request: Hey you should totally write a cute rise Mikey × reader centered around his aches and pains gained from the krang fight that would be really cool and you should do it 👀
🝮 “ rushing to heal ”
rise!mikey x g/n
author’s note: can you guys feel when I’m writing a moment to be slow? sometimes when I’m writing, it feels slow like I’m just sitting in the scene and looking around the room. A regular day kinda slow—wait do you guys even read these
word count: 762
From an old radio played music best described as “ warm-sunrise-in-a-sunny-state ”. Each verse was supported by music which carried you softly like waves on the morning beach—tranquil, like a gentle, deep breath. The epitome or calm.
“ Okay, now roll your wrists, like this.. ”
You mimed rolling your wrists on both hands in a fluid circle, stretching. Both of you sat in his bedroom, using the bed as the meeting place for light hand exercises.
Mikey followed, wincing a bit as he copied. While your motion was smooth, his was more like cogs in a machine as they clanked mechanically in motion, tic-tic-tic.
Your brows furrowed at the sight, and he certainly caught that. His voice was impossibly small—something unfamiliar these past few years as he grew into his heroic position since you were children.
“ Sorry.. ”
“ No need. ”
It was a worry looming over everyone since the invasion, had Mikey ruined his hands forever? Was it the price paid for a mystic juvenile defying laws between dimensions?
Almost every day his blue-banded brother constantly gave glances-over that read as guilt. Never as subtle as he hoped he was.
Mikey’s position drew closed as he pulled his legs into a criss-cross formation, palms resting on his knees. He brought his hands before his eyes, trying to open and close them more smoothly than what he was capable of. The motion was tinged with disappointment.
“ Maybe, y’know… ”
You could feel what he wanted to say, how he wanted to give up on this. It must’ve felt hopeless—if you felt this dispirited just watching him over these weeks, then surely he must’ve felt it tenfold.
“ No, c’mon Mikey, it’ll be fine. You just have to be patient—give yourself time..”
Drawing near, you crawled to him then opened your arms as invitation.
“ It’s only been, what, a f—“
“ 46 days. ”
He accepted your gesture, leaning into you with creaky hesitance. The mattress dipped slightly as he settled in your lap. It was common for some movements to send sharp waves of pain as if bruised muscles were actively being unearthed, so Mikey had developed a hesitancy for quickly moving.
“ Right.. But bodies take a while to heal.. ”
You stroked his cheek after he found comfort in how he laid in your lap. His gaze wasn’t fixed on anything in particular, just straight ahead and aimless. From his silence, you could feel him wanting to say something along the lines of, ‘ but i’m taking too long. ’
“ Especially from mystic magic problems. Mikey, you know you shouldn’t rush yourself, not with something like this... ”
Mikey’s hand was light on your thigh, occasionally squeezing mindlessly as he flitted through whatever thoughts consumed him. It was hard, seeing the usually all-over-the-place person be reduced to a stationary existence, scared that even breathing would wrack his body with agony.
Days wasted away in seconds as you spent your time wishing his pain could become yours instead. If you could suffer for him, take all that pain just to see the person he was before he almost lost everything..
Unfortunately, there weren’t enough wishes in the world to do grant such a thing, so you settled for effort. Over the past 5 weeks, you stayed more time with Mikey than you did at your own home.
There was probably dust accumulating everywhere..
Mikey groaned beneath you, growing rigid instantly. His head pressed into your tummy, his face tightening as though he were riding out whatever pain washed over him.
Pain spells washed over him still, albeit much less frequently and definitely less severely as they had weeks ago. What once reduced him to a yelp and collapsed position on the floor was now met with curling up and whimpering.
It broke your heart nonetheless, but you were thankful it was getting better.
“ It’s okay… ”
You whispered, hands stroking fondly as if you could simply massage the pain out. Guess today’s exercises were to be put on hold; sometimes rest was the best medicine.. Gently, you tapped Mikey and gestured to the pillow. A quiet question of ‘ wanna lay down?’ flickered across your eyes.
He replied with a curt nod, pushing himself up on his hands to let you lay down. When you situated comfortably and reached your arms out to him, that was when Mikey took his turn and gracefully collapsed into your embrace.
“ … thanks.. ”
You smiled softly at him, brushing aside his bandana and tucking it under his pillow behind him. With a soft kiss on the noggin, you held him close and accidentally harmonized your delighted hum with his grateful churring.
“ Never a problem, love.. ”
Sometimes, Mikey thought, the best way to heal was simply to share company with someone like you.
request: marloweee~~ i would like to request rise!mikey x reader, taking place after the events of the movie, imagine Mikey getting used to his new flux of mystic abilities, wanting to get them under control so he can protect his brothers from any future threats… so he’s going out on his own more, training/patrolling where reader spots him and is starstruck wants to thank Mikey for what he’s done to save New York & cute meet ensues <333 cheesy love at first sight Mikey <3333
🝮 “ one-man audience ”
rise!mikey x g/n
author’s note: full offense to you Leo, you’re too popular!!! let your brothers have a chance!!! lmao… I’m gonna rain down a torrential downpour of Donnie fics one day, just to balance the ecosystem.
word count: I forgor
The weeks following the almost-Kraang invasion were a herald of times to come, never rivaling life before. New Yorkers would flinch during storms brewing in the clouds, worried those aliens were going to break through the clouds and rain terror down again.
The sewers were still dangerous to navigate with kraang parasites—albeit feeble—still remaining.
Building rubble was a lot harder to clean up for the same reason.
Everyone felt they were walking in egg shells, as though worse was yet to come.
And one little brother in particular woke up every morning worried that he would be down a brother or two. So, he came up with a new solution. The nights were quiet, reserved for those nefarious or lonely.
“ Mikey, where do you go every night? “
Raph yawned, standing in his doorway. He was dressed in his usual nightie, mouth guard, and sweet little sleep hat.
Mikey left him hanging, choosing silence to be kinder than the truth.
His brother accepted it, though not too willingly. They all were weird these days. Raph only prayed it was safe whatever his little brother was deciding to fill his time with.
Mikey trudged through the quiet corridors that once housed lively train stations. These days they harbored freeloading heroes, their father, and whatever critters—rats and the like—found their way there. He had since grown used to his feet splashing in the water that dripped down here. Not comfortably, but with time came a patience of sorts.
“ … ”
He stared at the ladder that would go to the next level. The city had abandoned the train station they now hid within by deciding to build atop it. Nowadays it was only accessible through maintenance tunnels.
The orange banded turtle scaled up and through the remaining pathways until he made it to the surface. Mikey pulled up his hood to conceal himself and continued until he found his place of practice—a rare patch of trees so dense that they stood as tall as the years they had lived. At its slightly-off-center stood the rubble of a cement building that was likely abandoned before it was finished.
Here, amidst familiar debris and overgrown foliage, Mikey attempted to learn himself deeper.
Never again would he let there be so much as a speck of chance that he couldn’t save his brothers.
Never again would he let his magic threaten to take him over with crackling lines that still itched uncomfortably almost a month later.
Never again would he feel so small and feebly pathetic when the people he loved needed a miracle.
Mikey would become a miracle.
That was a promise.
“ Come on.. ”
He muttered, waving his hands through the air to find the tendrils of magic coursing through. The magic felt like the world had veins coursing through it, as though he were a tiny blip occupying the inner nervous system. Magic wasn’t available in a way to be forced, conjured, or pulled.
It was available in the way that the Earth itself was an entire system whose anatomy exposed true, tangible energy.
His fingers twitched as though he was a musician searching for the right strings to strum. Once he felt the dull drag of magic, Mikey would focus his own innate sorcery to attract the tune to his body. Magic searched for magic the way water sought water—a connection to the equal and similar.
With a deep breath, the magic sparked in a variety of colors as it attempted to match the sorcerer’s vision. It crackled an electric blue, surged a vibrant purple—popped with a gaudy green—and finally bloomed a gentle shade of orange.
“ There we go.. ”
No higher than a whisper as Mikey turned his focus to the debris around him. To fine tune his control, he had decided to rebuild the structure as thanks for it giving him a recluse location to train in. Orange energy slowly bloomed towards a particular piece of concrete, searching for its inner draw.
Amidst his intense focus, he never managed to notice you.
————————-
You lived near the particular area Mikey frequented. It was still quite unknown to most, just not you—this place was filled with memories since your middle school years. The perfect place for an emotional human to spend their time, brooding, fantasizing, and overall living detached from a world much too hectic.
It didn’t used to be as dilapidated. That came with time, through the rhizomes whose bulbs nearly exploded through the concrete, and through the assistance of a tree-of-heaven who stood nearly as tall as the surrounding trees despite only having sprouted a few years ago. It was pretty to look at, that was as much as you knew.
So it was nice to see that your city’s hero was personally involved with the restoration of your beloved hideout.
‘ He’s building the walls up today.. ’ You noted mentally, sitting hidden amongst mixed-plant bushes. The first week you had seen him here was around the same time he and his brothers defeated whatever alien creature tried to take over the city.
You recognized him immediately, and though your heart would have loved nothing more than to reintroduce yourself ( to the beloved hero who likely wouldn’t recognize you ), you instead dropped to hide amongst the foliage. Hands clamped over your mouth, you snuck peeks at Mikey while he was fighting through the remnants of battle to better himself.
Each day after the invasion had passed by in a blurred fashion. You could still remember watching your friends as they jumped to action, holding back people who were engulfed by fleshy pink and suddenly became violent.
“ G-Guys? ” You remembered how soft your voice sounded, how you shrunk into yourself as they shouted back, ‘ go! don’t make this harder, please! ’
It wasn’t too long, nor all that far, before the same pink mess had latched onto your ankle. The ground rushed up at you as the alien yanked you down faster than you could process. Now possessed themselves, your voice had been completely emptied out as you stared up into your best friend’s terrified expression. Their arm pulled back, tendrils latching together like velcro to form a sharp point. “ N-No.. ” You squeaked in a tiny voice you couldn’t recognize, squeezing your eyes shut.
Just before you could find out how that would feel piercing through your skin, you instead felt your stomach turning over and the world rushing all around you. Your hands automatically clung to the figure holding you as your eyes opened to see you were god-knows-how high from the ground.
“ Hey, you’re okay! You’re okay, see? ” A grinning mutant told you—his skin and shell indicated he must’ve been some sort of turtle. He had stickers on his body and glowed an orange hue.
Your heart felt like it was suffocating with a feeling you only now recognized.
You never got to thank him. So, watching him adjust debris midair with that beautiful sunny energy became your new solace in this changing world. You needed to thank him one of these days, but some little voice inside said you would lose these little moments if you did..
So, you settled for stalker-status.
‘ Ah.. I should move. ’ You thought, watching his magic act up in his hands. It was similar to tremors, you imagined. That battle must have done a number on him that left behind an injury persisting after so much time had passed. Despite that, here he was, still using it. How admirable..
Unfortunately, amidst all the admiration, you didn’t move quick enough and instead watched as a chunk came towards you after having been unceremoniously rejected from Mikey’s magic. You let out a little squeak of surprise and braced yourself.
It felt familiar.
Where it should’ve been a completely unfamiliar and devastating pain, perhaps even your death if mercy considered you, instead the warmth of a summer sun on a setting beach bathed your body. A light pressure cradled your lower back.
You peeked through your hands, breathless at the sight of swirling orange mystic shielding you, suspending the debris above you. Mikey had somehow closed the distance between you and him, crouched over you protectively.
His eyes met yours, and they were glowing as vibrant as the sun.
“ W-Whoa… ”
“ You.. You shouldn’t be here.. ”
Mikey’s expression dropped as he straightened up. The way he sat in front of you felt more like a scolded child than the cheery hero you met that day.
“ I could say the same for you.. ”
You replied with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
He looked back as if he had something to say but held his tongue instead.
You supposed the joke didn’t take.
“ Sorry, just kidding. This is just, well, my hideout, and.. ”
You felt you were rambling, saying words uninvited. Fortunately, when you met his gaze, it read as ‘ go on? ’
“ Ah, it’s pretty cool… That you’re, y’know, fixing it.. And.. uh… Sorry for stalking. ”
“ Wh—stalking? How long have you been here? ”
You fidgeted in place, rolling your neck as you dragged a hum in your throat down to the last syllable.
“ A few minutes? ”
You shook your head.
“ An hour? ”
Shake-shake.
“ D-Days? “
…
Shake-shake.
“ The whole time?! ”
As you cringed, Mikey put his head in his hands and threw himself back with a pitchy-groan. He was muttering to himself about how embarrassing it must’ve looked, recounting the times he messed up, and even the one time he stubbed his toe on magic of all things—something supposedly-intangible, mind you!
“ But! I always thought, uh.. Yknow, I liked, um.. You didn’t look weird, you looked like a cool hero! I-In his, uh, training arc... ”
He peeked between his fingers at you, obviously wanting to hear more.
You felt embarrassed at the idea of completely fumbling the bag with talking to your hero. It was time to thank him, not to fail a public speaking class!
“ A-And, uh, y’know.. ”
What more was there to say? You struggled to figure out an intelligent way to talk about how you felt watching him that didn’t involve laying your heart out.
There was none.
“ I-I just, uh, liked.. w-watching you, but really I wanted to say.. ”
Your hands rose to cover your face the same as his were, trying to put some distance between your heart and Mikey’s attentive gaze. He was peeking between his fingers as if each of your nervous words were somehow curing whatever had taken away his cheer.
“ … thank you!… ”
Mikey laughed softly, slowly sitting up to look at you now. He was hunched over cooly, his arms resting on his crossed legs, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.
“ You’re not exactly the next Shakespeare, are you? ”
“ Whuh, hey, what’s that mean? ”
Mikey shrugged, rising up to his feet and rolling his shoulder. His attention shifted to the debris—shielding you had broken it down to smaller bits, which would be a much harder challenge to fix.
As you moved to stand up, his hand reached out to you. You took it, letting him pull you up, and tried to ignore how your heart was thundering so loud it filled your ears. As a distraction, your focus followed his to the big-rock-now-many-tinier-rocks, muttering a meek apology.
“ First you thank me, now you apologize. You’re not much of a consistent person, huh? ”
The way he was laughing felt like someone growing lighter by the second. Something heavy weighing on him was leaving in such a palpable way.
“ You.. well, you saved me back when.. I just wanted to say thank you, for that.. ”
“ By being my one-man-audience? ”
“ Please don’t mention that, oh my gosh. ”
Your cheeks were burning as he teased you. Who would’ve thought your personal hero would be standing in a place so intimate to your life, fixing it piece by piece without a clue of how important it was to you.
How could you thank someone that innately kind?
Mikey moved to continue practicing.
For a moment, you started considering it was time to skedaddle and started looking around for a hole to crawl into.
Instead, warm magic wrapped around your body, hoisting you up.
“ Wh-Hey, m-mister!? ”
One hand reached out to him while the other rested upon the magic—it looked and felt like a hand cradling you gently, similar to how someone may pick up a frog or other little critter to move them to safety.
You were sat down a little bit further, somewhere much more put together and less dangerous.
“ Well, I can’t let my fan be in danger,”
He turned to face you, smiling in a familiarly cheery way.
“ That wouldn’t be very heroic of me. ”
With a little gasp, your hands clasped together and pressed against your heart, desperate to quell its ear-splitting thundering.
ˏˋ main yahaan hoon ࿐ྂ
"I'm in the lights of your eyes, you see me wherever you look"
summary: in which you meet Sano Manjiro a month before your wedding and fall in love. you didn't realize you fell in love with him till the pre-wedding rituals began.
pairing(s): bonten!mikey x desi!reader
notes: title translates to 'I'm here'. a purely self-indulgent fic based on Veer-Zaara(2004)'s song Main Yahaan Hoon if Veer was a gang leader and was actually at the wedding instead of Zaara hallucinating him. line dividers by rookthornesartistry heart divider by cafekitsune
Your father was a politician, businessman and just well very rich. You’re his only daughter so he spoils you rotten. Giving you all the things you can ever want. He was a good man, your mother a great person too. However, it wasn’t a very emotionally fulfilling relationship. You were okay with it though. Jewels and clothes sated the ache in your heart even if it was temporary. You got engaged almost as soon as you turned of age. The man was just a little bit older and also a politician like your father. Arranged marriages were common in your culture and you had never dated before anyway. It’s about a month before the wedding you meet Sano Manjiro. You aren’t sure what he does but he’s also really rich like your father. He has a few close business associates and they all have matching full moon hanafuda tattoos. Sanzu Haruchiyo let you trace his tattoo for some reason after seeing your fascination with it.
Bonten were business associates of your father. You weren’t sure exactly for what but you also couldn't care less. They were all pretty fun people. You made them watch Bollywood movies with you and do a whole bunch of other things and they did it without any complaint and seemed to enjoy it as well. They were all cool and then there was Sano Manjiro…
Sano Manjiro was different from the rest. He had a quiet intensity about him, a presence that demanded attention without a single word. You noticed his eyes first—dark, deep, and endlessly contemplative. He was always observing, absorbing everything around him with a sharp, discerning gaze. Despite his quiet demeanour, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. At first, you thought he wouldn’t be putting up with your childish games but he proved you wrong. When you called him a stupid idiot he didn’t get mad but instead, he smiled. He was amused. For some reason, it surprised you because he didn’t seem like the type to smile or just show any kind of emotion in general.
Your father, of course, invites them all to your wedding. It was all fine but you don’t want to marry your fiancé. He was nice at first but there was something about him that put you off. You didn’t like that man. You sit in your father’s office in your engagement outfit while music echoes from the bottom floor of the mansion to the top. A white lengha with intricate embroidery adorns your figure with a full-sleeve blouse along with a diamond necklace gifted by your future mother-in-law and a matching tikka in the same style resting in the center of your forehead. Your dupatta is draped over your head and right now it feels too heavy. Although you and your fiancé were already engaged, your mother-in-law insisted on having a flashy ceremony to kick start the wedding week. “You’re my only child… Hence, I’ve pampered you and given you freedom” Your father says, his hands clasped behind his back and using his businessman voice “I haven’t raised you like a girl but like a boy”
There is a lump in your throat. You know if you speak you’ll cry. Your father walks toward you. “Usually the mother has to explain to her daughters about her duties. But since I think of you as my son, I’ll explain your duties to you”
You look up at him. You’re sitting in his chair the same way you would when you were a child. But unlike back then, your bare feet press flat against the hardwood floor. “You already know that your grandfather was a respected politician. But he died a few days before he could attain success. Since that day, as his heir, I’ve been trying to take his party to great heights but I’ve been unsuccessful so far” He says and you know already what he will say next “But with the help of your finacé’s father, I can attain that success”
You don’t feel too good. The lump in your throat gets bigger and you desperately try to swallow it. Your father turns your back to you, staring at your family picture. “Soon you’ll get married into their family. It’s your duty…” He pauses and turns to look at you again “...to understand the importance of this relationship. Spread happiness, whether the times are good or bad and strengthen the bond of every relationship and to protect the honour of both families at all costs. A small mistake or a bit of carelessness from your end could ruin everything… I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”
He knows, he knows, he knows. Your father had a feeling you no longer wished to marry the man you were betrothed to. You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper out a pitiful “yes.”
“Is there anything you wish to say?”
You simply shake your head no. You couldn’t. You had to marry this man even if you didn’t want to. Your father was practically begging you without actually begging. He smiles. “Come here”
You stand up, your anklets jingle with each step you take. “It’s been so long since I saw my daughter smile,” He says as you now stand in front of him “I hope you haven’t left it in Japan”
You smile weakly. How were you to tell him you did? How do you tell your father you left your heart in Japan? He pulls you in for a hug and a single tear runs down your cheek.
You did not wish to marry the man you were promised to but you didn’t want to break your father’s heart either.
Your father leads you down the large marble staircase, the railing covered with flowers and the entire bottom floor decorated lavishly. The vibrant colours and festive sounds of the pre-wedding celebration fill the air, yet your heart feels heavy with an unspoken sorrow. As you descend the staircase, your eyes scan the crowd, seeking a familiar face—a face that brought unexpected joy and confusion to your life. In the midst of the lively guests, you spot Sano Manjiro standing quietly at the edge of the room with his associates. He is dressed in beige slacks and a silk back button-up shirt, his presence commanding even in the bustling environment. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the noise around you fades. His gaze, deep and inscrutable, seems to reach into the very depths of your soul. The rituals proceed with the grandeur expected of such an event. The music, the dancing, the laughter—all blend into a blur as your mind drifts back to the times spent with Manjiro and his associates. The times when you could be yourself when you laughed genuinely and felt a connection beyond words. Sanzu Haruchiyo, always mischievous yet kind, had once teased you about your fascination with their tattoos. “Do you want one too?” he joked, letting you trace the lines of the intricate hanafuda design.
You had laughed, but deep down, there was something about those moments that felt more real than anything else in your life. As you and your fiancé exchange rings, you feel Manjiro’s eyes on you, a silent support that gives you strength. The night progresses, and you find yourself stealing glances at him, your heart aching with an unspoken truth. You didn’t want this arranged marriage. You wanted something more, something that only he seemed to understand.
It feels stupid though. It’s probably a simple infatuation but oh you had never felt this way in your life before and even as your fiancé slides the engagement ring onto your finger, the only thing that goes through your mind is Manjiro.
You sit alone in your room late at night on your bed, too lazy to sit at your dresser. Your dupatta was carelessly discarded at the foot of your bed as soon as you entered your room, too lazy to even remove your lengha and get in bed. The day had been tiring. You start to remove your jewelry, starting with the large diamond necklace that felt way too heavy. It’s as you are taking off the tikka from your forehead that someone enters. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, and the familiar, intense presence washes over you. It’s Manjiro. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper.
You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. He steps closer, his movements silent on the plush carpet. He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, watching as you fumble with the clasp of your tikka. Your fingers tremble, and the delicate piece slips from your grasp, falling onto your lap. “Let me,” he offers, reaching out. His hands are gentle but firm as he takes over, carefully removing the tikka and setting it aside.
His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, melting the anxiety and sorrow that had been weighing you down. “Thank you,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.
He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a question in his gaze, an unspoken query that you can’t quite decipher. The silence between you is heavy with words left unsaid, emotions unacknowledged. “Why did you come here?” you ask, needing to break the silence, to understand why he’s here, why he makes you feel the way you do.
“I needed to see you,” he replies simply, his gaze steady. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
His concern touches you deeply, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You blink them back, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. Manjiro sits down next to you, being careful to not sit on your skirt. He reaches over and starts to remove your earrings. Despite his fingers being calloused and rough, his hands are gentle. He touches you like the slightest touch might break you. Each brush of his fingers against your skin feels like a promise, unspoken but powerful. You sit there, letting him help you, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. The weight of the day's events begins to lift, replaced by the warmth of his presence. When he's done, he sets the earrings aside and meets your gaze again. His eyes are filled with something you can't quite name, something that makes your heart beat faster. “Let’s get this off, hm?” Manjiro’s hand reaches around you and tugs the strings on the back of your blouse free
Your breath catches, but you nod, trusting him implicitly. The fabric loosens, and you feel the pressure on your chest easing. He helps you out of the heavy, ornate lengha, his movements were careful, his eyes never straying where they shouldn't. This was wrong. So wrong. You were a damn cheater. But as Manjiro unzips your blouse and pulls it off your arms, you can’t find yourself to care. “‘Jiro…” Your breath is shaky as he lowers your bare body down
“Don’t worry” he whispers, a heavy hand cupping your cheek so tenderly
Something in your head tells you it’s been years since this man was tender to anyone. Your breath hitches at the touch of his roughened palm against your cheek, a stark contrast to the softness in his gaze. Manjiro's thumb gently brushes away a stray tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that seems to pierce through your very soul. "I shouldn't be here" you murmur, your voice barely audible, a mix of fear and yearning.
It was a little stupid you were even saying that since it was your own room. "But you want me here" he counters softly, not a question, but a statement of truth.
The words hang between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. Your heart beats wildly, torn between duty and desire. You don’t reply, unable to deny the truth in his statement. Manjiro’s presence is intoxicating, a dangerous allure that you find impossible to resist. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me to leave, and I will," he whispers, his lips so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his words. "But if you want me to stay…"
You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The choice is yours, and you know what your heart wants. "Stay" you breathe, barely more than a whisper, but enough for him to hear and without missing a beat he slides your engagement ring off your finger
Manjiro doesn’t take your virginity that night. Instead, he calls you a good girl for saving yourself for after marriage and then gets down between your legs and ravishes you.
The next morning was the Haldi ceremony. In the ceremony turmeric paste would be smeared on your face and oil on your hair. It was more of a fun kind of thing anyway and during all the weddings you have attended in the past, all the guests would end up getting the turmeric paste all over themselves while playing around with it. You were wearing a yellow salwar kameez with flowers embroidered on the top and your dupatta was bright pink. You sit on the ground by the pool while your cousins hold up a heavier more embroidered dupatta over top of you like shielding you from the sky. “Don’t put too much” You warn your dad as he smears some of the turmeric paste on your cheek
There is oil dripping down your forehead from when your cousin decided he wanted to be funny and poured the entire bowl on your head. Tumeric paste is smeared on your feet, arms, cheeks and nose. The vibrant colours of the ceremony blur together, a swirl of yellow and pink, laughter echoing around you. Yet, despite the cheerful chaos, your mind is elsewhere, drifting back to the previous night. Manjiro's touch lingers on your skin like a haunting melody, one you cannot shake off no matter how hard you try. Your father's laughter brings you back to the present, his smile wide as he steps aside for the next relative to apply the turmeric paste.
As the ceremony continues, you feel a pair of eyes on you. You glance up and catch a glimpse of Manjiro standing a little away from the festivities, his usual quiet intensity softened by a hint of something tender. He stands apart from his associates, watching you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The noise of the ceremony fades, replaced by the silent conversation happening between your gazes. Your heart beats faster as you remember his whispered promises from the night before. His words, his touch—they haunt you, make you question everything you thought you knew about your life and your impending marriage. You know it's reckless, dangerous even, to let yourself feel this way. But you can't help it. Not when his presence brings you a sense of peace and belonging you’ve never felt before. “This stuff smells weird” Koko comments as he crouches in front of you and smells the turmeric paste on his fingers before smearing it on your cheek “Are you sure this is safe for your skin?”
“Of course it is” you reassure with a smile
The rest of Bonten does the same. Finally, it’s Manjiro’s turn. He crouches down in front of you, an unknown emotion swirling in his eyes. Without a word, he takes the yellow paste and smears some on your right cheek then the left. His touch is gentle, yet it sends shivers down your spine, the same way it did the night before. The world around you seems to disappear as he smooths the paste over your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, emotions too raw to be expressed in the midst of the celebration. Your heart pounds in your chest as his fingers linger on your skin, his touch both comforting and electrifying. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, his voice so low only you can hear.
His words are simple, but the intensity behind them makes your breath hitch. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise of the celebration.
You feel a blush creep up your cheeks, mixing with the turmeric paste. He offers you a small, almost shy smile, and for a moment, you see a vulnerability in him that he usually keeps hidden. You bring your hand up and smear the paste on his cheek too, making him laugh. His laughter is a rare sound, rich and deep, and it reverberates through you, filling your heart with warmth. You can't help but smile in response, your fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment longer than necessary. The world around you resumes its chaotic pace, but the connection between you and Manjiro remains, a silent promise amidst the noise and colour of the celebration.
As the Haldi ceremony continues, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The weight of your engagement ring, now conspicuously absent from your finger, feels like a liberation and a burden all at once. You glance at Manjiro again, finding comfort in his steady gaze. It’s as if he understands the turmoil within you without needing to ask.
As the ceremony comes to an end and the guests start to leave, you struggle to pick your dupatta off one of the chairs with your turmeric-covered hands. “Damn it” you mutter and look around for someone to help you
“Here you go” Rindo picks up your dupatta for you
You sigh in relief. “Thank you. Can you help me go up to my room?”
It was going to be a task going up to your room while covered in turmeric paste so you needed help. Rindo nods and offers you his arm, guiding you carefully through the crowd and up the stairs. The turmeric paste makes everything slippery, and you're grateful for his steady presence. As you make your way to your room, you can feel Manjiro's eyes on you, a silent promise of his support and understanding. Once inside your room, Rindo helps you sit on the edge of your bed, his touch careful and respectful. “Do you need anything else?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.
You shake your head, offering him a grateful smile, your eyes lingering for a moment of the front of his throat where the full moon hanafuda tattoo it etched then you look back up at his eyes. “No, thank you. I’ll manage from here.”
Rindo nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. You sit there for a moment, the events of the day and the night before swirling in your mind. You know you need to wash off the turmeric paste, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Manjiro. Eventually, you stand and make your way to the bathroom. The warm water washes away the turmeric, leaving your skin tingling and fresh.
Later that night was the mendhi ceremony. Your hands are covered in intricate designs of flowers and swirls made with henna all the way up to your elbows and your feet with the same. “Ma~” you whine to your mother who was too busy talking to her sister to feed you
Your mother laughs, a twinkle in her eye as she waves you off, engrossed in her conversation. You sigh, looking at the plate of food in front of you, and then at your hands, which are still wet with henna. The intricate designs are beautiful, but they make it impossible for you to eat on your own. You glance around the room, hoping to find someone to help you. Your eyes meet Manjiro’s from across the room. He’s standing with his associates, but his gaze is fixed on you, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. Before you can beckon him over, he starts to walk towards you, effortlessly weaving through the crowd. He kneels down next to you, his presence a comforting weight. “Need some help?” he asks, his voice low and warm.
You nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Yes, please. I can’t eat with this on.”
Manjiro picks up the spoon and gently lifts a small portion of food to your lips. His movements are careful, and deliberate, as if this simple act holds profound significance. You open your mouth, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. As he feeds you, you catch the subtle smirk on his face, and you can't help but smile back. “This is quite the look for you,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Covered in henna and unable to eat by yourself.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, your voice playful. “This is supposed to be a special time, you know?”
“It is,” he agrees, his tone softening. “And you look beautiful.”
The sincerity in his words makes your heart skip a beat. You chew and swallow, the taste of the food mingling with the warmth spreading through your chest. Manjiro continues to feed you, the moment intimate despite the bustling celebration around you. Each spoonful feels like a silent promise, a shared secret that binds you closer together. “Food is spicy…” He murmurs
“You don’t like spicy food?” you ask him
He shakes his head no. “I like the sweets though… After you get married bring me some in Japan?” You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the music and chatter in the room. “Of course,” you promise, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of sharing such a simple pleasure with him. “I’ll bring you all the sweets you want.”
Manjiro's smile widens, a rare glimpse of genuine happiness on his usually stoic face. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replies, his gaze steady on yours. “But only if you promise to come back soon.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding before you can even think. “I promise,” you say, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
The rest of the mendhi ceremony passes in a blur of laughter and music, but the memory of that moment with Manjiro lingers, a silent promise of things to come. As the night draws to a close, you find yourself reluctant to leave his side, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment.
It’s as you lay in bed and stare at your henna-stained hands, searching for your fiancé’s name among the intricate designs. But as you scan the patterns, your heart sinks, and a furrow forms on your brow. The once-clear inscription has been smeared beyond recognition, lost amidst the swirls of henna. A mix of emotions washes over you—relief, guilt, and a pang of sadness. Relief because it feels like a sign, a small reprieve from the impending marriage you’re dreading. Guilt because you know you shouldn’t feel relieved, and shouldn’t be hoping for a way out of a commitment you made. And sadness because despite everything, there’s a part of you that still longs for the simplicity of what could have been. You trace the faint outlines of the henna design, your mind swirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions.
The bond between you and Manjiro grows stronger with each passing moment, a silent promise of a future you never dared to imagine. But the reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders, reminding you of the duty and obligations that bind you to your fiancé and your family.
With a heavy sigh, you curl your fingers into fists. The events of the day replay in your mind—the stolen moments with Manjiro, the whispered promises, the shared laughter. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing is clear—you’re falling for him, and there’s no turning back.
The next night is the ladies' sangeet. It’s the last thing left and the next morning is the wedding. You sit with all your female relatives as they sing and dance to old folk songs. You sit among them, a forced smile plastered on your face, your mind drifting to thoughts of the impending wedding. Tomorrow, you'll be bound to a man you don't love, forced into a life of duty and obligation that feels suffocating. When no one is looking, you stand up and hed to the backyard where most your male relatives are, drinking away as usual. You can see Ran has unfortunately been cornered by one of your drunk uncles and is explaining Punjabi politics to him. Ran looks at you for help but you just grin and shake your head. You spot Manjiro walking over to you and you smile at him. “Hi” You say as you walk through the garden together, you anklets jingling with each step you take.
"Hi," Manjiro replies, his voice low and warm, a stark contrast to the chaos of the sangeet unfolding behind you. His presence brings a sense of calm, a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere of obligation and expectation.
You walk through the garden together, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm light over the flowers and foliage. The air is filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and roses, a stark contrast to the heavy perfume of the crowded hall. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders with each step, the knot of anxiety in your chest slowly unravelling in his presence. "Having fun?" Manjiro asks, his gaze steady on yours.
There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. You shake your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Not exactly," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I feel like I'm suffocating in there."
Manjiro nods in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I can imagine," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper “Japanese weddings are not this… festive or colourful. Must be a little overwhelming”
You nod, grateful for his understanding. "It's not just that," you confess, your voice tinged with frustration. "It's the weight of expectation, the pressure to conform to tradition and duty." You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "I feel like I'm being suffocated by it all."
Manjiro listens in silence, his gaze unwavering as he takes in your words. There's a depth to his understanding, a sense of empathy that makes you feel seen in a way you haven't felt in a long time. "I know what it's like to feel trapped," he says finally, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "To feel like you're living a life that's not your own."
His words strike a chord within you, resonating with the turmoil you've been feeling. "Do you ever wish things were different?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
Manjiro's gaze softens, a hint of something tender in his eyes. "All the time," he admits, his voice filled with honesty and you watch his hand come up to touch the full moon hanafuda tattoo on the back of his neck "But sometimes, we have to make the best of the hand we're dealt."
You nod in understanding, a pang of sympathy tugging at your heart as you take in the vulnerability in Manjiro's words. His admission resonates with your own feelings of frustration and longing, the desire for a life beyond the confines of duty and expectation. "But that doesn't mean we have to give up hope," you say softly "We can still fight for what we want, for the freedom to live our lives on our own terms."
Manjiro's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something akin to hope dancing in his eyes. "And what do you want?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to voice the question aloud.
You hesitate for a moment, the weight of your desires heavy on your shoulders. “I… I don’t know yet”
And Manjiro simply smiles at your answer and says “well clock is ticking… better hurry up and figure it out” then turns to go back to where he was sitting with your father, other business partners and relatives
As Manjiro walks away, leaving you alone in the tranquil garden, his words linger in the air, a gentle reminder of the urgency of your situation. The weight of expectation and duty presses down on you once more. You watch Manjiro's retreating figure, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing stirring within you. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing is clear—your heart is leading you towards him, towards a life of freedom and possibility.
You turn back towards the bustling sangeet, the music and laughter spilling out into the night air. Tomorrow is the wedding, the final culmination of weeks of preparation and anticipation. But as you rejoin the festivities, your mind is elsewhere, filled with thoughts of the man who has captured your heart and the future that awaits.
As the night wears on and the sangeet draws to a close, you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, apprehension, and a simmering sense of rebellion— something you shouldn’t be feeling. Tomorrow, you'll be bound to a man you don't love, forced into a life of duty and obligation. But tonight, in the quiet solitude of the garden, you allow yourself to dream of a different future, one where you're free to follow your heart, no matter where it leads.
As the first light of dawn breaks over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the garden, you feel a sense of anticipation stirring within you. In a few hours, you’ll be married. It’s scary. So scary and you feel sick. You sit in a yellow kameez and white salwar, fingers trembling as you put on the naath, hooking it to your nose and fixing the chain over your ear to see how you look in it. The cool metal of the jewellery rests over your lips that you’ve bitten raw. Your makeup lays untouched, face bare. You need to start getting ready.
It’s the early hours of the morning, not many are awake except the servants who are getting the house ready. Your deep red wedding lengha is draped over your bed and seems to be mocking you. Your fingers linger on the intricate embroidery of the deep red lehenga, but the touch brings you no joy, only a sense of resignation. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the naath adorning your face, you can't help but feel a sense of disconnect. The woman staring back at you seems like a stranger, a mere shell of the person you once were. The weight of the impending marriage hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you with its inevitability. It’s suffocating, and overwhelming, and you find it hard to breathe.
But then, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a sense of determination takes root within you. You refuse to let fear dictate your future, to surrender to the expectations of others. You may not know what lies ahead, but you know one thing for certain—you can't go through with this marriage. Your father may love you and only want the best for you but you are not a pawn in his plan to rule the world.
Gathering your courage, you make a decision—to follow your heart, no matter the consequences. It won't be easy, and there will be challenges ahead, but you refuse to let fear hold you back any longer.
As you slip out of your room after grabbing your yellow dupatta, the quiet of the early morning enveloping you like a comforting embrace, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you. It’s just as you make it past the hall, your anklets unfortunately still jingling with each step(you probably should have taken them off), you come face to face with Manjiro, Sanzu and Rindo. “Hm? And where do you think you’re going?” Manjiro asks and his hand comes up and lifts the naath up then lets it fall back in place resting over your upper lip
You freeze, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. For a moment, you're at a loss for words, your mind racing to come up with an explanation. But as you meet Manjiro's gaze, you see something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil raging within you. "I..." you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I don’t want to get married"
The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of your confession. You expect judgment, condemnation, but instead, there's only silence. Manjiro's gaze softens, a hint of something tender in his eyes as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Hm?”
You let out a shaky breath, henna-covered hands clenching at your sides. “You asked me last night what I wanted and this is what I want…”
There is a moment of silence. Manjiro looks back at Sanzu and nods and the latter pulls out his phone, frantically typing away texts. “C’mon then” Manjiro says and sweeps you off your feet in the same way the male leads in Bollywood movies would
You aren’t sure how things will turn out but as Manjiro carries you down the marble staircase and into a car, you don’t think about anything else. Just him. Manjiro’s arms feel solid and reassuring around you as he carries you down the marble staircase, the weight of your decision becoming lighter with each step. The early morning light filters through the windows, casting a golden hue over everything, as if the world itself is blessing your choice.
As he sets you down into the backseat of a car Manjiro brushes a strand of your hair away from your face then kisses your forehead. “I’m here” he whispers
˗ˏˋ art deco ࿐ྂ
"you're not mean, you're just born to be seen"
summary: kokonoi hajime unwillingly has front-row seats to sano "mikey" manjiro's descent into darkness and now he unknowingly watches the start of a new obsession with something a lot prettier that owns one too many mini skirts
pairing(s): kanto!mikey x f!reader
notes: told through koko's eyes and the beginning of yandere!mikey and pre-bonten. heart divider by cafekitsune
warnings: NOT EDITED, canon typical violence, mentions of weapons, mentions of murder, implied mental health issues, slight bimbo!reader, suggestive themes, mentioned voyeurism, obsession, future yandere(?), not edited we die like my potential
word count: 1690
Sano “Mikey” Manjiro was no longer the man he used to be. Perhaps after killing a bunch of people, part of him had gone numb. Or maybe most of him. He doesn’t feel the same way anymore and it’s clear to everyone around him. His black Toman jacket had been long changed to white and he’s got an appointment with a tattoo artist soon. Kokonoi wonders when it will be his turn to get tattooed next. He wonders when the matching jackets will be changed to suits and their flimsy pipes and bats will be replaced with guns. Kokonoi isn’t sure if he’s looking forward to it or not. Many things have changed quickly and so has Mikey.
Kokonoi Hajime accidentally got front-row seats to Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s plunge into darkness and it’s not something very fun to watch especially since nothing he does can get the latter out of it. It was almost like Mikey wanted to burn. Like he enjoyed it. Kokonoi Hajime glanced up from his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his tired eyes. The rain outside pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows, a rhythmic drumming that filled the otherwise silent penthouse. Mikey stood motionless, staring out into the storm as if it held answers to the questions he never voiced. Kokonoi had grown used to this silence, the heavy, unspoken tension that seemed to hang over them like a dark cloud. “Mikey— Oh hi Koko!”
Maybe the only thing stopping Mikey from fully going crazy was you and your damn mini-skirt. You twirl into the room with that infectious energy of yours, your sneakers tapping against the marble floor. The rain pattering against the windows is almost drowned out by your cheerful presence. You greet Kokonoi with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a naivety that seems out of place in the world of the Kanto Manji Gang— in Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s world. “Hi Koko!” you repeat, a playful lilt in your voice
Kokonoi can’t help but crack a small smile at your enthusiasm, the glitter in the inner corners of your eyes shining under the artificial light. You always manage to bring a bit of light into these dark times, even if you don’t fully understand the shadows lurking around you. Mikey, however, doesn’t move. His gaze remains fixed on the storm outside, his reflection a ghostly figure in the glass. Kokonoi watches him, the unease gnawing at him. Mikey's transformation from the once lively, mischievous leader of Tokyo Manji Gang to this silent, brooding figure of Kanto Manji Gang is unsettling. You flounce over to Mikey, your hips swaying with each step. You wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “Mikey, come on. You promised we’d watch a movie tonight” you whine, trying to coax him away from the window, glossy lips shifting into a pout
Mikey finally shifts, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your touch. He turns around, and for a moment, Kokonoi catches a glimpse of the old Mikey in the way his dark eyes soften when he looks at you. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he says, his voice a low rumble.
Honestly speaking, in Kokonoi’s opinion, you were kind of a bimbo— in some sense that is. You were top of your class with the goal of getting into law school but here you were in a damn mini skirt, your bruised knees knocking against Sano Manjiro who is a literal fucking criminal. Maybe you have one of those weird fantasies of representing your criminal boyfriend in court. The problem with that though is you and Manjiro weren’t together. You were just a pretty distraction, someone who brought a flicker of life into Mikey’s darkened world, a role you played with such unknowing perfection that even Kokonoi found it admirable. The darkness that enveloped Mikey was thick, suffocating, but you… you seemed to be the only one who could penetrate it, if only slightly with your stupid mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs so well. “Not feeling it?” You ask him innocently, the tips of your white sneakers knocking against his boots
Maybe you were a little stupid but other than academic smarts, you were emotionally smart too. You didn’t realize just who you were hanging around and what the penthouse you waltzed into was but you knew when Sano “Mikey” Manjiro wasn’t feeling well. Kokonoi admires that because he as well as the other top members of Kanto Manji Gang were yet to figure out Mikey’s emotions. “Not really” Mikey says, his fingers curl around your hip in an almost possessive manner, pulling you closer to him.
Kokonoi watches the exchange, feeling a pang of jealousy mixed with something he can't quite place. Maybe it's envy at your ability to reach Mikey in a way he can't, or perhaps it's frustration at Mikey's apparent detachment from everyone else. Kokonoi watches you wrap your arms around Mikey’s neck. The contrast between Mikey’s brooding presence and your bubbly aura is almost comical, like a scene from a twisted romantic comedy. Kokonoi can’t help but shake his head at the irony of it all. “What’s wrong, Mikey?” you ask softly, your voice laced with genuine worry.
Mikey’s gaze softens as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
Kokonoi watches the exchange, feeling a twinge of envy mixed with a hint of admiration. Despite everything, Mikey still had the ability to care for someone, even if it was in his own twisted way. You pout slightly, not satisfied with his vague answer. “But I do worry about you, Mikey. You know that,” you insist, your well-manicured fingers intertwining with his bruised fingers.
A small, almost invisible smile tugs at the corners of Mikey’s lips. “I know, babe. And I appreciate it” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice.
He leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, a silent promise of reassurance. Kokonoi can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the intimacy between you and Mikey. It’s not that he harbours any romantic feelings for Mikey himself, but rather he envies the connection you two share, a connection that seems to elude him in this world of darkness and violence. As you pull away from the kiss, a bright smile graces your lips once more. Your lip gloss is now transferred onto Mikey’s lips and he doesn’t seem to mind as he licks up the artificial taste, his eyes never leaving yours as he does. It was weird though— You and Mikey weren’t dating but you still kissed and cuddled and did other things like normal couples did. Mikey called you sweetheart, babe, baby, doll, angel and any other sweet endearment his tainted mind could think of but you both weren’t dating. You both aren’t dating but Kokonoi knows the bruises on your knees are from when Mikey’s got you on the floor between his legs and the scratches on Mikey’s back are from you being pinned beneath him. “I’ve been a little stressed though. Come help me out?” Mikey says to you, thumb rubbing away some of the lipgloss that smeared onto your chin when he kissed you
Kokonoi can imagine it clearly— you down on your knees on the hardwood floor in front of Mikey, your pretty eyes wide and watery with drool running down your chin and mascara smudged; your stupid mini skirt hiked up around your hips as Mikey made you take it. “Hm, m’kay” You answer a little too innocently for what Mikey was suggesting at
As Mikey guides you to another room in the penthouse, he looks over his shoulder. “Koko, make sure no one disturbs us”
“Got it boss” He answers, trying to sound as apathetic as possible
The lock on the door clicks and Kokonoi is already scrambling to find his headphones. He’s been a victim of getting hard off listening to your breathy moans and helpless whimpers too many times already and he’s still got work to do. Kokonoi wasn’t a huge fan of being a voyeur like the rest of the sickos and perverts Mikey let into Kanto Manji Gang after all. He barely gets his headphones in when he hears a breathy groan come from the other side of the locked door. He tries to focus on his work, to lose himself in the lines of code scrolling across the screen, but his mind keeps drifting back to the scene unfolding behind the locked door. He can almost picture it—the way you kneel before Mikey, your eyes wide with anticipation, your lips parted in a silent plea. He can hear the soft rustle of fabric as Mikey guides you, his voice low and commanding. It’s a scene that plays out in his mind with disturbing clarity, one that he wishes he could erase but finds himself unable to look away from.
Kokonoi Hajime unwillingly has front-row seats to Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s descent into darkness. But it seems he’s watching an obsession grow as well.
An obsession that owns too many mini skirts and with a smile as bright as the sun.
Kokonoi wonders how long it will take for that obsession to grow into something unhealthy and something that starts to hurt you. But even as he wonders, a part of him knows that he’ll be there to witness it all. Because in this world of darkness and violence, there are few constants, and Kokonoi has unwittingly become one of them. So he continues to work, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he loses himself in the safety of his own little world, a world far removed from the chaos that surrounds him.
As the night wears on and the sounds from the other room grow louder, Kokonoi can’t help but feel a sense of resignation settle over him. Because in the end, he knows that you’re just as trapped as the rest of them, prisoners of their own making in a world where darkness reigns supreme.
˗ˏˋ sacrifice(eat me up) ࿐ྂ
"I dedicate to you my life, you can devour me whole"
summary: you held grudges. too many of them. so when Mikey beats your ass and puts you into a two-day coma after the disbandment of Toman, you're pissed and without thinking, show up at his place with a knife to get some revenge. It doesn't turn out the way you expected.
notes: inspired by the lyrics of sacrifice by enhypen. my first [y/n] fic and first ever fic written in second person! I hope it's acc good lol. NOT edited. mndi divider by cafekitsune
warning: NOT EDITED, gang violence, near-death experience, use of weapons, toxic relationships, slight knife play(?), suggestive themes, death threats, mature language, pet names(baby, pretty baby)
pairing: kanto!mikey x f!reader
word count: 1256
It felt like the world was ending when Mikey disbanded Toman. It was so out of the blue, so out of nowhere, so random, you couldn't understand why he did that or why you were so upset in the first place because it's not like you were ever officially a member anyway. You were simply a glorified nurse for the captains of the gang. You Mikey’s childhood friend, both of you training at his father’s dojo, close to Baji as well. When Mikey created Tokyo Manji Gang oh you pissed off. Girls weren’t allowed in biker gangs. It was annoying but you were an unofficial member by affiliation somehow. Somehow.
Mikey was acting weird after that. Or at least on a particular day when shit really came crashing down on you. He came over to your house, knuckles bloody, a blank look on his face. As usual, you patched him up. Took care of him while your phone was buzzing with calls from Mitsuya, Draken, Pah and all the former captains. As you answered, Mikey grabbed your phone and threw it at the wall. In one swift move, Mikey pinned you to the floor. He had left you for last after pushing away the old squad leaders, giving you a beating that you were certain could have killed you if you didn't fight back. He wanted to move on. He wanted nothing to do with you, nothing to do with Draken, or Mitsuya, or Pah, and he was always someone who got his way in the end.
But you were stubborn and held grudges. So when you wake up from your two-day coma and can stand without wanting to pass out, you go to Mikey’s place with a switchblade in your pocket and your left wrist in a cast. It isn’t hard to barge into his room since you have a spare key. He was doing something. You didn’t know exactly what but before he could turn around you flicked open the switchblade. Just as he turns around you take the chance and lunge at him, sending the both of you to the floor of the shed and you press the short blade to his throat. Mikey makes no move to try and defend him. Instead, he’s looking like this amused him. Like he knew you would come back because no matter what he's put you through, you always had in the end. It was almost humiliating. “A knife?” he murmurs, his hands coming up to hold your hips while you straddle him “That’s cute, still can’t beat me just like when we were kids?”
That angers you. The tone he was using, the memories he was using against you. It wasn’t fucking fair. You had never been able to beat him during sparing sessions when you still used to go to the dojo. Even now, you can’t. It wasn’t fucking fair. You give him the nastiest look you can muster and press the blade a bit harder against his throat. “I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll fucking kill you Manjiro” You hiss angrily at him “You think you can do that shit to me and get away with it?”
Mikey however, laughs. He fucking laughs. “Yeah, I do think that”
You feel annoyed. Mikey’s hair is out, not in the usual half-up half-down style. His dark circles were prominent and he looked paler than usual. But fuck he was still so pretty. “You’re a fucking asshole Mikey—”
“—Manjiro” He says in a way that corrects you, squeezing your hips “not Mikey… Manjiro”
“Shut up!” You yell and use your half-casted hand and punch him in the jaw
Mikey doesn’t even flinch nor does he make a sound. He rolls his jaw and stares up at you with a blank look and squeezes your hips even tighter. “I’ll kill you! I swear to god I’ll kill you!” You yell at him “Why the fuck did you do that to me?!”
You could feel yourself getting emotional. It was your weakness. You tended to cry when you got too angry. It was embarrassing and the reason you didn’t get angry as much and right now you hoped you didn’t burst out into tears while you were holding a knife to the Invincible Mikey’s throat. But you start to tear up anyway, your vision going blurry. “You gon’ cry, baby?” Mikey murmurs, a hand coming up to hold your cheek so carefully in comparison to last time when he almost killed you with those same hands
It’s humiliating. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to hurt him the same way he hurt you. But you had always been weak when it came to Mikey. Even after he hurt you like he did, even after he almost killed you— you were weak. “I hate you…” You sniffle as tears start to run down your cheeks “I hate you so much Manjiro”
Your tears drip down your eyes and onto his face due to the way you’re hovering over him. But Mikey doesn’t waver nor does he change the condescending expression or tone he has. It was embarrassingly easy for him to pull the switchblade out of your hand. You shiver as he drags the blunt edge of it against your cheekbone while you continue to cry. Mikey sits up and you slide down from his hips to his lap, straddling his thighs now. “Poor little baby” He says softly but in the same mocking tone, now dragging the blunt edge of the blade against your jaw
Tears run down your cheeks and you sniffle, shuddering nervously each time the cool metal makes contact with your skin. “Manjiro…” You cry like a damn child “Why did you do that to me?”
Mikey however smiles as you cry. He leans over and licks up your tears. It’s gross. You cringe and flinch away from him but his free hand that wasn’t holding the switchblade has a firm grip on your waist. “So pretty, hm… My pretty baby”
He wasn’t taking you seriously. This was fun to him and it was making you even more mad and then anger was making you cry like a damn child. “This isn’t fair” You cry as he lowers you onto the floor on your back
Mikey has the blade pressed to your throat now, your hand lay limp on either side of your head. “It isn’t?” his tone is mocking “It was all just a test… Wanted to see if you’d always come back to me just as you said you would. Now look baby, you passed my test”
He sounds oddly cheery for someone who has a switchblade pressed to your throat and almost killed you about a month ago in your own house. “I’ll devour you whole like I want and you’ll let me like you always do” Mikey whispers as he presses a kiss to your forehead and presses the sharp edge of the blade slightly harder against your throat “You’ll let me won’t you?”
You were weak. Always too damn weak for Mikey. You sniffle and desperately grasp at his shirt. It was always like that and it would stay like that. You would let Mikey hurt you, kill you, bring you back to life, eat and devour you whole as he pleases because… Because you were weak. “Yes…” you choke out through helpless and heartbreakingly sad-sounding whimpers
Mikey smiles and his free hand slides under your shirt. “Good girl… Now let me get a taste”
Mikey was certain. Before leaving, he had left his scent on you. Enveloping your whole body in his arms, stroking every part of your body to himself to provide counter measures. Where had he gone wrong in doing so, that you’re stinking other alpha’s scent — him spotting you outside your door’s home after a night out, followed around by alphas in heat, attempting to convince you to be their mates.
Arms curling against your delicate frame from the back, his half lidded eyes settled ahead of you, head tilting almost imperceptibly. “You all must’ve lost your damned sense of smell, wanting to hump so much.”
You can smell the anger stirring up your mate. You lift your gaze, worry flickering over your sight. Your mate’s orbs landed on yours, softening ever so lightly before feeling a hand shield your eyes. “Stepping over my territory,”
“Staring at my mate hungrily,”
“I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.” he threatened, perking his ears up when you called for him. “Mikey,” Tearing an open spot from his fingers, you took a peek from his hand. “Can we go inside now, please?”
He cast a brief glance over at the other alphas, the corners of his lips lifting into a feline, self-satisfied smile before he led the two of you into the apartment. “Kay.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, your partner closed the distance between you, burying his face against your neck. He took in your scent with slow, measured breaths. His eyes fluttered shut, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.
“What’s this smell?” he murmured, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. “Does me being territorial, turns my mate on?”
The scent was maddeningly addictive. He had no plans of letting those wolves walk away unscathed — but more than anything, he couldn’t bear the thought of them inhalling even the faintest trace of his mate’s aroused scent.
⊹₊ ALPHA ! Haitanis — Refusal [x Human ! Reader]
Rindou leading you to his den was a way of him to convey his trust — It was all to display his emotions for you; not for his older brother to further ruin his relationship with you.
The last thing you heard of rindou before he’d gone off to purchase to buy you food was his reassurance of ‘No need to worry, it’s just me in my brother in this territory’. But you weren’t so sure about not worrying about his brother’s predatory senses, the cryptic grin creeping up his lips.
“Rindou has… quite the taste.” The words left ran in a quiet murmur as he caught your distinctly human scent. His lilac eyes settled on you with leisurely curiosity, studying you as though you were a rare specimen he’d only ever heard about. A faint smile played on his lips as he idly twirled a loose strand of lavender hair around his finger.
“Human,” He took another slow inhale, his smile deepening ever so slightly.
“Can you believe it?” he mused, almost to himself. “He turned down a fox mate… for you.” The amusement in his voice wasn’t cruel — merely laced with disbelief.
“Do you have any idea how much of an uproar that caused?” A soft chuckle escaped from his lips, feline teeth peeking out.
“Rindou isn’t someone whose choices concern only himself. Every decision he makes carries weight, and a mate is no exception. There were expectations, families with hopes to fulfill, elders already convinced they knew what was best, alliances quietly waiting to be formed.”
“So when he chose a human instead,” He paused, an amused grin displayed on his lips, leaning in front of you.
“…And yet.” Ran’s eyes lingered on you once more, this time with genuine intrigue rather than idle amusement.
“I can understand why.”
⊹₊ ALPHA ! Mitsuya — Old age [ x Human, HUGE GAP]
Mitsuya has been in a contract with a human baby sitter for quite some time — it was all for the safety of his pup sisters. But as much as he doesn’t want to admit, he had grown attached to you. And he knows it’s bad — you’re too young. He has been alive for decades, after all.
It was well past midnight, he had gone home a bit too late. The station is a bit too far for you to be walking home alone; Besides, Mitsuya would never allow it. He’d love to offer to bring you home, but one of you had to stay behind to watch over the sleeping children.
“You can stay for the night.” Mitsuya mumbled, a soft smile displaying itself on his lips as he open the refrigerator, the dim light it releases glazing his figure lightly.
“You can sleep in my bed,” He added, catching a bottle of water on his palm. “…What?” you asked in disbelief, hoping he’d repeat the statement that just came out of his mouth. You knew he hadn’t meant it that way. It was nothing more than your own imagination getting the better of you.
“Yeah, I don’t mind. But only if you want to. I’m really sorry about coming home late, I’ve worked you overtime again.” With a reply, the latter chugged the water on his hands, amethyst orbs peeking through the corner of his eyes and landing into yours. He observed as the blood rushed through your face, irises avoiding his, staring blankly at the ground.
“I.. I don’t mind sleeping beside you, Sir.”
Mitsuya swore he choked on the water he was drinking. His head turning frantically over your side, mouth falling agape as he cough the water out of his lungs. You must’ve misunderstood what he said — he js wanted you to use his bed to rest comfortably as he can sleep on the couch instead. He can’t sleep with you yet, but he also can’t deny a part of his body wants too — a mate is a mate after all, regardless of the race.
“Ah… I meant I get to sleep on the couch,” The remarks on the silver haired man made you wanted the ground to swallow you — his silent laugh ringing in your head. Maybe he’s gone mad, going after someone short-lived. But again, he can’t deny, he do wants you.
He had hoped to keep it subtle, but the way you reacted makes it extremely difficult to hold back.
“You humans are such fascinating creatures,” He hummed in amusement, closing the refrigerator’s door before heading to your direction. “I heard this is that age…”
You and your aloof, quiet, obedient familiar —with his occasional bursts of uncontrollable aggression that’s seemingly out of character; you’re all to be blamed. It’s always YOU who made him feel things he shouldn’t, stirring inappropriate thoughts on his head in the middle of the day. (Or at least, those feelings were supposed to remain hidden. Unfortunately, your emotions were never something he could hide from)
It was common knowledge that masters and familiars shared a connection through their emotions. It was useful for forming a strong bond, helping to avoid conflicts and understand one another better. But perhaps, in your relationship, that understanding was a little too deep.
“I always thought it was unfair,” you mumbled, crossing your arms and squeezing your eyes shut with a furrowed brow.
“Unfair?” A low, deep voice came from behind you. Your eyelids fluttered open, glancing back at the pinkette behind you — who kept his eyes and hand never left their task, continuing to scrub your exposed skin with a wet cloth.
“Yup.” You turned your head back. “This one-sided emotion-feeling thing. Why are you the only one who gets to feel my emotions?” you ranted, seemingly frustrated by your inability to understand him the same way he understood you.
The latter hummed in response, too used to your mumblings. “Id rather not have you feel what I am feeling.”
Your brows knitted together as you turned to face him. His hands fell loosely between his legs, elbows resting against his open thighs, his eyes following your every movement.
“I hate this! And why are you the only one allowed to wash me? Everything is so one-sided!” you complained, your frustration evident in your voice.
The latter simply stared at you in response, watching as you took the towel from his hands. His eyes followed your movements, falling into your hand that reaches for the hem of his shirt. He watches you frustratingly attempts to remove the piece of cloth, whining in response when couldn’t. “Come on, strip already!”
“Are you sure?” He raised a brow, glancing at you who guilelessly nodded. In a swift move, his top was nowhere in sight — eyes landing at face; an unreadable expression displayed on your face, giving a short pause before the heat catches up with your whole face.
“Master?”
“W-What are you doing?!” you exclaimed, a hint of shyness slipping into your voice as you placed your hands on his shoulders, trying to turn him around.
“Turn around! How am I supposed to wash your back?” He stared at your face for a moment before obediently turning around. You hadn’t realized your familiar was this well-built. His back was broad, his muscles clearly defined beneath his skin, every detail more apparent than you’d expected. You found yourself staring for a moment longer than you intended.
He waited patiently, waiting for the towel to touch his back. And instead, much to his surprise, warm hands made contact with his skin — slowly tracing his bare skin on the back from the nape of his neck down along his spine.
Too intoxicated by the sight before you, you failed to notice the hand wrapping around your wrist. Looking above, the pinkette was facing you, his cat-like eyes suddenly sharp and alert, watching you intently.
“Haru?”
When you called out, in an instant, you’re faced down on the tub — your familiar’s body pressed on your exposed back, faced pressed on the back of your neck, sharp teeth sinking themselves on the skin; a mating position for canine species.
“Ah… Fuck. This is why I can’t let you touch me.” He mumbled, teeth still sank in your flesh. “And you’re saying it’s unfair.” He released the skin, raising his body yet keeping you below, grabbing both hands to keep on your back as he presses his hardened lower part on your exposed cunt.
“Saying you want to feel me,” He ran his fingers on the strands of his hair, eyes fixated on your features below — twitching every time he pulls you closer to feel your heat.
“Wanting to wash me,”
“Then getting turned on just by watching me remove my shirt?” He huffed, almost letting out a laugh. “You thought I wouldn’t feel that?” He shifted his waist back slightly, creating a small gap between the two of you. His free hand thumbing to open your cunt — watching your juices drip along side your sweats and the bath water.
“Ah, what am I saying. I bet you don’t even know it turns you on.”
“The exact reason why I can’t let you feel my emotions,” He’s a bit out of character — speaking that much in one conversation. But can’t help it, you need a life lesson.
“You’ll know that I’m always hard when I am with you.”
⊹₊ ALPHA ! BAJI — Jealously
Mate Baji loves you so much that, deep down, he wants to keep you all to himself at home. Yet, he knows he could never truly do that. He’d never admit it, but he wants you to shine brighter than anyone else — to wear whatever you want, show yourself to the world, and let everyone see exactly who you belong to.
Your mate couldn’t really blame you for looking a little too good. He’d brought you along to one of Mikey’s victory after-parties, where the atmosphere was filled with loud music, champagne, and fellow racers.
What he hated, however, was the shameless way those alphas kept looking at you — even while you were safely tucked against your mate’s side. His death glares can’t seem to work on them either, forcing him to stay by your side for the entire night.
And yet, amidst all his irritation, you had the audacity to ask him the most ridiculous question; “Am I pretty tonight?”
An irk mark appeared on his forehead, his brows creasing in irritation as he ran a hand through his hair. “What kind of question is that?” he muttered, clearly annoyed.
He chugged the entire glass of champagne before slamming it down onto the table with a rough thud. With a rough, crude behavior, he sighs.
“Unbelievably so.”
“I’m barely holding back the urge to gauge everyone’s damned eyes.”
@makies all rights reserved. Please refrain from reproducing, translating, adapting, or redistributing this work without prior permission
TOKYO REVENGER LIST — Read more of the author’s work
Context: You're a lazy person who avoids conflicts, so instead of confronting Mikey about the relationship he thinks you have, you just let him do whatever he wants imagining that one day he will get sick. So what to do when things get out of control?
PROLOGUE
At least pretend you love me
Mikey doesn't remember for sure when he started liking you, but it made sense since it had been years since he had these feelings. Next to his house, you lived, and your mother, who used to work, often asked his grandfather to look after you when she was working. So, he grew up studying at the same school as you, seeing you almost always in his house, and at some point you grew up together with a unique connection, Not that you understood about it, no you never understood anything and he didn't understand why, you see, you weren't a stupid girl on the contrary you were a real prodigy, but even so you were as disconnected about the world as a stone.
Your head resting on his shoulder made him get out of his reflections almost immediately, he just passed his arm bringing you closer to him feeling almost forgetting his concerns about his girlfriend who lived daydreaming.
Well, at least he called you girlfriend, but you never saw things exactly as they were. Your childhood memories were very distorted in your mind, and despite remembering Shinichiro and Mikey's grandfather you didn't remember half of the things that the younger Sano digressed. Really, you grew up together and this was undeniable even for you, but over the years when one day he started calling you "my girl", "girlfriend", and other couple nicknames, you just pretended not to notice imagining that at some point your best and only friend would leave these feelings, which you considered idiots, aside.
In the end, you were a real accommodating who just let Mikey do whatever he wanted as long as it didn't bother you, what was the problem that he and everyone else thought you had a relationship? Yes, you kissed sometimes and celebrated for months, but at some point this silly feeling of his would disappear and you would just laugh at this whole situation, yes that's right.
Lying on the blonde's shoulder, while the silence made everything more comfortable and quiet between you, yourself of that second would never imagine that in less than a year everything would turn upside down.
Hmmmm, I will write the first part of it like right now, I just need to start with a prologue, did you like it? Please let me know about any agreement and grammar errors, English is not my native language and I'm not fluent yet. Thank you for reading.
