#Obamitsu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reallypleasanttree · 8 hours ago

Text

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.

#obamitsu #demon mitsuri au #obanai x mitsuri

41 notes · View notes