#tokyo rev

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Rindou's new game animation!

[hojoslutoru]

WRONG NUMBER (II)

Sano Manjiro x Fem OC, Wakasa Imaushi x Fem OC

Yuna wakes up in the world of Tokyo Revengers and ends up becoming a part of the story whether she likes it or not.

features age gaps, aged up characters, angst, bed sharing, canon divergence, isekai, love triangles, memory loss, mild yandere, smut, unhealthy relationships

*meme not mine

*dividers by @ thecutestgrotto

*member of

PAST

Nobody ever expects to wake up to a scream in the middle of the night. Especially not Yuna, after she secretly saved the day. No, the dark impulse wasn't gone, but there was one more person to tether Mikey to sanity. So why is someone crying out in pain in the kitchen?

Not caring about how she looks or the fact that she's barely coherent, Yuna stumbles into the kitchen. For a moment she still thinks she's asleep. Why would Mikey be standing in front of Shinichiro pushing a knife into his stomach? She blinks but still sees Mikey's vacant face looking past Shin's tears to the vegetables spread out on the counter.

"MIKEY!" She wails, piercing the tension and undoubtedly wakes up the other two residents of the house if they weren't already.

Yuna wouldn't call herself brave, but she only hesitates for a couple of seconds before crossing the kitchen to wrap her hands around his wrists. He could kill me right now. I could die. The love she feels for them both throbs within her and pushes down her fear. Yuna holds him from behind, her chest pressing against his stiff back. She gives a light squeeze and he releases the knife. Shin releases a shaky breath, even though the blade is still lodged deep within his abdomen. There's a slight smile of relief on his face, though it's quickly replaced by a grimace.

"What…?"

Mikey sways and leans back into Yuna, who's still clasping his wrists. She murmurs "It’s okay" over and over into his clammy neck.

"No. No!" He's never sounded so young. Mikey begins to sob just like his brother, shaking against her.

"It’s okay, ototo." Shinichiro tries to smile once more. Blood seeps between his teeth. "It was an accident. I'm not mad."

“I– I didn't– I don't know–” He chokes on his words.

“I think Mikey was sleepwalking. Maybe he had a nightmare and was confused.” Shinichiro makes eye contact with Yuna through the tears. She should have known the curse is trying to take its pound of flesh.

A whole year had passed since the time Shin was supposed to die. He should have been safe. Baji and Tora are fine…aren't they? Yuna swallows down her panic. The Sanos need her to keep it together.

Grandpa Sano and Emma both tumble through the doorway, confusion rapidly crumbling under the instinctual panic. The elder of the two runs like she's never witnessed before over to his wounded grandson. Emma stumbles over stating their address into the house phone.

With a nod toward Shin, she takes it upon herself to anchor Mikey to the light. Yuna squeezes his body tight and tilts her head up to kiss the back of his head. It's the same thing she did for her little sister when she had nightmares. Grandpa Sano sinks to his knees, putting pressure on Shin's wound. His wrinkled hands press tight against either side of the knife. The scent of blood and frantic yells shatter her heart. She failed the Sanos, she made things so much worse for them even though she saved Mikey's friends.

“It’s okay Manjiro. You didn't mean to. It's not your fault.” She presses a hand to his sternum. “It’s okay. Breathe with me.”

He doesn't respond, only whispering Shinichiro's name over and over through wet sobs. Nonetheless his body moves with hers and his breathing slows just a tiny bit.

Even once the ambulance comes to take Shinichiro and the police arrive to question Mikey, she makes sure to tether herself to him. Her hand never leaves his own. She barely registers the way the blood makes them slick. Yuna will do the same days later when they see Shin take his final breath, losing the battle with the superbug he catches in the hospital.

PRESENT

Things changed for Yuna in ways she couldn't have accounted for after Shinichiro's death. Prior to this all the Sanos did their best to make her feel like part of the family, but she didn't really expect or need anything beyond patience and a warm bed. Despite her perceived youth, her autonomy was respected. After the loss of Shin they all treated her as though she were both a fundamental member of their household and a ghost who could disappear as abruptly as she had materialized in their lives. If Yuna left without telling anyone where she was going, someone would immediately call to find out where she had gone. It didn't take her long to give in and accept that this was just part of the way they grieved. Her dated cellphone got more use than she ever expected.

The worst offender was Mikey. Yuna nearly suffocated under the weight of his need. When he wasn't sleeping in Shinichiro's old bed, he was spooning her in her own space. For a time she had replaced his ratty old blanket. For the first few months after Shin's passing she awoke to his warmth nearly every night. It made her uncomfortable, to have someone younger than her in her bed. Especially when his body had the typical involuntary reactions she expected of someone his age. But Mikey never complained when she woke him up and told him to leave, and eventually his night time visits slowed from a thunderous river to a small stream.

During the day Yuna is not spared of his imposition either. Even when Mikey isn't present himself, his influence is there. She has experienced a noticeable uptick of the presence of Toman in her life. If there was anyone in her school who had been unaware of her gang affiliation before, there is no separating her reputation from Toman anymore. Those who pass her in the halls keep a wary distance, and despite her good academic standing nobody volunteers to be her partner. It makes it difficult to blend into the background, which she told herself she would do once she accepted that she is now a part of Wakui's story.

The constant company and Mikey's need to monopolize her time was an adjustment, but Yuna grows used to it by the time she approaches the end of high school. The real problem was, and still is, the growing gaps in her mind. She can no longer remember if her forgetfulness started before Shinichiro's passing, but the missing memories have become impossible to ignore in the void his absence created. Pieces of her past flake away like an old coat of paint. More and more details of the life that made who she is slip away.

Yuna knows she has a younger sister, which helped her develop the patience and tolerance she now uses to stay sane while surrounded by rowdy teenage boys. She can't remember what her goals were, only that academia and independence were important to her and she uses that to push through the tedium of repeating high school. The morning she realized she could no longer remember her mother's name she cried until her eyes nearly swelled shut.

The skeleton is there, but things like her first kiss or the bus route she took to get to school have faded away. Perhaps it's just time and distance from who she was, but it feels like her existence in the other world is slowly being erased the longer she's in this one. Yuna wonders if her family mourns her the way she does them, or if her presence there has evaporated entirely. Who is she now that she is forced to live without her own history?

To keep the existential terror of losing herself at bay, Yuna fills her time with enough people and things to make pushing the fear aside easier. She does elaborate beauty routines with Emma, she goes over to Baji's place and forces him to study, she drags Mikey to yoga, and earns herself the reputation of being a public nuisance with her poor attempts at doing graffiti with Mitsuya. 

This works well enough most days, though it's not perfect. She finds herself teetering on the edge of burn out from how little space and time she is both given and allows herself to have. However there's one distraction Yuna prefers over all others, one confidant who allows her to truly be herself. He makes her burn and burn until she can almost forget all the forgetting.

&&&

Yuna places her yen on the little tray in exchange for two orders of dango. She's thanks the older woman running the food truck and then goes to find a bench to sit at while she waits. While she knows he usually prefers to hang out at an izakaya and drink his weight in beer, he never fails explore Tokyo with her when Yuna has the urge to wander. Today it's Ueno Park. Last week it was strolling through Shinagawa Aquarium, and the week before it was thrifting in Shimokitazawa. It's always his treat too, but since she arrived first she wanted to get him his favourite.

Yuna never had much of a sweet tooth until she got to know Waka. Wakasa Imaushi, barely a side character in the manga, now with a starring role in her life. Quite possibly the love of her life, not that he's ready to hear it. She's developed a taste for dango in particular because of him. It never tasted so sweet until Wakasa started sharing his with her.

It started out from a place of grief. She went with Mikey to tell the former Black Dragon leaders that Shinichiro was dead. Yuna watched as their faces warp with shock and devastation while Mikey bowed on his knees before them, forehead pressed to the floor and tears mingling with the dust. Benkei began to cry openly while Takeomi swore and stormed off. Wakasa stood frozen in place. That's when Yuna remembered that he was one of the only ones who knew Shin's secret. She didn't have to be completely alone. The moment Benkei kneeled to comfort Mikey she beelined for Wakasa, telling him they needed to talk alone and soon. If Mikey saw them exchanging numbers, she didn't notice.

"Hey kid." He slips into the booth next to her. "What do you need?"

She pushes a menu toward him while chewing on a straw. Despite Wakasa hanging out around S.S. Motors and the Sano household, she never really gave him a lot of thought. Sure, it's impossible not to notice his uniquely handsome combination of feminine and masculine features. But he was neither kind like Benkei or conversational like Takeomi. So they passed one another with not much more interaction than casual nods. Two ships in the night with little in common. Wakasa uses one finger to push the menu back to her.

"Anything you all need. If I can give it, I will. I owe it to Shin. But I'm not feeling especially chatty right now." He glances out the window.

"You knew Shin's secret. He told you, right?" Her voice dwindles to a whisper. "About the timelines?"

For a moment there's no reaction. The same bored look as always colours his features. But then his eyes widen.

"He told you about that?"

"He didn't need to. I have… I've got a secret of my own. Shin was the only person I've ever told." Her lower lip begins to tremble, her hands shake. "I can't bear the weight of it all alone. Please, I just want someone to talk to. Even if it's only this once."

Wakasa reaches his hand across the table, stabilizing her own. There are faded scars scattered like constellations across it.

"Shin always had a soft spot for you. He said you saved his life, though he'd never tell me how. So if you gave him a little more time, giving you some is the least I can do."

His easy acceptance was more than she allowed herself to hope for. Yuna smiles at him in relief, despite the way some of her tears trailed down over her lips.

"I've got you."

There's a slight pang in her chest, unlike anything she's ever experienced before. Wakasa finally grabs the menu and lets her know he'll be covering the bill.

Even if he only started hanging out with her one on one because he felt bad for her, they continue seeing one another every week. By now she knows he enjoys her company, even if Waka doesn't so obviously crave her time the way she does his. Though sometimes she thinks he might, like when he holds her hand when they're in crowded places or how he tells her she looks pretty while sharing his dango. Soon enough she'll be finishing high school, reaching adulthood once more, and maybe then he’ll do more than smirk and stroke her cheek when she confronts him about it once again.

"Hey pretty girl. Been waiting long?" His voice is always honey to her ears. Syrupy, sticking to her. Wakasa quirks a brow. "Got something for me?"

Yuna beams as she hands him one of the two sticks. "Can't I do something nice for my man?"

Maybe it's a little pushy, the way she teases him. But he always indulges her and gives it right back. It keeps her hopes up higher than the clouds.

"Hmm. I should be the one feeding you. What kind of man would I be if I didn't take care of my girl?"

He smiles and pulls her close, his free hand on her hip. Whenever they stand so close like this it feels like they're dating, not just affectionate friends. Even Senju thinks they're dating, which to Yuna’s immense displeasure he never fails to deny.

"Tell me about your day." He releases her and meanders off in no particular direction.

"You first. I want to hear if that asshole came back to your gym." Yuna really does want to hear anything and everything he could have to say.

They snack and wander through the park for an hour. It's not a lot of time, but it's all they could manage this week with the difference in their schedules. She's just happy to catch up and be close enough to feel the heat of his body next to hers, making their bond real to her once more. Semi-regular texts are nowhere near enough to feed her gluttonous appetite for him. Far too soon, the sun is sinking lower in the sky and Yuna knows she has to let him go once more. Waka chuckles at her transparent sigh.

"Weight of the world on you, huh?" Wakasa says. Yuna earns a full laugh out of him when she shoves him.

“I gotta go. I told Mikey I’d go to the Toman meeting.” She shrugs. Mikey asks her to come to most meetings, and she doesn't mind obliging for the most part.

“Hm.” He nods.

“What?” Yuna narrows her eyes, trying to pick apart what that little 'hm' meant.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t ‘hm’ me, Waka-Waka. Say what you really mean.”

“Okay. Benkei and Takeomi give me a lot of shit for spending so much time with you because you look so young. They don't know who you really are.”

This isn't a new revelation. “Yeah, but we know. That's what matters, right?”

“I don't think they're the only ones confused.”

It's not exactly a secret that they hang out, but they don't advertise it either. The few times they've run into someone either of them know, Yuna is honest in saying they bonded over their grief. If she happens to imply that they should keep this to themselves, well Yuna should be able to keep some aspects of her life private.

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying you should think about telling Mikey before things get more complicated.” 

“I've already told you. I don’t know what the repercussions would be if I told him. If I leave things as they are, I know they will eventually turn out okay.” 

"I don't mean the time travel." It’s Wakasa's turn to sigh. He stops walking. "I know you know what I mean."

"Just because he's deemed himself my own personal guardian doesn't mean I have to tell him everything."

"He's going to find out, sooner rather than later." Wakasa tilts her chin upward with his thumb and forefinger. He leans his own face down toward her, soft lips almost brushing her own as he speaks. "Wouldn't you rather be the one to tell him?"

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. Her eyes flutter shut. They've never been so close. "Waka…"

"You're graduating soon. Things are gonna change. You should tell him."

"Waka. I can’t, not yet. He's struggling. I don’t want him to think I'm abandoning him." It would be so easy to say 'fuck it' and push herself into him. "He's on the precipice of…"

"Hm." He angles his lips to press against her forehead before stepping back.

As is his norm, Wakasa lets her leave it at that without pressing for more detail. The secrets that are Mikey's dark impulse and Takemichi’s time travel remain close to Yuna’s chest. She hasn't even told Takemichi that she knows yet. The potential risks that come with revealing herself and sharing her knowledge aren't worth the revelation unless she's sure she can save someone. Who knows what kind of damage she could cause? 

“Mikey thinks you're a kid like him. He thinks you're fair game.”

“Bleh.” Yuna shakes her head, sticking out her tongue. “I know Baji had a crush on me for a while, but Mikey has never been anything more than a friend. He'd probably laugh if you said that to him.”

Instead it's Wakasa who chuckles. “You're underestimating the amount of influence you have over the Toman boys. Rowdy kids like them love a woman who doesn't take their shit, someone who can give it right back.”

“You would know?”

Waka smirks and caresses her cheek with his thumb. Then he reaches down to grab her hand and tugs her in the direction of the train station. Their hands stay connected, fingers interlocking. Just like the rest of him, his hands are slender but strong. Yuna thinks she'll never get over the warm, melty way she feels whenever they touch.  

“Yeah. I would know.”

&&&

Yuna and her mother are laughing at some dumb joke her sister told. She just said it, yet Yuna can't recall the sound of her voice or what she even said. They're sitting around their round oak kitchen table eating ice cream for dinner to celebrate her acceptance into university. The ice cream flickers in the bowl like tv static. In her hand the spoon feels warm and soft. She can't stand how strange it is any longer so she lets fall onto the table. The clank of the spoon in the bowl pierces the muted mumbling around her. The woman and the teenage girl turn to look at her with blank eyes, drain of colour and without pupils. They both open their mouths to speak as one, but only the sounds of murky water splash out. Yuna pushes away from the table, screaming any distinguishing features melt off of her family into bloody puddles on the floor.

Yuna bolts upright out of her sweat-soaked slumber. Emma's sitting on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the blanket.

"Oh my- Emma?"

She nods, looking tired but relieved. "You were tossing and turning for a while. Yelling too. I didn’t know whether to wake you up or get Mikey."

"…get Mikey?" Yuna hasn't quite gotten a grip on consciousness yet. Why would she get Mikey?

Emma nods and leaves the room. Yuna whisper-yells for her to wait, but Emma's already gone. Deciding she doesn't want to sit around in her sweat-drenched clothes, Yuna grabs clean pajamas and heads for the bathroom. As an afterthought, she kicks the blanket off her bed to dry out.

A quick shower and 15 minutes later she's in her room once more. Her bedding is still rumpled on the floor, but her pillows are gone. Yuna doesn't need to be fully awake to know who the culprit is. She changes the sheets and grabs a new blanket before going to track her pillows down.

"Sano Manjiro. Why do you have my pillows?" They weren't just any pillows. The flat pillows all over the house gave her a headache, so she specifically bought these for herself. Plump ones from Muji, her first purchase in her new life.

"Emma said you needed me. Your bed's too sweaty to sleep in." Mikey mumbles from under his bed head and heap of blankets.

"Emma misunderstood me."

Yuna sighed. She's such a sweet girl, but she is very insistent on pushing her and Mikey together. Yuna has a sneaking suspicion she wants to keep Mikey distracted so she can get more time with Draken, but Yuna is not the person for the job. But Takemichi isn't single and Mikey hasn't ever shown interest in anyone else.

"Whatever. Come to bed." He yawns.

"I changed my bedding. I just need my pillows and then I'm going back to sleep."

She can see that Mikey is hugging one to his body, while the other is under his head. His own pillows have been tossed without care to the ground.

"No." He opens his eyes. Even in the dark of his room, with only the slightest illumination from the rock salt lamp she bought him in the corner, Yuna feels a little bit like she's staring into a void. "Emma said you were freaking out. Having a nightmare. Just stay here and let me take care of you."

He's not the one she wants to hold her, but Yuna doesn't want to call Waka and bother him in the middle of the night. Is it so bad to accept a little bit of comfort from a friend?

"Okay. But you keep your hands to yourself."

"Mmm." He's barely awake now. His long dark lashes cast the faintest shadows on his face.

Yuna crawls into bed next to him. When he pulls her body into his own, spooning her with a hand lightly caressing her stomach under her shirt, she grumbles at him about poor boundaries. But she's starved for the affection she no longer gets from her mother and sister, so for tonight she lets him. It only takes a few moments for her to slip into sleep once again. If she has any dreams, they retreat from her memory by the time she wakes up.

MASTERLIST DIRECTORY

AO3

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Full look at Rindou's new game art!

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Unlimited's new event art!

[silksir]

01: niwa, nanaka / age 17

im getting kinda inspired by @thisisntasa and @shinimania’s lore drops about their tokrev ocs! heres mine. haha. um yeah. i love her lots dont slime me out please

nanaka’s parents said that they’d be back after their two week trip to the united states. that was 9 years ago. nanaka was 8. it left nanaka alone in her parents’ ginormous building in the smack middle of roppongi— eleven floors. the second and third floors were her father’s nightclub, and the fourth floor was a dance studio. the rest of the floors were pretty empty (why even have that many floors in the first place, then?) save for the penthouse where nanaka lived.

but who in the world would leave their kid alone like that? dont answer that nanaka was forced to move into a compound with her dance trainer, a family friend, who had been training two other girls her age. hence nanaka’s integration into the junior idol industry. the two other girls, odette and ok-sun, got there via audition whilst nanaka did not. they didn’t get along at first, but the three of them were inseparable as time went on. they weren’t seen without each other!

as they aged out of the industry, odette and ok-sun moved into the building’s ninth and tenth floors. at this point, they were about fifteen. this is also when nanaka starts bleaching and dying her hair to be bottle blonde. her hair’s fried with all the product she uses. don’t ask her about it.

nanaka had heard about the gangs forming nearby and decided not to meddle in that kind of stuff. she believed that she could hold her own pretty well in a fight. it just wasn’t her thing. forming one sounded kinda fun, but nanaka didn’t feel like she wanted that kind of commitment, you know? so she formed a small group— roppongi’s divine, with ten or so people, who were known for throwing extravagant parties, paying off cops, and getting into small disputes. they ruled over roppongi until the haitani brothers got out of reform school. nanaka was seventeen when this happened.

in turn, this caused an ongoing turf war between the two groups. which, i’ll be honest, would be a lot less awkward if nanaka and rindou stopped fucking talking! they go to each other’s parties. they breakdance together. they hang out on nanaka’s rooftop when the building’s asleep. hell, they’ve probably made out a few times. they’re probably dating!

heh….. spoiler alert…… theyre actually dating fml yall know its fucking bad when the narrator’s pissed off

[thisisntasa]

9 days until mikey's birthday and y'all already know i started this spree idea a month ago and one of them is drawing mikey as a 36 year old! okay so here's my vision ♡✧( ु•⌄• )… i remember someone said mikey is def the type to grow tired of maintining his dyed black hair and i couldn't agree more! i think he even dyed it in the first place for the sake of doing it or maybe to match draken, takemichi or both maybe shin. but he would grow tired of it and grow his hair out and you can see his black tips! no more ponytail my beloved is too old and lazy (人 •͈ᴗ•͈✿ฺ) he wouldn't look so young but also not so old. and from smiling a lot he might get smiling rinkles and nose too for the most part!! watcha think u agree or?? (✩ ์ ᴗ ์✩)

ignore the lil asa. (more like ol' asa but yea)

[kokoch4n3l]

ˏˋ main yahaan hoon ࿐ྂ "I'm in the lights of your eyes, you see me wherever you look"

summary: in which you meet Sano Manjiro a month before your wedding and fall in love. you didn't realize you fell in love with him till the pre-wedding rituals began.

pairing(s): bonten!mikey x desi!reader

notes: title translates to 'I'm here'. a purely self-indulgent fic based on Veer-Zaara(2004)'s song Main Yahaan Hoon if Veer was a gang leader and was actually at the wedding instead of Zaara hallucinating him. line dividers by rookthornesartistry heart divider by cafekitsune

warnings: NOT EDITED, infidelity, cheating, arranged marriages, implied emotionally absent parents, emotional blackmail, suggestive themes, implied oral(f), manjiro carries reader, slightly open ending

word count: 5690

Your father was a politician, businessman and just well very rich. You’re his only daughter so he spoils you rotten. Giving you all the things you can ever want. He was a good man, your mother a great person too. However, it wasn’t a very emotionally fulfilling relationship. You were okay with it though. Jewels and clothes sated the ache in your heart even if it was temporary. You got engaged almost as soon as you turned of age. The man was just a little bit older and also a politician like your father. Arranged marriages were common in your culture and you had never dated before anyway. It’s about a month before the wedding you meet Sano Manjiro. You aren’t sure what he does but he’s also really rich like your father. He has a few close business associates and they all have matching full moon hanafuda tattoos. Sanzu Haruchiyo let you trace his tattoo for some reason after seeing your fascination with it. 

Bonten were business associates of your father. You weren’t sure exactly for what but you also couldn't care less. They were all pretty fun people. You made them watch Bollywood movies with you and do a whole bunch of other things and they did it without any complaint and seemed to enjoy it as well. They were all cool and then there was Sano Manjiro… 

Sano Manjiro was different from the rest. He had a quiet intensity about him, a presence that demanded attention without a single word. You noticed his eyes first—dark, deep, and endlessly contemplative. He was always observing, absorbing everything around him with a sharp, discerning gaze. Despite his quiet demeanour, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. At first, you thought he wouldn’t be putting up with your childish games but he proved you wrong. When you called him a stupid idiot he didn’t get mad but instead, he smiled. He was amused. For some reason, it surprised you because he didn’t seem like the type to smile or just show any kind of emotion in general. 

Your father, of course, invites them all to your wedding. It was all fine but you don’t want to marry your fiancé. He was nice at first but there was something about him that put you off. You didn’t like that man. You sit in your father’s office in your engagement outfit while music echoes from the bottom floor of the mansion to the top. A white lengha with intricate embroidery adorns your figure with a full-sleeve blouse along with a diamond necklace gifted by your future mother-in-law and a matching tikka in the same style resting in the center of your forehead. Your dupatta is draped over your head and right now it feels too heavy. Although you and your fiancé were already engaged, your mother-in-law insisted on having a flashy ceremony to kick start the wedding week.  “You’re my only child… Hence, I’ve pampered you and given you freedom” Your father says, his hands clasped behind his back and using his businessman voice “I haven’t raised you like a girl but like a boy”

There is a lump in your throat. You know if you speak you’ll cry. Your father walks toward you. “Usually the mother has to explain to her daughters about her duties. But since I think of you as my son, I’ll explain your duties to you”

You look up at him. You’re sitting in his chair the same way you would when you were a child. But unlike back then, your bare feet press flat against the hardwood floor. “You already know that your grandfather was a respected politician. But he died a few days before he could attain success. Since that day, as his heir, I’ve been trying to take his party to great heights but I’ve been unsuccessful so far” He says and you know already what he will say next “But with the help of your finacé’s father, I can attain that success”

You don’t feel too good. The lump in your throat gets bigger and you desperately try to swallow it. Your father turns your back to you, staring at your family picture. “Soon you’ll get married into their family. It’s your duty…” He pauses and turns to look at you again “...to understand the importance of this relationship. Spread happiness, whether the times are good or bad and strengthen the bond of every relationship and to protect the honour of both families at all costs. A small mistake or a bit of carelessness from your end could ruin everything… I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”

He knows, he knows, he knows. Your father had a feeling you no longer wished to marry the man you were betrothed to. You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper out a pitiful “yes.”

“Is there anything you wish to say?”

You simply shake your head no. You couldn’t. You had to marry this man even if you didn’t want to. Your father was practically begging you without actually begging. He smiles. “Come here”

You stand up, your anklets jingle with each step you take. “It’s been so long since I saw my daughter smile,” He says as you now stand in front of him “I hope you haven’t left it in Japan”

You smile weakly. How were you to tell him you did? How do you tell your father you left your heart in Japan? He pulls you in for a hug and a single tear runs down your cheek. 

You did not wish to marry the man you were promised to but you didn’t want to break your father’s heart either. 

Your father leads you down the large marble staircase, the railing covered with flowers and the entire bottom floor decorated lavishly. The vibrant colours and festive sounds of the pre-wedding celebration fill the air, yet your heart feels heavy with an unspoken sorrow. As you descend the staircase, your eyes scan the crowd, seeking a familiar face—a face that brought unexpected joy and confusion to your life. In the midst of the lively guests, you spot Sano Manjiro standing quietly at the edge of the room with his associates. He is dressed in beige slacks and a silk back button-up shirt, his presence commanding even in the bustling environment. His eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the noise around you fades. His gaze, deep and inscrutable, seems to reach into the very depths of your soul. The rituals proceed with the grandeur expected of such an event. The music, the dancing, the laughter—all blend into a blur as your mind drifts back to the times spent with Manjiro and his associates. The times when you could be yourself when you laughed genuinely and felt a connection beyond words. Sanzu Haruchiyo, always mischievous yet kind, had once teased you about your fascination with their tattoos. “Do you want one too?” he joked, letting you trace the lines of the intricate hanafuda design. 

You had laughed, but deep down, there was something about those moments that felt more real than anything else in your life. As you and your fiancé exchange rings, you feel Manjiro’s eyes on you, a silent support that gives you strength. The night progresses, and you find yourself stealing glances at him, your heart aching with an unspoken truth. You didn’t want this arranged marriage. You wanted something more, something that only he seemed to understand. 

It feels stupid though. It’s probably a simple infatuation but oh you had never felt this way in your life before and even as your fiancé slides the engagement ring onto your finger, the only thing that goes through your mind is Manjiro.

You sit alone in your room late at night on your bed, too lazy to sit at your dresser. Your dupatta was carelessly discarded at the foot of your bed as soon as you entered your room, too lazy to even remove your lengha and get in bed. The day had been tiring. You start to remove your jewelry, starting with the large diamond necklace that felt way too heavy. It’s as you are taking off the tikka from your forehead that someone enters. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, and the familiar, intense presence washes over you. It’s Manjiro. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. He steps closer, his movements silent on the plush carpet. He doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, watching as you fumble with the clasp of your tikka. Your fingers tremble, and the delicate piece slips from your grasp, falling onto your lap. “Let me,” he offers, reaching out. His hands are gentle but firm as he takes over, carefully removing the tikka and setting it aside. 

His touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, melting the anxiety and sorrow that had been weighing you down. “Thank you,” you manage to whisper, your voice barely audible.

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a question in his gaze, an unspoken query that you can’t quite decipher. The silence between you is heavy with words left unsaid, emotions unacknowledged. “Why did you come here?” you ask, needing to break the silence, to understand why he’s here, why he makes you feel the way you do.

“I needed to see you,” he replies simply, his gaze steady. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His concern touches you deeply, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You blink them back, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. Manjiro sits down next to you, being careful to not sit on your skirt. He reaches over and starts to remove your earrings. Despite his fingers being calloused and rough, his hands are gentle. He touches you like the slightest touch might break you. Each brush of his fingers against your skin feels like a promise, unspoken but powerful. You sit there, letting him help you, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. The weight of the day's events begins to lift, replaced by the warmth of his presence. When he's done, he sets the earrings aside and meets your gaze again. His eyes are filled with something you can't quite name, something that makes your heart beat faster. “Let’s get this off, hm?” Manjiro’s hand reaches around you and tugs the strings on the back of your blouse free

Your breath catches, but you nod, trusting him implicitly. The fabric loosens, and you feel the pressure on your chest easing. He helps you out of the heavy, ornate lengha, his movements were careful, his eyes never straying where they shouldn't. This was wrong. So wrong. You were a damn cheater. But as Manjiro unzips your blouse and pulls it off your arms, you can’t find yourself to care. “‘Jiro…” Your breath is shaky as he lowers your bare body down

“Don’t worry” he whispers, a heavy hand cupping your cheek so tenderly

Something in your head tells you it’s been years since this man was tender to anyone. Your breath hitches at the touch of his roughened palm against your cheek, a stark contrast to the softness in his gaze. Manjiro's thumb gently brushes away a stray tear that you hadn’t realized had fallen, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that seems to pierce through your very soul. "I shouldn't be here" you murmur, your voice barely audible, a mix of fear and yearning.

It was a little stupid you were even saying that since it was your own room. "But you want me here" he counters softly, not a question, but a statement of truth.

The words hang between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. Your heart beats wildly, torn between duty and desire. You don’t reply, unable to deny the truth in his statement. Manjiro’s presence is intoxicating, a dangerous allure that you find impossible to resist. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me to leave, and I will," he whispers, his lips so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his words. "But if you want me to stay…"

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. The choice is yours, and you know what your heart wants. "Stay" you breathe, barely more than a whisper, but enough for him to hear and without missing a beat he slides your engagement ring off your finger

Manjiro doesn’t take your virginity that night. Instead, he calls you a good girl for saving yourself for after marriage and then gets down between your legs and ravishes you. 

 The next morning was the Haldi ceremony. In the ceremony turmeric paste would be smeared on your face and oil on your hair. It was more of a fun kind of thing anyway and during all the weddings you have attended in the past, all the guests would end up getting the turmeric paste all over themselves while playing around with it. You were wearing a yellow salwar kameez with flowers embroidered on the top and your dupatta was bright pink. You sit on the ground by the pool while your cousins hold up a heavier more embroidered dupatta over top of you like shielding you from the sky. “Don’t put too much” You warn your dad as he smears some of the turmeric paste on your cheek

There is oil dripping down your forehead from when your cousin decided he wanted to be funny and poured the entire bowl on your head. Tumeric paste is smeared on your feet, arms, cheeks and nose. The vibrant colours of the ceremony blur together, a swirl of yellow and pink, laughter echoing around you. Yet, despite the cheerful chaos, your mind is elsewhere, drifting back to the previous night. Manjiro's touch lingers on your skin like a haunting melody, one you cannot shake off no matter how hard you try. Your father's laughter brings you back to the present, his smile wide as he steps aside for the next relative to apply the turmeric paste.

As the ceremony continues, you feel a pair of eyes on you. You glance up and catch a glimpse of Manjiro standing a little away from the festivities, his usual quiet intensity softened by a hint of something tender. He stands apart from his associates, watching you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The noise of the ceremony fades, replaced by the silent conversation happening between your gazes. Your heart beats faster as you remember his whispered promises from the night before. His words, his touch—they haunt you, make you question everything you thought you knew about your life and your impending marriage. You know it's reckless, dangerous even, to let yourself feel this way. But you can't help it. Not when his presence brings you a sense of peace and belonging you’ve never felt before. “This stuff smells weird” Koko comments as he crouches in front of you and smells the turmeric paste on his fingers before smearing it on your cheek “Are you sure this is safe for your skin?”

“Of course it is” you reassure with a smile

The rest of Bonten does the same. Finally, it’s Manjiro’s turn. He crouches down in front of you, an unknown emotion swirling in his eyes. Without a word, he takes the yellow paste and smears some on your right cheek then the left. His touch is gentle, yet it sends shivers down your spine, the same way it did the night before. The world around you seems to disappear as he smooths the paste over your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, emotions too raw to be expressed in the midst of the celebration. Your heart pounds in your chest as his fingers linger on your skin, his touch both comforting and electrifying. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, his voice so low only you can hear. 

His words are simple, but the intensity behind them makes your breath hitch. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the noise of the celebration. 

You feel a blush creep up your cheeks, mixing with the turmeric paste. He offers you a small, almost shy smile, and for a moment, you see a vulnerability in him that he usually keeps hidden. You bring your hand up and smear the paste on his cheek too, making him laugh. His laughter is a rare sound, rich and deep, and it reverberates through you, filling your heart with warmth. You can't help but smile in response, your fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment longer than necessary. The world around you resumes its chaotic pace, but the connection between you and Manjiro remains, a silent promise amidst the noise and colour of the celebration.

As the Haldi ceremony continues, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The weight of your engagement ring, now conspicuously absent from your finger, feels like a liberation and a burden all at once. You glance at Manjiro again, finding comfort in his steady gaze. It’s as if he understands the turmoil within you without needing to ask.

As the ceremony comes to an end and the guests start to leave, you struggle to pick your dupatta off one of the chairs with your turmeric-covered hands. “Damn it” you mutter and look around for someone to help you

“Here you go” Rindo picks up your dupatta for you

You sigh in relief. “Thank you. Can you help me go up to my room?”

It was going to be a task going up to your room while covered in turmeric paste so you needed help. Rindo nods and offers you his arm, guiding you carefully through the crowd and up the stairs. The turmeric paste makes everything slippery, and you're grateful for his steady presence. As you make your way to your room, you can feel Manjiro's eyes on you, a silent promise of his support and understanding. Once inside your room, Rindo helps you sit on the edge of your bed, his touch careful and respectful. “Do you need anything else?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

You shake your head, offering him a grateful smile, your eyes lingering for a moment of the front of his throat where the full moon hanafuda tattoo it etched then you look back up at his eyes. “No, thank you. I’ll manage from here.”

Rindo nods and leaves, closing the door softly behind him. You sit there for a moment, the events of the day and the night before swirling in your mind. You know you need to wash off the turmeric paste, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Manjiro. Eventually, you stand and make your way to the bathroom. The warm water washes away the turmeric, leaving your skin tingling and fresh. 

Later that night was the mendhi ceremony. Your hands are covered in intricate designs of flowers and swirls made with henna all the way up to your elbows and your feet with the same. “Ma~” you whine to your mother who was too busy talking to her sister to feed you 

Your mother laughs, a twinkle in her eye as she waves you off, engrossed in her conversation. You sigh, looking at the plate of food in front of you, and then at your hands, which are still wet with henna. The intricate designs are beautiful, but they make it impossible for you to eat on your own. You glance around the room, hoping to find someone to help you. Your eyes meet Manjiro’s from across the room. He’s standing with his associates, but his gaze is fixed on you, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips. Before you can beckon him over, he starts to walk towards you, effortlessly weaving through the crowd. He kneels down next to you, his presence a comforting weight. “Need some help?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

You nod, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “Yes, please. I can’t eat with this on.”

Manjiro picks up the spoon and gently lifts a small portion of food to your lips. His movements are careful, and deliberate, as if this simple act holds profound significance. You open your mouth, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. As he feeds you, you catch the subtle smirk on his face, and you can't help but smile back. “This is quite the look for you,” he teases, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Covered in henna and unable to eat by yourself.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, your voice playful. “This is supposed to be a special time, you know?”

“It is,” he agrees, his tone softening. “And you look beautiful.”

The sincerity in his words makes your heart skip a beat. You chew and swallow, the taste of the food mingling with the warmth spreading through your chest. Manjiro continues to feed you, the moment intimate despite the bustling celebration around you. Each spoonful feels like a silent promise, a shared secret that binds you closer together. “Food is spicy…” He murmurs 

“You don’t like spicy food?” you ask him

He shakes his head no. “I like the sweets though… After you get married bring me some in Japan?” You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the music and chatter in the room. “Of course,” you promise, a warmth spreading through you at the thought of sharing such a simple pleasure with him. “I’ll bring you all the sweets you want.”

Manjiro's smile widens, a rare glimpse of genuine happiness on his usually stoic face. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replies, his gaze steady on yours. “But only if you promise to come back soon.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you find yourself nodding before you can even think. “I promise,” you say, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

The rest of the mendhi ceremony passes in a blur of laughter and music, but the memory of that moment with Manjiro lingers, a silent promise of things to come. As the night draws to a close, you find yourself reluctant to leave his side, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing moment. 

It’s as you lay in bed and stare at your henna-stained hands, searching for your fiancé’s name among the intricate designs. But as you scan the patterns, your heart sinks, and a furrow forms on your brow. The once-clear inscription has been smeared beyond recognition, lost amidst the swirls of henna. A mix of emotions washes over you—relief, guilt, and a pang of sadness. Relief because it feels like a sign, a small reprieve from the impending marriage you’re dreading. Guilt because you know you shouldn’t feel relieved, and shouldn’t be hoping for a way out of a commitment you made. And sadness because despite everything, there’s a part of you that still longs for the simplicity of what could have been. You trace the faint outlines of the henna design, your mind swirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

The bond between you and Manjiro grows stronger with each passing moment, a silent promise of a future you never dared to imagine. But the reality of your situation weighs heavily on your shoulders, reminding you of the duty and obligations that bind you to your fiancé and your family.

With a heavy sigh, you curl your fingers into fists. The events of the day replay in your mind—the stolen moments with Manjiro, the whispered promises, the shared laughter. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing is clear—you’re falling for him, and there’s no turning back.

The next night is the ladies' sangeet. It’s the last thing left and the next morning is the wedding. You sit with all your female relatives as they sing and dance to old folk songs. You sit among them, a forced smile plastered on your face, your mind drifting to thoughts of the impending wedding. Tomorrow, you'll be bound to a man you don't love, forced into a life of duty and obligation that feels suffocating. When no one is looking, you stand up and hed to the backyard where most your male relatives are, drinking away as usual. You can see Ran has unfortunately been cornered by one of your drunk uncles and is explaining Punjabi politics to him. Ran looks at you for help but you just grin and shake your head. You spot Manjiro walking over to you and you smile at him. “Hi” You say as you walk through the garden together, you anklets jingling with each step you take. 

"Hi," Manjiro replies, his voice low and warm, a stark contrast to the chaos of the sangeet unfolding behind you. His presence brings a sense of calm, a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere of obligation and expectation.

You walk through the garden together, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm light over the flowers and foliage. The air is filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and roses, a stark contrast to the heavy perfume of the crowded hall. You feel a weight lift off your shoulders with each step, the knot of anxiety in your chest slowly unravelling in his presence. "Having fun?" Manjiro asks, his gaze steady on yours. 

There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. You shake your head, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Not exactly," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I feel like I'm suffocating in there."

Manjiro nods in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I can imagine," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper “Japanese weddings are not this… festive or colourful. Must be a little overwhelming” 

You nod, grateful for his understanding. "It's not just that," you confess, your voice tinged with frustration. "It's the weight of expectation, the pressure to conform to tradition and duty." You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "I feel like I'm being suffocated by it all."

Manjiro listens in silence, his gaze unwavering as he takes in your words. There's a depth to his understanding, a sense of empathy that makes you feel seen in a way you haven't felt in a long time. "I know what it's like to feel trapped," he says finally, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "To feel like you're living a life that's not your own."

His words strike a chord within you, resonating with the turmoil you've been feeling. "Do you ever wish things were different?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Manjiro's gaze softens, a hint of something tender in his eyes. "All the time," he admits, his voice filled with honesty and you watch his hand come up to touch the full moon hanafuda tattoo on the back of his neck "But sometimes, we have to make the best of the hand we're dealt." 

You nod in understanding, a pang of sympathy tugging at your heart as you take in the vulnerability in Manjiro's words. His admission resonates with your own feelings of frustration and longing, the desire for a life beyond the confines of duty and expectation. "But that doesn't mean we have to give up hope," you say softly "We can still fight for what we want, for the freedom to live our lives on our own terms."

Manjiro's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something akin to hope dancing in his eyes. "And what do you want?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to voice the question aloud.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of your desires heavy on your shoulders. “I… I don’t know yet”

And Manjiro simply smiles at your answer and says “well clock is ticking… better hurry up and figure it out” then turns to go back to where he was sitting with your father, other business partners and relatives 

As Manjiro walks away, leaving you alone in the tranquil garden, his words linger in the air, a gentle reminder of the urgency of your situation. The weight of expectation and duty presses down on you once more. You watch Manjiro's retreating figure, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing stirring within you. Despite the uncertainty of the future, one thing is clear—your heart is leading you towards him, towards a life of freedom and possibility.

You turn back towards the bustling sangeet, the music and laughter spilling out into the night air. Tomorrow is the wedding, the final culmination of weeks of preparation and anticipation. But as you rejoin the festivities, your mind is elsewhere, filled with thoughts of the man who has captured your heart and the future that awaits.

As the night wears on and the sangeet draws to a close, you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, apprehension, and a simmering sense of rebellion— something you shouldn’t be feeling. Tomorrow, you'll be bound to a man you don't love, forced into a life of duty and obligation. But tonight, in the quiet solitude of the garden, you allow yourself to dream of a different future, one where you're free to follow your heart, no matter where it leads.

As the first light of dawn breaks over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the garden, you feel a sense of anticipation stirring within you. In a few hours, you’ll be married. It’s scary. So scary and you feel sick. You sit in a yellow kameez and white salwar, fingers trembling as you put on the naath, hooking it to your nose and fixing the chain over your ear to see how you look in it. The cool metal of the jewellery rests over your lips that you’ve bitten raw. Your makeup lays untouched, face bare. You need to start getting ready. 

It’s the early hours of the morning, not many are awake except the servants who are getting the house ready. Your deep red wedding lengha is draped over your bed and seems to be mocking you. Your fingers linger on the intricate embroidery of the deep red lehenga, but the touch brings you no joy, only a sense of resignation. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the naath adorning your face, you can't help but feel a sense of disconnect. The woman staring back at you seems like a stranger, a mere shell of the person you once were. The weight of the impending marriage hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you with its inevitability. It’s suffocating, and overwhelming, and you find it hard to breathe.

But then, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a sense of determination takes root within you. You refuse to let fear dictate your future, to surrender to the expectations of others. You may not know what lies ahead, but you know one thing for certain—you can't go through with this marriage. Your father may love you and only want the best for you but you are not a pawn in his plan to rule the world. 

Gathering your courage, you make a decision—to follow your heart, no matter the consequences. It won't be easy, and there will be challenges ahead, but you refuse to let fear hold you back any longer.

As you slip out of your room after grabbing your yellow dupatta, the quiet of the early morning enveloping you like a comforting embrace, you feel a sense of liberation wash over you. It’s just as you make it past the hall, your anklets unfortunately still jingling with each step(you probably should have taken them off), you come face to face with Manjiro, Sanzu and Rindo. “Hm? And where do you think you’re going?” Manjiro asks and his hand comes up and lifts the naath up then lets it fall back in place resting over your upper lip 

You freeze, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. For a moment, you're at a loss for words, your mind racing to come up with an explanation. But as you meet Manjiro's gaze, you see something in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil raging within you. "I..." you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "I don’t want to get married"

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of your confession. You expect judgment, condemnation, but instead, there's only silence. Manjiro's gaze softens, a hint of something tender in his eyes as he reaches out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Hm?”

You let out a shaky breath, henna-covered hands clenching at your sides. “You asked me last night what I wanted and this is what I want…”

There is a moment of silence. Manjiro looks back at Sanzu and nods and the latter pulls out his phone, frantically typing away texts. “C’mon then” Manjiro says and sweeps you off your feet in the same way the male leads in Bollywood movies would

You aren’t sure how things will turn out but as Manjiro carries you down the marble staircase and into a car, you don’t think about anything else. Just him. Manjiro’s arms feel solid and reassuring around you as he carries you down the marble staircase, the weight of your decision becoming lighter with each step. The early morning light filters through the windows, casting a golden hue over everything, as if the world itself is blessing your choice.

As he sets you down into the backseat of a car Manjiro brushes a strand of your hair away from your face then kisses your forehead. “I’m here” he whispers

[kokoch4n3l]

˗ˏˋ art deco ࿐ྂ "you're not mean, you're just born to be seen"

summary: kokonoi hajime unwillingly has front-row seats to sano "mikey" manjiro's descent into darkness and now he unknowingly watches the start of a new obsession with something a lot prettier that owns one too many mini skirts

pairing(s): kanto!mikey x f!reader

notes: told through koko's eyes and the beginning of yandere!mikey and pre-bonten. heart divider by cafekitsune

warnings: NOT EDITED, canon typical violence, mentions of weapons, mentions of murder, implied mental health issues, slight bimbo!reader, suggestive themes, mentioned voyeurism, obsession, future yandere(?), not edited we die like my potential

word count: 1690

Sano “Mikey” Manjiro was no longer the man he used to be. Perhaps after killing a bunch of people, part of him had gone numb. Or maybe most of him. He doesn’t feel the same way anymore and it’s clear to everyone around him. His black Toman jacket had been long changed to white and he’s got an appointment with a tattoo artist soon. Kokonoi wonders when it will be his turn to get tattooed next. He wonders when the matching jackets will be changed to suits and their flimsy pipes and bats will be replaced with guns. Kokonoi isn’t sure if he’s looking forward to it or not. Many things have changed quickly and so has Mikey. 

Kokonoi Hajime accidentally got front-row seats to Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s plunge into darkness and it’s not something very fun to watch especially since nothing he does can get the latter out of it. It was almost like Mikey wanted to burn. Like he enjoyed it. Kokonoi Hajime glanced up from his laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his tired eyes. The rain outside pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows, a rhythmic drumming that filled the otherwise silent penthouse. Mikey stood motionless, staring out into the storm as if it held answers to the questions he never voiced. Kokonoi had grown used to this silence, the heavy, unspoken tension that seemed to hang over them like a dark cloud. “Mikey— Oh hi Koko!”

Maybe the only thing stopping Mikey from fully going crazy was you and your damn mini-skirt. You twirl into the room with that infectious energy of yours, your sneakers tapping against the marble floor. The rain pattering against the windows is almost drowned out by your cheerful presence. You greet Kokonoi with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with a naivety that seems out of place in the world of the Kanto Manji Gang— in Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s world. “Hi Koko!” you repeat, a playful lilt in your voice

Kokonoi can’t help but crack a small smile at your enthusiasm, the glitter in the inner corners of your eyes shining under the artificial light. You always manage to bring a bit of light into these dark times, even if you don’t fully understand the shadows lurking around you. Mikey, however, doesn’t move. His gaze remains fixed on the storm outside, his reflection a ghostly figure in the glass. Kokonoi watches him, the unease gnawing at him. Mikey's transformation from the once lively, mischievous leader of Tokyo Manji Gang to this silent, brooding figure of Kanto Manji Gang is unsettling. You flounce over to Mikey, your hips swaying with each step. You wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “Mikey, come on. You promised we’d watch a movie tonight” you whine, trying to coax him away from the window, glossy lips shifting into a pout

Mikey finally shifts, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your touch. He turns around, and for a moment, Kokonoi catches a glimpse of the old Mikey in the way his dark eyes soften when he looks at you. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” he says, his voice a low rumble.

Honestly speaking, in Kokonoi’s opinion, you were kind of a bimbo— in some sense that is. You were top of your class with the goal of getting into law school but here you were in a damn mini skirt, your bruised knees knocking against Sano Manjiro who is a literal fucking criminal. Maybe you have one of those weird fantasies of representing your criminal boyfriend in court. The problem with that though is you and Manjiro weren’t together. You were just a pretty distraction, someone who brought a flicker of life into Mikey’s darkened world, a role you played with such unknowing perfection that even Kokonoi found it admirable. The darkness that enveloped Mikey was thick, suffocating, but you… you seemed to be the only one who could penetrate it, if only slightly with your stupid mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs so well. “Not feeling it?” You ask him innocently, the tips of your white sneakers knocking against his boots

Maybe you were a little stupid but other than academic smarts, you were emotionally smart too. You didn’t realize just who you were hanging around and what the penthouse you waltzed into was but you knew when Sano “Mikey” Manjiro wasn’t feeling well. Kokonoi admires that because he as well as the other top members of Kanto Manji Gang were yet to figure out Mikey’s emotions. “Not really” Mikey says, his fingers curl around your hip in an almost possessive manner, pulling you closer to him. 

Kokonoi watches the exchange, feeling a pang of jealousy mixed with something he can't quite place. Maybe it's envy at your ability to reach Mikey in a way he can't, or perhaps it's frustration at Mikey's apparent detachment from everyone else. Kokonoi watches you wrap your arms around Mikey’s neck. The contrast between Mikey’s brooding presence and your bubbly aura is almost comical, like a scene from a twisted romantic comedy. Kokonoi can’t help but shake his head at the irony of it all. “What’s wrong, Mikey?” you ask softly, your voice laced with genuine worry.

Mikey’s gaze softens as he looks down at you, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

Kokonoi watches the exchange, feeling a twinge of envy mixed with a hint of admiration. Despite everything, Mikey still had the ability to care for someone, even if it was in his own twisted way. You pout slightly, not satisfied with his vague answer. “But I do worry about you, Mikey. You know that,” you insist, your well-manicured fingers intertwining with his bruised fingers.

A small, almost invisible smile tugs at the corners of Mikey’s lips. “I know, babe. And I appreciate it” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice. 

He leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, a silent promise of reassurance. Kokonoi can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the intimacy between you and Mikey. It’s not that he harbours any romantic feelings for Mikey himself, but rather he envies the connection you two share, a connection that seems to elude him in this world of darkness and violence. As you pull away from the kiss, a bright smile graces your lips once more. Your lip gloss is now transferred onto Mikey’s lips and he doesn’t seem to mind as he licks up the artificial taste, his eyes never leaving yours as he does. It was weird though— You and Mikey weren’t dating but you still kissed and cuddled and did other things like normal couples did. Mikey called you sweetheart, babe, baby, doll, angel and any other sweet endearment his tainted mind could think of but you both weren’t dating. You both aren’t dating but Kokonoi knows the bruises on your knees are from when Mikey’s got you on the floor between his legs and the scratches on Mikey’s back are from you being pinned beneath him. “I’ve been a little stressed though. Come help me out?” Mikey says to you, thumb rubbing away some of the lipgloss that smeared onto your chin when he kissed you

Kokonoi can imagine it clearly— you down on your knees on the hardwood floor in front of Mikey, your pretty eyes wide and watery with drool running down your chin and mascara smudged; your stupid mini skirt hiked up around your hips as Mikey made you take it. “Hm, m’kay” You answer a little too innocently for what Mikey was suggesting at

As Mikey guides you to another room in the penthouse, he looks over his shoulder. “Koko, make sure no one disturbs us”

“Got it boss” He answers, trying to sound as apathetic as possible

The lock on the door clicks and Kokonoi is already scrambling to find his headphones. He’s been a victim of getting hard off listening to your breathy moans and helpless whimpers too many times already and he’s still got work to do. Kokonoi wasn’t a huge fan of being a voyeur like the rest of the sickos and perverts Mikey let into Kanto Manji Gang after all. He barely gets his headphones in when he hears a breathy groan come from the other side of the locked door. He tries to focus on his work, to lose himself in the lines of code scrolling across the screen, but his mind keeps drifting back to the scene unfolding behind the locked door. He can almost picture it—the way you kneel before Mikey, your eyes wide with anticipation, your lips parted in a silent plea. He can hear the soft rustle of fabric as Mikey guides you, his voice low and commanding. It’s a scene that plays out in his mind with disturbing clarity, one that he wishes he could erase but finds himself unable to look away from.

Kokonoi Hajime unwillingly has front-row seats to Sano “Mikey” Manjiro’s descent into darkness. But it seems he’s watching an obsession grow as well. 

An obsession that owns too many mini skirts and with a smile as bright as the sun. 

Kokonoi wonders how long it will take for that obsession to grow into something unhealthy and something that starts to hurt you. But even as he wonders, a part of him knows that he’ll be there to witness it all. Because in this world of darkness and violence, there are few constants, and Kokonoi has unwittingly become one of them. So he continues to work, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he loses himself in the safety of his own little world, a world far removed from the chaos that surrounds him.

As the night wears on and the sounds from the other room grow louder, Kokonoi can’t help but feel a sense of resignation settle over him. Because in the end, he knows that you’re just as trapped as the rest of them, prisoners of their own making in a world where darkness reigns supreme.