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pocket full of shells

Summary:

Noriaki Kakyoin hates the guy who owns the fish store beside his tattoo parlor.

Jotaro Kujo can’t stand the tattoo artist who works in the building next door.

But when the Made in Heaven Corporation starts pressuring the city to bulldoze their neighborhood, they find themselves unlikely allies in their fight to save their livelihoods.

Notes:

I am back on my bullshit

the entire premise behind this was wanting to have Kakyoin as a tattoo artist and doing an enemies to lovers thing with Jotaro, but the main tag on AO3 is Tattoo Parlor & Flower Shop, and I thought, I’m going to have Jojo own a fish store instead lmao. I didn't really see a whole lot of tattoo shop AU's here anyways (though the few I've read were great), so this is also pure indulgence on my part and being the change I want to see in the world

please note the past domestic violence is in regards to Kakyoin and DIO's past relationship and will only ever be talked about in any sort of detail in chapter 23 - the Jotakak is 100% not going that route

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Noriaki Kakyoin stood in his tattoo parlor, looking out the front window to the street just beyond. It was a nice street, in a nice part of town - the buildings were old-fashioned, made of brick and wrought iron, lush green ivy crawling across the tiled roofs and down the walls towards the sidewalk. There were more pedestrians than cars, and the lights that lined the curb were lit with gas instead of electricity. Most of the time, it offered a lovely view.

Today, however, there was an old, beat-up, not quite off-white delivery truck parked right in front of his window, and he found it was all he could see.

There was a rustling noise from somewhere behind him, and the music that had been blaring in the shop’s background was dialed back a few notches. A few moments later, his friend and coworker Polnareff walked into the front room, shooting Kakyoin - and the truck - an inquisitive look.

“Is that the food?” he asked, pointing to the window. “I’m starving, but that truck’s a little suspect.”

“No,” Kakyoin seethed, hands clenched into fists at his side. “It’s not the food. It’s the fucking fish guy again.”

Again?” Polnareff asked, huffing out a breath. “That’s the third time this week!” He paused, frowning. “How many deliveries does this guy get?”

“Too many,” Kakyoin retorted. 

It had all started this past winter, when someone new had started to rent the unit next to theirs. Before that, it had been a flower shop, run by the kindest little old man Kakyoin had ever met; but he’d retired, and none of his children had wanted to take over the family business, so when his lease had expired at the end of the year, he’d sold all his plants, gotten rid of his inventory, and handed over his keys. For the next two months, the lot had sat vacant while the landlord tried to get a tenant. 

And then, he’d arrived.

Kujo.

Kakyoin didn’t want to use the word “nemesis”, because he was neither twelve nor the main character in a manga, but he had to admit, it was a pretty apt term. 

The guy was just so… so thoughtless.  

First of all, there was the smell. Kakyoin had nothing against fish. He had nothing against people who had fish as pets. But fish, and all of the things needed to keep fish alive and happy and thriving, stank. All of the shops on this side of the street had been a single piece of property at one point, and thus the air conditioning system was all linked together. Ever since Kujo had set up next door, Kakyoin’s tattoo parlor had smelled of brine and seaweed and god only knew what else. It was horrible; the man made no attempt to properly ventilate the space.

But if it had just been the smell, Kakyoin could have gotten over it. He had no shortage of air fresheners, and it wouldn’t have been a tattoo shop without an incense burner sitting on the front desk. The odor, however, was just the beginning.

The worst of it was these damn delivery trucks. They came two or three times a week, with shipments of rocks and plants and whatever else was necessary for building a proper aquatic environment. Kakyoin wasn’t sure of the specifics. But without fail, they always parked right in front of his shop, in the spot he’d specifically petitioned the city to have designated for his clients and his clients only - there was even a sign, for god’s sake.

He was pretty sure Kujo was telling them to park there on purpose. There were five or six different spots available, and the trucks always seemed to pick the one with his name on it, even if the others were empty. It couldn’t be a coincidence. And sure, maybe Kakyoin occasionally dumped his trash in the guy’s bins, and this was just petty revenge, but that was comparing apples to oranges, really - the city had given Kujo two receptacles and Kakyoin one, and being a tattoo artist, you went through a lot of disposable supplies. How much trash did fish make, huh?

“I’m going over there,” he announced. 

“Hey, wait a second-”

“I’m going to go over there, and I’m going to tell him to make his delivery drivers use the back entrance like every other business on this damn street.”

“Kakyoin, no-”

Kakyoin, yes.

He took a step forward, hand reaching for the door, when Polnareff pulled him back. He had a concerned look on his face, blue eyes flicking back and forth from Kakyoin to the door. 

“Polnareff, let go of me,” he demanded, yanking his arm out of his friend’s grasp.

“Are you going to do something stupid?”

“Probably.”

“Then, no,” Polnareff insisted. 

“Someone has to say something-”

“Yes, yes, but does that person have to be you?”

“I want it to be me.”

“Kakyoin, Jotaro is three of you-”

“Oh, please,” Kakyoin scoffed. 

“The man could bench press you-”

“He is, at most, one-point-seven-five of me.”

“-maybe even punt you across a field like a football.”

“This is ridiculous. He can’t keep doing this, Pol, it’s - it’s against the law at this point! I have a permit from the city and everything. Those trucks can’t park there during normal business hours.”

“Then take him to court!”

“You know I can’t afford that.”

“And so does he, I bet.”

Kakyoin huffed, annoyed at this blatant display of good sense, and crossed his arms over his chest. Between the two of them, it wasn’t often that Polnareff was the voice of reason. Generally, it was Kakyoin talking Polnareff down from some barely thought out scheme, urging him to think things through before jumping in headfirst. He was mostly successful, too; Polnareff was an amenable sort of guy, pretty easy to persuade.

Kakyoin was decidedly less so; he sometimes took a while to come to a decision, but once his mind was made up, there was very little that could be done to change it. He was just stubborn.

Very stubborn.

Polnareff seemed to have forgotten this, along with one other very important thing -

Kakyoin didn’t easily admit defeat. 

Waiting until the grip on his arm turned lax, he lunged towards the door at the first opportunity, whipping it open and darting out before Polnareff could so much as blink. He chose to ignore his friend’s dismayed cry as he stalked next door and into the dark, dank fish store that was Jotaro Kujo’s domain.

Blue.

Everything was blue.

The walls, the ceiling, the light pouring out of the various aquariums lining the aisles of the shop… everything was a muted shade of ultramarine, with hints of cobalt and cerulean. Perhaps that was on purpose, he mused; maybe Kujo had wanted the place to remind people of the ocean, make them think they were underwater. 

Between that and the smell, it was working. 

It didn’t look like anyone else was there at the moment. Just as well, he thought. Now he could yell at the guy in peace.

Kujo was standing behind the counter at the back of the shop, a clipboard in his hand. He was dressed, as usual, like a cartoon character - today’s ensemble featured muted gold snakeskin pants, a green and purple coat, and a white shirt that looked two sizes too small for his rather gargantuan frame. He’d chosen to accentuate this with two belts, heeled boots, and his usual hat, gold pins decorating the well-worn brim.

Kakyoin could never decide whether he was tacky or trendy.

Maybe both.

He wasn’t usually so flamboyant, though. Yesterday’s get up had been all black, and the day before that, he’d worn all white. 

Perhaps he’d run out of neutrals.

Kujo looked up as Kakyoin approached, bright eyes narrowing at the sight of him. “What,” he ground out, not even bothering to inflect the word into a question.

“Your delivery van is parked in my space again,” he snapped, not bothering with a warm up. “Tell them to move.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

“And where are my clients supposed to park?” Kakyoin demanded. 

“Dunno,” Kujo retorted. “Somewhere else?”

“What are you even having delivered? You can’t possibly be out of stock. You just had someone else delivering things for you on Tuesday.”

“That was my plant guy.”

“And this is…?”

“My rock guy.”

“Oh, well sure, if your rock guy needs a place to park, by all means.”

Kujo made a final note on his clipboard, then set it aside and leaned forward. From this angle, he had a good six or seven inches on Kakyoin - combined with the way he’d spread his arms wide, palms braced against the counter, he was quite menacing. 

If he’d been intending to intimidate Kakyoin, though, he was in for a rude awakening. He’d never taken well to threats. He drew himself up to his full height, eyes flashing, ready for whatever else Kujo threw his way-

“What d’you need it for?” he demanded.

Kakyoin frowned, deflating a bit. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Like I said, I need it for my clients-”

“And you have one? Right now?” Kujo leaned back, massive arms crossing over his massive chest, something like a sneer in his eyes. “Probably shouldn’t be over here bitching at me, then.”

“That’s - that’s irrelevant.”

“No, that’s topical.

It was really, really rude that someone so infuriating was also so incredibly attractive. Even hating the man as he did, Kakyoin could admit that he was never hotter than he was when he was angry. 

Case in point - right here, right now.

He sniffed, turning back towards the door. “I have someone coming at two. Move your truck, or I’ll have it towed.”

“It’s not my truck.”

“And that’s not my problem.” 

Polnareff was waiting for him when he returned, several boxes of take-out spread out on the counter. “Food’s here,” he announced, mouth full of noodles. He swallowed and took a quick drink of his soda. “How’d it go?”

Kakyoin rolled his eyes. “How do you think it went?”

“Well, you’re all in one piece and Jotaro didn’t punch a hole in the wall again, so I’d call it a draw.”

Oh, hadn’t that been glorious - he was quite proud of that one.

A couple months back, Jotaro had accidentally had something delivered to the tattoo shop instead of his own - a two that should’ve been a three on the delivery manifest, purely an accident. The package had to have been something fancy, too; the delivery people had wanted Kakyoin to sign for it. He’d regretfully informed them that no one by the name of Jotaro Kujo lived or worked in his tattoo shop, and that he couldn’t accept it. So they’d shipped it all the way back to Europe. 

Kakyoin had relayed this message with glee one morning, when Kujo had finally broken down and come over to ask if they’d gotten any weird packages.

He’d punched a hole through the drywall about ten minutes later.

“You’re lucky he didn’t beat the shit out of you,” Polnareff continued, pushing Kakyoin’s food towards him. 

“He wouldn’t do that,” Kakyoin replied, shaking his head. He grabbed a set of utensils, stirring up his lo mein to make sure the veggies were mixed in with the noodles. “He’s not the type.”

Of this, he was certain - Kakyoin had seen enough douchebags come through the doors of his business to know the warning signs when he saw them. He knew what a guy looked like when he was about to throw a punch at someone, when he was going to hit below the belt. 

And Jotaro Kujo had never once looked at him that way.

“But how can you tell?” Polnareff asked, skewering a shrimp with the pointed end of a chopstick.  

Kakyoin snorted. “Kujo’s an asshole, Pol, but he’s not going to assault me in broad daylight.” 

Polnareff considered this and shrugged, clearly not convinced. “If you say so.” He took another drink of his soda, shooting Kakyoin a sidelong glance. “What’d you tell him, anyways?”

“I told him to move his truck or I’d have it towed,” Kakyoin replied. “I have someone coming at two; I can’t not have a place for them to park.”

“Mmm! Is this the sacred geometry guy?”

“No, that’s tomorrow. This is that watercolor anatomical heart someone called about last week.”

“Oh, yuck. Why’d you take that anyway? We could’ve dumped it on Rohan.”

Kakyoin shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

He really should have dumped it on Rohan - the third artist in their shop, Rohan Kishibe was utterly convinced of his own brilliance. He’d take any project someone came in with, regardless of how stupid or complicated the ask was. He saw them as a sort of challenge, he’d once told Kakyoin; successfully creating a tattoo out of someone’s half-assed pinterest idea was a point of pride for him.

But business had been slow lately, and he needed the extra money. He’d been taking all the walk-in clients he could get to supplement his schedule of regulars, so long as he thought the project doable. 

“You could always start doing cartoon characters,” Pol said. “Never any shortage of work there.”

Kakyoin snorted. “And put you out of work?” he teased. “I’m not that cruel.”

Polnareff scoffed. “You wish,” he said. “I’m ten times the artist you are.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I didn’t even go to art school!”

Kakyoin had - hence the bills. But he knew Polnareff was just ribbing him; their styles were wildly different, and they had the utmost respect for each other’s work. It was part of why they were friends. It was also what united them in their antagonism towards Rohan, who showed them neither respect nor the least bit of kindness. 

Honestly, they should have kicked him out months ago - but Kakyoin couldn’t deny that he drew in customers, and that was almost worth the constant bitchiness the guy exuded. 

“Alright, I gotta go set up,” Polnareff announced, shoving the remnants of his lunch into the trash. “I have that Kermit the Frog tarot card in twenty minutes.”

“Get a good picture this time,” Kakyoin said, grinning. “I want to see it when you’re done.”

“I still can’t believe someone asked for that,” Polnareff replied, shaking his head. “It’s terrible. I love it.”

“You get the best ideas.”

“What can I say? People love me.”

Kakyoin decided not to press that point, and set out to finish his lunch.

A few minutes later, as he was throwing away his drink and putting his leftovers into the fridge, he saw Kujo walk out onto the street with a guy in a brown uniform, jerking a thumb at the tattoo shop. The man looked frustrated, shaking his head, hands thrown wide. 

Jotaro had his hands shoved in his pockets, as supplicating as a stone can be.

The delivery guy eventually waved a hand in dismissal, climbing into the truck and starting it up. A few seconds later, and he was trundling off down the road. 

For good, Kakyoin hoped.

Kujo turned towards the window, the glare on his face truly something to behold. Kakyoin gave him a one finger salute, winking just for dramatic effect.

He’d chalk that one up to a victory.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful; he got the outline of the anatomical heart complete, but the client ended up wanting it several times larger than she’d originally said, and it took longer than he’d anticipated. They hadn’t gotten a chance to add in any of the color, calling it a day after he put in the black and gray shading. It was probably a good thing they’d stopped early; it was her first tattoo, and she’d been shaking like a leaf by the end of it. 

Kakyoin tried to be gentle, and he’d been told he had a light touch. But there was only so gentle you could be, and three hours spent getting tattooed was, well.

Three hours getting a tattoo. 

He finished up the day with a walk-in, some guy wanting a simple design he’d found online. Kakyoin asked if he’d wanted to make any changes to it, any embellishments or flourishes to make it more unique. The guy had just given him a blank stare, so he’d suppressed a sigh and dutifully traced it out into a stencil. If that was what the guy wanted, that’s what he’d get. 

By the time he was finishing packing up his supplies and wiping down his station, he was exhausted. It was close to seven, long after Polnareff had left for the night, and Kakyoin wanted nothing more than to crash on his couch, pull up something mindless and entertaining on Netflix, and finish up his lo mein. But he forced himself to be diligent as he closed up shop, making sure all of the windows and doors were locked, that the computer at the front was turned off, and that no one had left anything lying around for him to trip over when he blearily opened up in the morning.

It was nearly eight by the time he was finished. Leftover takeout in one hand, his bag slung over a shoulder, he set off down the street, beginning the short trek back to his apartment. It wasn’t much of a walk - another reason he loved this part of town. He could be at work in five minutes, regardless of the time of day or how much traffic there was. 

Honestly, he’d really lucked into getting the spot; the landlord had been pretty desperate to fill it after the previous tenant had suddenly filed for bankruptcy and cleared out. Kakyoin’s credit hadn’t been great, and he knew he’d been a bit of a risk. But he’d lined up a steady clientele by that point, and he’d had the money saved to buy all of the furniture and equipment he’d need. He’d begged and pleaded and offered to pay an extra month’s rent up front to make up for any misgivings the man had - and a week and a half later, he’d gotten his keys, a lease had been drawn up, and he was talking paint colors and room set-up with Polnareff.

Jean Pierre had left their old shop to come with him, of course. They’d met as apprentices, going through the various stages of their training together and forming a fast friendship. It had been expected that they’d eventually set out to form their own place. 

Kakyoin still considered himself fortunate to have him as a business partner. Polnareff wasn’t good with numbers, and he was shit at remembering to order supplies; but he did his fair share of cleaning the shop, he’d stay late and make sure everything was locked up, and he’d never once come to work drunk or high or otherwise inebriated. He also always ordered food and did most of the scheduling and working the phone. 

It was a good trade-off, Kakyoin thought.

Rohan had come around a couple years later, after they’d decided to open up the third room for another artist. He’d been kicked out of his last shop for - surprise, surprise - attitude issues, and was in desperate need of a new booth. Kakyoin had hesitated at first; he and Polnareff had a good thing going, and he didn’t want to ruin the vibe with a drama queen. But he’d taken one look at Rohan’s book of clients and decided to give him a chance. As shop owners, he and Polnareff got a cut of those sales to go towards rent each month, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up. 

For the most part, everything had worked out. Rohan kept to himself most of the time, and he’d never been late on a payment. He only bothered to come in three or four days a week; the rest of the time he spent working on his own personal projects. That suited Kakyoin just fine; he mostly just scheduled his clients for the days Rohan wasn’t working, and Polnareff wasn’t generally bothered by anyone’s attitude. 

It made for a comfortable work environment, and he was truly grateful to be in the position he was. Not everyone got to spend their days doing what they loved.

“Evening, Kakyoin!” his downstairs neighbor, Ms. Lawson, called out as he rounded the corner towards his building. An elderly woman, he sometimes watched her cats while she was out of town visiting her children. In return, she watered his plants when he was at conventions. It was a good system.

Tonight, she was watering her garden, the hose looped around her arm trickling water into the planters lining her windows.

“Good evening, Ms. Lawson,” he replied dutifully, nodding. 

“Just now getting home?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, chuckling.

“Don’t work too hard, now - you’ll give yourself an ulcer.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He bade her good night and took the stairs to his apartment two at a time, grabbing his pile of mail from the box as he passed. It was mostly junk, flyers and advertisements and all sorts of other garbage. A couple pieces caught his eye, and he resolved to take a look at them once he’d gotten settled in for the night.

But first, he was going to change into something that wasn’t covered in ink and purple marker.

He chose a loose tank top and shorts, shucking his jeans into a corner with gusto. It was the height of summer, and he preferred comfort over fashion when no one was around to see. This also allowed him to see the tattoos decorating his arms and legs, and while he wasn’t a particularly vain person, he did enjoy actually getting to look at the artwork adorning his body.

Art was made to be observed, after all. 

After trading his contacts out for glasses and pinning his hair back from his face, he finally padded back out into the living room, grabbing for the stack of mail he’d thrown onto the table. He sorted out the junk, going straight for the couple of pieces that had caught his attention outside.

The first was an electric bill; he shook his head at the amount the city claimed he owed, but this too was set aside. He’d been expecting that one, at least.

The second piece of mail, he wasn’t. Bulky in the way official documents are, it was a large rectangular envelope - that was what immediately caught his attention. It was bigger than most of the mail he received, and the official seal on the back made him worried. He was fairly certain it belonged to the government.

What on earth could they want with him?

He quickly ripped open the envelope and pulled out the contents, beginning to read.

To Mr. Noriaki Kakyoin, and “Hierophant Green Tattoo Studio, LLC”, 

As you may know, the city council has recently concluded its summer session; it was a historic session, with an unprecedented number of bills receiving approval from a majority of committee members. It is our hope that these new passed laws will continue to improve the lives of our citizens and those who visit our community.

One of the laws put before the committee, Rezoning Bill H14639-A-12.3, was tabled until the fall session, at which time the committee will hear arguments for and against from members of the community. We are writing to you as someone who currently conducts business in the area to be considered for rezoning, in order to grant you the time to put together a legal defense against the passage of this bill, which would, effective immediately, rezone land parcel H14639-A into city property for the construction of several newly proposed public works projects, including a new high school, two public parks, and a sizable land grant to the Made in Heaven Corporation, one of our city’s top benefactors.

The initial hearing has been set for October 10th at 10:00 a.m.

A brief informational meeting will be held in the Eastern Elementary School cafeteria two weeks from the date noted on this letter, at 8:00 p.m. sharp. Please attend if you have questions or concerns about the contents of this letter, or contact your local representative.

Wishing you a pleasant summer!

…what?

Kakyoin pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. He forced himself to read the letter again, to make sure he’d understand it correctly.

It was just as bad the second time.

His hands were shaking as he finally laid it down on the table. Was this… was this real?

He couldn’t quite believe it - surely, this wasn’t legal. A city couldn’t just take over an entire neighborhood. What about the people who lived here, the people who worked here? What were they supposed to do?

And that corporation they’d mentioned - they were going to give part of the land they took from the citizens to some group just because they’d given the city a bunch of money? That was scummy, even for politics.

The Made in Heaven Corporation, huh. Something about the name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He knew he’d heard of it somewhere. But he was too distracted to give it much thought, and he pushed it to the back of his mind for later.

For the moment, he had bigger problems.

What was he going to tell Polnareff and Rohan? What about his business? 

More importantly, where was he going to live?

Kakyoin ran a hand over his face, utterly dismayed, trying to breathe as he attempted to figure out what to do.

Notes:

it's me, I am the dumbass with the kermit the frog tarot card tattoo, I like to call him kermit purple and he's precious

thanks so much for reading!