Random Oneshots

Sealed With a Vow (Seiko Ayase (Dan Da Dan) x Yokai Male Reader)

It was quiet beneath the cherry blossom tree.

No priests. No crowd. No shrine maidens scattering flower petals or playing flutes. Just wind brushing through old mountain trees, four people standing barefoot on sacred ground, and two hearts more intertwined than fate ever intended.

Seiko Ayase stood across from Y/n, the man she'd met during a case gone sideways and stayed with through storms and silence alike. She wore a pale kimono stitched only with sakura threads—her hair half-pinned, always just barely falling apart like she was always too busy to fix it. She was.

Y/n stood tall in charcoal robes lined with silver thread, their pattern shifting subtly like something alive. He was handsome in that strange, ageless way—less "man who moisturizes" and more "something from a myth who simply never aged." There was something in his eyes that caught the moonlight and bent it, something that hummed low in the air around him, like the pause before a bell rings.

Between them stood the officiant, a half-spirit with bandaged eyes and a staff carved with old runes. Their parents stood nearby, solemn and silent. There was nothing conventional about this. This wasn't the kind of wedding where anyone made toasts. This was the kind where the universe politely looked away.

"Do you, Seiko Ayase, take this lazy, unshaven bastard to be your husband?" the officiant asked.

Seiko blinked. "Lazy is generous," she muttered, but turned her gaze up to Y/n, voice softening. "But yes."

"And do you, Y/n Ayase—King of the Youkai—take this loud, dangerous human woman to be your wife?"

Y/n's lips twitched. "Loud is also generous. But yes."

They exchanged rings—not metal, but something older. The one on Seiko's finger shimmered faintly like it held stardust. Y/n had forged them himself, from a fallen fragment of a celestial gate. He'd never told her where he found it—just said, "Somewhere with a good view."

There were no fireworks. No rice thrown. No cheers.

But a breeze stirred between them, brushing Seiko's cheek, lifting Y/n's sleeves. A few cherry petals whirled in a spiral, then gently drifted away.

No words could capture what they were to each other. And none were needed.

Years passed. Time blurred the lines between everyday magic and the kind you feared. The world changed. Realms bled together. A cult, old and new at once, began opening tears across dimensions—rifts lined with bone and static. The sky bled red and silver. Things began to crawl through, things even spirits didn't recognize.

Y/n fought. He was more than a king. In those moments, he was storm and shadow, foxfire and gravity itself. But something within him cracked. Power once kept in balance now surged like floodwater through a broken dam. The ancient blood in him, the godhood he kept buried, had begun to slip the leash.

He stopped being safe.

The tipping point came quietly. Not in battle. Not with screaming. Just a long night, a look, and the knowing between them.

In their home—far from war, far from the noise—Y/n and Seiko sat facing each other in the shrine room. Moonlight spilled in thin slats across the floor. The air smelled like iron and incense. Between them lay the talisman: a black stone no longer than a finger, etched in ancient runes, wrapped in crimson thread. Its glow pulsed with faint, terrible warmth.

A bowl sat between them too, filled with salt, sakura petals, and drops of their mingled blood.

"Are you sure?" Seiko asked, voice a thread barely above silence. "Once you're in there..."