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the-ayakashi-in-me · 11 months

Text

If Spring is here, can Winter be far behind?

Summary:

"I may not be chosen by God. But I have been chosen by fate."

The disappearance of Crown Prince Satoru Gojo, all but leaves the Empire in disarray. With no one else fit to inherit the throne, Princess Shiyori Gojo must now take on the challenge of finding her brother and being the Emperor chosen by fate.

Starring: SatoSugu, Nanami x OC, Naoya x OC and practically everyone from JJK.

Genre: ANGST, isekai au, drama, fluff (eventually), and whatever genre you use to feed your delusions.

Warnings: JJK is a warning on its own, toxic relationships, violence, a little gore, probable eventual smut, MANGA SPOILERS, established relationship, ANGST, mental illness, characters might be a little OOC. (Lemme know if I've missed anything)

A/N: Some world-building before getting to the main plot. Hope this makes sense.

Series Masterlist:

Gloom

Doom

“Today we gather to celebrate the rise of our Empire’s next sentinel.”

High Priest Gagkuganji addressed the conglomeration of nobles who either scoffed or sighed. Every noble Lord and Lady gathered jumped at the opportunity to pass their judgment on this outrageous situation.

“The Empire is as good as dead.”

“I’ve begun to look for asylum outside.”

“His Majesty has gone senile.”

However, the issue that resounded the most was, “How could the founding clans let this happen?”

Many monarchs ago, the land that is now celebrated as the Akutami Empire, was fraught with war and disease. Sorcerers reigned supreme. With each sorcerer stronger than the next, the common people suffered lifetimes of misery. Back then sorcery was all about conquer or be conquered. One such sorcerer whose name has been wiped out from the annals of history, conquered not only the land of Akutami but also a small region adjacent to it. Today that small region goes by the name of the Gege Kingdom.

Amidst all the chaos arose, one particular entity, who was none other than Goddess Utahime herself. Though, at that time she was merely mortal. However, her actions were nothing short of divine. Through her kindness, she paved the way for peace. Through her sacrifice, she paved the way for hope. And through her acts of service, she showed the world what sorcery was really about. She protected the weak and supported the promising.

“Sorcery is not a blade, but the backbone for humanity.” With her conviction unfaltering, she singlehandedly vanquished, the devil-incarnate and sealed him away for eons to come. Finally, dawn broke on that unending night. But the people could not even cheer. How could they? For their beloved divinity stood their fading. Utahime had used every last ounce of her strength that her mortal body could offer.

“Why do you weep so?” her voice held a hint of mischief, even in her final moments. Often, the conduct of divinity is beyond that of mortal reasoning. “What you consider as sacrifice, is but an old habit of mine. And old habits die hard, I’m afraid.” by now she was just a mirage of what she used to be.

“My Lady, please use the life left in us and sustain yourself. It is far too early for you to leave this realm.”

“Yes, My Lady! We beg of you!”

“Do with our lives as you see fit.”

For a moment her smile faltered, then she heaved a heavy sigh. “Prostating yourselves to hide your tears. I must say, that is quite clever. As expected of you three.” The ones in question only seemed to fist the dirt harder and hole their heads further into the ground, while yes, silently mourning the loss of their illustrious mentor.

“My beloved Gojo, I trust you to pass on my discipline.”

“I-it shall be d-done My Lady.”

“My cherished Zen’in, I entrust you with my wisdom.”

“Y-yes My L-lady!”

“And my treasured Kamo, I have faith you will do justice with my grace.”

“A-as you w-wish My Lady!”

The distraught trio dared not look up still. Who could bear to watch the object of their devotion fade out of existence itself? Not them. But they could tell that she was not for long, with the distant calling of her voice.

“Fret not. How far could I possibly go from those close to my heart?” and with a final, mischievous chuckle the revered Utahime departed for the next realm.

Later, it was unanimously decided that Gojo would rise as the Emperor, for he was the one to serve the hallowed Utahime, the longest, while Zen’in and Kamo would serve as his Dukes. With Gojo at the head, and Zen’in and Kamo as the wings, the Akutami Empire soared from the ashes.

It was customary for a monarch to pay their respects to Utahime at their Coronation. Hence, it always ensued at the Temple, in the presence of all the Empire’s nobles. Utahime was a deity of conviction, she preached the power held within words. The words spoken out loud are said to strengthen their resolve and reinforce their faith. With time, this was called The Emperor’s Vow.

Today, Princess Shiyori, was to become the new Emperor. She stood in front of a displeased crowd, wearing a refitted dress and jewels that once belonged to her mother. It was customary for the new Emperor to be dressed in gold, along with all the medals of valour they had achieved in life.

However, Shiyori was the first woman to become Emperor, and through sheer ill-fate, at that. She had no medals or laurels to speak of. All she had was her mother’s gowns and jewels. “People will be dissatisfied no matter the circumstances. I’d rather put these to some good use,” she explained to the royal tailor when she refused to have a new dress made.

And she was right, they whispered behind her back. They whispered in front of her. They whispered as she walked down the aisle, towards the altar. They all eagerly whispered, yet none seemed to have the backbone to say it out loud. As she walked her somber expression turned into something far more dangerous. Once she reached the altar, she faced the crowd one final time. “I may not be chosen by God. But, I have been chosen by fate.” indifference dripped from her voice.

High Priest Gakuganji quickly concealed the smug smile that had crept up on him. He took a breath, “Let us commence the Coronation. Princess you may take the vow.” Princess Shiyori turned around and knelt before the altar. She lowered her head before Utahime and silently asked her to watch over her brother, wherever he was. She vowed to step up and become the Emperor her people needed, just as long as Satoru would come back home.

“In times of joy, in times of war,

The vile and wicked, beware my roar.

To protect our empire, as before,

By my hand, justice shall be restored.”

She was met with deafening silence. She expected it, but it still hurt more than she thought it would. A vow unacknowledged is as good as an empty promise. A vow can only exist between two or more people. If no one in this chapel spoke up to acknowledge the vow, Shiyori would be unable to ascend the throne. And that would only cause more problems. She clutched her mother’s golden silk gown, her knuckles turning white. Was there truly no one who had even a little faith in her”

“Such is as our Saviour Utahime foretold!”

Three very distinct voices resounded within the chapel. Shiyori let out a shaky breath. “With the vow acknowledged in Our Lady Utahime’s presence, this marks the inception of Emperor Shiyori Gojo. Long live the King!” with that High Priest Gakuganji placed the ornate crown on Shiyori’s head.

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the-ayakashi-in-me · 11 months

Text

If Spring is here, can Winter be far behind?

Summary:

"I may not be chosen by God. But I have been chosen by fate."

Starring: SatoSugu, Nanami x OC, Naoya x OC and practically everyone from JJK.

Genre: ANGST, isekai au, drama, fluff (eventually), and whatever genre you use to feed your delusions.

A/N: Did I just re-emerge outta nowhere? Kinda. Did I finish my previous series? No. Will that stop me from starting a new one? Also no. Anyway, welcome to my new series, which is basically my delulu isekai version of JJK where everyone is happy and more importantly ALIVE. As always constructive criticism is always welcome. And reblogs are highly appreciated.

Series Masterlist:

Gloom

Yuta wondered if this was a funeral. Because it certainly didn’t feel like a coronation. What else could it be? In the empire’s defence, the citizens were all in mourning. The loss of their beloved Crown Prince had come as too much of a shock. No one could have ever foretold, that the preeminent Satoru Gojo would just altogether cease to exist one day.

After all, he was the child of prophecy, the child of magnitude; that sanctified the Akutami Empire by just being born. The one, Goddess Utahime herself had endowed with greatness—the one drowning in quintessence.

Naturally, next to him, Princess Shiyori paled in comparison without a doubt. She had no unique gifts, no particular talents, no extraordinarity. Worst of all, she was a woman. The only thing she had going on for her, was that she was born into royalty. However, that too, along with everything else was attributed to her impartial luck.

When someone like that, was suddenly proclaimed the next Emperor, anguish and opposition were all but expected. The whole kingdom was in protest. “She’s not strong enough. She’s not tall enough. She’s not man enough.”

Yuta gracefully rolled his princely eyes. Of course, she wasn’t man enough. She was a woman, after all. And she was the most resilient woman, he had ever known. It was stupid, selfish and rude to expect her to be a man. But, how and where do you even begin to explain these sentiments to this brainwashed crowd? You can’t, simply because they won’t listen.

But, Yuta wasn’t here for that today. He wasn’t here to sway the hearts of his people. He was here for his sister. This was her coronation now, her ascension. Yes, this coronation was meant for the Crown Prince, his questionably beloved teacher. But the Crown Prince was not around and someone must ascend the throne today.

Princess Shiyori, with tear-stained eyes, had pleaded with him to take on the role. “Even if you are an illegitimate child, our people will always have far more faith in you, than they will in me.”

Yuta didn’t remember much that had transpired that day, after all the whole kingdom was set a buzz with the disappearance of the Crown Prince. He too had been a part of the search party. The tremendous exhaustion and anguish of losing someone precious had him reeling on his own two feet.

However, even in that state, his conviction did not falter. “Yes. I know. But…I’m sorry Shiyori. I cannot bring myself to do it.”, and that tore down the walls he so carefully built while growing up in the palace. That day, he wept over the loss of a brother, a mentor and a friend. He wept over his incompetence, his disappointment, his selfishness, for it only burdened his venerated sister. That day he wept till he could weep no more, all the while, Princess Shiyori held him together in her gentle and warm embrace.

“I’m sorry I asked you to do something so arduous. I won’t ask again.”

“No…I’m sorry for putting you in a quandary.”

That day, Yuta mourned a lot of things. But not even for a moment did he grieve over the fate of the empire. After watching that kind smile spread over her face that day, he knew the empire was in good hands. For he knew, Shiyori Gojo was far more capable than he and him combined.

Fifty-seven years. That’s how long High Priest Gakuganji had been in service of the great Utahime. All this time, and yet he was farther than ever, in comprehending the divine. He had previously crowned two monarchs. Today he was supposed to crown the Crown Prince. But, “Utahime works in mysterious ways, your Majesty.” he attempted to console the previous Emperor.

However, there is little that can console a father mourning the loss of his oldest child. Not that he was the best father. No, he’d been too selfish for that. But he was always proud of his children.

He was proud of Satoru, he had every chance to become like his father, but he didn’t. Every day he lived up to all the lofty standards the prophecy had burdened him with. He reigned victorious in the War of A Hundred Demons. He even took his illegitimate brother under his wing. He was the empire’s hero, his ancestors’ pride.

He was also proud of Yuta. Yes, his mother came from a humble background. And yes, he suffered an unsurmountable amount of grief at a very young age. However, once he was able to overcome that, he fit right in the palace. Honestly, when it came to royal etiquette, he left Satoru far behind. Truth, be told, the empire would be far from distraught if he were to become the Emperor. But, Yuta never wanted the throne. He was happy being appointed as the Viscount of Okkotsu.

And Shiyori, he was proud of her too, wasn't he? Satoru was eight when Shiyori was born. She was frail since birth. Born under a Heavenly Pact, her cursed mana was insanely high, however, as is with most pacts, her weak body wasn’t built to handle the power. She nearly died when she was ten, the first and last time she used her power. After that incident, both he and Satoru forbade her from using cursed mana. So she didn’t, she was home-schooled. To top it all she suffered from chronic respiratory illness.

His majesty heaved a heavy sigh. No, he couldn’t remember a single instance where he was proud of his daughter. He was always worried, always apprehensive when it came to his middle child. Shiyori could topple over with a strong breeze, and yet (despite the two sturdy ones he had), Utahime deemed this child to be fit for the throne? Well, he could now empathize with his citizens.

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the-ayakashi-in-me · 2 years

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─ The two of you have argued before, there was nothing new or strange about it. Sometimes, though not very often, you'd get upset at something he had said or done. He’d act without thinking, or speak without consideration; words sharpened by negligence, actions spurred on without thought.

Like a wheel that is fated to see no end, spinning and turning on its axis — over and over, again and again — you watch the cycle of anger unfold. He’d drag a hand across his face and tell you to stop overreacting. You’d get irritated and he’d change his tone with you. Lower. Stricter. Harsher.

“This was nothing” or “That didn’t mean anything,” — “You’re overthinking,” he’d say.

And though it was a vicious cycle, patient and damning, you’d learned to adapt to its maliciousness; to the parts of it that drew out the worst in you. You’ve molded yourself to its shape and tried to understand where it stemmed from. Twisting and turning, pulling and pushing — the worst parts of him met the miserable parts of you.

You tried. You really did try.

But the carelessness in which he'd started to approach said arguments was new, and his dismissive manner was starting to thin your patience.

He ignores you as you walk behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the heels you’d worn for the night.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” You plead with him as he stops abruptly at the penthouse door, shoving the key into the slot aggressively. You were getting tired of arguing about the same thing — worn out from having to bring it up so often. Why wouldn’t he listen? Why did he refuse to understand?

The door had just barely closed behind you, when he turns around, slamming the wall beside your head with a heavy hand.

“Enough.”

Ran’s eyes are filled with fury and impatience as he stares down at you. A terrible rage fills his lavender hues and you hesitate. There was no room for your anger in this house. No room for you when he was so domineering and present. He’s never been this loud with you — has never been so upset or mean. His tone startles you.

And though you’ve argued before, though you’ve disagreed at times, you find that you don’t know how to deal with his anger — anger that has never been directed towards you to this extent. You just don’t know.

It’s unsettling. There's a hole in your chest that is torn open, a passiveness settling inside.

You’re upset that he has consistently brushed you and your concerns off to the side. You’re upset that your worry had been interpreted as childish jealousy. You’re upset that the only time he had decided to take you seriously was to yell at you — to shut you up.

He runs a hand through his hair as he pulls back and heads to the kitchen, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it onto the couch. He leans against the counter and lights a cigarette in an attempt to calm his nerves.

He'd expected you to start crying — half expected you to apologize even. You never liked fighting with him. He was never one to blow any argument out of proportion either. But this — this had to stop. No matter how many times he’d dismissed it, no matter how many times he’d told you not to worry about it, you still brought her up. Enough was enough. He looks up at you briefly, eyes flickering towards you as he exhales.

There's a blank look in your eyes, a fragmentation he couldn’t understand. It felt as though you were looking through him. The parts of you that sought to intertwine with him and understand — that hollowed themselves out to make room for him — they fall back in defeat.

Your eyes aren't glassy; they don’t even sparkle.

He clenches his jaw and looks away. Guilt and haunt reach for his throat, as he shakily exhales the smoke.

You turn around, hand reaching for the wall as you bend to unclasp your heels. The right shoe comes off first. The left one follows after. He watches as you walk away with the shoes in your hand, fingers threading through the straps.

You don't say a word. He doesn't hear you make a sound.

The cold air of the restroom makes you aware of the slight wetness on your cheek. You stare at your reflection and you can’t help but wonder if the woman in the mirror was in the wrong. Were her feelings misguided by insecurity? Was her envy so green and her thoughts so vile? You tell her not to worry; that it’ll all be alright. You stare at your bruised toes as you fidget and sigh. You don’t even have it in you to cry.

You spend time with the other woman, washing away her fury; cleaning her anguish. Her breathing has steadied and she watches you from beyond the mirror as you wipe at your face, baring yourself to her. She’s satisfied and you turn your back on her temporary satisfaction, slipping into a loose dress and finding your place on the bed.

He hasn’t bothered to come check up on you. To apologize to you.

You push her nagging voice out of your head, stretching your legs out and picking up your phone instead. You scroll mindlessly for a minute or so before you decide to call a friend. It’ll help distract you, you think. You’ll call your dearest friend and she’ll make you laugh. You’ll laugh and you’ll smile and the filth encompassing your heart will wither away at your joy.

Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what you’ll do.

“Hello?” She says.

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

Silence from your end.

A minute. Then two.

“Ah, I get it. Do you want me to pick you up? We can go eat somewhere.”

“Yes, please.” You aren’t hungry at all. She knows that too.

“Give me 20 minutes, I’m finishing up a shift right now.”

“Okay.”

More silence, this time from her end. Another minute. Another two.

“Did he…he didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shake your head, the rustling making its way over to her end.

“No, never. Not physically at least.” You try to smile, but the other woman insists on tugging at the corners of your mouth, pulling them down.

‘Break,' she says. ‘Break and ruin,' she wants to scream.

You hear a dramatized sigh of relief through the phone.

“Ah, thank God. That bastard scares the shit out of me, honestly. But I’ll kill him if he ever lays a hand on you, you know that, don’t you?”

You laugh and she smiles.

“He wouldn’t, I promise. He isn’t so bad.”

“You’re not seriously defending him right now, are you?”

You find it in you to laugh a little harder. She bids you a temporary farewell and you feel a little lighter. This is okay. It'd be okay if you both took a break…if you were separated from one another for a little — just until you were both able to calm down and think things through.

You stand and rummage through your nightstand, putting a few things in the nearest tote bag and pulling it up over your shoulder. A light cardigan is folded over your arms as you quietly leave the bedroom. Ran is still in the kitchen, leaning over the island as he wipes a hand over his face. There's a glass of water beside him. You think he's trying to sober up, even though he didn't drink much at all.

He looks up at the sound of your feet against the tile and his eyes soften at the sight of you. He’d been waiting for you to come out of the room, not wanting to push you too far. Still, you won't meet his gaze.

It’s then that his line of sight falls to the bag on your shoulder. Panic fills the emptiness he’d been left with since you’d walked away.

"What're you…No, wait a second. Hold on —"

He rounds the corner and slowly approaches you.

"Wait, we can talk about this."

Your brows furrow as you slip on your shoes, voice soft as you respond.

"You said you didn't want to anymore."

Defeat, he thinks. Defeat is what laces your tone…like you’ve given up on him. On you and him.

"No,” He shakes his head as he steps a little closer to you. “We can talk about it. Let's talk about it, baby."

His eyes are trying to read you in a panicked frenzy, but still, you won't look at him. You take a step back, grip tightening on the strap of your bag.

“I think,” you bite your lip, brows furrowing as you try to find the right words. “I think it's best if I spend the night somewhere else."

“Fuck no.”

You hold a hand out, a weak attempt at stopping him from getting any closer. He steps forward. You step back. He reaches out for you and you deny him.

“Come on, love. Please.”

What you say next comes out of you so quietly — so dismissively — had he not been so close to you, he might’ve missed it. You find it in you to finally meet his gaze as you utter the word.

"Enough."

His karma comes in the form of six letters — the ones he’d spat at you so harshly less than an hour ago. But you’re still kind, even now. How quietly the word tumbled from your lips, how beautiful you were in all your anguish. His karma grins at his misery, and rejoices at his self-induced tragedy.

"Please," he begs.

How pitiful. How cruel.

He grips your wrist when you turn to open the door, caging you in between his arms.

"Don't," he pleads.

You try to turn in his arms, tugging at his rolled-up sleeves, nails scratching at tattooed skin. His biceps flex as he holds you to him tighter. Closer. Don’t go. Don’t leave. You feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you — the racing of his heart as he holds you against him. You sigh, deciding to ease his mind.

"I’ll come back, Ran. Just one night.”

"No, no. Don't walk out on me."

He shakes his head at the thought, in misery and denial at its implication.

“I'm sorry."

He apologizes and you freeze in his hold, fingers stilling against his forearms.

“I'm sorry," He says again. "I won’t raise my voice at you again. I'll never talk to her again. Won't even look at her, baby. I’ll cut all ties right now. Please just don’t go."

He keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches for his back pocket, pulling his phone out in the process. You blink, watching as he brings the device over to you, his fingers unlocking the screen as he looks over your shoulder, chin propped against you. You watch as he removes her from his Facebook. You watch as he blocks her on Instagram. You watch as he goes to delete her number. It’s then that you start to cry. You cry so hard, your shoulders tremble and your hands shake. You cry and you cry until you're overcome with the urge to vomit.

“Don’t cry, love. Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

How did he let it get this bad? To ignore the pleas and worries of the one that gave him reason and meaning for the sake of maintaining a business relationship he didn’t give a shit about ─ To brush your pain off for the sake of an organization that only brought him misery...The twisted cynicism was almost laughable. Over and over, you'd asked him to listen to you. And over and over, he’d dismissed you.

It's his fault. It's all his fault.

No one else but him.

His arms fall to his sides and he stands there, watching you.

You wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. His hands tremble as you step back.

"All I asked was for you to establish clear boundaries with her."

Your hands shake as you point an accusatory finger at him. Your breathing falters, salty tears meeting your tongue as you try to find your words.

The other woman licks at your wounds. 'Destroy him,' she says. ‘Leave him,’ she whispers. You dig your nails into the skin of your palm at the violence of her words.

"But you made me seem like I was crazy for wanting that."

His eyes widen as he stares at you.

No longer covered in the green of her envy and guilt, she lines you with her red. You become one with your sorrow and fury.

"Why couldn't you establish one simple boundary until I was about to walk out? What kind of girlfriend is supposed to be okay with seeing another woman press herself up against her boyfriend?"

You quiet for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and his heart breaks at the sight of your stuttered breathing and tear-stained face.

"Cutting her off means nothing. Not when you brushed me off every time I brought it up.”

“Love ─,”

You cut him off, mumbling to yourself as you pick at the skin of your nails.

"God forbid someone even looks my way. But with you —" you snort and it's void of any emotion.

His face darkens at that.

"Watch your mouth," He steps closer.

You look away.

Lithe fingers grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him — into his eyes. Eyes that only desire you, that only love and lust after you. You, you, you. Always you. Only you.

She was nothing more than an old Bonten business partner, but you? You were everything.

He presses his lips to yours. Neither of you wavers in closing your eyes, the haziness of his own meeting with the anger in your irises, but he kisses you anyway. He kisses you and he kisses you. You don't kiss back.

The bag slips off your shoulder and you move to lift it back up. He refuses to let go of your jaw, lips moving against yours as he speaks.

"I love you."

"Liar," you whisper against him.

He groans and kisses you harder.

"God, I love you."

You shake your head in his grip but his hands are firm, squeezing your cheeks lightly, forcing your lips into a subtle pout.

"Get this shit off already." He pulls your bag down to the floor and throws you over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

“Yeah? Where exactly were you gonna go?” He squeezes your hip as he walks towards the bedroom. He knows the answer, knows you would’ve been safe had you actually left. You might have smiled more tonight had he let you go with your friend; might’ve been spared of the tears you’d shed instead. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let you go.

You rub at your eyes in exhaustion.

“I’m not sleeping beside you. I don’t want you.”

He smacks your ass harshly before sliding a palm beneath your slip, stroking the skin gently.

"You're a liar, baby."

Please be lying, baby.

You grip his shirt to keep from falling.

"I hate you,” You whisper out.

He tightens his hold on your waist.

"No, you don't, princess."

His voice is low, strained. He prays you don’t hear the tremble in his tone.

He sits you down onto the bed, kneeling before you on the floor. You go to pull your legs up but he stops you, palms gripping your ankles as he places his forehead onto your knees.

“Don’t leave me.”

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the humidifier he’d forgotten to turn off before the two of you left. It’s a steady sound — soothing in its own right. You don’t say anything as his fingers rub at your calves, as he nuzzles his face into your skin.

"I’ll do anything.”

You’re stunned into a deeper silence, staring down at him in shock. It’s laughable really, how terrifying he is to others. Tall and threatening, dark eyes and a prideful smile — the Bonten executive’s standing was respected by most. Feared by all.

And here he is, kneeling before his girlfriend, begging her to stay.

You bring a hand down to brush through lavender strands, releasing a shaky breath, as you play with his hair. You speak and your voice is soft, not disturbing the still air around you. He freezes, listening intently.

“She’s in love with you.”

He can’t help the slight sound of indignation that he lets out.

“No, she’s not. She’s just-”

“Just a business partner. I know.”

There’s a tremble to his hands as he leans forward on his knees, hiding his face in your lap as he grips your waist tight.

“I’ll talk to the rest of the executives tomorrow, we’ll find someone else to ─”

You shake your head.

“That’s not what I’m asking from you.”

He looks up at you in confusion, fingers tight against your hips.

“Then what?”

“I can’t —” You whimper and his heart breaks. “I can’t be with you if she’s going to disrespect me like that, if you’re going to let her disrespect me like that, every time we see her.”

He watches you with a certain softness in his eyes as he climbs up onto the bed beside you.

“What’re you talking about, baby?”

“Is it okay for her to touch you like that? You’re okay with that?”

You pull away from him, folding your legs up to the side as you pick at a piece of lint on the comforter.

He hadn’t thought much of it. The woman in question had been a long-time Bonten business partner, she’d known most of the executives for a decade. Her behaviors and antics, they were all used to it by now, aware that they had to put up with it to build a false sense of trust, to lul her company into an aura of security. Of all the execs to take a liking to, she’d chosen your boyfriend. Expensive nails that didn't belong to you were often wrapped around his bicep during events, and you’d watched off to the side ─ hoping, wishing that he’d say something. Anything.

But nothing ever came out. Nothing was ever said.

And you’d taken the brunt of it. Time and time again.

“I can’t ruin Bonten’s relationship with her,” He had said once, the first time you ever brought it up. “Her company is a pivotal part of our projects.”

Watching her wipe the wine stain from his lips tonight, with you seated right beside him ─ it made you wonder how far she’d gone when you weren’t around. How far she was willing to go? How far would he let her go?

You look away at the thought. The light catches onto your tear stained cheeks and he hates himself.

He furrows his brows as he stares at the pattern you were making on the comforter, the trail your fingers created and left behind. He eyes the bruised skin of your cuticles and the chipped paint of your nails — a telltale sign of your anxiety. How had he missed that? He eyes the missing ring on your right hand and his breath hitches. When had you taken that off?

He feels sick. He’d noticed that you’d declined to go with him to Bonten events as of late. You stopped attending, telling him you were too tired. Too busy. “Another time,” you’d say. “Another time,” he’d smile and agree, kissing your forehead before he made his way out and left you alone.

You’d lied to him to keep from arguing about this anymore, to keep yourself from doubting him. You’d lied and he’d fallen for it — thinking nothing strange of your behavior. And when you’d finally given in, deciding that you missed your boyfriend and that it was well within your right to go out to dinner with him — you had to sit and watch idly as she sat on the other side of him. On this cruel and unforgiving evening, you’d watched as she touched him and stared at him. You’d listened as suggestive jokes were exchanged and loud laughter was thrown across the table. You'd watched with a quiet that only the broken could understand. He’s a fool for not pulling your hand back into his once you’d pulled it out — an idiot for not following after you when you’d excused yourself to go to the restroom. He’s a moron for not seeing the hurt that you were in and the knives that dragged through your skin as he turned a blind eye.

Cold metal is pressed to your skin and you shiver at the feeling of his rings against your cheek. His eyes carry a sadness you don’t recognize.

“You’re my woman. You.”

“Then act like it.”

You move to your side of the bed, turning off your light as you send your friend a text. You’ll explain everything when you see her, you say. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.’

—

You sleep with your back facing him that night. Ran can’t find it in him to sleep at all. He’s scared, terrified that you’ll try to leave in the middle of the night — that you’ll leave just as wordlessly as you let your pain settle into your bones, and that he wouldn’t notice again.

He’d been too careless with you recently. Too comfortable and neglectful.

You turn in your sleep, unconsciously facing him, and he leans up on his arm to watch you. Carefully, gently, he lifts your hand up to meet his lips. Soft kisses are pressed to your knuckles and cuticles, to your palm and wrist.

You don’t stir.

He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead before it becomes too much for him. He’s overwhelmed and it hurts. It hurts to know that you hurt, and it hurts to know that you hurt because of him.

Ran sits up and heads over to the living room, closing the door behind him quietly.

He leans his head back against the couch, arm coming up to cover his eyes. A part of him thinks it’s ridiculous for a man of his power and standing to get worked up over his girlfriend like this. The other part of him doesn’t understand. He’d never been one for long-term relationships. Commitment had never been the issue either. They were just too much. Too much to deal with, too much work to be done — to care and to have to care, to trust, and to be trusted. It was all too much. He never bothered with the matter in its entirety.

But then he met you. And he’d asked you to stay. So you did.

Caring came naturally to him then. Loving was even easier.

He sits alone in this dark room and thinks about you and him. He thinks and he hurts, and he's reminded of the words Sanzu had thrown at him last night. Ran is more than ashamed.

—

“You’re losing her.”

“What’re you on about?” He had said, lighting his coworkers cigarette before leaning back to light his own.

Sanzu had gestured to where you were standing, away from the crowd. You had an arm loosely wrapped around the street pole as you watched the Tokyo night traffic, waiting for your boyfriend to take you home.

“She doesn’t look too happy.”

He frowns at Sanzu’s words, irritated by his comment. For an outsider to speak on his relationship with you, for another man to act like he could read you (and for him to be right about it too), Ran’s blood boils as he crushes the cigarette between his foot. He'd turned to look at you then, at the blank look on your face, wondering briefly just how much you kept to yourself. You had smiled weakly when he took your hand and led you to the garage. You said nothing else for the rest of the car ride. Until he prodded at you. Until it was too much for you to ignore. Until you came to the conclusion that should he want any other woman, you’d rather he let go of you first. Let me go, let me go, let me go. If I’m not enough, please let me go.

He’d gotten pissed at you for that and had sped up his walking once the two of you got out of the car. The front desk personnel lowered their gazes as the two of you walked into the building, and you had quieted down out of respect for your relationship.

─

His stomach churns and he soaks in his self-hatred. You could've reassured her. Could've held her hand a little tighter, could've kissed her a little longer. You fool. He hopes it isn’t too late. He groans and leans forward, running his hands through his hair aggressively as he covers his face with his palms.

He’s too in his own head to notice that you’d woken up — that you’d been standing nervously at the end of the hallway, watching him. He lets out a choked sound and your heart falls victim to his silent pleas. You make your way to him, silently asking to be let into his arms and onto his lap. He startles but quickly makes room for you, staring at you with wide eyes as you place yourself onto his thighs, settling against his chest.

Loving arms wrap around his neck as you turn your face to his chest. Undeserving palms stroke your back, pulling you in by the waist, ever closer.

“I’m sorry.”

He stares down at you in shock at the words you’d chosen to utter.

“What? What’re you –?”

You look at him and the darkness accompanying his eyes ─ at the lilac hues rimmed with red and purple, and subtle traces of blue as his veins surface beneath his skin. He was tired. So tired. Fragile fingers stroke his cheek, finding their way to the fine lines around his mouth. His stubble pricks your palm as he nuzzles his face into your skin. It's fascinating to watch a man of his stature — a man of his strength and power — fall weak to your touch. He wonders if you knew that he’d give up all that he was for a chance at forever with you. The money didn’t mean shit and his position was for naught if it meant you were hurt — if it meant you would leave. ‘If you leave, take me with you,’ his core wants to cry out. His arms wrap around you tighter as he hides his face in your neck and you blink in surprise.

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?”

Your hands find the hairs at the back of his neck, twisting the black and lavender strands, tugging them gently beneath your fingers.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

He freezes. Your voice muffles against his hold.

“I know you have obligations. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Or worse, you want to say. I don’t want to get you killed over something so…

You shake your head at the thought.

Even now, you’re still thinking of him? Even now, you’re putting him before you? He thinks it’d be fitting if he were to dig through the earth and call out to the devil himself. With bloody fingers and a dirty face, he’d call out and he’d say, ‘Come get me, come take me. This woman is too good for me.’

“I love you, I trust you. I won’t bring it up anymore.”

You press a kiss to his throat, directly onto his tattoo, before you wrap your arms tighter around his neck, broad shoulders comforting you. He falls in love with you all over again. He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around your waist while the other trails up and down your thigh.

“Baby.”

You hum in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue.

He pries you off of him, gently setting you down in his place on the couch while you look at him in confusion. You settle into the warmth of where his body once was, watching him curiously.

Ran kneels before you for the second time that night. His head is bowed slightly and his palms are flat against the cotton of his pants

“This is all on me. Not you. I’m sorry, love.”

“Ran, get up.”

You sit up, anxiously reaching for his arms but he shakes his head.

“Please just listen." He swallows, gaze fixed on the ground. "I’m a real shit boyfriend. Put you through so much shit you shouldn’t have to deal with. I know you deserve better.”

So much better.

“But I love you. I need you. I’m selfish and fucked, but I need you. ”

You tilt your head at him as your lip quivers. His shoulders tremble slightly and you reach for his cheeks, hands on either side of his face as you lean forward.

You kiss him then, for the first time all night. A languid kiss. ‘Feel all of me,’ it says. ‘Feel what you do to me.’ His brows furrow as he squeezes the skin of your thighs. You whimper against him and he smiles against your mouth, teeth touching, bones aching.

He pulls you off of the couch by the waist and onto his lap as he embraces you. The two of you find refuge in the floor of the apartment.

You stay on top, seated right on his hips as your tongue meets his. He bites the column of your throat and you tilt your head back in need, giving him access to the skin he wanted to mark.

“I belong to you,” he whispers against your skin. You sigh, fingers in his hair as he kisses and bites, as he licks and whines. He reaches for the palm you had spread against his jaw, moving it to his hips.

“Ah, fuck.”

He groans in your ear at the feeling of your skin against his, at the raw affection exchanged between the two of you. He missed you, he missed you — he doesn’t deserve you. You snap his train of thought in two as you slip your hand into his pants, watching the rise and fall of his sternum. You trail your eyes back to his face and find that he’s already staring at you. One arm reaches back for the collar of his shirt, and you fixate on the flex of his bicep as he tugs it off to reveal his chest.

“My woman,” he grunts.

You nod distractedly, cheeks heating up at the intimacy. Something in him snaps when you slip the straps of your night dress off, lifting the hem to expose your underwear to him.

“Shit, you’re —” He cuts himself off to slip the flimsy cloth to the side. You stroke him as he prods into you, moaning into each other's mouths, staring at each other with desperate eyes. Love and lust and need and want. He wants to fill you with all the words he couldn’t properly say. Again and again, he'd find you. Should he be damned to a fate where you aren't beside him, he'd spend forever looking for you ─ for the home he'd found within you. Never again would he let it get this bad. Never again will he make you feel unwanted or unloved.

“So fuckin’ beautiful.”

He kisses your chest, words vibrating against the skin as he speaks.

“I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” you cry out as he touches you deeper, rubs at you faster.

“Real shitty guy, aren’t I?” He lets out a strained laugh as your hand falters against him. “Not good for you, am I?”

You shake your head, eyes shut tight as a familiar feeling washes over you.

“I – oh,” You cry out, unable to finish your sentence as you collapse in his arms. “I love you. Please, please.”

“Please what, baby? What is it?”

He lays you down, hovering over you as he bites at your lower lip, appreciating the curve and swell.

You spread your legs and he swears.

“Please.”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah. Anything for you.”

He can’t find it in him to strip you completely. You don’t care enough that his pants are still somewhat on. But with each snap of his hips, he finds you and you find him.

He’s a sorry excuse of a person, a vindictive, hurtful soul. A damaged man with the world at his feet and his heart in your hands. He’d handed it to you himself with a hammer in tow. Should he ever go too far — crush his very spirit and rid of him of whatever is left of his soul.

But he knew. He knew that he’d be forced to sit and watch as you tenderly held the flesh. He’d sit with his legs crossed and his cheek in his palm, watching as you soothed the erratic pulsing.

‘What about the dark spots?’ He had wondered. ‘The filth and the corrupted gloom. How will she handle that? Will she throw them out? Look at them in disgust and try to change them?’

(He receives his answer time and time again — answered over and over by the one person who didn’t realize they were even being questioned.)

He'd watched as you held his heart, with all of its twisted calamities, and placed it right against yours — as if it wasn't stained, as if it wouldn't taint you for as long as you stood. And for the first time in a long, long time, Ran Haitani had resisted the urge to cry.

—

He doesn’t let you go as you try to get up from off the floor.

“I didn’t pull out,” He mumbles. “That’s my bad.”

“I know,” You whisper back, into the darkness of the room.

“Are you baby trapping me?” He lifts an eyebrow, cracking one eye open as he grins at you.

“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me go, perv.”

You flick his forehead and he laughs beside you lazily. The two of you are eye to eye and a complete mess at that.

“I need to go clean up,” you say when he shoots his hand out to your wrist to stop you from standing.

“No, I want to go again.”

“You’ll fall asleep midway.”

He grins and you laugh.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” There’s still a hint of a smile on your face as you pull your gown back into place.

“Tonight…” he turns to face you, eyes heavy with sleep. “I won’t let that happen again.”

You don’t look at him as you fiddle with the straps, tugging at them till they seem somewhat right.

“Look at me.”

He sits and tilts your chin towards him. Hesitance. Worry. (And though you’ve forgiven him, there’s still pain in your eyes.)

“I was in the wrong, and I hurt you for a long time. It won’t happen again.”

You stare back into his eyes — into the aftermath of your apocalypse. You want to tuck him into your ribs, to cage him in and hold him tight. And though he was older and had lived a life that had picked him apart more times than he could count, you don’t think you have it in you to surrender him to the darkness. Your naivety has you following after him eagerly — no matter where he takes you, no matter where you go. You’d pick up the parts he threw out on the way, and you’d ease yourself into the emptiness of his soul. You’d placate his hunger for love and give him a place to belong.

He stares at you, anxiously waiting for a response. All you can do is nod.

He sighs in relief. You kiss his nose softly before you stand, giggling as he groans at your insistence on leaving the confines of his arms. He lays back down as you steady yourself, eyeing your hips before he reaches up to lift the hem of your nightgown, whistling when he eyes the damage he’d done.

“Nasty old man.”

He laughs and it’s full of life – filled with love and joy and you.

“You're into nasty old guys?”

You laugh as you walk away, turning to look at him as he grins at you.

“Just this one.”

He groans as he gets up, long legs chasing after you as you run away. It’s late, much later than he ever liked to stay up. But he’s home. He’s in your arms as he lets you fall back onto the bed, rejoicing in your laughter as he attacks your stomach with sporadic kisses. You’re here, and he’s home.

You lay on your side, holding him to you, as he nods off against your chest. A tattooed arm is thrown over your waist while the other falls slack near your thigh. The pain of the night lingers idly, wondering what will become of itself. You’ve killed the envy inside you, held hands with the fragility of the red woman that had insisted on coming out of you.

Ran Haitani is a large man, not small by any means. But underneath the prying moonlight, you think he looks vulnerable. Men of hurt will only know hurt, while the good of the world remains a foreign entity. He’s lucky, in that sense. There is a woman to hold him as he sleeps, a woman he trusts enough to fall victim to. And if he came home to you covered in blood from head to toe, covered in the sin of the world, baring the weight of their tragedy, he’d stare at you and say “Disgusting, isn’t it?” And he’d watch you shake your head, ‘No’.

“It isn’t so bad.”

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the-ayakashi-in-me · 2 years

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Reblog or your mom will die in 928 seconds.

I love my mom.

I am risking nothing

I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY

Will not risk.

sorry followers :(

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the-ayakashi-in-me · 2 years

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III.THOUGHTLESS

•Starring: Manjiro "Mikey" Sano x Vanya "Annie" Tatsugami (OC).

•Genre: Angst with a happy ending, so there might be some fluff here and there.

•Warnings: Toxic relationship, violence, mentions of weapons, blood, drugs, a little gore, probable eventual smut, MANGA SPOILERS, established relationship, ANGST, mental illness. (Lemme know if I've missed anything)

•A/N: Welcome to part 3!! And our girl did it!

Series Masterlist:

Loveless

Helpless

Thoughtless

Hopeless

Faithless

“Look, if you want to conjure up some demon spawn from the great beyond, that’s all fine and dandy. Just wait for me to leave before you start.”

“Oh come now Oni-chan, this will bring good luck.”

“Butchering a tuna sandwich, horizontally down the middle and scribbling Yokohama on it with ketchup, is absolutely diabolical.”

“No, horizontally cut sandwiches with cute ketchup texts bring good luck. Who doesn’t know that?”

“Literally no one, Sanzu.”

The perpetrator simply shrugged his broad shoulders and took a huge bite out of his sandwich doused in ketchup. Tonight was a big night, Mikey was going to make history, and he was damn well going to do everything in his power to help Mikey make that history.

Ran, however, was a lot less determined than Sanzu. Rindou, Kokonoi and Takeomi had done most of the heavy lifting. They had laid out all the groundwork in advance. Now all Ran, Mochi and Kakucho had to do was follow through. Sanzu was not even coming along with them tonight. So where he got all that enthusiasm from was beyond Ran.

As far as he knew, according to Mikey’s orders, Sanzu still had to “take care” of Annie. In all honesty, he was a little concerned about what Mikey meant when he asked Sanzu to take care of her. All good things he hoped. Contrary to popular belief, he liked Annie. She could tear Rindou to shreds if she wanted to. Anyone capable of that was good enough for Ran.

He could not, however, stand Takeomi’s secretary. That woman had a knack for getting under his skin. She was always looking to monopolize Mikey’s time and energy. As if he had nothing better to do. As if he didn’t already have a wife waiting for him back at home. He wasn’t sure why Mikey allowed it in the first place. The last time Sanzu tried to do something similar, Mikey threatened to fling him out his office window.

The favouritism was blatant. He was going to have to take it up with Takeomi one of these days; which begs the question,

“Why is Takeomi’s secretary here when he’s in Yokohama?”

Presenting Sanzu with a loaded question while he gorged on a mutilated sandwich might have been a little too much. Evidently, the pinkette didn’t know, nor did he care. Unfortunately for Ran, Sanzu never really bothered with such semantics.

Mikey was late. Ten minutes so. Either Kakucho was doing a terrible job of escorting him to his own office, or Mikey pulled another all-nighter. Would be the fourth one this week and it was only Thursday.

Ran was right. The bags under Mikey’s eyes appeared to be a burden only he could bear. On entering his office, both Ran and Sanzu stood up from their respective seats on the sofa to greet their leader,

“Looks like you’ve seen better days Mikey.”

“What are you talking about Oni-chan? Bossman’s never looked better.”

Annie had officially joined the ranks of swords-master at the tender age of sixteen. Barely an adult, she had graduated from wielding a wooden blade to a metal one; fully mastering the Tatsugami sword technique in its entire mighty prowess.

Everyone knew she was not to be messed with, yet this tiresome woman had the gall to question her. At five feet seven inches, Annie still stood taller than most women; her heeled combat boots, only aided her to tower over other insignificant creatures, such as the woman before her.

“I wish to speak with Mikey.”

Annie hoped she had made her business clear, that she would be able to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. However, the creature along with her six lackeys wished to make her task more difficult than it already was. Weapons at ready on their master’s order, they aimed their guns at her in a warning. The creature strutted forward crossing her arms across her chest.

“Mikey is unavailable. Leave while you still can.”

Annie had no recollection of how she got here to the lounge. Everything after that phone call from Sanzu was a big blur. She didn’t remember putting on her clothes or taking her katana. She didn’t even remember making the drive from her home to here. But now that she was here, she was more determined than ever. Heaving a heavy sigh, she made her move.

It happened within a flash. Annie expertly manoeuvred her sheathed katana, so that the kojiri rests heavy in the creature’s pitiful mouth. Her lackeys were only able to stand there slack-jawed, wondering if it was truly wise to push her buttons.

“You shouldn’t stand in the way of someone with nothing left to lose.”

Kakucho did not like the sound of the commotion echoing through the front lounge. He had a sneaking suspicion that he would, in one way or another, find Takeomi’s secretary in the midst of it, and he was right. He was, however, incredibly surprised to also find Annie amid all that chaos.

Mikey had taken uncompromising precautions (some even borderline extreme) to make sure Annie never had to set foot on Bonten soil. So the fact that she was here was no coincidence, that too in full gear. The last time Kakucho saw Annie in full gear, someone ended up comatose. She was a terrifying opponent in battle; he even had a scar or two to back that up.

There was something distinctly different about her today. Her usual crimson hair held a fiery glint and her piercing silver eyes seemed to hold a storm within. Though her face was expressionless, she almost gave off an air of distraught.

Perhaps that is why she did not even flinch while faced with six long-ranged rifles. Or perhaps it was because she was finally in her element that, something Mikey had robbed from her for years. Either way, her opponent had grossly underestimated her.

“How dare you point your weapons at her. Izumi, call off your men.”

Kakucho’s interruption spared the lives of Izumi and her men. Annie was not to be taken lightly, especially while she carried a sword. She let out another sigh, though this one seemed to be one of relief, and she pulled her katana out of Izumi’s gaping mouth. Her men, weapons withdrawn stood awkwardly around their master. Izumi however, flew straight to Kakucho’s side almost latching herself onto his arm.

“Kaku-san! This woman assaulted me out of nowhere! She’s dangerous. She must not be allowed to see Mikey.”

“She wouldn’t have assaulted you if you didn’t give her a reason to. And this woman is Vanya Sano, Mikey’s wife. She doesn’t need your permission to see him.”

Izumi’s face instantly flushed deep red out of embarrassment. She let out an audible gasp and looked back at Annie like she was some mythical creature.

“B-but…she’s not allowed here!”

That was true. Annie was never to set foot in Bonten. That was something she promised Mikey the day they decided to tie the knot. Something about him claiming that he’d sleep better knowing that his wife was at a safe distance from his terrible workplace. But that was then, this is now.

“You’re not allowed to point your guns at the boss’s wife, but here we are. Looks like we all do things we shouldn’t.” Kakucho said, peeling the burdensome woman off his arm. He wanted to shift his attention to Annie, she was far more important at the moment. However, she beat him to it.

“Hitto-kun, I wish to speak with Mikey.”

Kakucho was kind enough to personally escort Annie to Mikey’s office, even after all the opposition put in by Izumi. Currently, in an elevator, both of them stood in silence. The elevator ride was not awkward, not for Annie. Not when she was too busy being numb.

“Everything alright Annie?”

“No.”

“Is…is it because we’re moving to Yokohama?”

“…perhaps.”

Sanzu knew he screwed up when he saw his beloved Red waltz into Mikey’s office, sword in hand and Kaku-chan in tow. He should’ve never had that conversation with her, should’ve never explained things further than he was ordered to, he should’ve never called her in the first place. Damn it all, why must women be so difficult?

One look at Annie, and Ran slowly backed away, till he stood at Kakucho’s side. Kakucho was one of the very few people who had faced Annie’s blade and survived, if anywhere was safe it was by his side. No offence, but Mikey was going to have to deal with this on his own, he brought it upon himself anyway.

If Mikey was surprised, he didn’t show it. However, he got up from his seat and stood in front of his desk, keeping Annie at an arm’s length. His static eyes flickered between his wife and her sheathed blade.

“You’re not supposed to be here Ann.”

“I’m well aware of the vow I made. Hearing it from other people is very annoying.”

“You should go home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

The years had changed them both. She was no longer taller than the boy she met in an old abandoned parking lot. Mikey had grown taller and a lot stronger, so had she, but in terms of physical prowess, Mikey had long surpassed even the most seasoned of veterans. She was well aware, that if a full-on fight broke out between them, it would only end with the other’s death. That’s probably why her hands gave in to the slightest tremble.

In all these years Annie had never raised her katana against him, not even once. That’s probably why she did not want to raise her blade against Mikey now; she was not ready for that yet. She silently hoped Mikey would just answer her question for once in his life. But no, fate seemed to have other things in store for her.

“I want you to go home Ann.”, he sighed.

“And I want you to answer my question, Mikey.”

Annie refused to back down. She had been compromising for far too long and it got her nowhere. Today she will have it her way. Mikey noticed it too, the silent storm brewing in her eyes. He sighed again. This time he spoke to Sanzu instead.

“Sanzu, escort Annie home.”

Then the unthinkable happened. Finally pushed and poked into a corner, Annie snapped. In a matter of seconds, she had managed to push down Mikey onto his desk, putting all her weight on one leg and pinning down his hips, she used her sheath to pin down both his hands above his head; her katana drawn and pressed hard against his neck, even made a little scratch and blood oozed out, dripping down to his desk.

Ran and Kakucho were too slow to stop her. Annie was out of their reach in seconds. Sanzu however, was just quick enough to press his gun against the back of her head. His hands shook too, weapons were strictly forbidden in Annie's presence, Mikey always made sure of it. But what was he supposed to do? She looked like she was going to spilt Mikey’s carotid arteries any minute. If Mikey died, Annie was dying right along with him.

“Am I invisible to you? Or are you just blind?”

Hunched over his bigger form, Mikey saw Annie cry for the very first time. How long had he known her? Nine years? Ten years? He had seen various sides of her but he had never seen her cry, not in front of him at least. So why was she crying now? Her hot, salty tears dripped down to his face and streamed down his cheeks like her tears also were his.

“Sanzu, lower your gun.”

“Bu-”

“Now!”

Begrudgingly, Sanzu lowered his gun. However, he hovered around close, in case the situation got worse. Ran and Kakucho couldn’t do much other than stand there with bated breath; afraid that even breathing too loud would set Annie off.

“Annie, calm down. If you let me-”

“I’m perfectly calm Mikey. Just because you’ve never seen me cry, doesn’t mean I never have.”

So it had finally come down to this. Ten years’ worth of memories and emotions were finally coming to an end. Maybe the grass is greener on the other side; maybe the other side would be a tranquil meadow with a warm summer breeze, lulling her into a gentle slumber, something she had never experienced on this side. Maybe she will finally be free; or maybe not. She won’t know till she tries.

“Annie, just listen-”

“No Mikey. I’m done listening. I want a divorce.”

Reblogs are always appreciated.

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the-ayakashi-in-me · 2 years

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Anime/Manga List

(Characters may be added and removed as per my convenience.)

Tokyo Revengers- (Up to date with the manga)

I write for everyone except- Osanai, Mizo Middle, Kiyomasa and his lackeys.

Attack on Titan- (Up to date with the manga)

I write for everyone except for the really old dudes, like Pyxis and people around his age.

One Piece- (Up to date with the anime till ep 670 and the 2 movies)

Straw Hats: All. Vivi included. But no nsfw for Chopper, Brook, Franky.

Whitebeard: Ace, Marco, Whitebeard.

Warlords/Ex-Warlords: Mihawk, Hancock, Doflamingo, Crocodile, Law.

Marines: Smoker, Tashigi, Akainu, Kizaru, Garp, Sengoku, Issho, Hina, Koby.

Kid Pirates: Eustass Kid, Killer.

Others: Shanks, Aokiji, Sabo, Bellamy, Perona, Rayliegh, Violet, Bartolomeo.

Boku no hero academia- (Up to date with the manga)

Students: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Tenya Iida, Denki Kaminari, Ejiro Kirishima, Hanta Sero, Ojiro, Hitoshi Shinso, Yo Shindo, Mirio Togata, Tamaki Amajiki, Netio Monoma, Ochako Uraraka, Momo Yayorozo, Kiyoka Jiro, Mina Ashido, Nejire.

Heroes: Shota Aizawa, Kegio Takami, Toshinori Yagi, Midnight.

Villains: Dabi, Shigaraki, Toga, Twice, Overhaul, Mr. Compress.

Haikyuu!!- (Up to date with the anime)

Karasuno: Daishi, Sugawara, Asahi, Tanaka, Nishinoya, Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Enoshita.

Nekoma: Kuroo, Kenma, Lev.

Fukurodoni: Bokuto, Aakashi.

Sejoh: Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Mastukawa, Kyotani, Kunimi.

Shiratorizawa: Ushijima, Tendo, Semi, Goshki, Shirabu.

Inarizaki: Kita, Suna, Atsumu, Osamu.

Date Tech: Aone, Futakuchi.

Others: Sakusa, Terushima, Keishin Ukai.

Jujutsu Kaisen- (Up to date with the manga)

Students: Itadori, Nobara, Fushiguro, Yuta, Maki, Inumaki, Mai, Todo, Kamo, Miwa, Junpei.

Curses: Sukuna, Mahito, Choso.

Others: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Toji, Mei Mei, Naoya, Higuruma.

Bungou Stray Dogs- (Up to date with the anime)

Armed Detective Agency: Dazai, Kunikida, Yosano, Nakajima, Fukuzawa, Ranpo.

Port Mafia: Mori, Nakahara, Aktugawa, Oda.

Others: Sakaguchi, Fyodor.

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the-ayakashi-in-me · 2 years

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