#dojimakaichou

[stingslikeabee]

@dojimakaichou found the serpent

All signs pointed towards something dangerous - the fact that a woman was willing to take a stranger back to her home after a first meeting; that she lived in a place so deserted and without a single light in the buildings that were around (the ones that still stood, that was); and more importantly, the way said female seemed to walk in a particular way rather than favoring straight lines - akin to a serpent undulating over the sand, Melissa did not walk like humans did.

Well - not anymore.

Opening the door to her home, the brunette ushered in her mark - a fine man named Daigo; they had met at a bar closer to downtown, one frequented by the type of men that wouldn't raise too much attention if they turned to be missing a couple days later. The unsavory and the criminals, the grifters and the predators - Melissa enjoyed these little holes in the wall for the wide range of prey they offered.

Men who wouldn't be mourned - food that she so desperately craved.

For once, Daigo had seemed nicer than most - polite, well-spoken and so mannered while interacting with her that the lamia almost forgot why she had been visiting the place. He had a warm gaze and a grin on his face that reminded the brunette of the type of men she used to favor as boyfriends before her old life took a 180 degree turn and she somehow ended up among marketing specialists, lobbyists and politicians around the clock. Daigo looked like trouble - but of the best kind; if he tasted as good as he looked, it would make for a fantastic night.

Indoors, Melissa started shedding her clothes like an unnecessary part to her persona. First, the coat; then, the small purse which was slung over the shoulder. A couple more steps in had the woman ditching the heels and only barely remembering to turn on the lights for her guest - not that it helped her immensely, but most humans would need to see where they were walking, of course.

"Can I get you a glass of water or anything before we go to my room?" the woman turned around, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen - but upon the negative, she smiled and and resumed walking - but rather than going up the stairs and where the bedrooms were presumably located, Melissa asked for Daigo's help with a zipper on the back of the dress and offered a coy look at him in thanks, moving forward to another door across the kitchen.

"I'm renovating upstairs, so my bedroom is temporarily down the basement. At least it's not chilly during summer months," Melissa made light of it, voice sounding casual in her soft tone, and kept leading while making a show of exposing skin and promising more of that. Daigo followed - they all did, really; even when alarm bells should be going off in their heads saying that no one slept in basements of abandoned neighborhoods - but at least, to the brunette's credit, there were sufficient items of furniture to give an illusion of someone temporarily living down there.

Another light was turned on - feeble but enough for one to see - and the creature stopped there, facing the exit and right before a bed most would believe to belong to her. While Daigo walked towards his date for the night, Melissa pushed the dress off the shoulders and let it fall to the floor without a shred of modesty or shame - her body was pale and beautiful under the available light of the room, still in lingerie but not leaving much to the imagination. With dark tresses cascading over shoulders and jewelry glinting under the lamplight, she did look like the average man's greatest dream coming true: a pretty woman offering a good fuck with no strings attached.

"I apologize for the state the room is in - why don't you come closer so I can make it cozier for you?" a smile, meant to be seductive, but which hid something behind that crimson curve - a threat; a taunt. Once their lips locked, venom would start to be released into Daigo's bloodstream through her bite - enough to make him drowsy, confused and pliable, unable to see how the flesh under his hands changed and the eyes looking at him turned into those belong to a reptile.

Daigo was dinner - and Melissa was so, so hungry.

[antielevator]

@dojimakaichou sent: ‘ ASLEEP. ’ - [ my / your ] muse sits with [ mine / yours ] while they rest. ( x )

Right away, maybe in his first month of work, Sebastian came to the conclusion that the rules in place were stupid. They were too rigid, too inconsiderate of the circumstances of each individual, and he'd taken enough social science classes in university to learn that equality and equity were two different things. What was important when dealing with people who "got in trouble" with the law was to listen, to understand their positions-- Daigo Dojima, for example, was a frequent visitor at his precinct, but never really did anything bad except refuse to grow up.

They usually go to diners whenever Daigo agrees to go to breakfast with him, but today was different. Daigo's injuries from the brawl he'd gotten into the night before were more visible than normal (they were all over his face, even, and Sebastian had made it a point to tend to those before he even started cooking), so Sebastian hadn't wanted to subject him to any particularly hard stares in a public place. With his roommate out for the weekend with his girlfriend, their small but cosy apartment had felt bigger, somehow-- less so now that Daigo's here, though.

Sebastian meant to wake him up once the food was ready. The spread was just bacon, eggs, and some waffles shaped like the Millennium Falcon (courtesy of a novelty iron his roommate had), and it didn't take very long to make at all. But when he moved from the kitchenette to the living room and caught Daigo asleep on the couch he'd left him on, he didn't have the heart to do it. He never saw the man outside circumstances brought about by work, sure, but Daigo seemed to be the type to often get into shitty situations. More pressing, too, was the fact that he was also the type to exacerbate those shitty situations. The dissonance between the angry, banged up guy that Sebastian always had to write up and the snoozing young man on his couch faded rather quickly into fondness. Regardless of what Daigo's been through, Sebastian's certain he could use the rest.

So now he sits on the floor between the (cheap) coffee table and the (relatively more pricey) couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons and crunching on bacon. It's been maybe half an hour since he decided not to wake Daigo up, and by now Sebastian's stopped paying attention to any mumbling, snoring, or other minor noises the guy might've made. It's surprisingly comfortable just sitting here with him, even though Sebastian would usually be crawling into bed by now. It makes him wonder if this might have happened if they were friends the way normal people became friends-- if Daigo would have also ended up under a crocheted blanket from his abuela that Sebastian put on him to keep him warm.

He's stirred from his thoughts, though, at a noise that sounds less like an involuntary sleep sound and more like waking. Sebastian brings the volume to the television way down almost immediately, turning Pikachu's high-pitched pikas into silence.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he says, turning to look behind him at Daigo's groggy, beaten up face. "You got a bit of drool there."

[shininginyourlight]

@dojimakaichou​ sent: i forgive you. but i cannot let you leave. ( for Yakuza muse of your choice ! <3 ) critical role sentence starters | accepting

He really shouldn’t have even been there, in truth. Nishiki had been banished. As Kiryu’s first and only real act as chairman, he was never to participate within the Tojo Clan ever again. And while there was a rage that came with that decision initially, he had long come to accept it and appreciate. It was was better than the rest of the clan being on his ass for the rest of time.

But, after he’d find out how Kiryu was still taking the blame for something he’d done, Nishiki felt like he needed to set some things straight. And that would start with confessing his crime to the son of the man he’d murdered.

Not that he really regretted it. He didn’t. Nishiki was mainly sorry for the sorrow Daigo’s family had gone through in the aftermath.

Nishiki really never thought he’d be on his hand and knees in front of a member of the yakuza again, but here he was. Awaiting Daigo’s response. And truly, he was surprised by what came out of his mouth.

Forgiveness, but...?

Nishiki wasn’t sure where this might go next. Lifting his head back up to look at him, he peered up at him through his one usable eye left. 

“Sir?” He’d inquire cautiously, wondering why he would want him to stay. To explain things further? Or..? Because he wasn’t sure if Daigo would ever want to really know what had happened that made Nishikiyama shoot Dojima dead.

[queenoftheboard]

♙ 1.e4 . an opening for Dojima Daigo / @dojimakaichou

The hotel building was less than impressive - it was barely worthy of the three stars it advertised underneath the neon lights making up its name, and there were several signs around of a location that had seen its prime a long time ago: wallpaper peeling off, small infiltrations on the ceiling, flickering lights here and there and nothing to show for room service.

As far as vacation retreats went, that was no resort; but for a temporary safehouse and hiding spot, it was remarkably generic. Nothing too over the top and still within city center - no one would think of looking for Dojima Daigo in the most obvious place of them all: Fukuoka. Soon enough, from early next morning onward, mostly everyone would have assumed the worst and declared the Sixth Chairman of the Tojo to be missing after a night stroll following an alliance negotiation.

But Daigo had not gone anywhere and the fact that Eirene was in that suite would have sounded strange to most (if not all) relevant yakuza players of the Tojo - they were not friends, and the history between the biggest clan in all of Kanto and the Quinn group was one of strife. There had been a lot of heated conversations, not so veiled threats and no small number of sabotage attempts before a cold war of sorts was controlled, a truce between them enforced at the request of their leaders.

Still - a meeting between the two of them without any of their personal bodyguards would be strongly opposed or outlawed by their inner circles. And yet, that was precisely what the Quinn CEO and the Tojo chairman were doing, all the time being careful enough to ensure they were not being followed or drawing attention to themselves, and setting the first step of a plan mostly elaborated by Daigo in motion.

Eirene had to appreciate it - the ingenuity of his scheme, the patience for a long game; her rival was a worthy one, and a man she had come to grown fond of. Besides, with Daigo away from the Tojo, things were less than hospitable for Quinn's operations in Kamurocho; but as long as he had the clan under control, her profit margins were likely to be undisturbed by external factors.

To ensure the status quo remained as it was, she had volunteered to be chased and hunted as some sort of betrayer - and frankly, the complicated sets of moves and counters that had been orchestrated excited her. More than the danger involved, there was the possibility of the real enemy seeing through their ideas - and the exhilaration of a high-profile game beginning was hard to masquerade, even more so than the CEO's unusual appearance in the streets of any Japanese city.

And that was why Eirene took some time by the door, carefully removing the most relevant parts of her disguise - a hat, a long wig made of black tresses, a pair of sunglasses to keep her trademark eyes covered. They accompanied a leather jacket over a mini-dress and knee-length boots that she would never ordinarily choose to wear - instead of a businesswoman, Eirene looked like the groupie of an indie band, but it felt good to get at least the fake hair and the flamboyant hat off.

"It would seem your former mentor and predecessor isn't as dedicated as I am in relation to disguises," Eirene mentioned once she looked like herself again, at least from her neck up, "Suzuki Taichi and Kiryu Kazuma could be twins. One look at his driver's picture on the company's directory and I could tell it was the same man... If he's truly as legendary as everyone tells me, I wonder how he made it thus far without anyone putting two and two together."

Eirene's movements were slow then - her undressing meant to be both a source of comfort (for her) and safety (for Daigo), as he was able to examine his partner for any concealed weapons. The woman then picked up a plastic bag from a convenience store, walking over to the yakuza and handing him a can - coffee, still pleasantly warm despite walk from the store to the hotel, keeping another to herself. It was late - and yet there was not going to be a lot of sleep for either of them anytime soon.

"How are you holding up, Dojima-kun?"

[healthkits]

He should've left a while ago, when the sun first peeked through the windows ; his shop was normally open by now. In spite of that, Daigo only shifted closer. Dark eyes framed with fine lines traveled across what he could see of Joel from where he laid, tucked into his side. Tentative fingers trailed over the other man's chest. Daigo's coarse, silver hair pooled over his shoulders and pillow like a halo.

Without really thinking, Daigo craned his head up. His nose bumped into Joel's jaw as the ex - yakuza pressed his lips lightly to the curve of his throat. He tried not to think about the darker thoughts swirling at the back of his mind : that he didn't deserve to be happy after these last two decades ; that he should feel guilty for seeking comfort ; that anything taking the edge off of his biting sorrow was somehow wrong.

Daigo swallowed with difficulty, gave Joel's neck a final kiss, and nestled back under his chin. His fingertips traced a scar leisurely. "You're . . . " Daigo murmured to no one in particular, sighing. "Incredible, you know, Joel."

He'd been awake the moment Daigo moved against him, even if the comfort he felt only rose him to half-awareness. The touch of his hand on Joel's chest, the brush of his nose and the pressure of his lips-- he'd felt everything.

(And the gentleness that Daigo affords him, as always, provides a tantalising paradox of lethargy and energy crackling beneath his skin.)

Joel doesn't want to move, not really. Doesn't want to take the moment away from Daigo, not when he wouldn't even know where to begin. Nobody's ever thought him incredible the way Daigo puts it, and while Joel doesn't struggle with self-doubt-- only regret that he hadn't been cruel from the beginning to save his baby girl-- the exclamation would be thought as exaggeration if it had come from anyone else.

But it's Daigo, who's even more taciturn than Joel is. It's Daigo, who's never been soft until this... anomaly bloomed between them.

Daigo doesn't say things he doesn't mean. The thought of that makes his words settle in his chest, warm and unfamiliar.

He decides not to cheapen the moment with platitudes. But he wants Daigo to know that he heard, and so his head tilts down to kiss the other man's hair. Joel lingers before nosing at his forehead, then kissing his brow.

And in the end, without saying a word, he kisses him believing Daigo already sees it coming.

Maybe Daigo's become softer in the years since they've settled in Jackson. But Joel's fucking putty in comparison-- so much so that he no longer feels humiliation when he manoeuvres Daigo to lie on his back beneath him, a hand on his face and another one caressing his side.

You spoil me, he could tease.

You undo me, he could admit.

But Joel only murmurs: "Hey."

And it's not much, not really. But the smile that curves his lips is only Daigo's, and that ought to count for something.

Especially as Joel kisses him with it, full and honest and true.

[stingslikeabee]

@dojimakaichou found the demoness

It had been one of these weeks for the Tojo - not that Melissa had been into the intricacies of the Japanese underground politics for long, but it was a collateral effect when one decided to stalk and torment the man currently ruling over one of its biggest groups.

Since Monday, the sixth chairman of the clan had lacked a single moment of rest. From one of his trusted advisors having people of his family crashing heavy transport vehicles into buildings (allegedly as an accident) to sudden inspections of the authorities in certain Tojo-fronted businesses and then serious disturbances to some of the smuggling routes used for Japan, Daigo was tired.

And, as expected, he refused to take a step back and relax. Rather than diffusing tension, he made it worse by himself by smoking more, drinking coffee as if he wished to replace the blood of his veins with caffeine and slept at ungodly hours inside his own office. The yakuza barely returned home these days - and Melissa didn't know if anyone allowed inside his private chambers for meetings bought his excuses for efficiency and crisis management.

But there was one creature that did not bother with scheduling appointments or polite knocks on the door - Melissa came and went as she pleased, typically at the worst hours. Whenever the chairman stressed the most and seemed ready to burst, he just felt more delightful than ever to her senses. Daigo turned into an angry, hot and messy ball of untangled feelings and anxieties, sprinkled with self-doubt and resentment for a departed father figure. The way that man could both miss someone's presence and yet loathe the apparent need for their approval was so tasty - a beautiful contradiction.

On that Friday night, Melissa made herself visible at the end of a very tense phone call with someone abroad - Daigo's English had been improving (she kept tabs on the man, after all) but anyone could tell he was fuming with anger at the blunders of people responsible for handling some Tojo cargo in Singaporean harbors a bit more discreetly. Out of all the looks the demoness could present to her favorite victim, Melissa chose a short black kimono with red flowers decorating the sleeves and the obi around the waist, with the hair properly pinned up with a pair of chopsticks and a decorative comb on the side. The piece was a mockery of the traditional Japanese wear - evidently the type of stuff sold abroad for Halloween parties or more of bedroom wear.

But given the way she walked over to Daigo's desk to place hands over his shoulders to suggest a massage, the demoness was instead leaning into the twisted idea that many westerns had about the type of service offered at wellness and spa centers in Asia, of course. The generous neckline, the exposed legs and the way Melissa cursed the objection presented by the chairman's office chair all pointed to no honest and Christian intentions - but rather the opposite.

Sighing dramatically, the creature then moved to the desk - and suddenly the brunette's body was crushing papers, blocking Daigo's laptop and almost turning over empty cups with the way legs were crossed and the lady-shaped demon laid her head over a folded arm. Whatever focus the yakuza tried to retain was shattered and gone, not to mention a couple of the pages opened on his browser (the demoness had accidentally shut a few of them).

"Daigo-kun, I think you need a break," she declared, honey-like eyes gleaming with mischief, "Why not give me five minutes of your time - or fifty? I can just..." Melissa's free hand produced a familiar snapping sound, her preferred way of announcing a magic trick although entirely unnecessary for them to be performed, "There, I just cancelled all your meetings for the rest of the day. Go on - tell me how good I am at making your life better."

[antielevator]

@dojimakaichou // [ wrap ] — sender wraps their arm around receiver’s waist to pull them close. ( x )

Sebastian hadn't actually expected Daigo to listen to him when he told him to get some sleep. It isn't that he doesn't trust him-- Daigo's one of the very few things in this nightmare that Sebastian can trust, whether out of hope or his own refusal to allow the man to turn-- but he spent half a decade having Daigo be difficult for no reason. Even after reconnecting with him, the image of the smug little shit sitting on the curb waiting for him is one Sebastian will carry with him forever.

What he expects doesn't prepare him for what happens, though. He'd heard Daigo shifting behind him in the room they'd holed up in (Sebastian's sat on the edge of the bed watching the window, and Daigo's meant to be lying down), but he'd assumed the man was simply trying to get comfortable. The tentative touch is... God, new, and Sebastian can't control the way it makes him freeze.

Daigo stills at the reaction, and Sebastian can't blame him. He also curses himself internally for having frozen at all, though.

As Daigo's hand retreats, Sebastian's lips part around a soft, "Hey."

His crossbow's lowered to rest against the wall. As soon as his hands are free, the left one reaches back to grasp Daigo's. He goes too far, and his fingers brush Daigo's wrist instead, but Sebastian curls them in a loose grip nevertheless. The gesture is mirrored by his other hand, too.

"You're fine," he says, pulling those wrists forward to guide them around his own waist. "Hang onto me."

If this were anyone else, Sebastian would've pretended nothing happened, but this is Daigo Dojima... Daigo who's always sort of needed help back when they were still young. Daigo who reached out to him in a bar ten years later when he most certainly didn't have to, who he's been speaking with infrequently ever since.

Daigo's a remnant of a life before the house fire-- a life before Sebastian had even become a detective to begin with. He was never meant to be caught in this bullshit, even if Sebastian doesn't exactly understand how the world went to shit at all. He was never meant to be so scared, nor so hurt. And with all that's been happening to him in this bizarre new world (the vomiting, the bleeding, God knows what else whenever they get separated), if what keeps Daigo stable is touch, then Sebastian will give it to him.

He'll give anything as long as Daigo stays.

"The things outside haven't noticed us here, and I don't think they will any time soon." He glances briefly over his shoulder, giving a small nod. "We'll be fine."

[stingslikeabee]

Calling a meeting of the major family patriarchs at Tojo Headquarters was always going to be a big deal - but today's event was even more special. It was the first grand get together hosted more for pleasure than business, due to the peace the Clan has recently, and, for many present, it was the introduction of the Sixth Chairman's new bride. A woman who had given up her civilian life to follow her love into this ferocious, far darker world. Daigo knew his wife was already a legend of sorts just because of that, but he suspected her story would grow after the success of her debut gathering.

In their home, Daigo yawned. He was content, belly full of tea and head heavy. Tomorrow, the Chairman would take the time to sort through all of the reports and questions buzzing around his brain. For tonight, however, he simply wanted to savor the memories of the impressed murmurs and hushed voices as his patriarchs saw her for the first time.

Daigo stood up and stretched. He walked away from their bed and over to Melissa, who was finishing her bedtime preparations. With a ghostly smile, he wrapped his arms around her waist and bent in to kiss her shoulder. The Chairman left her arms free for her use.

"You did beautifully," he murmured eventually, lightly resting his chin on the top of her hair. In the mirror, the yakuza practically engulfed her ; he was her fearsome giant, made of scarred pale flesh and dark features. Daigo's eyes glittered, twin pools of abyssal black warmed by her being close. "The Headquarters, the tea . . . Yayoi Dojima herself could not have done better." He sighed softly.

"I know this life is not ideal, Melissa," he continued quietly, squeezing her for a moment, "but I . . . love having you here with me." Daigo's voice wavered as all the pretty poetry he wanted to say left him. He resorted instead to pulling her back against him, unbothered by his own nudity, and simply holding her to convey his message.

unscripted asks . always accepting

There had been no sliver of doubt in Melissa's heart that she had to succeed - leaving a civilian life behind seemed like a small sacrifice to make when the benefit was having the one person that had truly seen her all these years ago. They had been young and carefree then - a hostess with a niche reputation, a brawler who made police officers groan in frustration.

But Dojima Daigo was destined for more - far greater things than winning drunk fights in underground arenas. Tokyo - or the entire Kanto region, for the matter - would be his turf to command, protect and see that it prospered after so much turmoil following the passing of the 3rd chairman of the Tojo Clan. And if Melissa wished to remain at his side, there was no other path forward but fully embracing that world - leaving Kore behind, the spring maiden, and becoming Persephone, queen of the underworld.

And just as Daigo had been shaped (or perhaps returned) to a man with impeccable manners, his girlfriend turned wife was required to follow a similar procedure. Whatever talents Melissa boasted as a hostess were helpful, but she was just the average mizushobai worker - for her new life, she needed to pour tea akin to a legendary geisha, memorize the names of each and every captain, understand the nuanced and often non-spoken rules of every environment and do everything in the most beautifully decorated kimono.

Okamura had been her steadfast helper and guide since the beginning; Sasaki later provided Melissa with intelligence on the different subsidiaries and dynamics, but the one mentor that everyone would acknowledge as the key asset for the ex-hostess transformation was none other but her mother-in-law. The fierce Dojima Yayoi, interim chairwoman of the Tojo and experienced in that world that was colored in so many delicate shades of grey for those born female.

Training had been long, extensive and hard - Yayoi was unforgiving, but Melissa could see she meant well. From the day they had spoken about Daigo and when the brunette reaffirmed that she would do anything to keep him safe (as she had done in different forms before), the matriarch nodded sternly and regarded her daughter-in-law with a look that was immensely similar to the way her son sometimes eyed her, too.

(Like mother, like son.)

So when the time for her formal introduction had come, despite having been married to Daigo for a while and with the quietest of the honeymoons (the one his job allowed for, of course), Melissa knew she had no room for failure - it was her one-shot at not only earning the respect of the other Tojo officers that didn't know her personally, but also the average officer that already thought less of women by default, let alone a foreign one.

But Yayoi's training paid off - there were no false steps in her kimono; the food was served perfectly; the headquarters were decorated as tradition mandated; even the seating arrangements demonstrated a carefully curated planning. As the evening progressed and the alcohol flowed, the clan members started to speak more openly about her and the results of the festive occasion - and with such unfiltered whispers, the ex-hostess knew she had succeeded.

The almost imperceptible but proud nod that Yayoi offered her before retiring to her home was evidence of that feat.

Once they made it to their home, Melissa felt all the tension finally leaving her body - and perhaps that was the reason taking her longer than usual to prepare for bed. The brunette had been distracted enough, replaying events from the evening in her mind and combing the long tresses (finally free of the ornate hairdo) on autopilot, not realizing she had been done until Daigo approached and kissed a shoulder.

The chairman's words of encouragement and praise had her smiling warmly at him despite the tiredness washing over mind and body. And yet, it was easy and comfortable for Melissa to lean back into his hold, placing the brush on the counter and just resting hands over his linked arms for a moment, enjoying their quiet closeness and the freedom to act like themselves again.

"Anata," there was a playful tone with the term of endearment, and Melissa chuckled softly before turning in his embrace, a movement allowed once the yakuza stopped squeezing her affectionately. The ex-hostess used her own arms then, bringing him closer by the neck and then freeing the digits of the left hand to cup his face tenderly. "We've talked about this before. An ideal life for me is the one that I get to be with you - I don't recall you storming the club, pressing a gun to my head and forcing me to accept this ridiculously expensive and beautiful ring."

The words were highlighted by the way Melissa briefly twirled the fingers, the bathroom light catching on the sizeable rocks on her hand. Standing on the tip of the toes, the yakuza fortunately read her wordless plea correctly and bent down for a kiss - a long, sweet one and that offered the first lady of the Tojo the lingering taste of tea, cigarettes and the affection Daigo nurtured for his wife.

"I will also have you know that your mother gave me a nod before she left tonight - so I guess it means Dojima Yayoi approved of everything, which is enough," the brunette smiled, pressing one more kiss to his lips, "You just wait until spring comes, Daigo. I'll throw the best hanami-themed gathering the Tojo has ever seen... I promise you, darling."