Yakuza!Jotaro x Reader- Flower and The Serpent

Rose

The door opened, and the woman- Midler- stood there. She was wearing one of her typical shapeless dresses, with a tattered University of Manilla hoodie thrown over the top, and her yellow bandanna. The inside of her apartment was damp, with black mould speckling the corners like chocolate chips in a cookie.
"What is she doing here?" Midler spat. "She hangs around with gangsters! She's bad news."
"Bette, we're here so you can tell her everything about Jotaro. We're planning on using y/n herr as a mole to get information on him, and we'll need to you fill her in on everything." Rohan said. You looked at your feet shyly, eyes panning over to the drippy dead houseplant Midler kept on the fire escape. She furrowed her brows, then nodded.
"Fine, come in."

Midler's flat was incredibly depressing. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls in huge, tattered strips, and she only had one chair so you had to sit on the floor with her, with Rohan commandeering the chair. Roaches slid across the floor, and the lamp blinked dimly, with the windows letting in draughts. The launderess poured three cups of noxious instant coffee, and turned to look at you.
"So, you're going to be a mob wife, or at least pretend to be one. Do you think it'll be glamorous?" She asked.
"Well... Probably, with all the money, even if he is a criminal." You replied, thinking back to the mafia films your dad used to fall asleep in front of. Midler shrieked with laughter at this, rolling her eyes at your naivety.
"Glamourous? Tell me, is this glamorous?!" She yelled.
"Bette, don't..." Rohan cringed, but she reached into her mouth and pulled out her teeth. They were dentures, and her gums were as bare as a newborn's. You gagged, and she slid them back in.
"Every last tooth was ripped out of my mouth by the rival gang, girl. And do you know what Jotaro said to me, his Wild Rose, his girlfriend? He told me I was disgusting and ran away when I needed him most." She spat on the ground, and you were surprised it didn't sizzle, what with all the venom in her words.
"I'll tell you all about my time with Jotaro. And don't start thinking he's changed, because he's still at it." She grimaced, before starting her story.

The year was 1990. Tokyo was hosting an international fashion week, and the world's eyes were drawn to the stars of the runway. Amongst the famous designers was Claudio Lampone, Italy's very finest. His designs shocked and stunned the world, modelled on his waifish, slender models for all to see. Of course, everyone talked about the clothes, but nobody ever talked about the models themselves.

Bette Midler lay slumped on a couch, her head buried in Cosmopolitan. She wasn't really reading the words, however, as she was hungry. She'd been hungry for years, and her daily diet of one apple + one bowl of chicken broth with vegetables+ 500g of lettuce just wasn't filling at all. All that the supermodel could think about was food. The things she would do for some kaldereta, or a big bowl of hot, saucy adobo. A plate of fried lumpia, or one of her mother's blintzes, or a nice big serving of soft, juicy brisket! She was starving, her dreams filled with hamentash and halo-halo dancing around her bed. Midler was so hungry that she felt like she could just walk into a Jollibee and eat everything- five yumburgers, ten hotdogs, seven plates of jolly spaghetti, a whole bucket of chickenjoy, an endless parade of fries, rice and gravy, and still have room for a peach pie. But it wasn't like Lampone would allow her to eat anything more calorie-dense than celery sticks these days.

"Midler, you're up!" As if she'd spoken of the devil, Claudio Lampone strode up to her, thrusting a sequinned black dress decorated with red roses into her hand. Midler tried to stand, and felt the world swim as black spots danced in her vision.
"Why are your hands so red? Put some powder on them, we can't have you looking fat and ugly." Her boss sneered as she went to get dressed. That comment couldn't be further from the truth, as Midler was morbidly underweight, and felt as brittle as a twig in a storm. But still, the show must go on. She pulled on the dress, which clung to her like glue, and smeared some red lipstick on her chapped lips. Some makeup on her hands, and a pinch of her cheeks to make herself look... Well, health, but she was already thin, and to Lampone that was the same thing... And she was ready to go.