Yakuza!Jotaro x Reader- Flower and The Serpent

Sympathy for the Devil

You had to resist the urge to vomit as you looked out over the wreck of the restaurant.  The huge windows were shattered from gunfire, and some of the glass peppered N'doul's skin as he lay on the soaked marble floors. Dozens of lobsters lay on the floor, feebly clicking their pincers as they slowly suffocated in the cold night air. Blood was smeared all over the white linen tablecloths, and at the heart of this lay Jotaro Kujo. He knelt on the floor, gritting his teeth in pain as he clutched his bleeding left arm. Blood seeped up his white coat like ink in water, and his face was pale and sweaty as he occasionally gave a grunt of pain. Geil lay next to him, a stiff corpse, still with the katana stuck in his chest. Jotaro grunted in pain as his men surrounded him, surveying the area for any more threats, and your eyes fell on the little green first aid kit under the bar.

Don't you fucking dare You thought to yourself, eyeing the little box. It had antiseptic wipes, sterile gauze, painkillers...
If you do this, he'll think you want to get involved. And soon enough you'll be missing all your fingers and working as a drug mule for this arrogant son of a bitch
And if you didn't help him? The Yakuza kept grudges for a long time, and weren't exactly known for a policy of "forgive and forget."
"Is there a first aid kit here?!" Kakyoin yelled, as Mr and Mrs Matsuzaki's eyes flickered over to you behind the bar. You slowly stood up, holding onto the green box with a grip so tight you nearly buckled the plastic.
"I... I know first aid." You stammered, trying not to look at Jotaro, or the bloody streaks all over his white coat.
"Get over here. Jiji, get to the car. Polnareff, Avdol, get on your bikes and survey the area. Noriaki... Stay here." He grunted, and you walked forward, the first aid kit on one hand and a bushel of bar towels in another.

You kicked aside the deitrus of broken glass and splintered wood with one pump-wearing shoe, and dropped to your knees slowly.
"I'll have to cut your coat to get to the wound." You said.
"Just do it." Jotaro replied. You took the surgical scissors from the box, and very carefully cut off the left sleeve of Jotaro's coat and turtleneck. Underneath was his arm, covered in a menagerie of tattoos. They shone in bright shades of vermilion, lime green and gold, with hints of purple and black. Demons and sea monsters writhed on his arm, alongside a thin strand of purple thorn around his wrist. This was a man who couldn't possibly be mistaken anywhere he went, as he'd turned himself into a living art gallery. What else lay under those clothes? Now wasn't the time to speculate, especially not with him bleeding everywhere. With some relief, as you wouldn't have to drive a Yakuza boss to hospital, you saw that the bullet had just grazed his arm. It hadn't even hit an artery, it was just a small flesh wound.
"This is going to sting..." you warned, producing an alcohol wipe to clean the wound.
"Good grief, just do it, woman." The Yakuza boss sighed, rolling his eyes. You carefully wiped at the wound, cleaning it up, before applying a sterile bandage and affixing it in place.

"It's nothing too serious, just keep it covered and clean. You'll probably get a scar." You said as Jotaro stood up. He looked down at his bandaged bicep. He walked over to his katana, and yanked it out of the dead gangster. Wiping it on a tablecloth, he sheathed it, then turned to Mr and Mrs Matsuzaki. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a black leather wallet. Jotaro took out a huge wad of cash, and smacked it onto the bar in front of them.
"This should cover repairs and my bill." He said, tipping his hat down. "Just tell them who referred you and they'll give you a good quote for repairs. And not a word to the police, alright? As far as they're concerned, this was just a gang of drunken teens."
The two hosts nodded at this. Jotaro looked over at you as he took Kakyoin's arm, and gestured to the limousine outside.
"Get in. I'll take you home."

And that was how you ended up inside Jotaro Kujo's limousine. You'd been in a limo before, for a friend's sweet 16 back home, but this was a whole other world. That limousine had been lit up with pink fairy lights and a disco ball, and there had been pink lemonade (you were all too young to drink) and all manner of snacks on tap. This, by comparison, was a complete different beast. Jotaro's limo had a black interior, dark as night bar the purple LEDs that ran along a few sections. A drinks fridge stocked with antique cognacs and fine sakes hummed softly, and Jotaro dominated the space. He sat in the middle of the main seat, reclining on the black leather like a jaguar on a branch. Kakyoin sat next to him, curled up against his side like an obedient pet. A lit cigarette hung from Jotaro's lips, the red glowing end providing the only other light inside the cabin of this luxurious vehicle. You sat across from these two men, stiff as a board. You'd told them roughly where you lived, but you weren't stupid enough to give an exact address. Your eyes occasionally flickered to the tinted windows, seeing the neon sea that was Tokyo glide past. Could you jump out the car and survive it at this speed? You didn't want to find out the hard way, but everything about this car was so unsettling.
"So, you're the sommelier." Jotaro said after some time, taking his cigarette from his mouth. Smoke trailed lazily after him, curling as if it were a serpent.
"Yes, sir." You replied, trying to stay polite.
"I'll have to keep my eye on you. It's not every day that I find a good sommelier around these parts." Jotaro stretched, and Kakyoin reached for the mini fridge. He poured his boss a scotch on the rocks, and passed it to him. Jotaro pulled the redhead onto his lap, and stared at you with a hawk's glare. He didn't break eye contact once, not even to dip a marischino cherry into the scotch and feed it to Kakyoin.