Bullies (Pinga & Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗚𝗢 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗛𝗛𝗛𝗛 𝗜 𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗜𝗦 𝗢𝗞𝗔𝗬

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

These were not playground bullies.

  These were not the people who would pull tails and call you rude names because you weren’t cool enough to be their friend. These were not the people who called you a know-it-all for doing your homework and an idiot for not doing it. They wouldn’t play keep away with your lunch box or your backpack. They wouldn’t hide your clothes after gym just to make you take the dreaded walk to the office- stuck in your shorts and sweaty t-shirt, already late for class. They wouldn’t pick you last for games at recess, and they wouldn’t say “thank you” if you held open the door for them either. Or maybe…

  Maybe they would do all those things you thought of. Maybe they would do all those things and more. But the people in front of you are NOT playground bullies. And you would know. The bruise on your knee is from a playground bully. The rumble in your stomach from sharing your lunch with another victim of the same torment you used to go through was because of playground bullies. The lost school supplies in your backpack, making it just ever so slightly lighter without your stolen pencils and pens and other knicks knacks- playground bullies. But as you look in front of you, you know. You know the people in front of you are far worse than any playground bully. And maybe they started that way a long time ago. A time when they were young and small like you are now. 

  But you can’t face them the same way as you faced those who ruled the schoolyard. Not when the three figures in front of you are double your height. Not when they’re looking at you with bulging eyes of greed. Not when the middle one is holding that knife in his hand like he’s more than happy to use it on you. 

  And the sneer tells you that he is. He’s more than happy to do it. In fact, he looks thrilled. 

  “You alone there, kid?” A gravelly voice calls out from the darkness. 

  You don’t answer. You were taught not to answer- not to taunts, and certainly not to questions that will give up your position. Instead, you swallow and focus on your breath. It’s hard not to think of anything but how much you regret every decision that led you to this moment. Staying late at school to help your favorite teacher with clean-up. Stopping by the Mini-mart to pick up the bento box that’s sitting heavy in its plastic bag in your left hand. Walking out of the store while still putting your money in your wallet because you didn’t want to hold up the line. Not calling for help when you first suspected you were being followed. And finally…

  Thinking you could duck into a dead-end alleyway and wait for them to pass you by.

  “I asked you a question.” The same voice calls out, impatience lining their tone. They take a half step forward, and while it’s nothing much, you know it’s a silent way to show that they didn’t appreciate being ignored. “Are you alone?”

  You feel stupid. At this point, you feel beyond mad with yourself. At this point, you’re practically furious. But the pity party will have to wait. Your eyes flicker over your shoulder in between the inhales and exhales. Behind you, there’s nothing but a brick wall and a couple of trashcans and dumpsters. If you’re quick enough, you might be able to make it over before being grabbed. It’s your best option at this point. You were taught to be light on your feet instead of fighting. If you had to, you could turn on your heel and get a few feet away before the men would even notice. 

  “Are you listening to me?!”

  The voice is louder this time. Angrier at your lack of response. Borrowed time is all you have left, so you better make your decision fast. You could tell even now that there’s no chance you’d be able to slip by under their legs and go back the way you came. Their forms are too big. You’d run into one just by default with the way they’re blocking out the light of the main street you just turned off of. It looks like you have no other choice than to climb the wall. Maybe whoever is on the other side is willing to call for help. Maybe they won’t. But your odds aren’t looking good right now, and you’re just racking your brain to find ways to make them better. 

  “I’m warning you!”

  What if you slowly start turning your foot now? No sudden movements so they won’t see, of course. What if you throw your dinner at their faces? If you go for the guy straight in the middle, you’ll have a better chance of distracting all three for half a second. If you’re lucky, you might even be able to hit one in the eye. That’s good, that’s good. You don’t know what type of beastmen they are, so it’s hard to tell what their strengths are. Worst case scenario, you could also throw your backpack to the ground. It’s a last-minute thought, but it’s big enough to be an obstacle on the ground. If it’s well placed, it could cause someone to trip. That gives you more time to work with. Not to mention, it makes your climb over the wall easier with a little less weight to worry about. Or, what if you-

  “THAT’S IT, KID! I’VE HAD IT WITH YOU.” A rage-filled roar disrupts your racing thoughts. It shakes the alleyway as his two friends join in with taunts of their own. Your feet feel glued to the floor. It feels like you did when you were younger. Scared of those who pushed you around and kicked you to the ground. But this is worse. Way, way worse. And now that you’re too afraid to move, you can only imagine just how bad it’s about to be for you. “C’MERE. OR I’M GONNA-”

  But for some reason…

  “Ah…so there you are, my young friend.”

  ….bad never came.

  ~~~

  When Mr. Pinga dropped you off on your roof a couple minutes after taking care of the guys in the alleyway and calling the cops, you expected him to pass on a few words to you. What you could have done differently next time. A scolding for making so many stupid decisions in a row. Or maybe just a “goodbye!” and a “see you the next time I’m in town and can teach you how to deal with the newest bully in the schoolyard that was trying to get their way with you. 

  What you didn’t expect was for him to wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tight as soon as his feet touched the ground. 

  “I’m very proud of you, you know?” He uttered just loud enough for you to hear over your own cries. You had tried desperately to keep yourself from breaking down into you go into the own safety of your own room, but the second his hand started to rub small circles into your back, it was over. Now you can’t imagine the mess of tears you’re getting on his fancy flight jacket. You can’t imagine what would happen if Mr. Pinga didn’t miraculously swoop by and save the day. You were just scared. So, so scared. “It takes a lot of bravery to stare down a situation like that and to remain calm.”

  You try to say thank you. You did- you really did try. But words fall off your clumsy tongue in a mess of a jumbled-up whimper, and you can’t help but cry harder. Your bag hurts your shoulders, and the bento you picked up for dinner is left by your feet as Mr. Pinga holds you tighter. It feels like a hug from your dad when you fell off a bike. Or an embrace from your mom when things don’t go your way despite working so hard. But this hurts in a way you never thought it would. 

  Maybe it’s because Mr. Pinga is the very stranger who caught you crying on your walk home from school over a year ago before deciding to take it upon himself to teach you how to be tough. Or maybe it’s because these last couple of times he came to visit you and your family, he was beyond impressed with all the stories of how you’ve been taking care of the trouble you would get yourself into. 

  “You did good, my young friend.”

  Or maybe it’s because for a second- for split, measly little scary second back there you thought that you would never know things like hugs ever again. 

  “You did better than I ever could.”

  So you cry harder, and you’re sure you’re disturbing your poor neighbors at this point. You hold onto him harder, and you’re sure you’ll leave strange marks on Mr. Pinga’s fancy flight jacket. And you squeeze your eyes shut harder, and you’re sure the heavy footsteps that are climbing the flight of stairs that lead up to your roof are the footsteps of your worried parents, wondering why you haven’t been answering your phone for the last hour despite your promise to send updates. And Mr. Pinga lets you. He lets you press your face into his chest and bury out anything and everything this time around. He lets you wallow in your fears and your sadness, and your anger. Because even if they weren’t the playground bullies you used to face day after day, you faced them all the same. And that’s all he can ask for as your mentor.

Shirou: I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. For what it's worth, I don't think Pinga can fight in that dress either.