reallypleasanttree

[reallypleasanttree]

Part 3:

On the train ride, Okita took out his phone and clicked on the newest text message. 

Unknown number: Blue skies in summer, 

one star fell another rose, 

now skies shimmer gold

A haiku? Okita reread it and thumbs hovered over the phone’s keyboard. How did a person respond to a message like this? It seemed to be about renewal, change, or transformation. He frowned, uncertain of what to make of her words. Maybe she was referring to their chance meeting? 

Genji Okita: Did you write that yourself? 

The speakers on the train announced his stop and he moved towards the doors. There weren't many people on the train right now. It was nearly 2 A.M. on a Thursday night. He put his phone in his jacket pocket and exited as it came to stop. The air was crisp in the fall. With the light of the city, the stars were impossible to see. 

“One star fell, another rose,” Okita whispered. The haiku clearly didn’t refer to this city. Was she raised in the countryside where the stars were visible? He shook his head. There was no need to ruminate this deeply on the poem. The persistent need to check his messages nagged on his mind as he walked. When was the last time he liked a girl this much? He could not remember. 

Turning left, a familiar row of apartments came into view. His grandmother’s light was still on. After all this time, she still couldn’t sleep if he was not home. 

He exhaled, watching his breath disappear in the cold. His grandmother raised him since he was in primary school. His mother died during childbirth while his father died from an aneurysm when he was walking home from work. Okita tapped lightly on his grandmother’s front door. It took her a few seconds, but she opened it. 

Despite her advanced age, her dark blue-green eyes were clear. She said they were a common trait amongst their ancestors. There had even been a record of a man who had Okita’s dual colored eyes. It was supposedly his great-great grandmother’s cousin or brother. The official records of their family were long lost between the wars and time. Who knew what was true? 

“I made you dinner and some tea.” She passed him a thermos of green tea and a glass container of tonkatsu and rice. “I hope you had a good night,” she said. 

“Thank you.” Okita took the drink and food. He didn’t want to keep her up by telling her about Mitsuri. Maybe if the date went well tomorrow night, he would. “You should go to bed,” he said. She had bags under her eyes from the wait. She nodded without protest and kissed his cheek before slipping away. 

He opened his front door and turned on the light. His place was a small studio apartment he shared with his pet snake. The ivory snake in question rested under the heat lamp by the window. He set the tea, food, and cell phone on the kitchen counter before peeling off his jacket to hang in the closet. 

Okita opened the container and inhaled the scent of fried pork and tempura before taking a bite. His phone screen lit up. 

Unknown number: Yes! Did you make it home safely?!?

Genji Okita: Just got back and I'm currently eating tonkatsu. 

Unknown number: Tonkatsu’s my favorite! 

Genji Okita: Mine too. 

The three small dots appeared and then disappeared twice. He waited a minute to see if she would say anything else and entered her name as a new contact. Five minutes passed and there was still nothing. 

Genji Okita: I won’t keep you up since you have work tomorrow. Have a good night

He did not want to come off as desperate. There was a tug on his insides that insisted he send another message. 

Genji Okita: I look forward to seeing you. 

He flipped his phone over, not wishing to stare at it as he hoped for a quick response.  Minutes later he finished his meal and set the dirty container into the sink to soak. Okita went through his nightly routine of switching out clothes, brushing his teeth, and checking his snake’s water bowl. When he checked his phone again another message awaited him. 

Kanroji Mitsuri: I’ll be waiting eagerly until tomorrow night. ☺️

The completed section I have for the Demon Mitsuri and Reincarnated Human Obanai fic where Muzan won and turned Mitsuri into a demon.

“If we survive the battle against Muzan, will you marry me?” Mitsuri asked. They laid, staring at each other. She ran her hand over his cheek, caressing his scars. They ran from his mouth to his ears, deliberately made for him to look like a snake. He never cared how they looked, only if she would be bothered by them. However, she adored them. The raised lines brought her comfort in the familiarity. He entrusted his secret and his face to her alone. He sought solace in her and she in him. 

“Yes,” her lover agreed. 

Nothing could describe how she felt. Warmth blooming beneath her breast. With that single promise, he tied himself to her forever. Scars and all. Except it was not to be. He died fighting one of the Upper Moons. She nearly died before Muzan turned her into a demon. When she first became a demon she had no memory of her former life. It came back in pieces. 

Muzan explained how eating humans would make her stronger. Hunger clawed inside her stomach. Instinct drove her to kill and devour her prey. It didn’t matter who it was. She needed to fill the void in her stomach when in actuality the emptiness originated in her heart. 

—-

“Mitsuri,” the man said. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes on his face. They were inside a large fortress with rotating columns, platforms, and bridges. Nothing stayed in place. “If things get bad, promise you’ll run.” 

“I’d never leave you,” she said automatically. His long black hair shielded her from reading his expression. A white snake coiled tighter around his neck. 

“Please,” he breathed and raised his head. His teal and amber eyes were glossy. Scars graced his cheeks along with a downtrodden expression. She held a hand to her chest. “You’re important and deserve more than this.” He gestured to the demons crawling around the Infinity Castle. “You have to live, so please,” he said, tightening the grip on his sword. “If we fail, run,” he said. She nodded. 

They wouldn’t fail. They had a life to live after this. 

—-

The next night Mitsuri woke feeling full for the first time in ages. Just as she was important, he had been important. She couldn’t remember his name or all of his features. The scars across his cheeks though. She remembered those. 

Her fingers traced an outline of where his scars had been on his face. Jagged, harsh lines meant to frighten, yet… they brought forth joy and fulfillment beneath her breast. For the first time in years, she felt her heart. There was a steady thump, she heard reverberate over her body. She grasped the light blue bed sheets. 

Mitsuri. A smooth voice echoed in her mind. It wasn’t like the times Muzan called upon her. No, this was different. It was like a soft caress  as someone pushed back one of her thick braids and whispered in her ear. 

I will always love you. Chills ran down her spine. It was what she craved. Someone to love her. 

Over the next night, the joy Mitsuri felt vanished. That feeling disappeared in the fog like the scarred man who held her heart. They had been lovers, yet she remained. 

———————

They called it a Glasgow smile. When someone’s face was cut from the corners of their mouth and upwards. A permanent scar to make someone look like they’re always smiling. And who wouldn’t smile when they were with her? 

When she looked in the mirror to see a demon with smooth, pale skin. Pink and green hair with emerald eyes. Her face was sweet enough to look at and a body comparable to a goddess of love. It drew in her prey like a Venus flytrap. An offering of sweetness only to be entangled in her vice grip and torn apart.  

She felt nothing as she recalled the vivid, brutal details of her kills. Muscles and ligaments snapped as she tore them from the bone. Blood, the metallic taste sat on her tongue. With each bite, she hoped to fill the void. 

Before the main event, she would charm them, luring them in with a soft chuckle and a touch on the shoulder. With a single touch and a drop of her blood, anyone would fall in love with her. Their eyes would dilate, heart would quicken, and skin would sweat. All signs that her blood demon art worked. Now she was in an alleyway with a stranger. 

“I love you, baby,” her prey whispered. She felt nothing, but the sickening hunger as her stomach growled. Love was no longer part of her vocabulary. At least not in the waking world. Her dreams were another matter. 

The woman dug her nails into the back of his shirt as he kissed her jawline. He was completely intoxicated and reeked of alcohol. She pulled back her lips, her teeth elongating as she prepared to strike.

Her saliva contained a natural sedative. As soon as she bit his neck it would take less than three minutes for him to lose any feeling except for his overwhelming love and affection for the pink haired woman he picked up at the bar. She pulled her head back and before she could read his face, she bit his neck, just hard enough to draw blood. An appetizer before the feast. 

He groaned. She sucked on his neck, drinking his blood. Alternating between sucking and biting, she could feel his body becoming slack. His hold around her loosened and his knees started to buckle. She paused to hold his body up against the wall. 

She flexed her hand to make her nails grow. With her long nails, she carved a permanent smile onto the man’s face. Blood dripped down the man’s cheeks. Her blood demon art was stronger than the pain and fear he should have felt. 

“I love you,” he murmured past the bloody smile. 

“You don’t,” she said. His eyes closed, the blood loss too great to ignore. 

Looking at her work, she could see the man she longed for. He had black hair, sweet almond shaped eyes, and the Glasgow smile. How she missed running her hands over the ridges of the scar. In the next second her former lover was gone. She gritted her teeth before she bit into the stranger’s neck again. The blood quelled her rage, but it would never fill the emptiness inside. Seeing him, though? That was the only time she felt full. It would only last a short time before she’d hunt again. 

Anytime she carved a smile into her prey’s face, she saw her lover and remembered how it felt to be in love instead of the fallacy of being loved. The feelings ushered forth. The coolness of his hands in hers, his arms encircling her in an embrace, the look in his different colored eyes as he watched her race towards him, reunited after a mission. Carving into her victims was the only way to keep his memory alive and her emotions. 

Otherwise, she was a shell of the woman she had been. She could act like the happy go lucky girl, but it never reached her heart. Her smiles were disingenuous along with her promises to care for the men she devoured. No, it was only his confession that quickened her heart. 

————

“Iguro-San, if I became a demon what would you do?” Mitsuri asked. The question was prompted by the last hashira meeting where they met the Kamado siblings. Iguro-San had been unnecessarily harsh with the brother while the Wind Hashira tormented the demon girl. It made her wonder how the Serpent Hashira would react in the boy’s place. Would he be so willing to demand her execution? 

He sat beside her on a bench. There was a plate of dango between them. Iguro-San took one out of twenty, leaving nineteen for her. His grip on the stick tightened and he stared directly ahead of them. 

“Don’t speak like that,” he said loudly. Mitsuri blinked. He never raised his voice around her and spoke kindly. The stick broke between his fingers. She raised her hands up to catch one of the fallen pieces. Instead he caught her wrist and faced her. Her cheeks warmed at the contact and his heated gaze. 

“I’d never allow you to become a demon, not while I’m alive,” Iguro practically growled. 

“I-I’m only joking,” Mitsuri stuttered. 

“Your life is not a joke,” he said. “You’re the most important person to me.” He moved his hand from her wrist to hold her hand. Her heart stuttered this time. Did she really mean that much to him? Surely he was only being kind. Mitsuri tried to pull her hand away, but he held tighter. 

“Kanroji-San, don’t you get it?” He asked, leaning towards her. Her ears buzzed until all she could see was his face. His earnest gaze hypnotized her, leaving her frozen on the bench. 

“I love you,” Iguro admitted. He reached up and pulled the bandages down. She didn’t even care to look at his unmasked face before their lips met. Soft and gentle despite the fire raging inside her. When she finally pulled back she took in the sight of his smile, the one that extended past the corners of his mouth. 

“I love you too,” Mitsuri said, lifting her hand to caress the scars for the first time. 

—

Mitsuri woke up still feeling his warm hand clasped over hers. The memory etched into her heart. The heat in his gold and teal eyes as he confessed and the kiss afterward. Why couldn’t she stay inside the dream for a bit longer? She traced the outline of her lips. 

Her lover kept his promise. He died before she became a demon. He never had to see her like this. A shell of her former self. Listless, selfish, gluttonous. She rolled to her side. Her stomach growled. Another night in the endless days where she sought a cure to this hunger. 

There was no cure. She pinched her stomach. There was no cure for the emptiness, eating away at her insides. The only relief were the memories of Iguro and his all encompassing love. 

I wish you were here. She looked at the empty side of her hotel bed. What would it have been like if he was turned into a demon? He would have been beside her now. She ran her hand over the sheets, recalling how she would search for his sleeping form in the middle of the night as humans. The longing was still there. Mitsuri rolled out of the bed, her white silk robe trailing on the floor. Tonight she had to hunt. 

—-

Mitsuri never stayed in one place for too long. It would be noticeable if multiple men disappeared from the same club or city. Now, she was standing beside the bar trying to decide who would be her next victim. She smiled at the man across the crowd. He was tall with bleached short hair. He met her gaze and she winked. He made his way down the steps to her. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” He greeted. 

“Waiting for you,” Mitsuri said, the lie slipping out easily. He grinned widely. 

“I’m Kenji,” he introduced himself. 

“Haru,” she said using a pseudonym, batting her eyes at him. It was over the top, but men couldn’t resist a girl throwing herself at them. “I’m in town for business.”

“What are you drinking?” Kenji asked and pulled her to the bar’s service counter. His hand rested on her upper arm. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” 

“Such a gentleman,” she praised. 

The bartender was preparing drinks. The lights were dimmed, but she could see his features clearly. The man from her dreams. Her flirtatious nature vanished seeing him. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his two toned gaze honed in on Kenji and her as he looked over his shoulder. She licked her lips as he glanced her way. The only thing missing was his scars. His cheeks were smooth, she wanted to run her hands over them. 

“Okita, my girl wants a whiskey on the rocks,” Kenji yelled over the cacophony of sounds. She barely registered the man she decided would be her meal tonight. 

“Is that right?” The bartender asked. Mitsuri nodded, unable to speak. He was so close, the man she craved more than anyone. Her usual calm demeanor lost as her hand shook. Okita turned around to prepare her drink. He was well built, his hands tactful as he pulled out a chilled glass and one of the bottles of whiskey. He didn’t even bother looking for it. He memorized the selection. 

Obanai. 

Thud, thud, thud. 

It was the first time she felt her heart race in decades. Her past lover stood in front of her. All she had to do was reach across the counter and run her hands over his face. His scarless face. 

I love you. He told her nearly a hundred years ago and it still rang true. At least for her. This man was a mirror copy of her lover. 

“Here,” the man said, holding the amber drink and meeting her gaze. She took the drink and tried to ignore the way their fingers grazed and the spark of electricity under her skin. Did he feel it? Her lips tingled. When was the last time they had kissed? It must have been the night they fell into the Infinity Castle. “Are you alright? It looks like you saw a ghost,” he questioned with concern. Mitsuri stood straighter.

“No, I just-“ she said, losing her cultivated calm. 

Before Mitsuri could find the words, Kenji pulled her into the crowd. Her goal tonight was to find her next meal. She could not get distracted by the man who looked like her past lover. She sipped on her drink as Kenji continued to flirt. Mitsuri kept the conversation going, easily enough. Kenji talked about himself, not bothering to ask her any more questions. He was less of a gentleman than she thought. 

As much as she tried to focus on Kenji, her eyes kept drifting back to the bar every few minutes. Okita was methodical as he went from person to person. He took orders and made drinks and small talk. 

He smiled at the customers, yet it never reached his eyes. He was pretending, just like she was. The thought was sobering. They were actors tonight. He was cast in the role of a working man while she was a woman looking for a casual hookup. Obanai told her once he loved her because of her authenticity. The memory made her sick. What would Obanai think of her now? 

“It looks like you need a refill,” Kenji said, breaking her concentration. Mitsuri looked down at the empty drink in her hand. “I’ll grab you a new one.”

“No, I’ll get it,” Mitsuri said and turned before she could stop herself. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Okita. She slipped away and through the crowd. When she stepped up to the bar she was faced with a white haired woman serving behind the counter. 

“What can I grab for you?” The new bartender asked lazily. Mitsuri scanned the entire bar, but he was gone. When had he disappeared? 

“Where did Okita go?” Mitsuri asked despite her best judgement. He wasn’t the same man as Obanai. They may have looked alike, but they were not the same. 

“His shift ended. You can probably catch him outside,” she said, pointing towards the exit. Mitsuri set her drink on the counter and ran out the door, forgetting about her mission. 

The cold air hit her lungs as she opened the heavy door. Mitsuri looked to the right and only saw a dumpster with a rat running across the top. 

“Ghost girl,” someone said on the other side of her. Mitsuri turned towards the sound, already knowing it was Okita. Even his voice was like Obanai’s. He held a cigarette in his left hand as he leaned against the brick wall. He flicked the ash on the ground. “Are you running away from Kenji?” He asked. “I don’t blame you. He’s an asshole.” 

“Sort of,” Mitsuri answered and shut the door behind her. It was only the two of them-and the rat looking for food in the dumpster. “If you knew he was an asshole, why didn’t you intervene?” 

“It’s not my place and, besides, you look like you can handle yourself. If you’re here, then it seems like I was right.” There was a glint in his eye. He smirked as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. He breathed in and out, blowing the smoke straight up.

Mitsuri swallowed as she stepped in front of him. She had not felt nervous in ages. It was foreign as other past feelings emerged with this man’s appearance. What was she doing right now? 

“The other bartender said your shift was over,” Mitsuri said. 

“Was it that good of a drink?” Okita asked, tilting his head. “Izumi could have made you the same thing.” Mitsuri shook her head. 

“No, I wanted to see you,” she confessed. She wanted to do more than simply see him. She wished to touch his scarless face, run her hands through his silky hair, and kiss him. Objectively, Mitsuri knew this man wasn’t the same as Obanai, but they’re similarities were uncanny. He ignited a spark and now a small ember burned inside her chest.

[reallypleasanttree]

🫠🫠🫠

I love this so much! Thank you, I am kicking my feet! 🩷🖤💚🤍

My longgggg overdue Obamitsu WIP for Elusive Dream . I planned to add more color to kanroji but somehow my ipad stopped working AGAIN🥲. But,It’s all good. Please,enjoy what I have,til next time ofc!

@reallypleasanttree 💕✨

and when we run out of Obamitsu content,we just make more.🤍🖤🐍🍡💕✨

[reallypleasanttree]

A What if scene from “Wedding Plans” if Obanai met his cousin, Kiwa. This would have been set right after chapter 23.

There was no mistaking the woman sitting on the bench across from the hostess. Black hair and dark almond shaped eyes like the rest of the Iguros. She held a purse in front of her and stared between her feet. 

The last time they saw each other she cursed him and wished for his death. She shoved him to the ground before Shinjuro stepped between them and the emergency responder carried her away. Sanemi had said she acted as if she didn’t know her cousin. Obanai walked to the front and crossed his arms. 

“Hey, Kiwa,” he greeted her casually. It was easier than he thought it’d be. She looked up. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. She opened her mouth and then pursed her lips. 

“Hey, Obanai,” she said, her voice deeper than he remembered. “Could we talk outside? There’s a park a block away.” Despite his better judgement he agreed. 

“I’ll be back in a little bit. You’re in charge,” Obanai said to Aoi. 

“Chef Iguro, I'm always in charge,” Aoi retorted tersely, scoffing at the insinuation. Outside of himself and Chef Sabito, she was the only one who could manage the front and the kitchen. 

Kiwa went through the front door and down a block. Obanai walked beside her, but neither of them spoke. They found a secluded bench. Kiwa sat at one end and Obanai the other. 

“Your friend told me to stay away. I had no intention of seeing you, in fact, I wanted to pretend like you never existed,” Kiwa started. 

“Then why are you here?” Obanai asked. Kiwa set her purse beside her and crossed her legs. She looked up. The early afternoon sun was high in the sky with thin clouds drifting over it. 

“I saw you the other night with your family at the play. You looked…” She paused. Obanai’s back went rigid. “Happy. For years, I hated you for what happened to my aunt and sisters. I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought if we ever meet again, I’d fly into a rage, but instead I was glad.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Obanai said. He didn’t need a detailed answer. Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled back. 

“Give me a minute to explain. I work with kids and part of my job is to assess their home life and ensure they are being taken care of. With what happened to us,” she said, looking at his mask. “I want to help kids get out of situations like ours.” 

His right eye twitched. Like ours? Beneath his skin, his blood simmered. 

“Sometimes I have to make the decision to send the kids into foster care. I wonder what happens to them afterward, you know?” Kiwa explained, swallowing. “I wonder if they’ll ever be happy. Seeing you with your family gave me some hope that things can get better.” 

Of course, it was for her benefit. He exhaled harshly. “So, what? You came to tell me you want me to be the poster child for foster children?” He scoffed and rose from the bench. 

“No. It’s about what happened to our family. I want to apologize for what I said afterward. I was upset and angry. I wanted to blame you for what happened when it wasn’t completely your fault,” Kiwa said. Obanai paused. She coughed and cleared her throat. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. 

“I left your door unlocked. I lit the candle. After what we did-“ Kiwa pursed her lips and tears trailed down her face. “I followed your mom and my sisters’ directions. I never knew anything different, but cutting your face was too much. I just wanted you to leave. I wanted it all to end.” Her voice cracked.

His mind went blank. She intentionally unlocked his door to allow to escape. His mouth felt dry. What happened, it wasn’t completely his fault. The fire and deaths never would have happened if Kiwa chose differently. But then what would have become of him? 

“If I blamed you, then I would never have to confront  what we did to you or the consequences of my actions. I am so sorry,” Kiwa said and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. 

Obanai faced his cousin. For sixteen years he had blamed himself for the fire and their family’s death. The entire time Kiwa held some of the responsibility. He could yell at her or curse her name, but it wouldn’t accomplish anything. He didn’t need an apology because he already forgave himself. He inhaled deeply. She needed this though. 

“It’s okay,” Obanai said. Kiwa glanced up with wide eyes. “I appreciate you telling me the truth, but I’ve moved on. You have too.” He gestured to her wedding ring. Her bottom lip trembled. 

“My husband doesn’t know about you,” Kiwa said quickly. “Your friend threatened to tell him if I contacted you. After seeing you, I couldn’t leave without telling the truth. Even if your friend tells him, I won’t regret it. You deserved to know.”

He didn’t know her husband, but if he found out through another person now it could ruin her marriage and career. From the sound of it, Kiwa was helping children and trying to make the world a better place. Obanai sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Be better. 

“Did you mean it? About helping kids get out of situations like ours?” He asked. She nodded. “Keep helping them and I’ll talk to my friend. We’re not part of each other’s lives, so why wreck yours?” 

“Thank you, I-“ His cousin started. 

“I wasn’t done,” Obanai said brusquely. “You should tell him yourself. Keeping everything locked up will only make the guilt worse. If you love each other, he’ll understand. My fiancé did.” 

“I’ll think about it,” she said, assessing him with her dark eyes. “Was she the one with pink and green hair?” Obanai nodded. 

“So, she knows everything?” Kiwa pointed to his cheeks.

“Yes,” the chef answered. “Look, I have to get back to work. Thank you for telling me the truth.” 

“You’re welcome,” Kiwa said and reached into her purse. “Here’s my number.” She held out the card, but he didn’t take it. 

“No, I want this to be the last time we talk,” Obanai set the boundary. He said goodbye to his family months ago and that included Kiwa. His cousin gave him a polite smile and put the card back in her purse. No words passed between them as Kiwa rose and walked away. 

[reallypleasanttree]

Part 2:

Okita’s eyes widened upon seeing the pink and green haired woman appear through the back exit. Since he saw her with Kenji he grew irritated. Kenji went through girls like they were tissue paper. He would string them along and most of the women would have residual feelings for the jackass. It was none of his business, but a new emotion emerged with the new woman. The corners of his mind prickled as he worked and caught sight of the pair. 

The woman smiled and laughed beside her companion. To most people her interest in Kenji would have seemed genuine, but it was missing something. Her movements were precise and her expressions poised. It was unlike the expression of shock she had when their eyes met as he handed her the whiskey. Their fingers brushed for a mere second and it was enough to captivate him. After the shift ended, he decided to smoke a cigarette before heading home to calm his mind. 

Okita stared at the pink and green haired woman. What could she possibly want with him? She had barely said more than five words in his presence. However, he caught her looking in his direction for the duration of his shift. His appearance was an oddity, but this woman was as well. Certainly, she knew what it was like to be gawked at for her hair and other assets on display.

She wore a short black skirt with a green crop top. Her stomach was exposed, showing the generous curves of her hips and smooth skin. If he could, he would have wrapped her up in his coat to keep her warm. Though, he made it a policy not to pick up women from work even if they were as attractive as her.

“Why?” Okita raised an eyebrow. Her mouth twisted as she considered the weight of her next words. Due to the light and patio above them, her face appeared in strips of light and shadows, almost like pinstripes. Her emerald eyes enchanted him and he found it difficult to look away. Her lips reminded him of sakura blossoms. He could not specify what it was, but she had an ethereal quality to her. Nearly too perfect to exist. 

“You remind me of someone,” she answered. 

“Is it your ghost?” He asked jokingly. Her face fell. Her lips curled down and her eyes lost their glimmer. Okita immediately wished he had said something different, but the damage was already done. He gritted his teeth. “That was a bad joke, sorry,” he attempted to apologize. He dropped his cigarette and squashed it into the ground where he belonged for offending her. 

“I knew this was a stupid idea,” the woman muttered with a bowed head. He barely heard her. She lifted her face. “Sorry for bothering you. I didn’t mean to disturb your night.” She turned and he could almost hear the string of fate snapping. If she left now he would never see her again and unease settled in his stomach. He reached out his hand and caught her wrist. Her skin was cold to the touch.  

“I didn’t mean to come off as insensitive,” he said. “Can we start over? I don’t know your name.” Her eyes traveled down to where he held her before meeting his gaze. A shadow crossed over her features and he noticed the beauty marks beneath each eye. She nodded slowly.

“I’m Kanroji Mitsuri,” the woman said. 

“Genji Okita,” he introduced himself and dropped her wrist. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” 

“Business trip, but I’ve been here before. I used to go to a ramen shop with a good friend around Kiiroi Tsubaki Street. I forget its name,” Mitsuri said. 

“Is it Kuroyuri Ramen?” Okita questioned and she nodded. “It’s the oldest ramen shop in town.” He glanced at his watch as it was nearly 1 A.M. His grandmother would worry if he wasn’t home soon. She lived in the apartment next to his and despite his protests, she would stay up until he got home. 

“I have to get home. I don’t normally do this, but can I give you my number?” He asked. It was against his better judgement and breaking his policy. Deep inside he knew if he let her slip through his fingers, he would regret it. Mitsuri took her phone out of her purse and pulled up the new contact screen. He recited his number and she asked him to repeat it to ensure it was correct. She typed a quick message and he heard his phone buzz in his pocket. He would have to check it when he got home. 

“Let me know when you get home safely,” Mitsuri said, “otherwise, I’ll worry.”

“Isn’t that my line?” He asked jokingly. This time when she laughed it was real, the corners of her eyes crinkled. The sound of her laugh made him pause. It was the sound of bells chiming. He’d heard it before, but he could not place where. Either way it brought forth a sense of warmth to his heart. 

“Well, it’s mine for now. How about you use it tomorrow night?” Mitsuri suggested as she fiddled with her purse strap. She was adorable. 

“Are you asking me out?” Okita asked. 

“Depending on your answer, yes,” Mitsuri said, her cheeks tinting pink. “So, tomorrow night?” 

“Yes,” he answered before he could think too much about it. This was definitely breaking his policy.

The completed section I have for the Demon Mitsuri and Reincarnated Human Obanai fic where Muzan won and turned Mitsuri into a demon.

“If we survive the battle against Muzan, will you marry me?” Mitsuri asked. They laid, staring at each other. She ran her hand over his cheek, caressing his scars. They ran from his mouth to his ears, deliberately made for him to look like a snake. He never cared how they looked, only if she would be bothered by them. However, she adored them. The raised lines brought her comfort in the familiarity. He entrusted his secret and his face to her alone. He sought solace in her and she in him. 

“Yes,” her lover agreed. 

Nothing could describe how she felt. Warmth blooming beneath her breast. With that single promise, he tied himself to her forever. Scars and all. Except it was not to be. He died fighting one of the Upper Moons. She nearly died before Muzan turned her into a demon. When she first became a demon she had no memory of her former life. It came back in pieces. 

Muzan explained how eating humans would make her stronger. Hunger clawed inside her stomach. Instinct drove her to kill and devour her prey. It didn’t matter who it was. She needed to fill the void in her stomach when in actuality the emptiness originated in her heart. 

—-

“Mitsuri,” the man said. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes on his face. They were inside a large fortress with rotating columns, platforms, and bridges. Nothing stayed in place. “If things get bad, promise you’ll run.” 

“I’d never leave you,” she said automatically. His long black hair shielded her from reading his expression. A white snake coiled tighter around his neck. 

“Please,” he breathed and raised his head. His teal and amber eyes were glossy. Scars graced his cheeks along with a downtrodden expression. She held a hand to her chest. “You’re important and deserve more than this.” He gestured to the demons crawling around the Infinity Castle. “You have to live, so please,” he said, tightening the grip on his sword. “If we fail, run,” he said. She nodded. 

They wouldn’t fail. They had a life to live after this. 

—-

The next night Mitsuri woke feeling full for the first time in ages. Just as she was important, he had been important. She couldn’t remember his name or all of his features. The scars across his cheeks though. She remembered those. 

Her fingers traced an outline of where his scars had been on his face. Jagged, harsh lines meant to frighten, yet… they brought forth joy and fulfillment beneath her breast. For the first time in years, she felt her heart. There was a steady thump, she heard reverberate over her body. She grasped the light blue bed sheets. 

Mitsuri. A smooth voice echoed in her mind. It wasn’t like the times Muzan called upon her. No, this was different. It was like a soft caress  as someone pushed back one of her thick braids and whispered in her ear. 

I will always love you. Chills ran down her spine. It was what she craved. Someone to love her. 

Over the next night, the joy Mitsuri felt vanished. That feeling disappeared in the fog like the scarred man who held her heart. They had been lovers, yet she remained. 

———————

They called it a Glasgow smile. When someone’s face was cut from the corners of their mouth and upwards. A permanent scar to make someone look like they’re always smiling. And who wouldn’t smile when they were with her? 

When she looked in the mirror to see a demon with smooth, pale skin. Pink and green hair with emerald eyes. Her face was sweet enough to look at and a body comparable to a goddess of love. It drew in her prey like a Venus flytrap. An offering of sweetness only to be entangled in her vice grip and torn apart.  

She felt nothing as she recalled the vivid, brutal details of her kills. Muscles and ligaments snapped as she tore them from the bone. Blood, the metallic taste sat on her tongue. With each bite, she hoped to fill the void. 

Before the main event, she would charm them, luring them in with a soft chuckle and a touch on the shoulder. With a single touch and a drop of her blood, anyone would fall in love with her. Their eyes would dilate, heart would quicken, and skin would sweat. All signs that her blood demon art worked. Now she was in an alleyway with a stranger. 

“I love you, baby,” her prey whispered. She felt nothing, but the sickening hunger as her stomach growled. Love was no longer part of her vocabulary. At least not in the waking world. Her dreams were another matter. 

The woman dug her nails into the back of his shirt as he kissed her jawline. He was completely intoxicated and reeked of alcohol. She pulled back her lips, her teeth elongating as she prepared to strike.

Her saliva contained a natural sedative. As soon as she bit his neck it would take less than three minutes for him to lose any feeling except for his overwhelming love and affection for the pink haired woman he picked up at the bar. She pulled her head back and before she could read his face, she bit his neck, just hard enough to draw blood. An appetizer before the feast. 

He groaned. She sucked on his neck, drinking his blood. Alternating between sucking and biting, she could feel his body becoming slack. His hold around her loosened and his knees started to buckle. She paused to hold his body up against the wall. 

She flexed her hand to make her nails grow. With her long nails, she carved a permanent smile onto the man’s face. Blood dripped down the man’s cheeks. Her blood demon art was stronger than the pain and fear he should have felt. 

“I love you,” he murmured past the bloody smile. 

“You don’t,” she said. His eyes closed, the blood loss too great to ignore. 

Looking at her work, she could see the man she longed for. He had black hair, sweet almond shaped eyes, and the Glasgow smile. How she missed running her hands over the ridges of the scar. In the next second her former lover was gone. She gritted her teeth before she bit into the stranger’s neck again. The blood quelled her rage, but it would never fill the emptiness inside. Seeing him, though? That was the only time she felt full. It would only last a short time before she’d hunt again. 

Anytime she carved a smile into her prey’s face, she saw her lover and remembered how it felt to be in love instead of the fallacy of being loved. The feelings ushered forth. The coolness of his hands in hers, his arms encircling her in an embrace, the look in his different colored eyes as he watched her race towards him, reunited after a mission. Carving into her victims was the only way to keep his memory alive and her emotions. 

Otherwise, she was a shell of the woman she had been. She could act like the happy go lucky girl, but it never reached her heart. Her smiles were disingenuous along with her promises to care for the men she devoured. No, it was only his confession that quickened her heart. 

————

“Iguro-San, if I became a demon what would you do?” Mitsuri asked. The question was prompted by the last hashira meeting where they met the Kamado siblings. Iguro-San had been unnecessarily harsh with the brother while the Wind Hashira tormented the demon girl. It made her wonder how the Serpent Hashira would react in the boy’s place. Would he be so willing to demand her execution? 

He sat beside her on a bench. There was a plate of dango between them. Iguro-San took one out of twenty, leaving nineteen for her. His grip on the stick tightened and he stared directly ahead of them. 

“Don’t speak like that,” he said loudly. Mitsuri blinked. He never raised his voice around her and spoke kindly. The stick broke between his fingers. She raised her hands up to catch one of the fallen pieces. Instead he caught her wrist and faced her. Her cheeks warmed at the contact and his heated gaze. 

“I’d never allow you to become a demon, not while I’m alive,” Iguro practically growled. 

“I-I’m only joking,” Mitsuri stuttered. 

“Your life is not a joke,” he said. “You’re the most important person to me.” He moved his hand from her wrist to hold her hand. Her heart stuttered this time. Did she really mean that much to him? Surely he was only being kind. Mitsuri tried to pull her hand away, but he held tighter. 

“Kanroji-San, don’t you get it?” He asked, leaning towards her. Her ears buzzed until all she could see was his face. His earnest gaze hypnotized her, leaving her frozen on the bench. 

“I love you,” Iguro admitted. He reached up and pulled the bandages down. She didn’t even care to look at his unmasked face before their lips met. Soft and gentle despite the fire raging inside her. When she finally pulled back she took in the sight of his smile, the one that extended past the corners of his mouth. 

“I love you too,” Mitsuri said, lifting her hand to caress the scars for the first time. 

—

Mitsuri woke up still feeling his warm hand clasped over hers. The memory etched into her heart. The heat in his gold and teal eyes as he confessed and the kiss afterward. Why couldn’t she stay inside the dream for a bit longer? She traced the outline of her lips. 

Her lover kept his promise. He died before she became a demon. He never had to see her like this. A shell of her former self. Listless, selfish, gluttonous. She rolled to her side. Her stomach growled. Another night in the endless days where she sought a cure to this hunger. 

There was no cure. She pinched her stomach. There was no cure for the emptiness, eating away at her insides. The only relief were the memories of Iguro and his all encompassing love. 

I wish you were here. She looked at the empty side of her hotel bed. What would it have been like if he was turned into a demon? He would have been beside her now. She ran her hand over the sheets, recalling how she would search for his sleeping form in the middle of the night as humans. The longing was still there. Mitsuri rolled out of the bed, her white silk robe trailing on the floor. Tonight she had to hunt. 

—-

Mitsuri never stayed in one place for too long. It would be noticeable if multiple men disappeared from the same club or city. Now, she was standing beside the bar trying to decide who would be her next victim. She smiled at the man across the crowd. He was tall with bleached short hair. He met her gaze and she winked. He made his way down the steps to her. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” He greeted. 

“Waiting for you,” Mitsuri said, the lie slipping out easily. He grinned widely. 

“I’m Kenji,” he introduced himself. 

“Haru,” she said using a pseudonym, batting her eyes at him. It was over the top, but men couldn’t resist a girl throwing herself at them. “I’m in town for business.”

“What are you drinking?” Kenji asked and pulled her to the bar’s service counter. His hand rested on her upper arm. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” 

“Such a gentleman,” she praised. 

The bartender was preparing drinks. The lights were dimmed, but she could see his features clearly. The man from her dreams. Her flirtatious nature vanished seeing him. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his two toned gaze honed in on Kenji and her as he looked over his shoulder. She licked her lips as he glanced her way. The only thing missing was his scars. His cheeks were smooth, she wanted to run her hands over them. 

“Okita, my girl wants a whiskey on the rocks,” Kenji yelled over the cacophony of sounds. She barely registered the man she decided would be her meal tonight. 

“Is that right?” The bartender asked. Mitsuri nodded, unable to speak. He was so close, the man she craved more than anyone. Her usual calm demeanor lost as her hand shook. Okita turned around to prepare her drink. He was well built, his hands tactful as he pulled out a chilled glass and one of the bottles of whiskey. He didn’t even bother looking for it. He memorized the selection. 

Obanai. 

Thud, thud, thud. 

It was the first time she felt her heart race in decades. Her past lover stood in front of her. All she had to do was reach across the counter and run her hands over his face. His scarless face. 

I love you. He told her nearly a hundred years ago and it still rang true. At least for her. This man was a mirror copy of her lover. 

“Here,” the man said, holding the amber drink and meeting her gaze. She took the drink and tried to ignore the way their fingers grazed and the spark of electricity under her skin. Did he feel it? Her lips tingled. When was the last time they had kissed? It must have been the night they fell into the Infinity Castle. “Are you alright? It looks like you saw a ghost,” he questioned with concern. Mitsuri stood straighter.

“No, I just-“ she said, losing her cultivated calm. 

Before Mitsuri could find the words, Kenji pulled her into the crowd. Her goal tonight was to find her next meal. She could not get distracted by the man who looked like her past lover. She sipped on her drink as Kenji continued to flirt. Mitsuri kept the conversation going, easily enough. Kenji talked about himself, not bothering to ask her any more questions. He was less of a gentleman than she thought. 

As much as she tried to focus on Kenji, her eyes kept drifting back to the bar every few minutes. Okita was methodical as he went from person to person. He took orders and made drinks and small talk. 

He smiled at the customers, yet it never reached his eyes. He was pretending, just like she was. The thought was sobering. They were actors tonight. He was cast in the role of a working man while she was a woman looking for a casual hookup. Obanai told her once he loved her because of her authenticity. The memory made her sick. What would Obanai think of her now? 

“It looks like you need a refill,” Kenji said, breaking her concentration. Mitsuri looked down at the empty drink in her hand. “I’ll grab you a new one.”

“No, I’ll get it,” Mitsuri said and turned before she could stop herself. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Okita. She slipped away and through the crowd. When she stepped up to the bar she was faced with a white haired woman serving behind the counter. 

“What can I grab for you?” The new bartender asked lazily. Mitsuri scanned the entire bar, but he was gone. When had he disappeared? 

“Where did Okita go?” Mitsuri asked despite her best judgement. He wasn’t the same man as Obanai. They may have looked alike, but they were not the same. 

“His shift ended. You can probably catch him outside,” she said, pointing towards the exit. Mitsuri set her drink on the counter and ran out the door, forgetting about her mission. 

The cold air hit her lungs as she opened the heavy door. Mitsuri looked to the right and only saw a dumpster with a rat running across the top. 

“Ghost girl,” someone said on the other side of her. Mitsuri turned towards the sound, already knowing it was Okita. Even his voice was like Obanai’s. He held a cigarette in his left hand as he leaned against the brick wall. He flicked the ash on the ground. “Are you running away from Kenji?” He asked. “I don’t blame you. He’s an asshole.” 

“Sort of,” Mitsuri answered and shut the door behind her. It was only the two of them-and the rat looking for food in the dumpster. “If you knew he was an asshole, why didn’t you intervene?” 

“It’s not my place and, besides, you look like you can handle yourself. If you’re here, then it seems like I was right.” There was a glint in his eye. He smirked as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. He breathed in and out, blowing the smoke straight up.

Mitsuri swallowed as she stepped in front of him. She had not felt nervous in ages. It was foreign as other past feelings emerged with this man’s appearance. What was she doing right now? 

“The other bartender said your shift was over,” Mitsuri said. 

“Was it that good of a drink?” Okita asked, tilting his head. “Izumi could have made you the same thing.” Mitsuri shook her head. 

“No, I wanted to see you,” she confessed. She wanted to do more than simply see him. She wished to touch his scarless face, run her hands through his silky hair, and kiss him. Objectively, Mitsuri knew this man wasn’t the same as Obanai, but they’re similarities were uncanny. He ignited a spark and now a small ember burned inside her chest.

[reallypleasanttree]

[reallypleasanttree]

Intermission art book by Akira Matsushima

[reallypleasanttree]

this came to me in a vision... what if ruka had a brother and he happened to be obanai iguro’s unknown father, making obanai and rengoku cousins

[reallypleasanttree]

The completed section I have for the Demon Mitsuri and Reincarnated Human Obanai fic where Muzan won and turned Mitsuri into a demon.

“If we survive the battle against Muzan, will you marry me?” Mitsuri asked. They laid, staring at each other. She ran her hand over his cheek, caressing his scars. They ran from his mouth to his ears, deliberately made for him to look like a snake. He never cared how they looked, only if she would be bothered by them. However, she adored them. The raised lines brought her comfort in the familiarity. He entrusted his secret and his face to her alone. He sought solace in her and she in him. 

“Yes,” her lover agreed. 

Nothing could describe how she felt. Warmth blooming beneath her breast. With that single promise, he tied himself to her forever. Scars and all. Except it was not to be. He died fighting one of the Upper Moons. She nearly died before Muzan turned her into a demon. When she first became a demon she had no memory of her former life. It came back in pieces. 

Muzan explained how eating humans would make her stronger. Hunger clawed inside her stomach. Instinct drove her to kill and devour her prey. It didn’t matter who it was. She needed to fill the void in her stomach when in actuality the emptiness originated in her heart. 

—-

“Mitsuri,” the man said. She blinked and tried to focus her eyes on his face. They were inside a large fortress with rotating columns, platforms, and bridges. Nothing stayed in place. “If things get bad, promise you’ll run.” 

“I’d never leave you,” she said automatically. His long black hair shielded her from reading his expression. A white snake coiled tighter around his neck. 

“Please,” he breathed and raised his head. His teal and amber eyes were glossy. Scars graced his cheeks along with a downtrodden expression. She held a hand to her chest. “You’re important and deserve more than this.” He gestured to the demons crawling around the Infinity Castle. “You have to live, so please,” he said, tightening the grip on his sword. “If we fail, run,” he said. She nodded. 

They wouldn’t fail. They had a life to live after this. 

—-

The next night Mitsuri woke feeling full for the first time in ages. Just as she was important, he had been important. She couldn’t remember his name or all of his features. The scars across his cheeks though. She remembered those. 

Her fingers traced an outline of where his scars had been on his face. Jagged, harsh lines meant to frighten, yet… they brought forth joy and fulfillment beneath her breast. For the first time in years, she felt her heart. There was a steady thump, she heard reverberate over her body. She grasped the light blue bed sheets. 

Mitsuri. A smooth voice echoed in her mind. It wasn’t like the times Muzan called upon her. No, this was different. It was like a soft caress  as someone pushed back one of her thick braids and whispered in her ear. 

I will always love you. Chills ran down her spine. It was what she craved. Someone to love her. 

Over the next night, the joy Mitsuri felt vanished. That feeling disappeared in the fog like the scarred man who held her heart. They had been lovers, yet she remained. 

———————

They called it a Glasgow smile. When someone’s face was cut from the corners of their mouth and upwards. A permanent scar to make someone look like they’re always smiling. And who wouldn’t smile when they were with her? 

When she looked in the mirror to see a demon with smooth, pale skin. Pink and green hair with emerald eyes. Her face was sweet enough to look at and a body comparable to a goddess of love. It drew in her prey like a Venus flytrap. An offering of sweetness only to be entangled in her vice grip and torn apart.  

She felt nothing as she recalled the vivid, brutal details of her kills. Muscles and ligaments snapped as she tore them from the bone. Blood, the metallic taste sat on her tongue. With each bite, she hoped to fill the void. 

Before the main event, she would charm them, luring them in with a soft chuckle and a touch on the shoulder. With a single touch and a drop of her blood, anyone would fall in love with her. Their eyes would dilate, heart would quicken, and skin would sweat. All signs that her blood demon art worked. Now she was in an alleyway with a stranger. 

“I love you, baby,” her prey whispered. She felt nothing, but the sickening hunger as her stomach growled. Love was no longer part of her vocabulary. At least not in the waking world. Her dreams were another matter. 

The woman dug her nails into the back of his shirt as he kissed her jawline. He was completely intoxicated and reeked of alcohol. She pulled back her lips, her teeth elongating as she prepared to strike.

Her saliva contained a natural sedative. As soon as she bit his neck it would take less than three minutes for him to lose any feeling except for his overwhelming love and affection for the pink haired woman he picked up at the bar. She pulled her head back and before she could read his face, she bit his neck, just hard enough to draw blood. An appetizer before the feast. 

He groaned. She sucked on his neck, drinking his blood. Alternating between sucking and biting, she could feel his body becoming slack. His hold around her loosened and his knees started to buckle. She paused to hold his body up against the wall. 

She flexed her hand to make her nails grow. With her long nails, she carved a permanent smile onto the man’s face. Blood dripped down the man’s cheeks. Her blood demon art was stronger than the pain and fear he should have felt. 

“I love you,” he murmured past the bloody smile. 

“You don’t,” she said. His eyes closed, the blood loss too great to ignore. 

Looking at her work, she could see the man she longed for. He had black hair, sweet almond shaped eyes, and the Glasgow smile. How she missed running her hands over the ridges of the scar. In the next second her former lover was gone. She gritted her teeth before she bit into the stranger’s neck again. The blood quelled her rage, but it would never fill the emptiness inside. Seeing him, though? That was the only time she felt full. It would only last a short time before she’d hunt again. 

Anytime she carved a smile into her prey’s face, she saw her lover and remembered how it felt to be in love instead of the fallacy of being loved. The feelings ushered forth. The coolness of his hands in hers, his arms encircling her in an embrace, the look in his different colored eyes as he watched her race towards him, reunited after a mission. Carving into her victims was the only way to keep his memory alive and her emotions. 

Otherwise, she was a shell of the woman she had been. She could act like the happy go lucky girl, but it never reached her heart. Her smiles were disingenuous along with her promises to care for the men she devoured. No, it was only his confession that quickened her heart. 

————

“Iguro-San, if I became a demon what would you do?” Mitsuri asked. The question was prompted by the last hashira meeting where they met the Kamado siblings. Iguro-San had been unnecessarily harsh with the brother while the Wind Hashira tormented the demon girl. It made her wonder how the Serpent Hashira would react in the boy’s place. Would he be so willing to demand her execution? 

He sat beside her on a bench. There was a plate of dango between them. Iguro-San took one out of twenty, leaving nineteen for her. His grip on the stick tightened and he stared directly ahead of them. 

“Don’t speak like that,” he said loudly. Mitsuri blinked. He never raised his voice around her and spoke kindly. The stick broke between his fingers. She raised her hands up to catch one of the fallen pieces. Instead he caught her wrist and faced her. Her cheeks warmed at the contact and his heated gaze. 

“I’d never allow you to become a demon, not while I’m alive,” Iguro practically growled. 

“I-I’m only joking,” Mitsuri stuttered. 

“Your life is not a joke,” he said. “You’re the most important person to me.” He moved his hand from her wrist to hold her hand. Her heart stuttered this time. Did she really mean that much to him? Surely he was only being kind. Mitsuri tried to pull her hand away, but he held tighter. 

“Kanroji-San, don’t you get it?” He asked, leaning towards her. Her ears buzzed until all she could see was his face. His earnest gaze hypnotized her, leaving her frozen on the bench. 

“I love you,” Iguro admitted. He reached up and pulled the bandages down. She didn’t even care to look at his unmasked face before their lips met. Soft and gentle despite the fire raging inside her. When she finally pulled back she took in the sight of his smile, the one that extended past the corners of his mouth. 

“I love you too,” Mitsuri said, lifting her hand to caress the scars for the first time. 

—

Mitsuri woke up still feeling his warm hand clasped over hers. The memory etched into her heart. The heat in his gold and teal eyes as he confessed and the kiss afterward. Why couldn’t she stay inside the dream for a bit longer? She traced the outline of her lips. 

Her lover kept his promise. He died before she became a demon. He never had to see her like this. A shell of her former self. Listless, selfish, gluttonous. She rolled to her side. Her stomach growled. Another night in the endless days where she sought a cure to this hunger. 

There was no cure. She pinched her stomach. There was no cure for the emptiness, eating away at her insides. The only relief were the memories of Iguro and his all encompassing love. 

I wish you were here. She looked at the empty side of her hotel bed. What would it have been like if he was turned into a demon? He would have been beside her now. She ran her hand over the sheets, recalling how she would search for his sleeping form in the middle of the night as humans. The longing was still there. Mitsuri rolled out of the bed, her white silk robe trailing on the floor. Tonight she had to hunt. 

—-

Mitsuri never stayed in one place for too long. It would be noticeable if multiple men disappeared from the same club or city. Now, she was standing beside the bar trying to decide who would be her next victim. She smiled at the man across the crowd. He was tall with bleached short hair. He met her gaze and she winked. He made his way down the steps to her. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” He greeted. 

“Waiting for you,” Mitsuri said, the lie slipping out easily. He grinned widely. 

“I’m Kenji,” he introduced himself. 

“Haru,” she said using a pseudonym, batting her eyes at him. It was over the top, but men couldn’t resist a girl throwing herself at them. “I’m in town for business.”

“What are you drinking?” Kenji asked and pulled her to the bar’s service counter. His hand rested on her upper arm. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” 

“Such a gentleman,” she praised. 

The bartender was preparing drinks. The lights were dimmed, but she could see his features clearly. The man from her dreams. Her flirtatious nature vanished seeing him. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his two toned gaze honed in on Kenji and her as he looked over his shoulder. She licked her lips as he glanced her way. The only thing missing was his scars. His cheeks were smooth, she wanted to run her hands over them. 

“Okita, my girl wants a whiskey on the rocks,” Kenji yelled over the cacophony of sounds. She barely registered the man she decided would be her meal tonight. 

“Is that right?” The bartender asked. Mitsuri nodded, unable to speak. He was so close, the man she craved more than anyone. Her usual calm demeanor lost as her hand shook. Okita turned around to prepare her drink. He was well built, his hands tactful as he pulled out a chilled glass and one of the bottles of whiskey. He didn’t even bother looking for it. He memorized the selection. 

Obanai. 

Thud, thud, thud. 

It was the first time she felt her heart race in decades. Her past lover stood in front of her. All she had to do was reach across the counter and run her hands over his face. His scarless face. 

I love you. He told her nearly a hundred years ago and it still rang true. At least for her. This man was a mirror copy of her lover. 

“Here,” the man said, holding the amber drink and meeting her gaze. She took the drink and tried to ignore the way their fingers grazed and the spark of electricity under her skin. Did he feel it? Her lips tingled. When was the last time they had kissed? It must have been the night they fell into the Infinity Castle. “Are you alright? It looks like you saw a ghost,” he questioned with concern. Mitsuri stood straighter.

“No, I just-“ she said, losing her cultivated calm. 

Before Mitsuri could find the words, Kenji pulled her into the crowd. Her goal tonight was to find her next meal. She could not get distracted by the man who looked like her past lover. She sipped on her drink as Kenji continued to flirt. Mitsuri kept the conversation going, easily enough. Kenji talked about himself, not bothering to ask her any more questions. He was less of a gentleman than she thought. 

As much as she tried to focus on Kenji, her eyes kept drifting back to the bar every few minutes. Okita was methodical as he went from person to person. He took orders and made drinks and small talk. 

He smiled at the customers, yet it never reached his eyes. He was pretending, just like she was. The thought was sobering. They were actors tonight. He was cast in the role of a working man while she was a woman looking for a casual hookup. Obanai told her once he loved her because of her authenticity. The memory made her sick. What would Obanai think of her now? 

“It looks like you need a refill,” Kenji said, breaking her concentration. Mitsuri looked down at the empty drink in her hand. “I’ll grab you a new one.”

“No, I’ll get it,” Mitsuri said and turned before she could stop herself. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Okita. She slipped away and through the crowd. When she stepped up to the bar she was faced with a white haired woman serving behind the counter. 

“What can I grab for you?” The new bartender asked lazily. Mitsuri scanned the entire bar, but he was gone. When had he disappeared? 

“Where did Okita go?” Mitsuri asked despite her best judgement. He wasn’t the same man as Obanai. They may have looked alike, but they were not the same. 

“His shift ended. You can probably catch him outside,” she said, pointing towards the exit. Mitsuri set her drink on the counter and ran out the door, forgetting about her mission. 

The cold air hit her lungs as she opened the heavy door. Mitsuri looked to the right and only saw a dumpster with a rat running across the top. 

“Ghost girl,” someone said on the other side of her. Mitsuri turned towards the sound, already knowing it was Okita. Even his voice was like Obanai’s. He held a cigarette in his left hand as he leaned against the brick wall. He flicked the ash on the ground. “Are you running away from Kenji?” He asked. “I don’t blame you. He’s an asshole.” 

“Sort of,” Mitsuri answered and shut the door behind her. It was only the two of them-and the rat looking for food in the dumpster. “If you knew he was an asshole, why didn’t you intervene?” 

“It’s not my place and, besides, you look like you can handle yourself. If you’re here, then it seems like I was right.” There was a glint in his eye. He smirked as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. He breathed in and out, blowing the smoke straight up.

Mitsuri swallowed as she stepped in front of him. She had not felt nervous in ages. It was foreign as other past feelings emerged with this man’s appearance. What was she doing right now? 

“The other bartender said your shift was over,” Mitsuri said. 

“Was it that good of a drink?” Okita asked, tilting his head. “Izumi could have made you the same thing.” Mitsuri shook her head. 

“No, I wanted to see you,” she confessed. She wanted to do more than simply see him. She wished to touch his scarless face, run her hands through his silky hair, and kiss him. Objectively, Mitsuri knew this man wasn’t the same as Obanai, but they’re similarities were uncanny. He ignited a spark and now a small ember burned inside her chest.

[reallypleasanttree]

Do you ship any other KnY couples? Or just Obamitsu?

I have a preference towards Obamitsu, but I like ObaShinoMitsu and Obanai x Sanemi. I tried writing a Giyuu x Obanai fanfic once and it went nowhere. 😅 thanks for asking!

[reallypleasanttree]

Random snippet from an unfinished fanfic.

“She’s gone now,” Kyojuro said without looking up at the roof. Obanai crouched down and grabbed hold of the side of the roof to lower himself to the floor. “You don’t have to avoid her. She’s not going to bite you.”

“It’s not that.” Obanai said, looking at the gate Mitsuri passed through a minute ago. 

“Then what is it?” Kyojuro questioned.

Obanai said nothing. He didn’t want to reveal his feelings for the pink haired hashira. He flexed his hands and Kaburamaru hissed. It was easier to avoid her, then he wouldn’t have to fall deeper in love with her. It was better to keep his distance. 

“She’s not the person I expected her to be,” Obanai said. 

“What do you mean?” Kyojuro raised an eyebrow. 

“She’s better. She’s kinder than the rest of us. She’s sweet and stronger than she gives herself credit for.” Obanai turned to face Kyojuro, his eyes lit with a new interest. 

“How would you know if you haven’t talked to her?” Kyojuro smiled, amused by this turn of events. 

“I watched her with the other slayers, kakushi, and people,” he said. She made sakura mochi and tried to give the majority of them to others. She wore a smile nearly all the time. He wanted to remember that smile forever. Her eyes closing, wrinkling at the corners smiling at her friends. If it weren’t for his blood, he could talk to her. 

“The next time I invite her over, join us,” Kyojuro suggested. Obanai shook his head once. “She’s a hashira now, you should get to know her. We’re all fighting together and you could be sent on missions together in the future,” Kyojuro explained. 

He readied himself to deny his foster brother again.

“She asked about you. Not by name, but she asked about the man with the snake and black and white haori who gave her directions. If you don’t want to visit her, at least introduce yourself or write her a letter.”

“Alright,” he chose not to fight. And from there he was lost in the Love Hashira. 

[reallypleasanttree]

Why tf is there a lack of obamitsu gifs?

As if true love doesn't exist pt.2

[reallypleasanttree]

Hii!! yknow i noticed on rereading Wedding Plans, you changed the setting from america to japan. I was panicking when u suddenly changed where Akira lives from Boston to Hiroshima cause i thought I was going crazy haha.

But I wonder what made u change it? Not that its a bad thing I appreciate this change actually!! It makes sense for the characters to live in Japan rather than in America.

No, you’re definitely not going crazy! I had a commenter on chapter 25 express their disappointment when they realized the setting was in America. You can see the full conversation there.

I went through and changed the main location to a fictional town outside of Osaka. Mitsuri and her family will be from Taito. Nichirin’s new restaurant and Obanai’s father will be in Hiroshima. Shinobu and Giyuu will still be visiting from Boston though(It makes more sense why Shinobu wouldn’t be able to be Maid of Honor if she was in America). I changed it a few days after I posted the latest chapter.

Originally, Wedding Plans was going to be three chapters, so I wrote in the context of what I was most comfortable with which is America. I should have written it in Japan from the beginning, which is my mistake.

Thanks for asking!

[reallypleasanttree]

I know you said you were open to suggestions and since you commenting recently about how you would do an enemy's to lovers obamitsu with the right idea my mind keeps brainstorming ideas but nothing that I came up with felt right for them

But I've just binged what's out of the remake of Ranma 1/2 on Netflix and it's an enemies to lovers of sorts and could actually work as the set up for an obamitsu fic at least the main premise ~ her family owning some kind of martial arts dojo/ her being kick ass/ her distaste for boys/ the arranged marriage between two families where the parents are friends/ him being on her level in fighting ~ at least makes sense to me haha! The changing into a girl curse tcould be scrapped or altered tbh idk if it fits in with it quite as well aha but just some brainstorming thoughts because yno obamitsu brain rot 😂😍

Sorry for responding to this so late. I read this in the middle of the night after waking up randomly and meant to respond earlier.

I haven’t watched the Ranma 1/2 remake(my friend recommended it, so maybe I’ll give it a shot.), but I watched the original. It was adorable and I loved the slow build to their relationship. I think an enemies to lovers Obamitsu fanfic could work with this context. Though I’d swap out Obanai’s bio family with the Rengokus.

I’m trying to focus on the fics I already have planned currently. If inspiration strikes though, I think this could make a cute one or two shot. ☺️ thanks for sharing!

[reallypleasanttree]

Obamitsu brainrot continues. “Iguro-San, if I became a demon what would you do?” Mitsuri asked, sitting beside her fellow hashira on a bench. There was a plate of dango between them. Iguro-San took one out of twenty. His grip on the stick tightened and he stared directly ahead.

“Don’t speak like that,” he said. Mitsuri blinked. He never raised his voice around her. The stick broke between his fingers. She raised her hands up to catch one of the fallen pieces. Instead he caught her wrist and faced her. Her cheeks warmed at the contact and his heated gaze. 

“I’d never allow you to become a demon, not while I’m alive,” Iguro practically growled. 

“I-I’m only joking,” Mitsuri stuttered.

“Your life is not a joke,” he said. “You’re the most important person to me.” He moved his hand from her wrist to hold her hand. Her heart stuttered this time. Did she really mean that much to him? Surely he was only being kind. Mitsuri tried to pull her hand away, but he held tighter. 

“Kanroji-San, don’t you get it?” He asked, leaning towards her. Her ears buzzed until all she could see was his face. “I love you,” Iguro admitted. He reached up and pulled the bandages down. She didn’t even care to look before their lips met. 

[reallypleasanttree]

Obamitsu Fluff for Wedding Plans. 🫠

Obanai looked at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. The facial scars were less noticeable. His hands rested on the counter top. When he first moved in one of the first things he did was remove the main bathroom’s mirror and put it in the closet. 

Now he hung it up. Just because he hid from his reflection didn’t mean the scars were still there. They always would, but his perception of them changed. Objectively, they were unsightly, silver and pink lines etched into his face. He closed his eyes, recalling the warmth of Mitsuri’s thumbs caressing his cheeks. The memory brought forth a sense of comfort. 

In this life, he let her see every piece of his brokenness and she accepted him. The scars, internal and external. Her words and touches left him breathless. Each time they met she melted away his icy exterior. Dismantling his defenses and rebuilding them together.

“Will you be ready to go soon? We have to run by my house, remember?” Mitsuri asked, peeking her head around the door. He turned towards her. Her cheeks were reddened from the summer heat. 

“I remember,” Obanai said. She smiled like a flower in bloom. Before she could turn away, he caught her hand. Mitsuri looked at him expectantly with wide green eyes. “There’s something I want to give you first.”

“You got me a gift?” She asked, bouncing on her feet. 

“No, a surprise.” The black haired man smirked and squeezed her hand with his sweaty one. Despite the knowledge that she would accept, his anxiety still existed. 

It’s going to be okay. 

He led her to his bed and motioned for her to sit down. Turning towards the nightstand, Obanai opened the drawer and took two seconds to locate what he needed. He cleared his throat as he turned back to his fiancé. As soon as she saw the box, her hands shot up to cover her open mouth. 

“I said I wanted to give you the moon and this was the closest I could get,” Obanai said, “well, besides moonrocks.” He opened the velvet box. Her green eyes illuminated in the sunlight filtering past the blinds. 

“Yes, a hundred times yes,” Mitsuri said, bobbing her head up and down. She held out her hand for him to place the ring on her hand. He took the ring out and slipped it on, fitting like it had always been there. The pale amber color complemented her skin. 

“It’s not much, but-” Obanai started. 

“It’s perfect. I love the pearl, it’s so pretty.” She examined the ring on her finger. “It really does look like the moon,” she said in awe. It was not traditional, but Mitsuri and him… they’d never been a traditional couple, had they?

[reallypleasanttree]

me, incorrect: everyone is probably sick of me writing about this character by now...

my inner voice, wise: ah, but this cannot be... because I am part of "everyone"... and until I am sick of reading about them... it will not be everyone

me, opening a new blank word doc: ur so right

[reallypleasanttree]

Snippet for Demon Mitsuri AU Obamitsu fanfic wip. Setting: Modern Era

Mitsuri never stayed in one place for too long. It would be noticeable if multiple men disappeared from the same club or city. Now, she was standing beside the bar trying to decide who would be her next victim. She wanted to see her human lover again. The feeling of being loved was addictive. She craved it. 

She smiled at the man across from her. He was tall, blond with a mustache. He met her gaze and she winked. He made his way over to her. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?” He greeted. 

“Waiting for you,” Mitsuri said, the lie slipping out easily. He grinned widely. 

“I’m Lance,” he introduced himself. 

“Lily,” she said using a pseudonym, batting her eyes at him. It was over the top, but men couldn’t resist a girl throwing herself at them. “I’m in town for business.”

“What are you drinking?” Lance asked and pulled her to the bar’s service counter. His hand rested on her upper arm. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.” 

“Such a gentleman,” she praised him. The bartender was facing away from them preparing drinks. 

Her heart thudded for the first time in decades. The man from her dreams. Her usual calm vanished seeing him. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail and his two toned gaze honed in on Lance and her as he looked over his shoulder. She licked her lips as he glanced her way. The only thing missing was his scars. His cheeks were smooth, she wanted to run her hands over them. 

“Okita, my girl wants a whiskey on the rocks,” Lance yelled over the cacophony of sounds. She barely registered the man she decided would be her meal tonight. 

“Is that right?” The bartender asked. Mitsuri nodded, unable to speak. He was so close, the man she craved more than anyone. The bartender  turned around again to prepare her drink. He was well built, his hands tactful as he pulled out a chilled glass and one of the bottles of whiskey. He didn’t even bother looking for it. He memorized the selection. 

Lance was talking, but she failed to listen. The man who haunted her dreams stood before within her reach. So close, yet too far. Her a demon and him a human. She shivered.

Obanai.