gained quite a bit of weight too, and he didn’t carry it well. Eugh. “Ma-Majima-sama. What are- You’re here?” There we go, that’s more like it. Seems like Iwasaki thinks he’s pissed him off, let’s roll with that.

“Well, I’m just going around, you know, visiting some old… Friends. I just came back from visiting Murata. It was a fun visit, very nice, he even had one of his guys waiting for me at the door, just to make sure I felt welcome.” There we go, the fat bastard took the hint and let him into the office, where his grunts were sitting around watching tv or playing cards. They weren’t villains, just your average small-time criminals, so he can imagine their confusion when their boss, blubbering like a fool, led a tall man into their base, dressed very obviously like a villain.

“If you’ll follow me, Time-sama, I can lead you to my office. We can discuss business as much as we want once we’re there. I have the whole room sound-proofed for our privacy.”

Instead of doing that, Majima grabbed a chair at one of the card tables, this one being used for blackjack. That’s good, he hadn’t played a set in years, let’s see if that old Majima luck could still come into play. “Nah, I’m not really concerned about privacy, we can talk here. I want to play.” He through some coins into the small pot at the center of the table, throwing a nod to the dealer, who took the hint and dealt him a hand. A glance from the corner of his eye showed him that Iwasaki grew even more nervous, but didn’t argue with him.

“What is it I can do for you, sir?”

“I’m looking for a broker, one who’s better than you or any of your guys, and you’re gonna point me in his direction. Once you do, I’ll put your lack of hospitality to the side, pretend like it never happened, and I’ll be on my merry way. Easy as that, I’m not asking for much.”

“Of course, sir, we can work out payment as soon as we find who you’r-”

“Hey, oh, woah, woah, hey, hold it right there. Payment? What exactly would I be paying you for?”

“Well, the standard fees for information collection, plus a price adjustment depending on who ex-”

“You seem to have forgotten just who exactly is in charge here, Iwasaki. Remind me, who gave you your first set of recruits? I had even given you some of my best men. I treated you very fairly, I thought, and when I stop by to check in on one of my favorite pet projects, you’re gonna tell me that I have to pay?”

“Sir, you told me that I have to charge everyone, no matter how high profile they are.” There was a beat of silence, about thirty seconds, where Majima just stared at Iwasaki from behind his demonic mask, before he slapped the man hard enough to knock his glasses to the ground. He cleared his throat, glancing around the room while Iwasaki picked up his glasses.

“I’m looking for a guy, goes by Giran, and you’re going to tell me where he is or I will rain hell on you for all of time. And no one you run to, be they heroes or villains, will be able to save you from me, not even that Watcher guy those UA chuckle-fucks have been trying to threaten me with.” Iwasaki gave him an odd look, one of confusion. Good, that’s what we’re going for. “The fuck is that face for, boy? You got a problem with me, you fuckin’ say it. We’re men here, now act like it.”

“I’m sorry sir, but I was under the impression that you were the Watcher.” Perfect, time to fix that shit mistake that Nezu made by posting his alias and quirk up on the official UA website.

“Excuse me?” Majima stood up, turning to Iwasaki and grabbing the man’s hair, slamming his head onto the blackjack table. The money pot tipped over, spilling coins and bills onto the table. Everyone in the room All of the goons watched this man brutalize their boss while he begged for forgiveness. “You really have forgotten who the fuck I am, boy. Time Enough is immortal, a fucking GOD, and there is no one who can ever be what I am, no matter what quirk they have, or how much they fucking try! You think you’re funny, a fucking comedian? Then get some better shit, boy, cause I’m not laughing buddy. Am I? AM I?!”

There we go, Iwasaki was now crying like a newborn, snot and tears were flowing from his face and onto the table, all of his men standing around him and freaking out. They watched their boss cry out as Majima ground his face into the table, but one of them seemed to have a bit more courage than the rest. He grabbed Majima from behind, going to throw this stranger off of his boss, but the time stopper did what he does before he got the chance. Majima walked around the room, checking everyone’s pockets until he found a switchblade, using it to cut the fool’s fingertips, keeping them small but deep. Then, he used the blade to carve ‘FOOL’ into the man’s forehead, snapping his fingers and watching the man double over from the sudden burst of pain.

Majima looked at the knife in his hand, wiping it off on his cloak and tossing it back to its owner, who was surprised when they realized it was theirs. He grabbed the back of Iwasaki’s jacket, dragging him out of the room and towards where he assumed his office was. He dropped him and moved behind the desk, sitting in the chair and folding his arms as he watched the disgusting excuse for a man pick himself up, staring cowardly up at the time stopper in front of him.

“Now, I believe that you were going to tell me where I can find Giran, ain’t that right?”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Next chapter is going to have a ton of action, as well as reveal a lot of secrets and offer a ton of answers. I’ve been taking extra time to make sure that it is detailed, as well as easy to understand. As an aside, I have plans for future plots, but I wanted to ask a question- Would you like to see Majima take on an apprentice, and if so, who would you like him to train?

Also, an apology to Entomoid, because I completely forgot that Koda Koji was supposed to be a rock monster or something. His design tends to blend in with the six-armed Shoji and the pink-skinned Ashido. So, as an apology, a quick omake-

Majima’s neck was still stiff from Iida’s kick earlier, so he was trying to ignore the pain as he walked into his office. Seriously, why’d he have to go sober again? He’d kill for some vodka right about now. Maybe he could cheat, he might still have some smirnoff in his des-

“Oh, shit, what are you doing here? School’s over, kid, what’s keeping ya?” He didn’t mean to scare Koda, but the kid jumped almost 5 feet in the air, spinning around and flailing his arms around wildly. Wait, no, that was sign language, wasn’t it? The fuck was he saying, forgot bag? Oh, yeah, that reminds him.

“Your bag is under my desk, kid, I noticed that you left it here when the academic portions of your exams were over.” Koda gave him an odd look, before signing something to him.

‘You know sign?’

“Yeah, just a bit though. Ueno, the gun runner I talk about from time to time? He had a quirk that enhanced his hearing, which didn’t really mesh too well with all those guns he spent his time around. He went deaf about two years after I met him, and I worked with him long enough after that I picked up some bits here and there. The only sentence I know by heart is, ‘They got the money, go get the product.’ Saw that one almost every day, got used to it real quick.”

‘Is Ueno-san still a gunrunner, sensei?’

“Nah, he died about… I wanna say, 30 years ago? I visit his sons now and again, they keep his business running. Now here,” He threw Koda his bag, “Get out of my office, and congrats on passing the practicals. Yamada’s voice isn’t easily overcome. Oh, and good work on getting over that fear of bugs, those things aren’t too easy on the eyes.” Majima looked at his desk, waited a second, then stopped time. Now that he wouldn’t embarrass the kid, he looked over at Koda, seeing a small, proud smile on his face. That’s good, kid deserves the praise for this one. He snapped again, watching the kid leave before opening his wallet. He’s got a few bills, he’ll just settle for a soda from the vending machine down the hall.

#all the time in the world #oc #fanfiction #fanworks #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academia oc #majima #kokiri majima #majima kokiri #all might #all for one #one for all #Ashido Mina/Izuku Midoriya #izumina #izuku midoriya/ mina ashido #mina ashido #midoriya izuku #time stop

[zendozebra]

All the Time in the World Chapter 12

“… And lastly, Ojiro and Iida will be a team, and you’ll be facing off against Majima-san.” Nezu finished listing off the matchups for the final exams, which made Majima laugh at the students. “Ha, have fun fighting that name-stealing bastard, ya little shits.” Aizawa turned to the time stopper with an annoyed look, “He meant you, idiot.” He stopped laughing. “What?” “He said Majima, not Maijima. Power Loader has an extremely important deadline to meet, so he asked if someone else in the staff could take his place. You were the only staff member left.” The students and the other teachers watched as Majima looked down at the ground, looking like he was about to cry, before he blinked out and reappeared wearing his hero costume, mask over his face. “Let’s just… Get this over with.” He said with a sniffle. “Are you alright, Majima-sensei?” Iida asked his teacher, who looked away from his students. “I just- I just really didn’t want to do any work today.” He hadn’t slept well the last few nights. Hell, he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep ever since that student had put him in a coma. Way too much on his mind. Today was the one day this week that he would have had a free day. His weekend was filled up with a special task from Nezu, to try and get back into the underworld to collect intel, but he was still trying to find his old outfit. Worse case scenario, he wears the replica of his original villain outfit that Power Loader made, but that means giving up on the original mask that Kobayashi had made for him. He’d also have to figure out if the criminal underworld still shuddered when they heard the name, Time Enough. Aizawa glared at him, “Are you drunk?” “I wouldn’t be this upset if I was drunk. I’m sober, honest.” And if that’s not the saddest thing in the world. He hadn’t had a drink in three days. He just wasn’t feeling up to it recently.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Majima stood at the exit of the test, looking over the dirt arena they dropped him in as he tried to spot Iida and Ojiro. He didn’t really pay attention when they were explaining the rules to him, so he didn’t know what he was doing. Something about not letting them escape, right? Man, he was not in the mood for this, and these heavy-ass weights they were making him wear were not helping his attitude. Oh shit, is that Iida? Can’t really tell, it’s just a line of dust that was heading right towards him. He’s probably about to kick Majima with the force of a truck, which was at least on brand of the kid. Should probably do something about that, huh? The thing about time stop, is that kinetic energy couldn’t be properly applied from within the frozen time. Sure, a constant force works just fine, like pushing something into place or opening a door. But punches didn’t work too great, seeing as most of the force behind them were lost on impact. Good thing he still has all of his old tricks. Crouching down, he spread his hands out on the ground. He focused on his power, feeling time release its hold on him, but he didn’t snap his fingers. His body began to glow with a blinding white light, and he felt an old strain deep in his bones. The world slowed, and he was suddenly able see the speeding Iida much easier than he had been a few moments ago. “Desync: Factor of 10!” There we go, haven’t done this in a long, long time. When he first started, Majima hadn’t known how to stop time, that’s something he’d built up to over hundreds of years. But this? Slowing time had always been far easier, and since time wasn’t stopped, all of the kinetic energy of his punches will be maintained and enhanced. For everyone else, time was the same, it wouldn’t seem like anything had changed. But for him, time was 30 times slower, so every 10 seconds for him was only a single second for everyone else. Not only that, but now a normal punch at 5 miles per hour was coming at 50 miles per hour. Majima ran up to Iida, backhanding the boy in the chest and watching him slowly begin to rocket back towards where the students had started. He held back, duh, didn’t want to kill the poor kid, but Aizawa told him that Iida’s armour was much thicker than it looked, meaning he felt that the kid could take the hit. He turned off desync, trying to look around for Ojiro. Seriously, was he just gone? He hadn’t seen the guy since they started, wasn’t he supposed to be trying to kick Majima’s ass? Hell, he probably stood a decent enough chance against the time stopper. Between Ojiro’s martial arts and Majima’s lack of actual fights in recent years, he was probably rusty enough for the tailed student to win. But nevermind that, just wher- Oh, there he is, walking around the perimeter of the arena. Why wasn’t he trying to fi- “Fuckin’ hell!” He almost hadn’t snapped his fingers in time to stop that boot to his face. That psychopath Iida had tried to launch a roundhouse right at his fucking head. He now floated in the air, frozen, while Majima tried to stay focused. What had he been doing? Fuck, whatever. He used Time Stop to move Iida all the way back to the starting area, walking back to his spot at the exit. He stopped his quirk, smirking as he imagined Iida eating major shit when his kick hit nothing and he fell to the ground. Was that another trail of dust? Why the hell was Iida just charging him over and over? Did he and Kaminari switch bodies or somethin’? Oh well, another kick, another snap, rinse and repeat. How long did these things last for again? He’d have paid attention to the details, but he didn’t think that he’d have to fucking participate, so he’d kind of zoned o- The bell rang, the one that means that one of the students passed. But that’s impossible, Iida was st- Ojiro! He’d fuckin’ forgotten about Ojiro, god damnit! He must have snuck around while- A metal-clad foot to the head ended that train of thought while Majima dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks. Seeing as he couldn’t move his body anymore, he’d wager that Iida’s kick had broken his neck and fucked up his spinal cord. Wonderful. A second bell rang out, meaning that Iida had crossed the finish line as well. Fuck, there goes that monthly liquor allowance idea he’d been trying to get past Nezu. Oh well, not like he’d been drinking any lately. Perhaps that money could go to a better cause, like hiring a carpenter to fix that hole in Majima’s pride. “Alright, Kokiri-san, what’s the damage? I don’t usually get called out here to help fix up the teachers instead of the students.” He could only guess that voice belonged to Chiyo, one of the few people who he let give him this kind of shit. Doesn’t mean that he won’t give her some shit back, though. “Alright, so you know how the human body is able to move around, right?” “Yes, I’m well aware.” “Yeah.” He couldn’t see her face, but she was probably rolling her eyes at him. Either way, she gave him a dose of her quirk and helped him to his feet. He rolled his neck, wincing when he felt a weird twinge whenever he looked to the left. Whatever, his body resets in a few hours, he can deal with it until then. He followed Chiyo through the exit, where Iida began to bow to him over and over while yelling apologies. “God damnit, will you shut up!” The class president stood straight with a salute, while Majima sighed and moved onto his next point. “Remind me to teach you guys some restraint. You do realize that some people can just die if you beat their ass too hard, right? I damn near almost did. Well, not really but it’s still kid of rude.” “Yes sensei, I’ll remind you when we return from the training camp!” “Alright, well, moving on.” Majima turned to Ojiro, “What was that back there? I’d have sworn you of all of my students would have tried to fight me. With these weights, you stood a decent chance, how come you didn’t take it?” “Because you were sober, Majima-sensei.” Fuckin’ what? “The hell does that have to do with anything?” Iida gave him an answer, “One time when I was studying with Midoriya-san, he mentioned that you got distracted more while you were drunk, which let you jump from thought to thought when you fought. He thought that this was how you could keep track of so many opponents at once in the stories you told him.” Ojiro stepped in to say, “When he heard you say that you were sober, Iida-san thought that you’d be more focused on your current enemy, and would forget anyone else around you. This way, as long as Iida-san kept you busy and focused on him, I could sneak around and get to the exit. When you got surprised by the bell going off, Iida-san would be able to take you down and make a break for the exit.” “… So you’re telling me that being drunk gives me an advantage when I’m fighting more than one person?” “Yes sensei!” They said together, which made Majima look over to Nezu with a big smile on hi- “I’m not approving that alcohol allowance idea you keep putting paperwork for on my desk, no matter the reason.” “But they just said that it makes me a better fighter!” “You shouldn’t be fighting, Majima-san, you should be teaching.” “… I’m gonna convince you one of these days.” “Oh, I don’t see you ever giving up, Majima-san.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

In response to a review from Entemoid, who asked me, “I wonder what he’ll say to the boulder shaped head about his fear of bugs” I have only one thing to say to you. Fuckin’ what? I don’t, I don’t understand the question. Did I skip a chapter of the manga, or am I just stupid? At first I thought you were talking about that shit from Prometheus, until I realized that that had nothing to do with my story, which leaves me super confused about my answer to your question.

#all the time in the world #chapter 12 #mha #mha fanfiction #oc #time stop #izumina #Ashido Mina/Izuku Midoriya #mina ashido #Midoriya Izuku #all might #all for one #one for all #fanfiction #majima #kokiri majima #majima kokiri #slow burn

[zendozebra]

All the Time in the World Chapter 9

So, the UA Sports Festival happened. He ended up watching with Inko at her place, watching her fall apart as Izuku did his normal dumb bullshit. He’s gonna be giving that kid a detention when he sees him on monday. Apparently he’s got a date sunday afternoon? Something about Ashido helping him fix his bandages because he’s a hopeless fuck. Majima might have added that last bit himself, but his displeasure of everyone around him continues to persist and grow. He also dropped his mask on his way back to his apartment, which shattered on contact with the ground? Which idiot decided to make a fucking mask out of fucking porcelain! It’s a ceramic mask that he’s meant to be fighting in, what if he gets punched in the face, is he supposed to just take the hit? Luckily, shards of ceramic in his eyes would affect him less than it would anyone else, but his point stands.

Now he has to wait for that name-stealing Power Loader guy to get him a new mask. In the meantime, he now has to deal with the problem that stands before him, bouncing on their feet as they held a notebook in front of them. “I’m not giving you an autograph, guy. Leave me alone.” He’d just wanted to grab some food before his next class, but he’d been stopped on his way back by some fanboy asking for his autograph. He pushed past the guy, his lunch growing colder as his patience grew shorter. C’mon, he has to deal with class 1-B later, he has enough bullshit scheduled for today, he doesn’t need this. He still hasn’t mentally prepared himself for the dumb shit he was about to tell a group of children. Seriously, fuck coin flips, he’s never once gotten heads. Now he has to give another class nightmares for a week.

Eh, they’ll be fine.

When he got back to his office, class 1-B was already there waiting for him. So fuck that fanboy, now he’d have to deal with Nezu later. Seriously, how the hell did that guy know about him, wasn’t he supposed to be a secret? He sat down at his desk, pulling his food out of his bag as he started the class. “Alright, so I never at lunch, so you’re gonna have to deal with me eating throughout this class. Don’t like it, well, there’s the door. Also” He took a bite of his sandwich, continuing to talk with his mouth full, “I’m about to tell you guys some fucked up stuff, so if you’ve got a weak stomach or something, get out.” Surprisingly, none of them moved. He definitely wasn’t being as tough about this as he’s supposed to be. “I’m talking about my definition of fucked up. This is the kind of stuff that would make Toxic Chainsaw look like a playground bully.” There we go, Ibara’s startin’ to look a bit pale. He’ll have to pull her aside after class, have a talk with her. Heroes live a tough life, and Ibara seems to have always held a certain love of all life. He needs to make sure she’s still prepared for the cruelty of the hero industry, and if she is, then it’s his responsibility to make sure she’s handling everything alright.

“Alright, you’ve got your choice of villains today. Should I tell you about the Nuclear Villain: Maltruant, or Eviscera, a mass murderer who quite literally bathed in the blood of hundreds? Raise of hands for Maltruant?” The class took a quiet minute to come to terms with what he’d just said, while Majima took advantage by taking a few bites of his lunch. Slowly, about 12 hands went up for Maltruant, meaning that he won the little poll. Good, the kids are learning that the past holds a metric fuck ton of horrible stories. Unfortunately for them, Majima has access to each and every one of them.

“Okay, Maltruant was an early one, pretty sure he was in the 4th generation? Destroyed a few cities. And an island. His quirk, Nuclear Form, resulted in his entire body being a walking talking nuclear reactor, essentially being made of radiation, meaning that if he wanted to safely interact with other humans, he was forced to lock himself inside of a giant lead suit that contained the intense radiation he generated. The only outlet on the suit was in the center of the chestplate, where the government would siphon out the excess radiation to power cities, essentially creating a renewable energy source. However, seeing as the government had to shoulder the costs of both developing his suit as well as finding a safe way to keep him from overloading with his own energy and causing a meltdown, they refused to compensate him for the power the took from him. Understandably, he was extremely upset about this.” He took a drink while he pointed towards Kendo, who had their arm raised to ask a question.

“If we can assume that Maltruant was locked within this suit, one that was designed to contain all of his power, then how did he cause all of the destruction that you say he did?”

Majima had thought her question would be longer, so he’d stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, meaning he was now chewing as fast as he could so he could answer. Choking down his food, he said, “The outlet, at the center of the chestplate, was used as a valve by the government to collect the power that he created. However, Maltruant found that if he focused his power at the center of this valve, he was able to forcibly open it, generating a beam of highly concentrated nuclear energy that decimated anything it was aimed at. Through this method, he was able destroy multiple small towns, but he was still held within the normal restrictions of the containment suit, such as limited mobility.”

Tetsutetsu had a question, let’s hope it’s not as annoying as all his other questions. “So who took this guy down, sir? Someone had to have beat this guy into the dust, right?”

“Eventually, yeah. Took about 15 years to do it, but they got him eventually. This is still relatively early into the global acceptance of the hero society, so there weren’t that many heroes that were powerful enough to handle something like this. Multiple local heroes were killed whenever he attacked, as they just weren’t strong enough, or had the right kind of quirk to combat him. The real heavy hitters were few and far between, and the government had them working other missions at the time. Hell, Maltruant killed the first two that were sent after him. I don’t know why, but the first person they sent after him was the Firework Hero: Festivity. She used her quirk Firework to launch multiple high-yield fireworks at him. Good idea, until you realize that your target is trapped inside of a lead-lined suit of super armour. After a day of bombarding Maltruant with her rockets, Festivity was killed when he manage to cut down the building that she had stationed herself on top of. Apparently, Maltruant didn’t have as much fun as she did that day, as her body was found violently beaten and disfigured.”

“The second hero they sent was another woman, the Hero for All: Okoye the Brave, an African woman with an, at the time, unbelievably power and strength enhancement quirk. She fought and died to Maltruant as well, however she was a bit more successful. She was fast enough to avoid his attacks, and strong enough to break through the containment suit, but she also succeeded in breaking the lock on the suit. Freed from his prison, Maltruant was finally able to access the full extentent of his power, which included flight, focused nuclear beams, and able to detonate himself in a large scale atomic explosion. It was that last one that killed Okoye, and, as was originally thought, Maltruant himself. Unfortunately, it only put him out of commision for a few months, and he was back on his bullshit in no time at all.”

“But yes, hard head, someone was eventually able to get him. In fact, it was actually Okoye’s named successor who took him down for good. The Hero for All: Ultraman, would eventually become what would have been the All Might of his time. He had an incredibly powerful strength enhancement quirk, that seemed to grow stronger as time went by, but had a very damaging side effect. Ultraman’s quirk, Blood-Fuelled Enhancement, allowed him to bulk up and achieve a level of strength that had never been seen before. But, this enhancement would slowly drain him of his own blood, meaning that he could only perform his duty as a hero for like… I dunno, it was like 1 pint every 15 minutes? He could safely work for about an hour a day before it started to get risky. Any more than and hour 15, and he’d die. Ultraman and Maltruant fought on one of Hawaii’s 8 main islands, and- What is it Monoma?”

The Copy quirk user seemed smug when he said, “Majima-sensei, Hawaii only has 7 islands. Have you forgotten that in your old age?”

“Smug little prick. If you’d listened to the end, you’d realize that it has 7 islands now. That’s because the largest island, the Island of Hawai’i, was destroyed in its entirety during the fight between Ultraman and Maltruant. Ultraman was finally able to put the Nuclear Villain down for good, but he contracted severe radiation poisoning as a result. He died a few days after the fight, and the mantle of Hero for All was passed on to his successor, the Hero for All: Wilfre, with his quirk, Atomic Flame.” The bell rang, signalling the end of his class. He let them all leave, but he made sure that Ibara stayed behind. There’s some things that they need to talk about, and he’ll make sure that she has a note for her next class.

“Alright kid.” He sat down at his desk, taking a drink of water. These lectures always killed his throat. “What’s up? Kendo was telling me that you’re worrying about me, and I saw you look a bit pale when you realized what today’s lesson was gonna be about. So talk now, or I can give you a detention and we can talk then. Your choice.”

“I’m not a fool, sensei. I understand that in our society, and in your prof-”

“I’m not a hero.”

“The hero profession, is one that is soaked in violence. I just don’t feel comfortable being involved in that violence.” Majima started laughing at that bullshit, making Ibara look at him in hurt.

“Kid, I’m gonna tell you a story, and it’s not one of the horror stories I usually tell you guys.” She seemed to calm down a bit at his assurance that she won’t have any more nightmares and continued,. Oh man, this was going to be tough. “A long time ago, I had a friend. He was my closest friend, in the whole wide world. Henka Akira, was his name, and he had a younger brother, Jin. Those two, oh let me tell you, they couldn’t have been more different. Jin was always trying to help people, getting himself put in the hospital every other week because he was trying to help someone. But Akira, he was a great man. He was a terrible, horrible man, but he was a great man. Now the four of us, myself, Jin, Akira, and Jin’s girlfriend, Aimi, we found something. Something, that could have made us gods. And we each reacted to it differently.”

“Akira embraced it, used it, and became more of a monster with every passing day. Jin was influenced by it, and spent every day after standing against it, fighting until it eventually killed him. Aimi tried to stand with Jin, but it was too much for her, and she hid herself away from all of the pain and the suffering.”

“But what about you sensei?” Ibara asked.

“Hmm?” He raised his eyebrow at her, a smirk playing at his lips. “Me? Oh, I did what I always do. I ran. I ran and I ran, and I’ve never stopped running. I don’t… Entirely remember, what I was so scared of, but, I know that Akira did something that… I, I don’t know. It’s gone, all my memory of it is just… Gone.”

“Why did you tell me all of this, sensei?”

Why did he tell her all of this? He was supposed to help overcome this fear of violence that she had but now? He stood up and made his way over to her. “You can’t focus on your training if you spend all your time worrying about a sad old man. No, I’m not fine, but I haven’t been fine for a while. I’ll manage.” He made to ruffled her hair, but he ended up just prickling himself on her vines. Whoops. “Go on to class. I have some things that I need to think about. We’ll work on that little violence phobia you have some other time.” She bowed and left his office, leaving him alone. He sighed, sitting back down in his chair. He should really sort his shit out, shouldn’t he? He also needs to talk to All Might, figure out if he’s the 8th Hero for All. He lost track of the title after Wilfre, and he’s got a feeling that All Might might be a good place to start looking.

#all the time in the world #Midoriya Izuku #Ashido Mina/Izuku Midoriya #mina ashido #oc #time stop #all might #one for all #all for one #izumina #minadeku #midoriya inko #fanfiction #fanworks

[breziarchive]

Majimako, no conditions. Requested by my dear ass friend @persante, who wanted to retract her request on the fear i had too much on my plate.

no you fucking fool. i want this.

(inb4 the dumb referential names i picked are ALREADY ESTABLISHED CHARACTERS BUT I CAN’T BE ARSED TO CHANGE THE NAMES NOW)

also there’s blood and murder and laffs “majimako no conditions” means blood and murder

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines - ko-fi

(requests closed, badbbadbadfffffdfdfd)

~~

Majima stumbled as the floor spun, the metal tips of his boots gleaming like they shouldn't have. Shaking his head did nothing to bring things back to normal. Blood spatters on the concrete beneath his feet looked dark and surreal, even though the bat in his hands was painted with much the same. Disregarding that he may have been worsening the mess, he brought his free hand up to dig at his scalp, panting wearily. Thank fuck there was no one around to see him now.

Or that they were already dead.

He breathed. In. Out. In. Out. His hands shook. Yeah he had killed people before, no it wasn't a case of 'it never gets easier'. It was a case of one of the two bodies in the room was not his doing, and that first dead body caused the second.

His stupefied eye wandered to see twisted feet dressed in delicate heels, slamming his eye shut before it followed pale, willowy legs to a distorted face. What the hell had this guy been doing? How much of it had he done? Keeping some woman's fresh corpse in his office space as he lit up cigarettes without a damn care in the world—Majima almost felt righteous that he barged in here, because it gave him the opportunity to make up for it. A corpse for a corpse—not really a righteous policy, but one that Majima had little control over when he saw an innocent dead on the floor.

Whatever. He hadn't come in here to kill someone, be that it turned out that way. Although he was glad he did—the files he had plucked out of cabinet spread against the askew desk proved it. Majima pressed his leaden hand a little too much against the files, spreading them farther out. Makoto's name littered them—documents of the exchange over the Empty Lot, documents of her lineage, whereabouts, just information about her in yakuza hands still. He had spent the past five, or was it ten, years hunting down whoever held documents like this, burning each and every one he came across. With men like this holding onto recent files of where and what she was doing, Majima was glad he was dead.

Hyper-focusing on the files instead of speculating who the woman in the corner might've been, Majima slid them off of the desk, neverminding the spatters of blood he disturbed, and sat on the edge of a plant pot. The dead yakuza's legs served as a footrest as his one eye skimmed over each paper. On a different day he'd be more thorough and take his time in the office to make sure he didn't miss a single copy, but today...Today? Fuck it. Majima stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, then lit the files on fire.

His eye glazed over, watching the papers burn. For her. For her and always for her. Fuck. That woman was dead in the corner for some unknown reason that wouldn't ever be good enough. How close had Makoto come to being that woman? How close was she now?

For some damned reason an address on the paper burned in his mind before the flames burned it. He blinked, but the memory remained even as he dropped the papers on the pant leg of the dead yakuza to curl. Part of him wanted to just burn the whole building down now, with him inside it. Now that he knew the address, it was only fair, right? Even he didn't keep any files about her. Not even a picture.

Not even a picture.

He closed his eye as the fire changed sounds as it started to lick at the pant legs, fizzling on hair beneath. The address. The address. The dead woman in the corner. The address.

A strangled noise crept through his chest and he stood up, stomping the fire out and nearly tripping and falling from the uneven ground the legs made. The address.

Fear and hope pinched his heart and he stumbled off the dead man. Address.

That what he was going to do might've been considered stalking was only a small voice in his mind, and even though it nagged the pain dragging his face down and the fear kicking his head to pieces spoke louder. The address kept repeating itself over and over and over in his mind as he slammed the door holding the two corpses shut. He couldn't trust to write it down, because someone else could've seen it. He had to trust his memory, and when it came to her his memory was agonizingly clear.

Though, for his own sanity, he should've let a few days pass. He couldn't let more than a few hours of vivid sleep go before he was ripping through his wardrobe. It hit him all too quickly that he had, absolutely, no fucking clue what normal people wore. All he had were flashy suits and absolutely gaudy shit that would make him stick out like a sore thumb. The address he had memorized, he knew it was in the suburbs somewhere beyond the outskirts of the city. The thought made him honestly ill, him, trawling about a quiet neighborhood with snakeskin and tats out. Not to mention leather pants that clung a little too tightly in the right places to...accentuate. Taunt, or whatever it would do for him.

After far too long he finally settled on black slacks and suitcoat he hoped wasn't too flashy, because the least intimidating thing he had to wear underneath was a goldenrod button-up. (He almost went with red, but red held too much power. At least he skipped the tie.) After that, he made the quick decision to slip his eyepatch into his breast pocket and cover his eyes with a pair of aviators. Couldn't risk her recognizing him. Couldn't risk anything—this whole escapade could cost her so, so much more than he was willing to put her through. But he had to check, he had to know.

It burned like the files in his mind as he hopped on at least one more train than necessary, taking the longest way to the suburbs possible just in case. Just in case.

When he stepped off the train it was like walking into a concrete wall. He had made such a huge, huge mistake. There were kids running about, mothers pouring over grocery lists, no criers in the streets, no broken needles or used condoms, teenagers laughed normally and rough-housed with each other in ways that didn't cause broken noses and black eyes. This was not a place where he could even pretend to blend in, much less convince someone that he was just there to make sure someone was safe. Yeah. Didn't seem like he was gonna stake the joint at all.

He had just, after all, killed someone.

Majima swallowed, hoped he didn't stand like an idiot for too long in the small train station, then headed off, address burned in his mind. No one had followed him, unless they had better clothes to disguise themselves with than he did. Making sure the aviators were firm on his face, he counted the street numbers until he arrived at the correct block, secluded and ending in a small cul de sac surrounded by cute houses clustered together like trees in a forest. It wasn't lonely, but it was secluded. Early morning was giving way to mid-morning, and the houses lazily bustled with the promise of school starting soon. He had already passed more than one uniform-clad group of young teens, and had spied more than one child's backpack bouncing happily as they walked the streets unattended.

Shit, man. The second thoughts he had were screaming until his head rang.

A few kids, their backpacks resting against low yard fences, played as they waited for what Majima presumed to be a larger line of kids to go to school with. Those days had been so long ago for him now they might as well have been repressed. Some of the kids' heads perked up like meerkats as he tried to look casual, strolling down the street, but for the most part they didn't raise the alarm. Awkward and knowing it, Majima tried to look particularly interested in a weed sprouting from a crack in the asphalt, already turning around some bullshit excuse in his mind as to what he was doing. Botany, sure. Suburban botany. Yeah fuckin' right.

Why did it have to be now, when he had already traveled at least two hours, shitty disguise fooling nobody on, that he realized that discreetly finding out about her was impossible? Even if he waited for the kids to leave for school, what then? Knock on doors like a fuckin' missionary? He wished he could take his head off and curb-stomp it for its stupidity—yeah, a missionary, who had to use their voice, talk to people, interact—

“Cloudy day, isn't it?”

Majima froze, pulled from his stunt of suburban botany, and slowly turned around, spine stiff and jaw clenched. There she was, standing pleasantly. Orange and pink flannel peeked out just from behind a pastel windbreaker; it looked like she was only expecting to be outside for a moment, perhaps monitoring, watching the children. His heart crashed into his feet—one of them could be hers. Of all the stupid things he was already doing, he made it worse because his instinct twisted his head back to look at the kids tossing a ball back and forth. It was so mind-numbingly normal and stereotypical it seemed surreal, even Makoto's pleasantries didn't seem right.

Before he could really study and find out if any of them could be her kids she spoke again, just as pleasant, “Excuse me, sir, did you have a question about the kids?”

Majima blinked and looked back to her. Well, it wasn't out of the blue, but it wasn't quite as sterile as a comment about the weather. She smiled at him all the same but something was off—it was like he was watching an actress act, not someone truly smile. Trying to hide a swallow, he shook his head.

“Good,” the word was forceful from her lips despite the pleasant tone, but before Majima could nod and scuttle away like a log had been lifted over a cockroach she stepped up into his space and her eyes became sharp and dangerous, lips curling into a snarl, “Because I will drag you to hell if you so much as look at them wrong,”

Thankful that the aviators shielded most of his expression, Majima blinked rapidly, eye wide and struggling on whether to show how impressed versus how intimidated off the bat he was. Makoto kept herself planted in his space, glaring into her own reflection on the aviators. When she finally let him be it wasn't at all like she had backed down. He imagined that her hackles were still raised and teeth were bared behind her sweet lips, even as she walked away to tend to the children.

“Takeru-kun,” she chastised, too much of a bite to her words to show Majima that his suspicions were correct, “Throw the ball a little gentler, Ken-chan's still learning,”

Takeru, the boy in question, let out a comical whine of protest before retorting, “But Ken-chan's dad said—,”

“I don't care what he said,” Makoto huffed, firm, “It's on you to learn to be gentle or not, but I'm here to ask you to be gentle,”

The harshness of Makoto's voice seemed to take Takeru by surprise, and, holding the ball wide-eyed, he murmured a sullen 'yes, Makimura-san', softening his play. Majima watched her, noticing that the arcs of her shoulder blades were barely showing from behind the windbreaker from how much he put her at unease. More than that, the comfortable use of her surname—her unchanged surname—told Majima that, perhaps, none of these were her children.

The eldest of the children, a beanpole of a girl that Majima guessed would be ditching the elementary backpack for a uniform soon, cautiously approached her from the side. Busying himself with the breadth of suburban flora in the asphalt, he tilted his head a little to hear better.

“Makimura-san, is everything...alright?”

Makoto didn't seem to move, though her arms were crossed in front of her. Her voice remained tight, watching Takeru learn to adjust the power and bounce of the ball to the youngest kid there, “Is your brother coming out, Yumi-san?”

The girl nodded, but her gaze was steady and concerned on Makoto, “He's late, as usual,”

Makoto hummed, unhappy. Suddenly feeling as though he was surrounded, even if it was nothing but just eyes, he felt himself start to sweat and panic. There was no way in goddamn hell he was going to be able to convince Makoto of all people that he meant no harm while he was loitering around, especially not in front of children that it seemed she had been tasked with watching over until school started. God fucking help him if any other mothers or fathers or whoever started emerging from their homes, all to judge and pitchfork him. In truth it didn't matter too much to him if he was burned at the stake or not, but the idea that he had made everyone's lives in this quiet little town worse, that maybe, if he met his end here, white-knight sorts of yakuza would come hunting for revenge—goddamnit he really should've planned this out more than not at all.

“HEY! Hiroki-kun!”

Majima jolted upright.

“CATCH!”

The ball did not make it to Hiroki. Majima was honestly just thankful the ball hit so square into his face that any noises he did make were squelched. Clamping his teeth down on the insides of his cheeks both out of reflex and out of desperate courtesy to not shout something, thus bringing the pitchforks to his attention and scaring the children in the process, Majima stumbled until his ass met the iron fence behind him. His gloved hands went to his face immediately, cupping around his nose. Again, out of reflex. The ball could never in a million years hit him like a punch could, and the loud, hollow THOONK sound it made as it bounced off was the sound of no real harm done. Grunting and grinding his teeth on his cheeks, he pinched the tip of his nose and shook it back and forth like he had to put it back in place, glancing up to see a shocked kid standing in front of him. New, from the house that had been behind him. Presumably the Hiroki that the hotshot Takeru greeted with a ball to Majima's face. Not only was he shocked but he seemed absolutely horrified, too, like Majima would do something. He blinked, readying an expression to show the kid that he was okay when he realized something.

The aviators had been knocked off.

Shot with panic, he slapped a hand over his missing eye and ducked down to scramble for them at the same time Hiroki ducked to chase the runaway ball. Majima's outstretched fingers curled in pain as he watched the kid's shoes destroy the aviators. Teeth now visibly clenched onto his lower lip, Majima hissed through them in a barely disguised wail of defeat.

No real harm done, huh. No wonder the kid looked horrified. Fuck.

“Hiroki-kun!” Makoto ordered, jarring the kid to her side, ball in his short arms. Majima stammered on several fucks, whispered so low he couldn't even hear himself as he turned to keep his good eye towards them, no matter how conspicuous it looked. The moment Hiroki made it to her side he pulled on her arm, making her lean down though her intense gaze was thoroughly fixated on him. Suspicion cut through him like a laser—she was tensed on the balls of her feet waiting for how he would truly react.

The kid said something to her about his eye, he caught on to enough of what he said to know that. Queasy and dizzy, Majima tried not to pant too hard, struggling to straighten his back. The tension was so palpable Majima could've been pushed back all the way to the train station. Hell, all the way back to Kamurocho. Used condoms and broken needles would be a welcoming sight over kids and kickballs.

Like a short legion from heaven, down the street came the joyful clamor of kids from the surrounding neighborhoods, all clustered together as they headed for school. Red and black backpacks bounced in various ways according to the care the kid gave their bag, some even so bold as to swing them along while others balanced them on their heads as they tried to keep walking. All the kids behind Makoto looked to the line then back to him, back to Makoto to discern her judgment on the situation. Finally Yumi nodded to herself, ushering the kids forwards down the street before she followed.

“Makimura-san—,”

“Have a good day at school,” Makoto called, putting on an overly normal tone despite everything, “Stay safe.”

Majima winced, staying put until the kids disappeared around the corner. He twitched to move but before he knew it Makoto was in his space again, gripping his elbow without fear and staring him down. It wasn't until he could no longer hear the kids that she let him go and took a step back.

“Who are you, what are you here for?” She demanded of him. Majima gulped, feeling it all the way down his throat and into his stomach. Should he answer and give himself away immediately? Keep quiet and try to leave? One was more suspicious than the other, but the other got her much too involved. Makoto's eyes drilled into him and he knew he still wasn't over just the general idea that she could see from the way sweat beaded on his temples. He'd have to make a decision soon or the neighborhood was damned.

Without warning, Makoto dropped her gaze. Majima blinked, watching her in nervous curiosity. Her arms were still crossed in front of her but her feet weren't so firmly planted anymore, drawing unseen lines on the asphalt until the toe of her shoe nudged against the complete wreckage of the aviators. When she looked back up Majima was caught off-guard, stricken by how tired and sorry she looked even if he could still see the walls up around her.

“I'm sorry, at the very least,” she was eying the hand that was still clamped over his bad eye. His stomach twisted, knowing that some part of her recognized him from the incident right before he had walked away. Wincing again, Majima almost opened his mouth to tell her she didn't have to be. Almost. It was his fault he came out all this way for practically nothing, anyways. He should've had more faith in her building a life for herself, keeping herself safe, keeping others safe.

But then again, he didn't need to be roped to a pole and have his other eye dug out to be told that even the strongest, safest people could be fucked over. Maybe the yakuza was just a filekeeper.

Maybe he was going to do something with the files.

Majima didn't realize that Makoto was studying his eye until it was too late to change his entranced expression. She glanced around her neighborhood, holding herself a little tighter, then hardened her expression.

“Come. If you have business, we'll do it inside.”

Makoto gestured for him to move first. It took a while for him to not only get, but agree to move, nervous that he obviously was. Despite all this she thought herself sacrificially suicidal. She didn't know why this man had appeared when he did, she didn't know what connections he had other than she vaguely recalled one of the harassers from so long ago referring to him as legendary. That incident was the only reason her guard was lowered, once she had realized that this man must have been one and the same. He certainly wasn't lost, since he was dressed somewhat appropriately for the suburbs, and Makoto knew that out of everyone that lived in this area, this sweet little neighborhood, she was the only one he would be magnetized to. She was the only one with any sort of...history. With this sort of thing.

Keeping him at her side or in front of her, never behind her, she led him to the backyard of one of the smaller houses. She followed him up the staircase that zig-zagged up the back of the house, cornering him by standing between him and escape as she unlocked and opened the door. She was the only one in the neighborhood that did lock her door. He didn't need to know that.

When he stepped inside before her he stood rooted to the spot, watching as she locked the door behind her, slipped out of her shoes and into the main hallway. Makoto turned around, staring at him eye to eye with the added step up from the front of the doorway.

Silence. Neither of them moved, but it wasn't clear who was refusing to give way versus who was just unable to do anything. Makoto narrowed her eyes. His hand dipped into his suit coat, watching her to note the tension in her muscles.

Out came an eyepatch. Makoto forced herself to relax as he cautiously slipped it on.

Then she left to the kitchen to make tea. She did so as quietly as possible, listening to him reluctantly take his shoes off and step into the second floor apartment proper. From the archway into the kitchen she eyed him in her peripherals as he slowly wandered into the dining room. He was taking everything in, the cozy snugness of the narrow halls, the practical decorations that she stuffed into whatever corner she could making the apartment even snugger than it was. Closed-in comfort. Room to breathe, but everywhere there was something to look at. Artwork, either purchased or made from the kids she watched over. Attempts at apartment horticulture, especially in the small windowsill spaces. Folded blankets, more than one person could use, all out for the world to see instead of stashed in a linen closet. The man saw it all, drinking it in with more interest than a bored yakuza would. Makoto watched as, eye still taking in details, he folded his long legs in front of the kotatsu.

Then he found the alcove.

Makoto watched as he studied it for a long time. It was in that small space that she filled with pictures of her family. Rather, filled with pictures of what she had lost. Taking up most of it was a picture of Lee, next to the most recent picture of her brother Kiryu could dig up for her before he had said good-bye. Behind them on a higher shelf were her mother and grandfather, though sometimes she turned their faces away from her in both shame and anger. Sometimes, even, she'd turn her brother and Lee away.

There was only one she couldn't change, and that was the empty space at the bottom edge of the alcove, off to the side. Set with flowers she had replaced just yesterday. A tulip resting in a bed of forget-me-nots—flowers she had learned the meanings of from one of her neighbors. She noticed that the picture-less offering wasn't lost on him, though if he knew what it meant, who could say. Part of him wished he hadn't seen it, hadn't disturbed its presence with acknowledgment.

The tea was ready—ready enough. Makoto forced his attention away by entering the room. She poured, quiet, but she broke the silence before the tea was fully served.

“Again. Who are you, what are you doing here?”

The man was quiet, but he looked at her like he had an answer. Crinkling her nose in distaste, keeping him in peripherals at all times, she snapped.

“I know it's about me. No one else in this neighborhood has any business with your kind.”

The man frowned, pulling the teacup away from his lips. Curious. Seemed like he disagreed with that statement and had reason to. Makoto clenched her fingers into fists, unclenched them, frustrated, then looked at him. She felt her eyes puff up already, emotional.

“It's over. Leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with this anymore.”

She wished she could say she hadn't flinched, but she did when he hunched down a little, perching his head forward as if he was listening far too intently. Trying to catch any other meanings to what she said. Makoto sneered, but she knew the desperation made it weak.

“Ten years of peace, but looking over my shoulder even when I don't hear a noise. Ten years and I almost got used to the idea that maybe I was free, but you, you here, knowing where I am...,”

Makoto stared at him, unaware that she was breathing faster than normal, “Either you're stalking me, or...or...,”

He pulled his gaze away then shook his head. Damn her, but she believed him. He was looking down at his gloves, as if trying to put together what to say even though he remained silent as ever. Makoto straightened her back, tea ignored as she stared at him. Though his blind side was facing her she dug into what she could see of his expression.

“...What do they know?” she murmured, bringing his attention back up. That was it. They knew something. They knew. About her? About the neighborhood? The names of the kids she looked after on the odd morning raced through her head, then their parents, then the regular employees she met and talked with when she was out, if she was out. The man watched her shoulders rise and fall in fear, but ultimately he was sympathetic, not worried, it seemed. That being said, he couldn't shake his head.

Clucking his tongue, he looked up to the ceiling to think, then he rummaged in his pockets to bring out his lighter. Flipping it open and flicking the flame on in one smooth motion, he handed it to her. Gingerly, she took it, looking to the flame then to him.

Whatever they knew, he had been destroying.

“Why,” she exhaled, “Why? Who are you, who are you to care, who are you to know—,”

The bombardment of questions he realized he couldn't escape from hit him hard, and he shook his head again and again—after all, she was already falling in way too deep just by knowing that her name was still floating around out there, in use or not. Makoto's palms were flat against the kotatsu, her nails scraping against the surface as she sensed that he was about to flee without answering.

“Who are you to come here and—what do you want, wait—wait!!”

Makoto caught him in the main hallway, trapping him with a slender arm that he refused to butt against. She breathed, heavy and harsh, staring at him. She opened her mouth to ask again.

She closed it and let her arm slip back to her side. Rubbing it self-consciously, she broke her gaze away from him.

“...Go,” she said quietly, “You can go.”

After all, she knew when she was asking questions that would plunge her over her head. Her and all the kids she looked after. But the regret and the pain in being left in the dark was as obvious as the pictureless offering.

It broke Majima's heart.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. All that business of keeping her safe—it meant nothing if none of it kept her happy on top of that. It wasn't just about her being alive, it was about her living.

It was easier than he would've expected, even though he knew that leaving would be harder than he was prepared for. Without warning her he stepped forward, opening his arms and pulling her into a hug. He felt her breath escape in a shocked gasp—wrapped in a momentary terror of not knowing his intent. Trying to keep himself soft he sighed, holding her gently so she could escape if she needed to.

Though she was stiff, she didn't move. Majima squeezed his eye shut, rubbing his thumb along her shoulder.

Makoto melted. Majima pulled her firm against his chest, realizing he had lifted her in the air when the initial kick of her feet brushed against his pant leg. Turning his head, he exhaled warmth to the nape of her neck. She shivered, just barely. The shivers intensified when he finally spoke, murmuring against the collar of her flannel.

“I'll stay. If ya need me to.”

Makoto breathed shallow and shrill, hands raising to claw at the backs of his shoulders—not to push him off but to bring him closer. Pressing his lips to the slope of her shoulder he exhaled again.

“I'll stay.”

Trembling in his hold, her suspended toes turned inwards. The length of her silence and the sudden fragility to her body made him set her back down, gently, gently. As he retreated enough to allow space  between them he pressed his lips to her flushed cheek, definite but soft. It was both a statement and a question, reserved and patient. Still, he drew back, intent on freeing her while everything processed itself. Him, there, only to tell her she was safe and he'd continue to keep it that way if he had to, near her or not. That he was still thinking of her after all this time the way she still was.

Makoto threaded her hand through his hair to the back of his head, stopping him from retreating further.

“I didn't keep anything from back then...,” she murmured as she guided him back to rest on her shoulder, “Only memories, and singular photographs...,”

Majima kissed her pulse, spurred by how it quickened yet she relaxed. Remaining slow and kind in his movements, his lips kissed her more as she spoke, the bristle of his beard prickling her skin and causing goosebumps as he traveled to her exposed collarbone, kissing the heart of it.

“But...,”

Majima kissed her again, reveling in her stuttered breath against his knuckles as he started carefully unbuttoning her flannel shirt until his hands could slip underneath and pull her waist closer to him, fingers brushing the edges of her camisole.

“I wish I could've kept you...,”

He left her skin for just a moment and she missed the touch of his beard against her chest. Hand still threaded through his hair, she helped him pull away to meet his eye.

“Not a photograph...,” she whispered, “Just you.”

Makoto pulled herself flush against his warmth and let herself be lifted in his arms again to kiss his lips.

#majima goro #makoto makimura #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #valentine's day boogaloo #this idea has been knocking around for a few months #EXCUSE the length #but that's why #also i adore dormammu she's a wonderful friend #i've got soul but i'm not a soldier #i've got soulll but i'm not a soldierrrrr

[breziarchive]

i guess i’ve made the executive decision that i WILL be posting this fic when things are all nice and done but in the meantime, here’s a snippet i wrote on the plane back from the midwest

yasuko and majima brotp >:V (implied saejima/majima, the full chapter/fic is nowhere near completion so the context and stuff will be added to AO3 much later, keep an eye out!) (finished fic will be covering majima and his relationships in the late 80s)

[ko-fi]

~~

The cold railing burned Majima's elbows as he leaned against it, just outside Saejima's apartment. He had only been by to make sure they had enough groceries for the week, and, getting no response from his sworn brother—as it had been for the last month and a half—he left the food just inside their door. He was about to just leave them with some bad joke and a teasing nod at Yasuko, awkward cold silences be damned, but Yasuko caught his attention with a frantic sign to wait up for her. So, there he was in the February chill, smoking a cigarette from a pack he had meant for Saejima, but he took it out of the grocery bag at the last second. He had bought the good stuff, and if Saejima was still gonna cold-shoulder him with barely a glance when he showed up with food, well, then, he could buy his own damn vices.

The door, always sticky in the winter, opened and closed with one of Yasuko's grunts. He looked back over his shoulder as the young teen beamed at him. At least Saejima hadn't forced Yasuko to forsake him too.

“Hey, kid,” the cig in his mouth bounced in his lips and he glanced at her hands, “What the hell's that?”

Yasuko presented the box, too excitable to be formal and precise. It wasn't entirely homemade, but it was carefully decorated. She had spent plenty of time painting hearts and cute faces on the sides. Majima couldn't believe the steady hand she had, even though he knew she had been put up in bed for weeks with nothing to do but paint and draw. Despite the adoration at her effort and the gesture itself he tried to keep his expression stoic. That it wasn't as hard as it should've been thanks to his—her—brother made him feel guilty.

“Happy Valentine's Day!” Yasuko hopped on her feet into a perky bow, but Majima didn't take the box.

“Aw, thanks kid,” he answered flatly, “But I don't accept love letters from fourteen-year-olds,”

Yasuko pouted, “Majimaaa,”

His face split into a grin and he slapped his hand down on her head, ruffling her hair until the static in the air took some strands airborne. Another, more emphatic protest from her and Majima giggled, taking the box.

“What's all this, Yasuko-chan? Ya didn't hafta,”

“Sure I did! You don't work with any women, and you don't have a girlfriend,”

Majima disguised a choke with a puff of smoke.

“And it's kinda sad to not get any chocolate on Valentine's Day!”

“What would you know, pipsqueak,” he retorted, “I could be swimmin' in chocolate at home!”

“But none of them are mine!”

“Awright, awright,” Majima gave in with a comically defeated pout, “Gotta watch yer smart mouth, Yasuko-chan,”

“If you're scared I'm gonna outwit you, I think I already did!” Yasuko put her hands on the railing to push herself up to Majima's height but pulled back, seething at the chill. Majima watched with half-lidded interest, mock scoffing and pushing his thumb under the lip of the box. The day she actually beat him in a battle of wits instead of him intentionally giving way was the day he checked himself into a nursing home.

Store-bought and homemade chocolate treats alike met him as he flipped the lid open. Despite the act he put on he smiled, warmed by her work.

“Taiga already ate all his,” Yasuko complained, “Completely spoiled his dinner! I'm glad you brought more food, you know what he likes,”

“Mmhmm,” Majima soullessly agreed. Cigarette smoke billowed from his nostrils. Making a grunt, he plucked the cig from his mouth and blew the rest of the smoke out. Yasuko watched as he held it between his pointer and middle finger, using the other three to pluck one of the homemade chocolates out from its wax paper.

“I can hold onto that!” she piped up. Majima glanced at her from the side.

“What, the box?”

“No, your cigarette!”

“Uh,” Majima regarded her, “Ya can't outwit me that good, kid,”

Yasuko huffed a sigh, “I knoww, I wasn't trying to,”

Majima sighed himself, then gave in. An annoying perk of her honesty. The thought occurred to him that he was flimsier than tissue paper as he handed it off to her way-too-excited hands. She held it in such away that hallmarked her inexperience. Majima smirked.

“Don't ya dare tell yer brother,”

Yasuko nodded, looking at the cig and not him.

“Ever.”

Still no acknowledgment and Majima turned to face her.

“Yasuko-chan,”

She looked up, beaming and mischievous, “I heard you! I just wanted to see how serious you were!”

Time to look for nursing homes.

Yasuko continued to look at the thing in innocent wonder and a vague sense of fear. Majima almost scoffed at it, since he had pilfered his first cigs at age twelve, but all the same she had been sick and it spoke to Saejima's commitment that she had managed to avoid it until now. Well, this made two for two with Majima's offenses to the Saejima family. Damn. Considering her recent illness, too, he should've been more vigilant about the whole thing.

“One puff,” he ordered retroactively, “That's all you get,”

Yasuko nodded and hesitantly put the cigarette to her lips. He finally popped the chocolate in his mouth and chewed as he watched, now more concerned than interested.

He couldn't say it went any differently than expected. Yasuko started coughing, nearly dropping the cigarette off the ledge. Majima's hand shot forward to save it—that was the good expensive shit, damn it—and in doing so nearly sacrificed the rest of the chocolates as well. Once the cig and box had been saved in a snapshot of time, Majima swallowed and gasped. He bit his lip to hide his smirk so as not to embarrass her, but he wouldn't last long.

“Shit, kid, pull somethin' like that again and I'll be divin' off the ledge to save all my goodies,”

Yasuko continued to cough and he laughed through a sympathetic grimace, “You okay, there?”

She nodded though it seemed to take her a moment to think about it. Majima waited for it to calm down, but it wasn't happening fast enough for him and he started slapping her back and looking around nervously.

“Hey, hey, keep it up and someone'll call the cops on me,” he glanced at the apartment door behind him, “Or worse,”

“That's—,” Yasuko regained her voice, though raspy, “—disgusting!”

“Well, yeah,” Majima answered, glad she was quieting down, “It ain't good fer ya,”

“Then why?”

“'Cause it's good fer me. I mean, it ain't good, but I'm kinda past that,”

“Majima...,” Yasuko pushed the last few hacks out then deflated against the railing, no longer deterred by the coldness.

“Damn, I didn't just cost ya yer new good kidneys, did I?”

Yasuko frowned and chastised weakly, “That's not how kidneys work,”

Majima's eye glinted in humor as he placed the cig back where it belonged and inhaled.

“Majima...,” Yasuko said after a while of him rooting through the chocolates, “You never come over anymore,”

“Sure I do,” he dodged, struggling to unwrap a store-bought one with only one hand, “I drop food off all the time,”

“But you don't stick around,” she pointed out, “Ever since New Year's. If that's your resolution, it's a bad one,”

Majima stared at her. Sighing, he gave up on the chocolates, closed the box, and flicked the butt of the cigarette over the edge. For a moment Yasuko looked scared that he was gonna up and leave, but she relaxed as he readjusted his arms against the railing, dropping the box at his feet so he wouldn't knock it over.

“I guess...,” she said carefully, “It's more like he hasn't invited you,”

Majima sighed, “Yeah...,” he swallowed and dropped his head, “I know.”

“What happened?”

“I guess we had a...,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “Disagreement.”

Yasuko hummed, gaze darting from him to the box, “I miss you, though,”

“Yeah? That's a first,” he joked, but for him it really was a first. The corners of Yasuko's lips twitched, but she looked worried.

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

Majima shook his head, “I ain't the one that has problems talking right now. Besides, uh...,”

He shifted, looking up at the clouds and struggling to tell her properly. A puff of a cigarette was one thing, graphic details of New Year's was another. Yasuko clearly hadn't reached her full height yet—she was shooting up like a weed, though, almost as bad as Majima had. Growing faster than her body could keep up with left her without any fat to her cheeks and waist—not that the illness had helped with that. Point being, she wasn't even ready much less well-equipped to solve or even help the problem.

“Dunno if this is somethin' I can explain, much less somethin' you can help with, Yasuko-chan,”

She visibly wilted beside him and he smirked, leaning in, “Hey, not that it ain't appreciated, pipsqueak. Grown-ass crusty adults wouldn't know what to do with this shit,”

At that she smiled, comforted at his acknowledgment. They let each other be quiet for a moment, listening to the city sounds mingling with the exasperated apartment dwellers around them. Yasuko clasped her hands in front of her and drew her feet in. When she spoke her voice was soft, almost mousey.

“I mean...how do you feel about this? Whatever it is that happened?”

Majima looked over at her and she swallowed and clarified, “It might help...Maybe if I told him how you felt?”

He regarded her for a while, then looked away to contemplate. At this point it really didn't matter, did it? Yasuko was patient as he took his time.

“Uh...,” he grunted uneasily, “Um...Ashamed.”

He pretended not to see her brows raise in surprise.

“Ashamed, yeah. Definitely.” he muttered further.

She didn't have a response and her gaze fell to the box at his feet, staying there. Sucking in a breath as Majima hadn't the strength to look at her, she pulled her energy back and nodded brightly.

“Okay. I'll tell him that,”

“The hell you won't,” Majima fought but there was no real threat in his voice. Yasuko had already turned to go back into the apartment. Flashing him a grin, she winked.

“Maybe I'll tell him that you said he was making dinner tonight!”

“Yeah, do that. Wait—,” he caught her with her hand on the door handle, “No, you tell him I told you to make dinner. That'll guarantee that he's cookin' instead.”

Her grin turned mischievous again and she opened the door, sending him off with a loud good-bye that he returned with a lopsided smile. Though he wanted to fish out another cig he picked up the box of chocolates instead, eating them one by one as he wandered the streets back to his apartment. The chocolates were gone by the time he reached his door and he made a note to not tell Yasuko he had also thoroughly spoiled his dinner.

#majima goro #saejima yasuko #saejima taiga #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #fanfiction #writing