I don't think I can actually write mate i always have to be high on sugar. or listen to tidus laugh on repeat
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Summary: Akaza is haunted by a ghost.
Rating: T
Warnings & Tags: Some cussing.
Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]
Preview + Read More ✾
“Good morning Akaza! It’s Monday, March Twenty-Two. The weather forecast says it’s going to rain today, so don’t forget to bring your umbrella! Assuming you didn’t misplace it, it should be in the bin by your shoes. Today’s breakfast is a tuna sandwich. It should be arriving in twenty minutes, don’t miss the doorbell! Have a good day. I’ll talk to you again later.”
Akaza sits upright with a groan. He’s way too noisy in the morning, he thinks, reaching for the buzzing electronic clock by his bedside. Every morning, at nine, without fail- Kyoujuro wakes him up, lets him know what to prepare in advance before he leaves for work, and has breakfast prepared for him.
True to the message, just as Akaza finishes his morning routine- brushing his teeth and shaving what stubble may have grown overnight, the doorbell rings. There is no one behind the door, he knows that- just the promised meal sitting at his doorstep. Kyoujuro has a neighborhood caterer take care of two of his meals; lunch is always something he deals with alone at work. The sandwich is gone within minutes as he wolfs it down. A far cry from what he’s used to eating, bland and dry, but it serves the purpose well.
After all, no meal will ever compare to Kyoujuro personally making it for him, but he makes do.
He barely makes it to the tram station before it begins to rain, first a light drizzle as he quickens his footsteps, then a heavy downpour once he makes it under the cover of the the tram station. He’d ignored Kyoujuro’s message to bring an umbrella because it broke two months ago and has never bothered to buy a new one, and since he never told Kyoujuro that, there was no reminder for him to pick up a new one.
If Kyoujuro were here he’d run out as soon as possible to buy a new one for me.
But he isn’t here now.
At one in the afternoon, his cellphone rings. The calls come at the same time every day, even if he’s moved out of his own timezone into another, mostly because he never synchronizes Kyoujuro’s time with his location. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Kyoujuro. It’s always him.
“How is your day at work, Akaza? I hope Monday Blues aren’t getting to you! You’ve keyed in two appointments for after work today on your phone, so would you like for me to postpone your dinner delivery or would you rather settle it yourself? Anyway, I’ve made a call to your doctor today, seeing as you’ve never updated me for three weeks! She’s scheduled an appointment at Friday, eight pm. If you miss it, I’ll get angry! Hmph! It should be lunch hour for you now, enjoy your break, and maybe I'll see you tonight!”
Liar.
Akaza throws his headphones on the desk and storms out of his cubby. The automatic doors hiss open long before he even reaches them, letting the faint after-rain sunshine seep in. It’s still freezing cold outside but Akaza does not give a fuck, dodging the main traffic and nearly bowling over others at pedestrian walk until he reaches the nearby eatery he always has lunch at.
He’s not really a creature of habit, but after Kyoujuro left, Akaza makes it a point to not enter any establishment that reminds him of Kyoujuro. All the places they’ve eaten at, all the parks they’ve been to, all the museums they’ve visited. He finds out that, without leaving town, almost everything is crossed out for him as they’ve both been adventurous in their youth, making it their personal mission to visit every new cafe, tour every public facility and enjoy themselves at every kind of park.
But he can’t leave town. Never.
He’d like to think it’s because Muzan would kill him for trying to run away from his service, but in reality- even if Akaza vehemently denies it- it’s because Kyoujuro is still here. In this town. And he can never leave because he’s tied to this town. To Akaza- and once his apartment.
✾
After lunch, a message pops on his phone screen- bright, yellow, a definitive sign of who the sender is.
KyoUwU ♥ [14:00 22/03/2030]
Dinner- cancel or postpone? Press 1 to cancel. 2 to postpone.
Akaza taps a 2 on the holographic screen before pocketing his phone. He’s too lazy to find food elsewhere, anyway. Of the two meetings he’s supposed to make it to after work, one is Muzan’s monthly meeting for the members of his inner circle.
An organization of cybercrime professionals- that’s what they are. Most of them are highly skilled hackers and programmers, but there are also people who specialize in handling things offline, like Akaza himself- if there’s something that’s too hard to crack remotely, Akaza will be given the task of getting up close and personal with the servers they were aiming for better access. Definitely not something he does everyday, so he lives off the boring old desk job as well.
After the first meeting, Akaza makes his way into the tall building Muzan owns, beelining for their usual underground meeting chamber and making himself comfortable on one of the available lounges. Only Hantengu is there, that decrepit old man who probably can’t even see five metres in front of his blind face, but still works for Muzan thanks to his incredible cyberspy network that he has a bunch of assistants maintain.
He’s fine with Hantengu. That old man never bothers him unless for a good reason, even if he titters and stutters far too much. The next person to walk- no, prance in, however, makes Akaza’s blood boil even at his mere presence.
Douma, the resident hacker. He built up a cult following in the dark web and uses them for many ends, including human trafficking- which, in this age, proves even more of a bigger problem seeing as they are sent to be turned into cyborgs . Completely unrecognizable. Completely obedient. And never able to return.
“Oh, Mr. Hantengu. And Akaza~ My best friend!” Douma greets in a sing-song tone. Akaza scoffs and rolls off the loungechair he was on, intending to stalk off to the other end of the room just to ignore him.
“Don’t ignore me, that’s cold!” the blond whines. He hasn’t even done anything yet and Akaza already wants to throttle the bastard. “Are you pissy because your ‘boyfriend’ nagged you too much? Hm? Hm? I can always repr-”
Akaza’s right fist connects with Douma’s face, but instead of sending him flying across the room like it should, it merely causes Douma to snap his neck with a loud crack, taking three steps backwards.
“Oh that’s cold.”
Douma’s neck snaps back into place with the whirr of a machine.
That bastard is a cyborg. He did it to himself, years ago, customizing and programming everything himself so that he wouldn’t lose his memories or sense of self so that he can have a body equally as twisted as his head.
“Don’t touch Kyoujuro.” Akaza warns, even if he clearly knows he can’t do anything to Douma unless he blows that cyborg asshole up with explosives. And even if he did, he has Muzan to deal with.
“I’m sure you’re tired of hearing the same things everyday, and I can change that.”
“No,” Akaza growls.
Douma is just about to retort when Muzan steps in with the rest of their missing members in tow, causing Akaza to give him a death glare and sink down into his designated spot around the great table, and the meeting begun.
✾
“Welcome home, Akaza!”
The message that he hears whenever he returns home. The moment he crosses the threshold of the anteroom and into the living room.
“I’m home,” he responds, waiting for Kyoujuro to speak again.
“You’re back now, so dinner should arrive soon- don’t shower first! How was work today? I hope you didn’t tell off too many kids during the online tutoring session. Haha!” -the laugh. So painfully familiar. Still so warm, even it's ever so slightly distorted by a speaker system. But without the matching smiling visage of Kyoujuro, he finds it lacking. And sad. It still causes his chest to clench painfully, and no matter how many times he hears this same exact laugh- he still feels tears prickling at the back of his eyes, the shortness of breath and exactly one, long and torturous second where he'd inevitably think of a man that dazzled like the midday sun.
It has been three years since he’d last seen Kyoujuro.
God, he missed him.
“The temperature tonight is quite low, so I’ve adjusted the fans and water temperatures around the apartment. Don’t sleep shirtless like you always do, you’ll catch a cold.”
Sometimes he wishes Kyoujuro wasn’t like this. That man is far too used to taking care of others that he never even thinks of himself or literally anything else, making sure to put Akaza’s needs before his own and never even once thought of programming a function for automated conversation into Kyoujuro , fully committed to improving the AI's domestic and pragmatic functionality instead.
He wishes he could have an actual conversation. Not just predetermined phrases to cancel reminders, postpone meals or to update his status.
It would still be fake- but maybe, just maybe then, he could pretend the illusion is his reality.
“I miss you, Kyou.” Akaza mutters into the cold, empty space of the apartment.
The AI doesn’t reply. It never does. It’s not programmed to reply to anything outside of specific, detached commands because Kyoujuro made it with the assumption that he would still be alive with Akaza, perhaps right next to him, sharing a cup of warm tea after a long day of work and cuddling on their couch when he finally returns home. That he would still be there to call Akaza sporadically to excitedly tell him of work, of the things he's seen, of every little thing Akaza used to reprimand him for doing out of his enthusiasm and almost-childish innocence.
“Your dinner should be arriving right about now! It’s-” The bot’s voice fizzles out as it fails to register the name of the delivered meal, as it’s not written in a language Kyoujuro never learned and therefore never included in Kyoujuro ’s voice pack. “Enjoy your meal, Akaza!”
This is the part where the illusion truly breaks, Akaza thinks. It’s an automated message that was never updated because the programmer is gone, after all. “I’ll be back soon. Love you.”
Liar. Liar. Liar liar liarliarliar.
Rengoku Kyoujuro died three years ago in the crossfire of a chaotic protest campaign, trying to protect the other civilians who were similarly caught up in it.
It took Akaza two weeks of waiting for phone calls that never came, chat messages that were never seen, and frantic outgoing calls that were never picked up before Akaza is notified that the silence will be permanent.
Kyoujuro is the last thing the once-genius programmer made, an automated system that takes care of his workaholic boyfriend Akaza in his place while he’s away for his own job. He intended for it to be active only for a couple of months, as he worked in a different section two timezones away, but he recorded enough of his voice to generate multiple different messages and left a reminder and service-hailing system that was meant for extended use and would automatically update according to Akaza's phone in cases where he’s forced to work away from home for a while longer.
“Liar,” Akaza repeats into the dead silence of the apartment.
There will be no messages until 9am tomorrow morning.
He did it. It’s done. Eight minutes more and this will all be over.
Akaza. VC-0065450-03. Real name; [Redacted]. Born; [Redacted]. Volunteer camp; [Japan, Kyoto.]
Rating: T
Tags: Apocalyse(?) AU, Aliens, Mentions of inhumane experiments and blood. Futuristic AU.
Pairing: Akaren (Renkaza???)
???
30%. 0/1. In-Progress.
That damned blue eye that grew in place of the one he destroyed must be the cause for all of Kyoujuro's resistance.
No matter how many times it takes, Akaza will reset his prize again and again until he forgets the man with eyes the same color as his and fully embraces his new life as a demon.
Rating: M
Tags: Demon!Rengoku IF, Akaza is just plain evil, Cannibalism(?!), Blood and Gore.
Pairing: Akaren (Renkaza???) , Rengiyuu
Summary: Sabito is injured and Giyuu is angry.
Rating: G
Warnings & Tags: Everyone Lives, Fluff, Some Blood.
Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]
Preview + Read More ✾
“You,” he pauses for emphasis while the man he is currently treating scoffs, “are an idiot.”
“Why, thank you, Giyuu. I didn’t know that!”
Giyuu exerts more force than he needs to as he coils the ends of the clothwrap around Sabito’s bruised and bloody torso. It earns him a long and pained groan before Sabito slumps over, defeated.
Wounds are nothing to Demon Slayers. This is a dangerous profession- life and death is uncertain, so it’s not uncommon to see a Demon Slayer hobbling around with injuries from a mission. What should not be common, though, are wounds from fighting each other.
Again.
It’s turning into a common occurrence and also enough that Giyuu is quite sure that fighting another Hashira is a lot more dangerous than an actual demon, because Sabito has broken three damned ribs and dislocated his left shoulder along with a slew of superficial but deep cuts on his skin. Last month, that idiot had a concussion, got an impromptu haircut and also scorched off his eyebrows.
Not that the other two Hashira fared better but Giyuu is only worried about Sabito. The rest of them can handle themselves just fine. Kanae and Shinobu will make sure they recover by force if they have to.
“Why is it always you three and your testosterones?” Giyuu demands angrily. Sabito flinches when Giyuu aggravates one of the cuts on his shoulder by dabbing the medicinal herb-soaked cloth without any of his usual gentleness. That stung , damn it, along with all other still untreated wounds. “Why can’t you be like Himejima? Or even Iguro, at least he knows his limit and avoids unnecessary injuries.”
“In my defence, I’m not the one who got all excited and upped the stakes-“
“Doesn’t mean you have to match their intensity, you idiot.” Giyuu finishes dabbing Sabito’s shoulders and steps back to look him over.
He looks awful, by the way. Patches of red and purple blooming over his knuckles, forearms and torso; dark, angry red cuts that made the surrounding pale skin burn red from being stung by medicinal herbs; and the bandage across his upper abdomen and chest that is beginning to soak in red right under his right arm.
Selfishly Giyuu wishes the other two idiots, Sanemi and Kyoujuro, suffer wounds equal to or even more than Sabito's because those look painful .
“Come now, Giyuu, don’t get mad.” Sabito laughs, opening his arms wide, wordlessly asking for physical affection. “We men must enjoy the thrill of the fight!”
“Idiot,” Giyuu emphasizes again, but he’s not really that pissed any more. It’s hard to be when Sabito does that; when he smiles in that way with his lavender eyes reflecting light and his stupid bruised cheeks and bloody red upturned lips-
Giyuu collapses into Sabito’s outstretched arms for a hug, kneeling in between Sabito's knees in front of the platform Sabito is seated and taking utmost care not to press into his torso too hard. He doesn’t like seeing Sabito injured, because it brings to mind the Final Selection, where he almost died and had to be wrapped up just like this for weeks to come.
“Kiss it better?” Sabito teases, knowing exactly what Giyuu is thinking of. This time it is Giyuu’s turn to scoff, but he does anyway, pressing light butterfly kisses starting from Sabito’s shoulder, down to his bruised knuckles, before moving on to his abdomen.
Sabito giggles as Giyuu’s long hair tickles his stomach but is silenced by a pinch on his forearm. Then, Giyuu moves up, pecking Sabito gently under his jaw despite there being no injuries, and then nips at his ear.
“In case you think this is a reward,” Giyuu mutters into his ear, “Which this is definitely not ,” before tightening his hold on Sabito’s shoulder just a little below where the open cut is.
Sabito swallows. Ah, Giyuu is still a little angry. Better this than the time Giyuu punched him through the Shoji windows. He fidgets nervously when Giyuu releases his shoulder to reposition himself for better, closer access to his face.
“Don’t,” Giyuu pecks the bruise above his lip, “Get,” a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose, “Competitive,” a kiss and lingering warm breaths on the bruise around his right eye, “With,” Giyuu holds his cheeks with both hands now as his lips land on Sabito’s brow, “Those two.”
Giyuu distances his face with Sabito’s to look him right in the eyes. The churning, endless ocean gazing into the bright silver moons.
“Again.”
Then Giyuu closes their distance again for a proper kiss this time. Sabito still tastes like blood and strawberry mochi. Giyuu tastes like the tea they had this afternoon, swirling in Sabito’s mouth.
Sabito can’t really bring himself to regret the decision of getting into a heated fight with the Flame and Wind Hashira after this- not when he’s treated to a dominant and assertive Giyuu, attacking his mouth like a violent ocean tide.
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