Piko Piko Hammer Novels & Stories

Daisy Truman's childhood crush, Corey Sager, threatened to jump off a building on our wedding day. She ignored him and went ahead with our wedding. Daisy started to panic when he leaped off the building. From then onward, Daisy moved into a church and became a pious person everyone knew of. She aborted our baby and made me kneel in confession to repent for this so-called sin. I tried to escape, but she ordered my legs to be broken and even used my family to threaten me. I lived a life of misery and torture. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to my wedding day. This time, I would push her into Corey's arms. As for me, it was my turn to become the love that she lost.

For eight years, I stayed by John Harlem's side, even without a title. I was there when he recovered and rose from his wheelchair, and I was there when he clawed his way out of depression. I thought that one day, if I endured long enough, he would see my sincerity and affection for him. And we might end up together. But when his first love returned to the country, all my hopes turned into delusions. He told me to put away feelings I should never have had and remain by his side as nothing more than his "sister". For her, he deceived me, humiliated me, and pushed me away. What he never knew was that in helping him heal, I had absorbed far too much of his darkness. The very day he stopped taking his medication, I was diagnosed with severe depression. In order to save myself, I chose to let him go… and married his uncle instead. But at my wedding, he set aside his pride and dignity, dropped to his knees before everyone, and begged me for nothing more than a single glance.

Miles Wright's first love, Faith Green, announces that she's leaving the country on the day he's supposed to marry me. She claims he'll never see her again. He ignores her and continues with our wedding. Even later, when the plane crashes and leaves Faith's body mangled and broken, he merely says coldly, "It was written in her fate." Miles only reveals his true colors after he uses me to become Wright Group's CEO. He moves into a monastery under the guise of wanting to repent for his sins. He has a rosary with him at all times and turns into a man renowned in the city for his piousness and kindness. Meanwhile, he forces me to kneel before Faith's gravestone every night. He also makes me pray and chant for her in atonement. I climb up a long staircase every day so I can pray for her well-being. Finally, I'm tormented to the point of miscarriage, and I die on a snowy winter night. Fortunately, the heavens were kind enough to bring me back to my wedding day. This time, I'm not making the same mistake. If Miles, an illegitimate son, thinks he can use me as a stepping stone, he's wrong! He's not worthy of that!

My once best friend posted a photo on her social media account on the tenth anniversary of my marriage. In the photo, her daughter and my son were wrapped in my husband's and her arms. The caption said, 'The perfect pair.' I commented, 'Perfect indeed.' Soon, the post was deleted. The next day, my husband rushed home and asked me, "Sophie is finally recovering. Why are you provoking her?" My son even pushed me and accused me, "It's all your fault for making Tammy cry." I took out the divorce papers and threw them in their faces. "Well, it's my fault, so I quit your perfect family of four."

I took my in-laws to our place for Christmas without telling my wife. It was supposed to be a surprise, but the moment George, my father-in-law, stepped into the house, my wife's assistant shoved him. He crashed into the shoe cabinet and threw out his back. "Ms. Sampson's villa doesn't let homeless people in. I can't believe you're her father-in-law. Look at you. Even a homeless guy wears better than you." I told the maid to hold George, but the male assistant stopped me again. He even shoved my mother-in-law, Diane. "You think you own this place? That's Ms. Sampson's maid. It's enough she has to serve a leech like you. You don't get to make her serve your parents." The fury consumed Diane whole, and she had a heart attack. I called my wife and asked her to come to the hospital. Wendy Sampson, however, shrugged it off. Scoffing, she said, "Zack told me everything. I can't believe you brought your parents to my house! And you want me to see your mother? She's faking her heart attack! I know she is! I want them out of my house! So what if they die? Best Christmas gift I could ever hope for."

One accidentally crossed, and crossed the United States. Well, there's nothing wrong with crossing America. But who is that guy flying around with a hammer?! Hey ~ Who's there to control the thunderstorm! I didn't know this weather was bad for business...

On Independence Day, I was on my way to my boyfriend's house when a car slammed into me. The stretch of road was deserted. The collision jammed my door shut, and the acrid smell of gasoline filled the air. My car was about to explode. I scrambled for the emergency hammer, only to find it had been swapped out for a pink toy mallet. Panic rising in my chest, I dialed my boyfriend's number. To my horror, his ringtone sounded from the very car that had crashed into me. He stepped out, arm wrapped around his childhood sweetheart. She put on a pitiful face, tears in her eyes. "Oh no, I'm so clumsy. It's my first time driving, and I hit someone." When my boyfriend realized the victim was me, he didn't hesitate to console her. "Don't worry. She must have collided with you on purpose." I pounded on the window, desperate. "Nick! The emergency hammer's been switched out. Help me get out of here!" His childhood sweetheart lit up with a mischievous smile. "Katie, I swapped it! Isn't the pink hammer super cute?" Disgust flickered across Nick's face. "It's just a little crash. Get out on your own." By now, thick smoke was pouring into the car, and the heat was searing my lungs. I begged him to save me. But the girl only giggled, covering her nose in mock annoyance. "Katie, why are you cooking in there? The smoke is awful." Then she patted her stomach. "Oops, my tummy is rumbling. Nick, let's go home and eat." He tightened his hold around her and turned to leave. "Enough already. Stop pretending. My parents are waiting for us at home." Just as suffocation closed in on me, I slammed my hand against the car's emergency distress button.

"You're going to take it, aren't you, little lamb?" Dominic's voice is low, teasing, dark. A hand grips my throat, just enough to make me gasp, make my pulse hammer beneath his fingertips. I whimper as Dominic's fingers slide between my thighs, teasing, parting, finding me already soaked. "Fuck," he groans, rubbing slow, torturous circles over my clit. "She's dripping. You feel that, Ash?" My body trembles, caught between pleasure so intense it borders on pain. "Cum for us, little lamb," Dominic commands. **** Caught between two brothers... One my best friend, the other my deepest desire. Dominic was everything I dreamed of-hot, charming, and completely unattainable. Especially with a girl like Cassie already by his side. Then there was Ashton-my childhood best friend, my safe haven, the one who had always been there. But one reckless dare changed everything. The night I was dared to kiss the Alpha, marks the beginning of my ruin. And just when I thought things couldn't get more complicated, Ashton confessed his feelings for me. Now, I'm trapped between two brothers-one who's always been my heart, and one who might just break it. How do you choose between love and desire when both could destroy you?

My crippled sister, Monica Porter, jumped from the roof of the classroom building. The day before she died, she had just been fitted with the custom prosthetic legs I had paid for with ten years of savings. She was glowing, excited to finally stand up on her own. But my wife's best friend, a guy she said was just like a brother to her, locked Monica inside an empty art room. He smashed her new legs, forced her to crawl on the floor and lick paint clean to retrieve the broken parts, and recorded everything on video. And my wife, a judge, ultimately ruled that the case could not stand. "The video cannot confirm the time it was recorded and may represent consensual performance art between both parties," she said. Sandra Pauley's final judgment was simple. "The deceased had a history of depression. The school and the defendant bear no responsibility." I smiled and cooked her a full table of food. The next day, I hung the bully, Eric Hoyles, from the school's flagpole and livestreamed it to the entire internet. "Honey, remember how you said Monica had such pretty legs?" I raised a claw hammer and brought it down on his ankle. "If you don't hand over the video evidence right now, I'll hook out his Achilles tendon one strand at a time and let him learn what it feels like to crawl!" The wind passed through. His screaming broke apart in the air, mixing with the strained creaking of the flagpole until it sounded almost like music. The live chat went insane. Meanwhile, I laughed until my eyes filled with tears.

As the news broadcast reported a random serial killing near my residential complex, I knew—I had been reborn once again. In my first life, my husband insisted on going out in the middle of a snowstorm to buy weapons for self-defense. I locked every door and window, waiting at home, anxiety clawing at my chest. I never imagined the killer could pick locks. Before I could even react, a blade plunged into me, and I died on the couch. In my second life, I didn't hesitate. I hid in a concealed storage room, holding my breath. But the door was still pulled open. A man wearing a rabbit mask stared straight at me. "Found you," he said. In my third life, I ran to the police station. I rushed inside and told the officer on duty that the killings weren't random—that the murderer was coming for me. They looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Then my husband arrived in a hurry and took me away. But the moment we reached our front door, a heavy hammer smashed into the back of my head. Through the blinding pain, I forced my eyes open, but I never saw who killed me. Now, staring at the grave expression on the news anchor's face, agony surged through every inch of my body. Rebirth isn't a reset. The damage accumulates—and sooner or later, it will torture me to death. Without hesitation, I walked into the kitchen and set a pot of oil to heat. And I waited… for the moment the lock began to turn.