#dark kenma kozume

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE KENMA KOZUME HEADCANONS

Kenma is an obsessive yandere and he's also self aware 

You are in Kenma's math class and you were the only one who managed to catch his eye because of your shining personality. He really admired you, like alot

Even though this boi is OBSESSED with you, poor bby's really nervous about approaching you and blowing his first impression with you. So, he'll watch and admire you from far. And THAT means, he's basically like your secret admirer 

Though he might not seem like it, Kenma is a VERY perceptive person. He knows and understands what exactly a person is going through and their feelings. He cares for his friends a lot and YES, that ALSO includes a certain raven haired rooster ;) But these feelings are a bit.... different when it comes to you. He's never experienced love before and he has trouble understand these new feelings. He just can't understand HOW in the HECK you can make his heart flutter with your smile and his tummy become a zoo when you laugh. Sure, he's played games on love and all that before but he didn't bother going in depth about it but after he saw you, he made it like his mission to learn and know EACH and EVERY single thing about it

His confusion towards his feelings will most likely be manifested in dark, sinister and twisted feelings of love and obsession towards you. He's content with just watching you from far and if you speak to him, he'll be a stuttering mess. Poor bby

Doesn't like it when you hang around other people, ESPECIALLY Oikawa. He really hates how close you are with him. And he really wishes he could do something to get rid of those annoying little gnats you call 'friends'. Can't you see? They'll desert you one day and they'll NEVER love you like how Kenma does 

Luckily, Kuroo is Kenma's wingman and helps him get to you when he learns about his crush. I have a feeling Kuroo's also gonna help Kenma when it comes to kidnapping you and keeping you 'safe'

Sure, Kenma will collect little trinkets from you and have a collection of your items but he won't go as far as to collecting your clothes since he KNOWS that's just creepy as hell and he ain't that much of a creep

He will find out EVERYTHING about you and YES, that also includes that Wattpad and Tumblr account you haven't told anyone about. If you're an author on any of these sites, he'll find a way to login with your username and password after he reads them off from your secret diary, and he'll LOVE every word you've written. He'll also have access to your mails and everything since he wants to keep you safe from danger and he wants to know more about you 

As much as he creepily stalks the HELL out of you, he will respect your privacy and your personal space. He isn't a pervert to watch you take your showers and he drinks and DROWNS in his respect women juice like Kuroo 

He only stalks you since he just wants to make sure you get to places safely, like an escort mission in a game where you're the princess and he's your knight in shining armor or your prince charming 

Kenma won't go TOO far with his obsession. It'll take A LOT to make HIM snap and when he does snap, oh boy.... you better have your running shoes in handy since he is literally going to make Satan and Lucifer look like the Bubble Guppies, no joke

If he kidnaps you, it's going to be because he's scared and insecure that you'll like someone else and he doesn't blame you for that. But, he wants to make sure that you fall in love with him and if you don't, well... he'll make you fall in love with him

Don't EVER try escaping from him. Many bones WILL be broken and NONE of them are going to be HIS

When it comes to rivals and enemies, he'll let them off with a dire warning but if they are stupid enough to go near you again, he will literally kill them in the most painful way imaginable till that person is going to be BEGGING for death 

If you drive him stir crazy and over the edge, he'll just lock you in a dark room till you're ready to say sorry. He NEEDS you behave no matter WHAT he should do. He is rather strict when it comes to discipline and YES, he'll even take away the cat

After you're done with your punishment, he'll make you sit on his lap and wipe your tears while he cuddles with you and lets you play his video games or he'll let you watch your favorite movie on Netflix

Apart from this, he likes giving you little gifts from time to time like bracelets or if you like books, he'll get you books. If you're a gamer like him, he'll get you your own playstation and a nintendo switch or if you like drawing, expect a whole bunch of art supplies and sketch books sitting on the dining table wrapped neatly for you 

Would LOVE to have a family with you though he'll be nervous as hell. What if he won't be a good father? And he'll not force you till you're ready to have a family with him by having a bunch of crazy little toddlers running around here and there 

Manipulation will NEVER work on this dude so don't even try. He can easily tell when you're trying to manipulate him. He can calculate your every move and your thought since he studied you really well and you're easy to read like an open book. If you think you're 2 steps ahead of him, he's always 10 steps ahead of you 

Will never make you do things you're uncomfortable with. He gets shy sometimes when he shows you affection and if you reciprocate his feelings back, Tsundere mode activated. But, he'll cuddle you and hug and kiss you whenever you want

Nicknames include: Pudding (Why am I getting reminded of Harley Quinn calling Joker that?!), Kitty cat, Sweetheart, Darling, Kitten

Once you get Stockholm Syndrome, things will get easier for you and expect a neatly wrapped from Kenma's best man Kuroo who's happy for you both and is even MORE happy that he doesn't have to go chasing you around here and there anymore when you're trying to escape

[anoant-haikyuu-dump]

Kenma meets his future self

[lale-txt]

DEVOURER ; drabble collection

a pair of setter hands for you only. ➥ Oikawa, Atsumu, Kageyama, Kenma, Akaashi & Ukai

contains: smut drabbles (each around 200 words), f!reader (no pronouns used, reader wears a dress & lingerie in some), established relationships, fingering, overstim, oral (reader receiving), hair pulling, kind of public play for Ukai & Akaashi (no one is getting caught), also spit kink for Akaashi if you squint, a lot of focus on their hands doing their magic ig

word count: 1.3k

𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀 feels his cock twitch from every moan he draws out of you. The sheets are a mess–hell, you are a mess. He can never get enough of seeing you like this, your breasts spilling out of our flimsy balconette bralette, black lace and love bites adorning your skin. He’s kneeling between your parted legs on the bed, watching them tremble with each thrust of his fingers. His free hand keeps them peeled open for him, an almost bruising grip on your thighs as he watches his digits sink into your heat, swallowing him so greedily. You twitch relentlessly around him, frustrated mewls falling from your lips each time he thrusts into you, hitting your sweet spot. Kageyama knows you’re aching for his cock, but you see, he loves seeing you fall apart for him before he gets to have his fill. It’s addicting, the flutter of your eyes and your hands twisting in the sheets when he adds a fourth finger, his thumb circling around your clit. You’re gushing all over him now, and he’s pretty sure you don’t even register his mumbled commands anymore, telling you to cum one more time for him, that he’s gonna fuck you so good after this one, just please, please, give him one more; as if he doesn’t own you entirely already.

𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 is love drunk. It’s hard not to be when you’re twisting your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer to the aching heat between your thighs. He dreamt about this long before it happened–your legs draped over his shoulders, the inside of them marked up with small hickeys and bruises from where he bit down on you. You’re whimpering and arching for him, his slender fingers holding you down by the hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks on the soft skin there. Not yet, he thinks. He can’t devour you fully just yet. Not until you come undone from his tongue alone. He needs to hear his name fall off your lips over and over again, like a spell only you know. You’ve bewitched him, body and soul, with the way he’s rutting against the mattress, his leaking cock straining against his pants, desperately searching for some friction. He knows you’d give him everything and more, but this–this is about you, your pleasure. One especially harsh tug at his hair makes him whimper against your core, his tongue lapping out to catch your essence. The taste of you is making him feel lightheaded, unraveling the knot within him, his cum uselessly spilling all over himself and the fabric of his pants. You’ll be the death of him one day, but for tonight he’ll be entirely yours.

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 loves having you like this, straddling his lap and all dolled up for him, finally getting to see the expensive lingerie you bought with his credit card. You look magnificent, angelic, out of this world, the soft glow of the nightstand lamp giving you a full body halo. His hands run over your body, from your thighs up your sides, tracing the shape of you until they come to rest splayed out across your ribcage. If Oikawa was a less patient man, he’d sink you down on his hard cock in a heartbeat, watching your mouth fall agape and your pussy dripping all over his high-quality suit pants–but unfortunately for you, he loves to play with his prey before devouring it. A pleased hum escapes his throat when he hooks one finger under your panties and pulls them aside. You made all this effort to wrap yourself up for him like this, it would be a shame to take it all off, wouldn’t it? He kisses up the valley of your chest while his knuckles ghost over your cunt, sweet praise mumbled against your skin. Hearing your breath hitch when he drags one finger between your folds–painfully slow and teasing, edging on frustration–makes him smirk. He’ll have you panting and whimpering from being full of him in no time. 

𝐔𝐊𝐀𝐈 thinks this is a bad idea, but when has he ever been able to resist you? He should’ve known he was doomed from the start when you showed up in your little sundress at the class reunion, giving him a glance from across the room that made his head spin. You used to steal shy kisses from him behind the gym before practice started, almost a decade ago, now you’re pushed against the same walls with your back arched, letting him eat you out like he’s starved. He’s kneeling between your spread legs, holding your bunched up dress with one hand, the fingers of his other plunging into your wet cunt, parting your folds for him while his tongue does its part around your clit. You taste even sweeter than he remembers and it’s making him feel lightheaded, almost drunk on your juices. The panties, previously pooling around your ankles, are now pocketed in his jacket. A guttural moan rumbles in his chest when you tangle your fingers in his dyed hair, riding out your climax on his tongue, not even bothering to stay quiet. Ukai’s cock twitches uselessly in his pants, wondering if you’ll return the favor for old time’s sake, but for now he won’t be satisfied till your legs give in on him. 

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 can tell that you aren’t asleep yet when he finishes streaming for the night. Your 3DS is tossed carelessly aside on his side of the bed, the only source of light illuminating the bedroom. He doesn’t need light to see you though, he has the shape of you long memorized with his fingertips alone. You don’t even bother to stop touching yourself when he slips under the covers with you, only a small mewl of protest when he catches your wrist and gently draws your hand away from your aching core, quickly replaced by his nimble fingers. You’re dripping, your head falling against his shoulder, the sweetest sounds escaping your lips. Kenma loves these late night moments with you; when you melt under him like molasses, sinking into him as he pushes you over the edge relentlessly, knowing exactly how to touch you to make you fall apart for him. Only when you hiccup, your fingers twisting into his shirt, he’ll slowly draw his fingers out of you again, cupping your throbbing cunt as you ride out your high. With a small pat he’ll tell you to lift your hips so he can pull your panties back up for you into place, a good night kiss pressed to your temple and your neck before you drift into sleep in his arms.

𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 can’t take his eyes off you. You look so beautiful like this. His slender fingers push between your lips, your tongue darting out to lap up what he’s offering you–a good taste of yourself, your cunt throbbing and empty from the absence of his fingers. It’s a good thing that you’re the last ones left at the office because the sight of you spread out across his desk is for his eyes only, with your skirt bunched around your waist, your new tights now ripped around the crotch area. It’s okay. He’ll buy you new ones, he always does. Anything–he’d give you anything, Akaashi thinks the moment before he lines himself up against your entrance, sinking inside you while you still drool around his fingers. You’re sucking on them so eagerly, pushing them down deep till you’re gagging, the sound of it making his hips stutter. Akaashi would love to stay buried inside you like this forever, your holes stuffed with him, making an utter mess out of you, but he crumbles so easily when he gets to have you like this. He cups your jaw so tenderly when he leans over you, letting a drop of spit fall onto your tongue, his gaze nothing but lovesick as he watches you swallow anything he offers you.

a/n: LISTEN i know Ukai is a coach but he used to be a setter so he deserves to be here. i needed an excuse to write him. also love Akaashi getting freaky, you can't tell me this calm man doesn't fuck

[fayelero]

ⓘ 03. MY STRANGE ADDICTION !

⤷ FIC ﹫ timeskip!kenma x fem!reader ﹫ angst/fluff ﹫ toxic au!

⚠︎ I really want to warn this one cuz it is really a heavy subject!!! I do not want hate so only read if you’re okay with the disclaimers: really toxic, obsession, corruption of reader, suggestive, fluff, insults, smoke, drugs, identity loss .ᐟ.ᐟ

Kenma wakes up to the sound of soft rain tapping against the massive windows of your penthouse. The sky outside is gray, overcast, the city below blurred by the misty drizzle. It feels like a dream—like he’s caught in that space between sleep and waking, where reality and illusion blend together.

And then he sees you.

You’re standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, wrapped in nothing but the silk robe he bought you last week. It hangs off your shoulders carelessly, draping over your body like it was made for you. Your hair is slightly messy, the kind of perfect disarray that makes you look like you just stepped out of a painting. A cigarette dangles between your fingers, the faint glow illuminating your nails, perfectly manicured, expensive.

You don’t even try, and still, you’re the most effortlessly beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Kenma doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just watches.

You do this sometimes—wake up before him, stand by the window, lost in your own thoughts. Maybe you like watching the city move beneath you, knowing none of it touches you. Maybe you just like knowing you have all of this, that money is nothing but numbers to you, that luxury is just a natural state of being.

Or maybe—maybe you just like making him feel like he’s in a fucking fever dream.

Your lips part slightly as you exhale, slow, smoke curling past your lips, disappearing into the air. Then, as if sensing his gaze, you glance over your shoulder, half-lidded eyes locking onto his.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

Kenma exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his already-messy blonde hair. “You look fake,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

Your lips curl at the edges, amused. “Good morning to you too, baby.”

You turn fully now, walking towards the bed with that slow, unbothered grace that makes his stomach twist. Like you know exactly the effect you have on him. Like you enjoy it. You flick the cigarette into a glass ashtray before crawling onto the bed, hands splaying over the silk sheets as you hover above him.

Kenma just looks at you.

God, he’s fucking obsessed with you.

It’s not normal. It never has been. From the moment you met, it was like something chemical snapped inside both of you—like magnets being forced together, something too strong, too immediate, too much.

Five years, and it hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s worse.

“You didn’t sleep,” you whisper, fingers brushing against his jaw.

Kenma doesn’t deny it. He never sleeps well without you, not unless he’s exhausted to the point of collapse. Even then, his body searches for yours in the sheets, muscle memory guiding him to where you should be.

You hum, leaning down until your lips barely ghost over his. “Bad habit,” you murmur against his skin.

“You’re my bad habit,” Kenma mutters back, and he hates how much he means it.

You are. You’re the worst kind of addiction, the kind that doesn’t destroy you outright but sinks into your bones, corrupting you slowly, beautifully, until you can’t tell where you end and where it begins.

Neither of you are cruel, not to each other. You don’t fight. Don’t scream. There’s no chaos, no violence—just an obsession that runs too deep, a love so consuming it wraps around your ribs like vines, tightening, squeezing.

Kenma knows it’s not healthy.

You never go anywhere without him. He never goes anywhere without you. Even when you’re apart, you’re not—you text, call, send photos, constant proof that the other still exists. The longest you’ve ever been away from each other was three days, and by the end of it, Kenma felt like his skin was too tight, like the world was too loud, like nothing made sense anymore.

You came back, and he remembers the way you just collapsed into his lap, burying yourself in his hoodie, inhaling him like you needed him to breathe again.

He remembers whispering never again into your hair, and he remembers the way you nodded, nails digging into his back like a silent promise.

Never again.

You’re pressing lazy kisses to his jaw now, soft and slow, like you have all the time in the world. You do. Time is irrelevant when you have everything.

“You love me,” you murmur, not a question, just a fact.

Kenma exhales, fingers tightening around your waist. “Too much.”

“Good.” Your lips ghost over his. “Me too.”

That’s the problem. You love each other, but it’s too much, too intense, an all-consuming fire that doesn’t burn out, just keeps raging. You don’t fight because you can’t—hurting each other isn’t an option. The thought of it makes Kenma feel physically sick.

But it’s not normal.

It’s not normal to panic when he wakes up and you aren’t there. It’s not normal to have to touch you constantly, just to make sure you’re real. It’s not normal to hate the idea of other people looking at you, talking to you, existing in the same space as you.

It’s not normal to be so deep in someone that you forget who you were before them.

Kenma doesn’t care.

Because even if it’s wrong, even if it’s unhealthy, even if it’s an addiction—

He’s never fucking quitting you.

It started slow.

Kenma likes to think he didn’t do it on purpose, that he didn’t set out to ruin you. But deep down, in the part of himself he doesn’t like to examine too closely, he knows that’s a lie.

Because the truth is—he wanted to ruin you from the second he met you. Don’t get him wrong, he never wanted to arm you or make you feel bad.

You were too fucking perfect.

When he first saw you, you were everything he wasn’t. Innocent in a way that wasn’t naïve, but untouched. Untainted. You weren’t fragile, weren’t weak, but you carried yourself with an effortless grace, a beauty so natural it made his stomach twist. You were kind without trying, soft in a way that wasn’t fake. You weren’t like the world he knew—cold, cynical, hollow.

You were warm.

And Kenma—Kenma, who had spent years keeping himself at a distance, who had built walls so high no one had ever been able to reach him—wanted to ruin you.

He wanted to pull you into his world. Wanted to see that warmth twist into something darker, something for him. He wanted you to be his.

And he got exactly what he wanted.

At first, it was little things.

The first time he handed you a cigarette, you wrinkled your nose at it, hesitant. “I don’t smoke,” you had said, voice soft but firm.

Kenma didn’t argue. Just shrugged, took a slow drag, let the smoke curl lazily from his lips.

But then you were kissing him, and his fingers were slipping into your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slid against yours, smoky and slow.

You tasted it.

Didn’t pull away.

And he knew then—it’s only a matter of time.

The first time you actually smoked, you coughed, eyes watering, nose scrunching in a way that made something deep inside him ache. But then you tried again. And again. Until it became natural, until the scent of tobacco clung to your skin like perfume, until he could press his lips to yours and taste it on you like a promise.

Then came the drugs.

Not an addiction—never an addiction. You weren’t stupid.

But you liked the feeling. The way it blurred the edges of the world, made everything a little softer, a little less real. You liked the way it made your skin hum, the way it made you feel invincible.

You liked the way Kenma would watch you when you were high—like you were something unreal, something ethereal. Like he couldn’t believe you were his.

You liked being his.

You had always been confident. You had always known you were beautiful. But Kenma—Kenma made you something else.

Something dangerous.

Because there was a difference between being beautiful and being desired. And no one had ever desired you the way he did.

The first time he touched you, really touched you, it was slow. Worshipful. Like he wasn’t sure you were real. Like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. But as the years passed, it became something else—something desperate, something obsessive, something hungry.

You were addictive.

Kenma was never the type to lose control. He was calculated, always two steps ahead. But with you—with you, he could never get enough.

You learned how to play with him, how to push his buttons. How to wear something too short, just to see his jaw tighten, his grip on his phone turn white-knuckled. How to let your touch linger just a little longer, just to watch the way his pupils would dilate.

You liked it.

Liked watching him fight to keep his composure. Liked knowing that you were the only one who could make him unravel.

It was a game.

A dangerous one.

Because if Kenma was possessive before, now he was something else entirely. You never questioned it. Never pushed against it. Because the truth was—you liked belonging to him.

Even when it was too much.

Even when the world started to feel smaller, reduced to just him.

Even when you realized you didn’t have any friends anymore. Didn’t go anywhere without him. Didn’t want to.

Because why would you?

When Kenma was your world.

When you were his.

Five years.

Five years, and now, when you look in the mirror, you barely recognize the girl you used to be.

The girl who didn’t smoke.

The girl who didn’t do drugs.

The girl who didn’t need him to breathe.

But that girl is gone. And what’s left is something else—something sharper, something darker, something that only exists in relation to him.

You should be afraid.

But you’re not.

Because if this is a mistake, if this is wrong, then you don’t want to be right.

Because this—this obsession, this madness, this love—

Is all you’ve ever wanted.

The morning is slow, stretching like golden syrup over the silk sheets. Kenma watches you move through the bedroom, and he can’t help but think about how different you are now.

How different you’ve become.

The girl he met five years ago would’ve wrapped herself in a blanket after crawling out of bed, would’ve worn an oversized hoodie, would’ve sat beside him with bare feet tucked beneath her, warmth radiating from her skin like the last light of a setting sun.

This version of you—his version of you—doesn’t do that.

You don’t bother with modesty anymore. The silk robe you wear barely clings to your body, loose enough to slip off your shoulder, short enough to reveal the curve of your thighs. It’s barely even tied. You don’t care.

And he fucking loves it.

Because you weren’t always like this.

You used to wear pretty dresses, elegant but never loud. Never anything too short, too tight, too much. You used to cross your legs carefully, sit with your hands in your lap, tuck your hair behind your ear when you were nervous.

Now? Now you stretch your arms above your head, making the robe slip further down your body, rolling your shoulders like you know he’s watching. You don’t even bother tying it properly. You don’t need to. You live in a place where money shields you from judgment, where you only leave when you want to, where Kenma is the only person whose opinion has ever mattered.

It’s not just the way you dress.

It’s the way you carry yourself now—completely unbothered, effortlessly sexy, indulgent in the way only people with everything can be.

You pad across the room, barefoot on the marble floor, fingers trailing over the cool surface of the vanity as you pass by. Your reflection stares back at you, and for a brief second, you don’t recognize yourself.

Not because you look bad. No—you look beautiful. Too beautiful.

Your lips are a little fuller, a little darker, the faint stain of yesterday’s lipstick still there. Your eyes are sharper, half-lidded, lazy, with a sleepy kind of sensuality. There’s no innocence left.

It should scare you.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at Kenma through the mirror, and he’s already watching you, amber eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the bare skin peeking through the loose silk of your robe.

You smirk. “You like staring at me, huh?”

Kenma doesn’t even blink. “You make it easy.”

Your smirk widens. You grab your cigarette from the ashtray and light it again, the scent of burning tobacco filling the air. You never used to smoke, but now it’s second nature. You love the way it makes you feel—like time slows down, like the world bends around you.

Like him.

Because that’s what Kenma does. He warps reality around himself, makes it impossible for you to think of anything else.

You take a slow drag, exhaling through parted lips. “You used to hate smokers.”

“I used to hate a lot of things.” Kenma’s voice is lazy, low, like he doesn’t even have the energy to pretend otherwise. “You make everything look good.”

You laugh, slow and syrupy. “Even addiction?”

“Especially addiction.” His gaze drags over you again. “It suits you.”

You should roll your eyes. You should say something sarcastic, should push against the way he owns you with just a look.

But you don’t.

Because he’s right.

It does suit you.

Everything he’s made you into—all the little corruptions, all the ways he’s reshaped you into something that belongs only to him—it fits.

You weren’t always like this.

You used to have boundaries.

Used to go out with friends, used to laugh without a cigarette between your fingers, used to kiss Kenma with soft lips instead of ones stained with nicotine and remnants of last night’s lipstick.

You used to be someone.

But that girl is gone for the best.

And the version of you that’s left—this spoiled, indulgent, obsessive thing—is so much more beautiful.

Kenma shifts on the bed, stretching, the sheets pooling around his waist. You take another drag, watching the way his muscles flex beneath smooth skin, the way his hair falls into his face, strands of blonde and brown mixing together in messy waves.

You were never meant for something normal.

Kenma knew that before you did.

So you take another slow inhale, lean against the vanity, and exhale with a smile. “So what now?”

Kenma watches the smoke curl between you, head tilting slightly. Then he smirks, slow and lazy, before reaching a hand out toward you.

“Come back to bed.”

[kawoala]

Contact List

taglist ; @sahrii @kameyyy @cherrysurf @aozui

often referred to as “the three musketeers” / kenma was friends with kuroo first, but since he and y/n are in the same grade, quickly became close to her as well / plenty of late nights playing mario kart / kenma is the glue of the trio.

ennoshita forces them to do their homework / got close first year of high school, inseparable since then / the other twos parents like ennoshita best / noya and tanaka make ennoshita’s life more exciting / noya was convinced to come back to vball mostly b/c of ennoshita.

[dark-night-hero]

Kozume Kenma woke up with the aggressive tapping of keyboard keys echoing in the room and maybe a very frustrated groan screams of curses. Causing him to stirr awake, turning to his side so he was facing your back which was playing on his computer. With his sight adjustint in the dark, he brush off a few strand of hair on his face before calling out your name.

"Sorry did I wake you up?" You spoke upon realizing he have been calling you for a while now, in return, in only hummed and gently sat up, back resting on his headboard. "What are you doing?" His voice was deeper than usual, probably due to the fact that he had just awoken up. Looking to his side to check on the time. "It's late." "Hmm, I'll just finish this and go to sleep-fuck!" You curse and roll your eyes as you have failed to do the fucking trial for the 15th time.

You felt like you are about to cry. You've been doing this anti-shogun test for the past half and hour and yet you're still stuck on the very same trial. Even after figuring out the patterns. You felt like you should just fucking cry and give up, quit this game for good that has been making you broke for quite some time now. Failing to do so in your 20th time. You felt like punching the computer screen when you felt your lover presence behind you.

"Sorry, let's just go to be-" "Here, this is how you do it." Placing his hand on top of yours that was holding the mouse, guiding your hands on the keyboard. He show you how it was done. And after a few minute have gone by, there you were with a smile on your face as you have finally finished the trials. "Oh my god! Finally!" You shout in delight, looking up with a smile on your face to your lover only to see him already looking at you with a small smile on his face, lost strand on his now shoulder length hair on his face, nevertheless. He look lovely.

You blink, reaching out to push back those lost strand of hair behind his ear before placing your lips upon his. "Thank you." You giggle, putting your attention back into the game where you logout quickly. Blinking, he smiles and never takes his eyes off you, "Welcome."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: Little drabble I thought because for some fucking reason I cannot pass the fucking trial of that goddamn anti shogun in genshin and I'm about to loose my mind and cry for fucking real.

[xlettex]

Deception || tetsurou kuroo Yakuza AU - Chapter Six

From the moment you looked into his eyes, you knew—he was nothing but trouble. Everyone warned you. Stay away from him. Don’t get involved. But you never listened. Tetsurou Kuroo, better known as Kurai, is the infamous yakuza boss of Japan. Just mentioning his name is enough to send shivers down spines and silence conversations in dimly lit alleyways. He is a force of nature—deceitful, ruthless, and dangerously unpredictable. A man who bends the world to his will, leaving chaos in his wake. And yet, to you… he is irresistible. You crave him — his touch, his warmth, the way he sets your skin on fire with just a glance. He makes you feel invincible like you can take on the world. But loving him is a double-edged sword. Because just as he lifts you up, he destroys you.

pairing - tetsurou kuroo x reader genre - action romance, crime romance, dark romance, erotica/smut rating - 18+ MINORS DNI chapter word count - 13.0k content warning - violence, drugs and alcohol, illegal activities, sexual content, angst. see each chapter for specific warnings.

Authors Note - This fanfic is inspired by the amazing fanart of the tetsurou kuroo mafia au (found image on pinterest, help me find the artist - I want to credit them). Disclaimer - This is a work of fiction, I do not condone the act of illegal activities, violence, or romanticization of the yakuza. Read at your own risk.

chapter five <- chapter six -> chapter seven

✯ chapter-specific warnings - smoking, violence, injury, threats, exhaustion, illegal activity, manipulation, stalking? & surveillance ✯

The knock was too soft. Hesitant. Like you weren’t sure if you should be here at all. You tightened your grip on the sleeves of your shirt, shifting on your feet as the seconds dragged on. Your stomach twisted—not from anything logical, just a deep, sinking weight pressing against your ribs.

You shouldn’t be here. But where else could you go?

The moment Koushi’s door swung open, everything inside you nearly collapsed.

He was wearing sweatpants, an old college hoodie that was too small for him, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair messier than usual—probably grading papers or falling asleep on the couch watching reruns of shitty crime shows.

He whispered your name. Careful. Measured. His voice wasn’t angry. But something about it made your chest tighten. 

You had shown up unannounced before. Late-night coffee runs, bad days at work, post-breakup meltdowns where you just needed to sit in his kitchen and exist. But this was different. You were different.

Koushi saw it instantly. The tension in your shoulders. The way you hesitated in the doorway like you weren’t sure if you had the right to be here. The way you exhaled—sharp, uneven—like the simple act of knocking had drained you.

“Can I come in?”

He didn’t ask questions. Not yet. He just stepped aside, letting you in. Because whatever this was—it wasn’t good. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly the weight in your chest felt suffocating.

The house smelled the same—warm, familiar, safe. A mix of fresh coffee, old books, and the faintest trace of laundry detergent. It shouldn’t have felt so foreign.

Koushi walked past you, heading toward the kitchen, his voice casual—but too careful. “You eat yet?”

You shook your head.

He nodded and reached toward the chair by the kitchen table, grabbing a hoodie. One of his old ones. He tossed it to you without a word. The fabric was soft and faded with time. Without thinking, you pulled it over your head. The weight of it settled against your shoulders as you sank into the chair, exhaling slowly.

He didn’t comment.

Instead, he just grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, no cream, no sugar—just how you liked it. Something about that made your throat tighten. He placed the mug in front of you. The soft clink of ceramic against the wooden table felt heavier than it should have. A quiet gesture, but loaded with understanding.

You stared at the steaming liquid, watching the way the dark surface rippled from the motion, the heat curling into the air like something alive. The rich, bitter scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the space between you, comforting and familiar—the kind of familiar you hadn't realized you were aching for.

Something inside you twisted. It was too much. Too normal. Too grounding. Too real.

Koushi settled into the chair across from you, silent, waiting. He didn’t press, didn’t pry. Not yet. But you could feel it—the weight of his gaze, the careful way his fingers curled around his own mug, the patience that came with knowing you weren’t ready to say it yet.

The coffee was warm when you finally wrapped your hands around it, the heat seeping into your palms, spreading through your fingers like a lifeline. You took a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle on your tongue, waiting for it to burn away the tightness in your chest.

It didn’t.

His eyes flickered, barely a movement, but you caught it.

He knew.  You weren’t okay. 

You curled your fingers tighter around the mug, pressing your palms into the ceramic as if the warmth could hold you together. As if you weren’t unraveling at the seams.

He exhaled slowly, resting his elbow on the table, his fingers tapping against the side of his cup—a subtle rhythm, slow, methodical. Then— "You want to tell me why your hands are shaking?"

The words weren’t sharp, but they cut through you anyway. Your stomach clenched. You hadn’t noticed. You dropped your gaze to the mug, watching as the ripples trembled beneath your grip. Your knuckles were white, your fingertips pressing too hard against the ceramic, as if you were too afraid to let go. You forced yourself to take another sip, hoping he wouldn’t say anything else.

He did. "Or are you just gonna sit there and pretend everything's fine?"

Your throat tightened. You couldn’t do this. Not yet. Not without breaking.

Koushi sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, his patience stretching thin, but not snapping. He studied you for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair. "You don’t have to talk. Not yet," he said finally. "But drink your coffee before it gets cold. You look like you need it."

The words should have been casual. They weren’t. They were permission. To sit here. To breathe. To exist without expectation. The lump in your throat tightened, your grip on the mug shifting as you swallowed hard against the overwhelming urge to say something—to tell him.

But how were you supposed to tell him?

That you had gotten into something you couldn’t leave? That you had said yes to something you didn’t fully understand? That the reason your hands were shaking wasn’t just exhaustion—but the realization that your life wasn’t your own anymore?

So you didn’t. Instead, you took another sip of coffee. And for now, that was enough.

Koushi didn’t push. He didn’t press, didn’t demand, didn’t fill the silence with questions you weren’t ready to answer. He just waited. Not for an excuse. Not for the whole truth.

Just for whatever you were willing to give him. You swallowed, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug absently, words lingering at the edge of your tongue before you finally let them slip. “I got a new job.”

His eyes flickered, barely a movement, but you caught it. He nodded once, slowly. His fingers tapped against the mug. Not surprised. Not relieved. Just… waiting.

“Yeah?” His voice was even. Casual. “Didn’t know you were looking for one.”

“I wasn’t.”

The admission hung between you. For a second, you thought he might call you on it—ask what changed, ask why now, ask what kind of job leaves you like this.

Shaking. Worn thin. Like whatever you’d just stepped into was already swallowing you whole.

But he didn’t. He just took a sip of coffee, his gaze steady. Letting you decide how much to give him.

You exhaled, tucking your hands into the sleeves of his old hoodie. It smelled like him. Like home. Like something steady. Faint traces of cologne still clung to the fabric—warm, clean, familiar. A scent you’d known for years. A scent that didn’t belong to this night, to this mess, to the weight pressing down on your ribs. A scent you could lose yourself in if you let it.

And for a moment, you almost did.

“It’s… different from the hospital,” you murmured, voice softer now.

Koushi hummed a quiet acknowledgment. But he didn’t ask how. Didn’t ask what you were doing or why you looked like you hadn’t slept. And for some reason—that made it easier to keep talking.

“It’s not bad,” you murmured. Not a lie. But not the truth, either. “Just… new.”

Another slow nod. Thoughtful. Measured. And then—soft, quiet, careful: “You gonna tell me what kind of job it is?”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t have an answer. But because you did. Your fingers curled around the ceramic, gripping it just a little tighter. “It’s still medical work,” you said finally. “I’m helping people who can’t go to a hospital.”

He exhaled, slow and deep. His eyes closed—just for a second—before settling back on you. And then, softer this time—“It’s safe, right?”

Your breath caught. You knew what he was really asking.

Not if you were happy. Not if you were okay. But if you were in danger.

If he should be worried. If he should be doing more than just sitting across from you, waiting for answers you wouldn’t give him.

You thought about Tetsurou. The way he carried himself—calm, deliberate, inescapable. The way he looked at you—with an unsettling certainty—that nothing would touch you. Not because the world wasn’t dangerous. But because he wouldn’t allow it.

“Yes.” Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be. But honest.

A pause.

The words settled between you, heavy and unmoving. Koushi didn’t argue. Didn’t call you out. But the way his fingers tapped against the table again—slower this time, measured, like he was piecing something together—

Made it clear.

He knew. Maybe not everything. But enough. And the worst part? He let it go. Not because he believed you. But because, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could save you.

The silence thickened, pressing against the walls, against your ribs, wrapping around your lungs like something you couldn’t shake. It should have felt like relief—that he wasn’t pushing, that he wasn’t demanding more. 

But it didn’t. Because Koushi never let things go. Not when it came to you. His fingers curled into a loose fist against the tabletop, jaw tightening before he exhaled through his nose—long, slow, controlled.

You saw it happen—the moment he swallowed back instinct. The moment he forced himself not to argue, not to press, not to force the truth from you. Not because he didn’t want to. But because—what if he didn’t like what he found? What if he couldn’t fix it? What if you were already too deep?

A lump formed in your throat, thick and unmoving. You hadn’t wanted this. Hadn’t wanted to bring Koushi into your mess, hadn’t wanted him to look at you like he was losing something. But he was.

His knee bounced beneath the table—restless energy curling at the edges of his frame—but his voice remained steady. Quiet. Unshaken. “Okay.”

That was all. Just okay. Not a demand. Not a lecture. Not an ultimatum. It should have made it easier. It didn’t. Because his quiet wasn’t relief—it was the weight of something unspoken, something hanging between you that neither of you knew how to bridge.

You knew it. He knew it.

He just didn’t know what to do about it. And somehow, that was worse. His gaze flicked toward the window again—just for a second. Just long enough for unease to settle beneath his ribs.

You didn’t follow his line of sight. You didn’t have to. Someone was there.

Watching. Waiting.

You wondered if he had noticed them when you walked in. If he had already seen the car idling on the street. If he had already known—before you even knocked on his door—that something was wrong. That you weren’t in control.

His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed, his knee finally stilling. He rolled his shoulders back, stretching his arms over his head—as if trying to shake off whatever thoughts were creeping in. Then, his voice came again—softer this time. More certain.

“Remember my promise—I’m not going anywhere.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, curling around something fragile inside you. He meant it. No matter what you had done. No matter what you hadn’t said. No matter what you were turning into. He meant it.

Your breath hitched, just barely—and Koushi caught it. His expression softened—just for a second—before he leaned back, voice dipping lower, quieter.

“You don’t have to tell me everything.”

A pause.

“But when you need to, I’ll be here.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment— Something cracked inside you.

And then, he let out a slow, tired breath—one that sounded like he was carrying the weight of the night on his shoulders. His fingers drummed absently against the table as if debating something. Then—

“I never thought I’d say this,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, “but I think I’d rather have you show up crying over some loser you dated than… whatever the hell this is.”

You huffed out a small laugh. Weak, but real. “Gee, thanks.”

He shot you a smirk—tired, worn at the edges, not quite reaching his eyes. “At least then, I could tell you he sucked and threatened to key his car.”

Something in your chest eased. The corner of your lips twitched—the smallest flicker of warmth in an otherwise cold night. For the first time since stepping through his door, your shoulders relaxed. Because this—this—was why you had come here. Not to be questioned. Not to be saved. But to be with him.

To pretend, even for just a little while, that things could still feel normal. You glanced at him, hesitating.

“…Can we just watch a movie?” Your voice came softer now, barely above a whisper. “Like old times?”

He  blinked—caught off guard for a second. Then—He smiled. Small. Barely there. But real. 

“Yeah,” he said, already moving towards the couch. “Yeah, we can.”

You were curled up on the couch now, pressing into the worn cushions, the soft hum of an awful reality show filling the room. Koushi’s half-sat, half-sprawled beside you, arms folded, head tilted back against the couch cushions. His breathing had slowed, evening out into something softer, quieter. He was finally relaxed.

Every so often, he muttered something half-heartedly about how stupid the contestants were, and you’d nudge him in response, letting the warmth of normalcy settle into your bones. For a moment—just a fleeting, fragile moment—it almost felt like nothing had changed.

Then—an unfamiliar chime cut through the quiet. Your pulse jumped. The moment shattered. You didn’t need to check. You already knew who it was. Slowly, carefully, you pulled it out, heart stuttering as your gaze fell on the message.

Tetsurou: It’s getting quite late.

Your chest tightened.

Koushi stirred beside you, letting out a drowsy, incoherent mumble—something about the show being garbage, about how he’d never understand why you watched this crap. His words slurred slightly. He was barely awake now.

You swallowed. You needed to go. Carefully, so carefully, you shifted, pulling away from the cushions, standing without making a sound. Koushi barely moved. His head lolled slightly against the couch, his breathing deep and steady now.

Asleep. Good. 

Your fingers twitched as you grabbed a pen, ripping a scrap of paper from an old receipt on the counter. You hesitated—just for a second.

Then, you wrote:

Didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for tonight. Don’t worry about me too much. I promise I’ll come back.

A pause.

The pen hovered over the paper. Then—with a quiet, final certainty, you added: I love you.

You pressed the note to the fridge, letting your fingertips linger against the paper, the ink still fresh. Then—without another glance back, without letting yourself stop, without letting yourself think too much—you slipped out the front door.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool night air bit at your skin, settling deep into your bones. You curled deeper into Koushi’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over your hands, but it didn’t help. Because the second you looked up—

You saw Lev.

He was leaning casually against the sleek black car, hands stuffed in his pockets, the dim glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across his face. The moment he spotted you, he pushed off the car, stretching lazily—but his eyes told a different story.

His gaze dragged over you, slow, deliberate. His smirk twitched, but there was something thoughtful behind it, something assessing. “That guy your boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes, fingers brushing the car door handle. “You sure like to talk for someone who’s not supposed to?”

Lev’s smirk faltered—just for a second. Just long enough for you to see it. The realization. The unspoken warning that had been drilled into him.

He wasn’t entitled to your life story. And he knew it.

He huffed out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I just can’t help myself.”

You didn’t respond. Without another word, you slid into the car.

Lev hesitated. Just for a second. Then, he followed, shutting the door behind him, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space as he settled into the seat beside you.

Outside, the streetlights flickered. Inside, the weight of the night pressed against your ribs. Lev didn’t push. Didn’t ask. Didn’t even look at you right away. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat, tapping his fingers absently against his thigh before muttering—just low enough that you almost didn’t catch it.

“He’s not gonna like this.”

A sharp pang rippled through your core. You turned to him, but he was already scrolling through his phone, eyes fixed on the screen, his expression carefully neutral. Like he hadn’t just said anything at all. Like the words hadn’t just settled deep in your chest like a warning.

The silence in the car stretched, thick and heavy, wrapping around your ribs like something you couldn’t shake. By the time you stepped into the penthouse, the feeling hadn’t faded. The weight in your chest. The hum beneath your skin. That slow, sinking awareness curling at the edges of your ribs.

The air inside was still. Too still. The only sound was the distant thrum of the city below, muffled by the walls of glass stretching from floor to ceiling. The lights were dim, casting long shadows across the polished floors, stretching toward the massive windows where the skyline burned gold against the night.

And then—him.

Tetsurou sat near the window, sprawled across the chair, cigarette balanced between his fingers, draped across the leather as if he had all the time in the world. The ember flared red as he took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the air like he had nothing better to do than wait.

For you.

The city lights burned behind him, slicing across his sharp features—angles of gold and shadow. His half-lidded gaze tracked your every move. Unbothered. Relaxed. Watching you like you were something he owned. Something he hadn’t quite decided what to do with yet.

You wrinkled your nose, waving at the air between you. “Smoking kills, you know.”

A smirk curled at his lips. Slow. Unhurried. He flicked the ash off the tip, eyes dragging over you like a slow burn. Lingering. Peeling you apart. "What I do can too."

The words slithered through the space between you, curling around your ribs, settling deep in your chest. A quiet reminder. A warning. You shifted, but his gaze didn’t waver.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

And then—just when the silence stretched too thin, his voice came again. Low. Even. Too casual. “We need to talk.”

A flicker of unease crawled up your spine.

He leaned forward, forearms resting against his knees, cigarette still dangling from his fingers. The smoke curled between you like a barrier—something thick, something you wouldn’t be able to cross. “The attitude earlier today?” His fingers tapped once against the armrest, the sound too soft, too deliberate. “Yeah, that doesn’t happen again.”

Your shoulders stiffened. “Excuse me?”

His smirk deepened—but there was no humor in it.

"Careful."

His voice was almost conversational, smooth, and easy. But the way his fingers curled loosely around the cigarette? That told a different story. A story of control. Of patience. Of warning.

“I let you leave earlier, didn’t I?” His voice was almost lazy, but there was something sharp beneath it. "That was me being generous."

A pause. Just long enough for the weight of his words to settle. Then—he exhaled, slow, deliberate. “Don’t start thinking my patience is endless”

The ember in his cigarette flared as he took another slow drag, the red glow sharp against the darkness of his gaze. Then—with a flick of his wrist—he snuffed it out in the ashtray beside him. The ember died instantly.

His gaze flickered back to you. Cold. Unshaken. "If you leave, I need to know where you’re going."

Your pulse kicked up. "Why?"

He tilted his head slightly, considering you. Then—he stood. And suddenly, the room felt smaller. "Because now people are watching you."

The words hit deeper than they should have.

"Because this world you just stepped into? It doesn’t care that you’re not part of it."

Another step. Slow. Deliberate.

“And because if something happens to you, it won’t be an accident.”

The air between you thickened, pressing heavily against your ribs. You weren’t stupid. You knew he was dangerous. Knew the world he lived in was built on power, fear, and control. But hearing it? Acknowledging it? That was different. You swallowed, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t let you catch your breath.

His voice dropped lower, just above a murmur—the kind of quiet that felt more lethal than anything else. He exhaled sharply through his nose, like something was pressing against the edges of his control.

His voice dipped lower, something slipping through the cracks. Raw. Unfiltered.

"If something happens to you, I—"

A sharp inhale. A flicker in his expression—a single misstep. Gone in a second.

You barely had time to process it before his smirk snapped back into place, quick, unrelenting.

"No attitude. And no more leaving without telling me where the fuck you’re going." He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I let it slide tonight” His voice was low, even, but there was something final beneath it—something that left no room for argument. "Push your luck again, and you’ll see what happens. Got it?"

Your jaw clenched. You could feel it—the way he had already drawn the line for you, the way stepping over it would mean something. Would cost something. But still—you nodded.

A beat of silence.

Then—his smirk twitched. Like he had expected a fight. Like he almost wanted one. But then—it vanished altogether. His gaze dropped, flickering over you once, twice—slow, deliberate. Like he was putting something together, piece by piece, as if something wasn’t adding up. 

The hoodie. A hoodie you didn’t leave in. The sleeves hung loose over your hands, swallowing you in a fabric that wasn’t yours. Your hair—messy, slightly tangled. A muscle in his jaw ticked. His fingers twitched at his side. Then—he stepped forward. Deliberate. Unhurried. A predator closing in.

You held your ground. Barely.

He stopped just short of you, close enough that you could smell the smoke clinging to his clothes, the faintest trace of cologne beneath it. His fingers lifted, grasping the edge of the hoodie sleeve, rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

Testing. Questioning.

“Where’d you get this?”

The words were deceptively soft. A slow drag of a knife over the skin. Your pulse hammered, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “The friend I was with.”

A shift. Subtle. Small. But you felt it. His grip on the hoodie tightened. His eyes darkened.

“Friend.” He repeated it slowly, rolling the word over his tongue, stretching it out—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to swallow it or spit it back out. His thumb ghosted over the fabric before his fingers left it, his hand dropping back to his side. Then—his jaw flexed once, twice—before tilting his head. His gaze—sharp, assessing, cutting through you like glass.

“What’s their name?”

Your breath caught.

Bait.

You knew it.  He knew it.

And yet—your lips parted, but no words came.

His smirk deepened. “No name?” A step forward. Too close.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin.

“You know,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, silkier, “it’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

Your throat went dry. “What is?”

A hum. Low. Amused. Dangerous. His fingers barely grazed the hem of the hoodie. “The fact that you left in one thing…” His eyes dragged over you, slow, heavy-lidded. “…And came back in another.”

The weight of his stare sent something sharp curling in your stomach.

“That you smell like someone else’s cologne.”

Your pulse jumped. 

He saw it. Felt it. And he liked it.

“Is this friend a boyfriend?”

The words hit like a flick of a knife. Quick. Testing.

“No. He’s just—” You stopped yourself. Swallowed, grip tightening around the sleeves of the hoodie. “He’s just a friend.”

He hummed like he wasn’t quite convinced. Then—he leaned in, voice lowering, tone shifting from casual mockery to something deeper, something laced with quiet intensity.

“Did he touch you?”

The breath you sucked in was sharp. Too sharp.

“Huh?”

His fingers skimmed higher. Slow. Barely-there touches. His smirk never wavered. “I asked if he touched you.”

You swallowed. “Why would that be your business?”

He tilted his head, searching. Waiting. Then—he leaned in. Close. Too close. His lips hovered near your ear, voice softer now, smoother, more covetous. “Everything about you is my business, doll.”

Your breath hitched.

And Tetsurou? He fucking felt it. His fingers brushed against the hem again—just once—before he stepped back. But the absence of his touch was just as sharp as the presence of it. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. 

The silence between you stretched—thick, smothering, unforgiving. His fingers flexed at his side, his thumb lazily swiping over his phone screen, A brief pause. A decision was made. But his attention never left you.

Still waiting. Still watching. But he didn’t press. Didn’t demand an answer. He just let the weight of the unspoken words sit between you, curling around your ribs like something too heavy to carry—but impossible to let go.

A tight knot coiled in your chest.

He was playing with you.

You squared your shoulders, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze without faltering. “You don’t own me.”

His smirk returned. Slow. Deliberate. But there was something cruel in it now. “No,” he murmured. “But I do own the space you stand in.” His head tilted, mocking curiosity. “And I like to know who’s been playing in my territory.”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself not to react. Not to let him see the way your body tensed at his words. 

His territory.

Like you were his—as if the decision had already been made for you. Your fingers curled into the sleeves of the hoodie, twisting the fabric between them. A second too long.

He noticed. The corner of his mouth twitched, a quiet exhale slipping through his lips. His gaze flickered lower, tracing the shape of you beneath the hoodie, the way it swallowed you up, covered you. The amusement in his expression deepened.

“So, your friend,” he drawled, stepping forward again, crowding the space between you until the only thing you could smell was him. “Was he good?”

The words were slow. Too slow. You swallowed, willing yourself not to react. Not to take the bait. “Good?”

His smirk grew. “Yeah,” his voice dipped, almost thoughtful. “I mean… you come back in his hoodie, smell like his cologne…hair all messy like someone had his hands in it…” His smirk deepened, sharp and slow. “So, did he fuck you?”

The words landed heavy. Like he wanted to see you flinch. Like he wanted to see if you’d break. Your jaw tightened. “No.”

A beat. 

Then—his tongue flicked over his teeth, jaw flexing. Something unreadable passed over his face. A flicker of thought. A slow calculation. Then—a low chuckle. 

“No.” He repeated it like he was tasting the word, testing it. “And I’m supposed to believe that?” His fingers brushed against the hem of the hoodie again, grazing your hip before pulling away.

You knew he felt the way your breath caught. You knew he enjoyed it. Your hands tightened into fists inside the sleeves. “Believe what you want.”

He hummed. A quiet, menacing sound. He didn’t respond. Just watched you. Like he was weighing something. Like he was deciding something. And then—

The corner of his mouth twitched. A slow, almost amused exhale slipped past his lips. "Oh, I will."

Silence stretched between you two until it was broken by the faint sound of heels clicking against the marble floor. Your stomach clenched. The air shattered. You turned toward the sound, your body already tensing.

And then—you saw her. 

Tall. Blonde. Beautiful in an almost cruel way. The silk of her dress clung to her figure, shifting with every deliberate movement as if it had been made to fit her perfectly. Like she was made to belong in places like this.

In his space. With him.

Her hair cascaded over one shoulder, sleek and shining, not a strand out of place. The gloss on her lips wasn’t smudged, wasn’t bitten raw. She was put together. Effortless. And she looked at you like you were nothing.

Not with curiosity. Not with hostility. With indifference.

Like she had already decided you weren’t worth noticing. A knot formed in your core. Something sharp and unfamiliar crawled up your spine, lodging itself deep in your ribs. 

You weren’t stupid. You had no right to be mad,  no reason to tighten your grip on the hoodie sleeves, but—she wasn’t just some girl. You could feel it. See it. She didn’t just know him. She knew this place. And when her lips parted—the final nail in the coffin.

“You texted,” she murmured, voice lilting with something sweet—too sweet. 

Fake.

Tetsurou backed up slightly, putting just enough distance between you and him, completely at ease, completely in control. His smirk deepened. “Yeah.” His voice was lower now, smoother—like he had just won. Like you were the only one with something to lose. Your stomach clenched, something sick curling in your chest.

Her eyes flickered to you for just a second. A second too long. Not a greeting. Not curiosity. A silent appraisal. And then—she turned to him fully. “What do you need me for?” She was waiting. 

And Tetsurou?

He let the silence stretch. Long enough for you to feel it. Long enough for your heart to hammer inside your chest. Then—he moved. Right past you. Straight to her. Your breath caught. She didn’t even blink. Didn’t react. Didn’t hesitate. She just smiled up at him, waiting for his next move.

He didn’t even hesitate either. His fingers skimmed her hip, slow, deliberate, easy. He leaned in, murmuring something low against her ear, something meant only for her. You didn’t hear the words. Didn’t need to. Because the message was already clear.

This was what you had walked into. This was who he was. This was what he did. And the worst part? He was watching you the entire time. Like he wanted to see what you would do. Like he wanted to see if you’d break. The weight of the hoodie on your frame felt heavier now. Your fingers curled into the fabric again, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ached. 

The silk of her dress caught the light as she shifted closer to him, tilting her head slightly, waiting. Your breath hitched. You needed to leave.

Now.

But his hand lingered on her waist, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of her dress. Not possessive. Not tender. Something worse. Calculated.

And then—he looked at you. A flicker of something passed through his gaze. Fleeting. Quick. But it was there. Like he was watching for something. Like he was waiting for something. 

Your throat tightened. You refused to give it to him. Swallowing the lump forming at the back of your throat, you turned on your heel. Didn’t run. Didn’t let yourself falter. 

You forced your feet to move, not toward the exit—but toward the stairs. Each step felt too loud, the soft padding of your shoes against the cold marble amplified in the quiet tension that stretched between you and the scene you were leaving behind.

You swore you could still feel his gaze, dragging over your retreating form like a brand that hasn’t cooled. 

And then—a quiet chuckle. Low. Amused. Something dark curling at the edges. You didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. But the sound followed you. Chasing you up the stairs that had not felt this long before. Or maybe it was just the weight curling in your stomach. 

Halfway up, you heard her voice. Sweet. Laced with something light, teasing. Meant to be heard.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

Your fingers clenched into the sleeves of the hoodie. Don’t stop. His voice followed, smooth and unbothered.

“Yeah.”

You forced your legs to keep moving. Almost there. She giggled softly, and then, quieter, but still loud enough to reach you—because it was meant to.

“Could’ve just waited for me in bed, you know.?”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t stop. Didn’t glance back. Didn’t react. But your grip on the railing tightened.

And then—footsteps.

His.

Your pulse spiked. He was moving, the heavy sound of his loafers clicking against the floor. Unhurried. Measured. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew exactly where you were going. And then—another pair. Lighter. Softer. In sync.

Hers.

Your breath caught. You didn’t have to turn around. Didn’t have to see it. Because you already knew. They were walking together. Heading your way.

You swallowed, shoving open the door to your room before either of them could say anything else—before you could see whatever came next. The second you stepped inside, you shut the door.

Not slam. Not locked. Just closed.

And the silence that followed was deafening. Your hands curled into the sleeves of the hoodie, the fabric soft between your fingers. Something you never should have worn in the first place. And yet—your jaw clenched. You weren’t going to let him get to you. You weren’t.

But as you slid down against the door, knees pulling to your chest, the cold realization sank deep into your ribs. 

He already had.

The silence of your room pressed in around you, thick, suffocating, drowning out everything—except for one thing.

Her voice.

"Could’ve just waited for me in bed, you know."

A fresh wave of nausea curled in your stomach. The words clung to you, clawed at your skin, and settled deep in your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut. Willed them away. But they stayed. And then—

Lev’s voice. A whisper in the car. A warning disguised as nothing.

"He's not gonna like this.”

You exhaled sharply, head tilting back against the door. Lev was right. Tetsurou hadn’t liked it. Not one bit. But this wasn’t just about that. This was a power play. A punishment for something you didn’t even do. Because he had taken in your appearance and had assumed the worst.

He hadn’t believed you. He hadn’t let your explanation matter. He had just reacted. Texted her. Brought her here. Made sure you saw. And now, while they were just down the hall, their voices carrying through the space between you, their presence lingering, pressing in—

You were here. Alone. Your fingers curled into the sleeves of the hoodie, gripping it tightly. It wasn’t yours. It was meant to be a tether, something to ground you, to remind you of a world outside of this one. Of warmth, of love, of Koushi. But now?

Now, it felt like a mistake. Like an open wound left exposed, a reminder of something Tetsurou had just ripped away without even knowing what it meant.

Laughter—hers—floated through the silence, soft, muffled by walls but still clear enough. The quiet murmur of his voice followed, smooth, unreadable. 

And then—footsteps.

Not distant. Not fading. Moving. Pausing. Settling. A rustle. A shift.

The faintest creak of the mattress. The bedroom door shut with a quiet click.

The sounds echoed.

A slow, simmering pressure built in your chest, clawing downward. You shouldn’t care. You had no right to care. But as you sat there, alone, hoodie clenched between your fingers, the truth burned through you like a sinking weight.

He wanted to hurt you. 

And he had.

And Tetsurou?

He fucking knew it.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, fingers curled tight around the fabric at your sleeves, knuckles aching from the pressure. The room felt too small, the air too thick, pressing down on your chest until breathing became a conscious effort.

Beyond the window, the city stretched toward morning, streetlights flickering out one by one as the dark bled into dawn.

The first thing Kuroo registered was warmth. A weight pressed against his chest—soft, familiar. A leg was thrown over his, blonde hair fanned across the pillow. The scent of expensive perfume clung to the sheets, heady and overwhelming.

Alisa.

His jaw ticked. For a second, he just stared at the ceiling, last night bleeding back into him like a slow, creeping ache. 

You. That fucking hoodie. The way you looked at him—like you didn’t know him. Like he had become something different in your eyes.

And now?

Now, he was here. With Alisa in his bed. A move he’d made deliberately. A move that should have settled something inside him. But it didn’t.

Alisa stirred, pressing closer, nails tracing lazy patterns over his stomach. “Mmm,” she hummed, voice thick with sleep. Then, after a pause—her voice sharpened slightly. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

Kuroo tensed. She wasn’t teasing. She was testing.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t react. Just exhaled sharply, swinging his legs off the bed. His hands dragged down his face before reaching for his sweatpants, shoving one leg through, then the other.

Alisa rolled onto her side, head propped up on her palm, watching him. “Guess that changed.”

His fingers curled slightly around the waistband of his sweatpants. He needed a shower. Needed to get out of this room.

Alisa studied him carefully. “Lev told me how you threatened him over her.”

Stillness.

The words landed like a flick of a knife. Kuroo’s body went rigid.

Alisa caught it. Her smirk curled as she sat up, hair falling over her bare shoulder. “That’s a first,” she murmured, studying him. “Didn’t think you cared enough to pull shit like that.”

His fingers clenched around the sheet.

Alisa tilted her head, watching him like she had just stumbled onto something interesting. “Did she do something to piss you off last night?”

Kuroo stood up. Sharp. Abrupt. His fingers twitched at his sides, jaw flexing as he grabbed his shirt off the floor. Measured. Controlled. “I’ve got shit to do.”

Alisa blinked, waiting—like she expected more.

But Kuroo didn’t offer anything. Didn’t explain. Didn’t care to. “Do me a favor,” he said, voice low, clipped. “Be gone by the time I get out of the shower.”

Silence.

Alisa blinked. Like she hadn’t quite heard him right. Then—slowly—her lips curved. Not a smile. Something else. Something sharper. "Huh." She leaned back against the headboard, studying him, her nails tapping idly against her thigh. Watching him like she was putting something together.

She exhaled, then—deliberately, lazily—slid out of bed. She didn’t scramble to grab her clothes, didn’t rush to leave. Instead, she stretched, taking her time, her movements slow and fluid. Making a show of it. 

When she finally reached for her dress, she paused—just for a second��fingertips grazing the fabric before glancing back over her shoulder. "Guess a girl can get under your skin after all."

Kuroo didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept his focus on the shirt in his hands, jaw locked tight.

Alisa’s smirk deepened. But she didn’t push. Didn’t need to. She had already won. With a quiet hum, she slipped her dress over her head, smoothing out the silk as she stepped toward the door. No rush. No hesitation. And then—just as she reached for the handle— she tossed one last look over her shoulder.

“Let me know when you’re done pretending she doesn’t matter.”

Click.

The door shut behind her. The silence that followed was different than before. Hollow. Taut. Suffocating. Kuroo exhaled slowly through his nose, pressing his palms against his face.

Fucking hell.

His head tilted back, eyes catching on the ceiling, but all he saw was you. Your expression last night. The way you didn’t fight back. Didn’t say anything. The cold, empty weight of it clawed at his ribs.

And for the first time in a long time—he knew he fucked up.

With a sharp inhale, he made his way to the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, locking out everything but the sound of his heavy, unwanted thoughts.

The bathroom filled with steam, curling against the mirrors, clinging to the tile. Kuroo let the water scorch down his back, head tilted forward, fingers braced against the marble wall. His eyes squeezed shut.

The scent of Alisa still clung to his skin. Cloying. Suffocating. He scrubbed at his arms, and his chest like he could wash away the weight pressing into him. Like he could erase the taste of last night—the choice he made.

It didn’t work. Your face still lingered in the back of his mind. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… blank. That was worse. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he exhaled sharply through his nose. He didn’t know what he was expecting. That you’d lash out? Yell at him? That you’d push back, give him something—anything—to work with? But you didn’t. You just turned away.

His fingers curled into fists, forehead pressing briefly against the cool tile. That fucking hoodie. He had been so sure—so convinced he knew what he was looking at. 

But now? Now, the certainty didn’t sit right.

The water ran hot, but his thoughts ran hotter. By the time he shut it off, stepping out into the thick steam, the weight in his chest had settled into something cold. Heavy.

Something was wrong. 

He grabbed a towel, running it through his hair once before tossing it onto the counter. A glance in the mirror—his reflection stared back, unreadable.

Tch.

He didn’t waste any more time. The second he stepped out of the bathroom, he was moving. Down the hall. To your door. 

A beat.

Then—his knuckles rapped against the wood. 

Silence.

His stomach twisted. He knocked again. 

Nothing.

The unease crawled up his spine as he tested the handle.

Unlocked.

The door pushed open with an ease that made his pulse kick up. The room was still.

The bed? Untouched.

His gaze swept over the room, scanning the space his men had furnished for while you were out last night. It looked different now. Lived in. His eyes caught on the new additions—the personal touches that hadn’t been there before. The photos. Neatly arranged on the dresser.

He stepped closer, his fingers ghosted over the edge of a frame. A younger you, with a woman and a man. Parents.

His gaze locked onto another. A gray-haired man. Grinning. Arms slung over your shoulders, casual, familiar. Too familiar.

He knew this guy. Had seen him with you before. Something sharp coiled in Kuroo’s stomach. A flicker of something ugly. Jealousy. His jaw tightened. He had no fucking right. He knew that. But it didn’t stop the feeling from creeping in, slow and insidious, settling into his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake. His fingers curled tighter around the frame, the growing tension pulling him back to reality.

Where the fuck were you?

His movements were sharp as he turned on his heel, heading downstairs, hoping—expecting—to find you somewhere in the penthouse. But you weren’t. The only thing waiting for him was a note. Pinned to the fridge. Small. Unassuming. But somehow, it felt heavier than it should have.

His fingers plucked it from the stainless steel, scanning the words once. Twice.

At work.            The driver took me.  Don’t send a guard.

No snark. No fight. No anything. Just cold. Impersonal. Kuroo exhaled sharply through his nose. His grip tightened around the note. Something deep inside him twisted. Not anger. Not jealousy. Something else. And he fucking hated it.

He grabbed his phone, sending out a single message."Both of you. Penthouse. Now."

Minutes later, Lev sat stiffly across from him on the barstool, fidgeting under Kuroo’s scrutiny. Kenma, on the other hand, was unbothered—leaning against the island, eyes flicking over his laptop, already knowing this was important.

Kuroo exhaled sharply through his nose, tapping once against his knee. “The guy she was with last night.” His voice was even. Too even. “Tell me everything.”

Lev hesitated. “Uh… what about him?”

Kuroo’s stare hardened. “Start with where you guys went”

Lev swallowed. “Some house about thirty minutes away.” He reached for his phone. “I still have the address in my phone—”

Kuroo waved a hand. “We’ll get to that. Now—describe him.”

Lev blinked. “Oh. Uh, gray-haired dude? Looked a little older than her, but not by much.” He scratched the back of his head. “They seemed… close.”

Something coiled tight in Kuroo’s chest. A sharp breath. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Then—he was on his feet.

“Uh, boss?” Lev called after him, confused.

Kuroo ignored him, moving fast, his feet carrying him back upstairs before he could think. The framed photos. His fingers closed around the one that had caught his attention earlier. His grip tightened as he stared at it. The anger built in his chest, burning hotter. 

He turned on his heel, heading back downstairs, the photo gripped tightly in his hand. He slammed the frame onto the countertop, the quiet thud of the glass a harsh contrast to the storm inside him. “Is this him?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Lev blinked, glancing down. Then—a nod. “Yeah. That’s the guy.”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. That slow, insidious feeling continued to gnaw at him, coiling deep in his chest, refusing to loosen its grip.

Kenma, still leaning against the counter, finally spoke. His tone was unreadable, but his gaze flickered between the photo and Kuroo like he already knew this was about to be something. 

“Want me to pull up the address?”

Kuroo’s jaw tightened. “Do it.” Kenma’s fingers flew over his keys, the only sound in the room was the quiet tap of keys.

A beat of silence. 

Then—his brows lifted slightly. “Huh.”

Kuroo’s patience snapped. “What.”

Kenma didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his laptop toward Kuroo.

Sugawara Family Residence. 

But something else.

Occupants: Koushi Sugawara.

Kuroo’s stomach dropped. 

Sugawara. 

The name slammed into him like a freight train. He’d read it before. When he looked into you when he skimmed through your past. 

He just hadn’t fucking thought.

The hoodie. The fucking hoodie.

It didn’t belong to just some random guy. It didn’t belong to a fucking boyfriend.

It belonged to a man who was family.

Kuroo clenched his jaw so tight it ached. His fingers twitched at his side before curling into a tight fist, knuckles whitening. 

And then—his arm jerked. His fist swung up— toward the counter, toward the wall—

But he stopped.

Just short.

Fingers shaking. Breath coming fast, uneven.

A sharp exhale left his lips, ragged, unsteady. He dragged a hand down his face, pressing his palm hard against his temple like he could scrub the weight of this realization out of his skull. But it didn’t budge. It sat there, cold and immovable, pressing against his ribs, heavy, unshakable.

He had thought you were trying to provoke him. That you wanted to make him jealous. But you weren’t flaunting anything. You were just holding onto something real. Something that had nothing to do with him.

And he’d fucking ripped it apart without a second thought

Kuroo leaned back against the wall, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His heart hammered against his ribs, too loud, too fucking fast.

He had fucked up. More than he realized. More than he fucking thought possible. 

Kenma’s gaze flickered between the screen and Kuroo. A slow blink. “What did you do?”

Kuroo’s jaw tensed. He inhaled sharply. “Something I shouldn’t have.”

Kenma clicked his tongue, watching Kuroo’s expression shift. “Damn.” A pause. Then—flat, but edged with something dry. “You really fucked up if you’re admitting a mistake.”

Kuroo clenched his jaw.

Kenma wasn’t wrong.

This was worse than he fucking thought.

Kuroo leaned towards the counter, phone in hand, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts. The weight in his chest was unbearable now.

You were gone.

Not gone, gone. But you had left the penthouse before he could see you before he could fix anything, before he could even talk to you. That wasn’t an accident. It was a choice. One that told him exactly how deep of a hole he had dug.

He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders back before typing out a message and hitting send.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. The sound barely cut through the fog clinging to your mind, but the vibration sent a dull pulse through your hip. You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temple, willing away the exhaustion pressing in at your skull.

Lack of sleep was catching up with you. Hard.

You hadn’t slept well the night before moving into Kuroo’s penthouse—your mind restless, unable to settle after your world had flipped upside down overnight. And last night? Last night you didn’t sleep at all. Not after what he did. Not after the scene he had so carefully crafted for you to see.

You should’ve known better than to care. You should’ve.

But your body didn’t get the memo. The pit in your stomach hadn’t left, a slow-sinking weight pressing against your ribs, growing heavier with every replayed moment. Every breath. Every memory of his smirk curling at the edges of something cruel.

Your phone buzzed again.

With a slow breath, you pulled it out, the screen too bright against your tired eyes. The message sat there, clear, simple.

Tetsurou: Let me send a guard.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. You stared at the words longer than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t an apology. Not directly. Not with words. But this? This was him saying I still care. I still want to keep you safe.

And maybe that should’ve meant something. Maybe, on another day, it would have. But today?

Today, you remembered last night.

The calculated way he let you see him with her. The way his fingers had brushed against her waist, the low murmur of words meant just for her, but loud enough for you to hear.

You inhaled sharply, chest tightening with something sharp, something cold.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard. A thousand different responses flickered through your head—ones that bit, ones that deflected, ones that asked why.

But in the end, you only sent one word.

No.

You didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t give him the chance to argue. Instead, you locked the phone and shoved it back into your pocket, the weight of it suddenly unbearable.

A deep, tired sigh slipped past your lips.

"You look like you're about to pass out. And if you do, I’m not resuscitating you."

The dry voice pulled you back into reality, and you blinked up to find Shirabu staring at you, arms crossed, unimpressed as ever.

You huffed out a weak, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Good to know where we stand Shirabu."

Shirabu raised an eyebrow. "You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. And I’d rather not have someone who looks like roadkill assisting in surgery today."

"Feel like it, too. But I’m fine."

He clicked his tongue, eyes scanning over you like he was diagnosing an illness. "Maybe you should just go home before you pass out on someone's open chest. Kind of a bad look."

A short, humorless breath left you. "Nice to know you care."

"I'm serious." He clicked his tongue, arms crossing over his chest. "You look like shit."

The bluntness should have irritated you. But it didn’t. Because this was normal. A coworker making an observation. A cold, pragmatic assessment. Logic.

Not control.

For a moment, a split second, you felt something unfamiliar pressing against the exhaustion in your chest—relief. Because this world was familiar. The pace of it. The order. The simplicity of a tired doctor telling you to go the hell home.

It was grounding. It was safe.

It should have been enough.

You let out another breath, rolling your shoulders.  "Not happening. I just need to keep busy. I’ll stick to rounds, checking on patients—nothing major."

Shirabu didn’t look convinced. "Fine. But I better not find you faceplanted in some supply closet." He shook his head before heading off, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway.

The moment he disappeared, that false sense of normalcy collapsed. The exhaustion wrapped around you like a second skin, suffocating, clinging to the edges of your lungs.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into the fabric of your scrub sleeves. You should’ve been relieved. You had shut Tetsurou down. You had drawn the line.

So why the hell did it still feel like you couldn’t breathe?

The hospital air was always thick—antiseptic, muted voices, the quiet hum of exhaustion clinging to overworked doctors and nurses. 

But this?  This was different.

It started as a twinge. A whisper of unease slithering down your spine, subtle but unshakable. You were being watched.

You ignored it at first. Too tired. Too drained.

Your body running on autopilot as you moved through the halls, doing exactly what you told Shirabu—keeping busy.

But the feeling didn’t fade. If anything, it got worse. Too obvious. Too intentional. Like whoever it was wanted you to know they were there.

Your gaze flickered to the side—casual, practiced, not obvious.

And there he was. A man, leaning against the far wall, just out of reach of the passing nurses and patients. His frame was relaxed, posture at ease, but something about it felt off. Too calculated. Too still.

Dressed entirely in black. Hat pulled low. Long sleeves concealing his arms, hands tucked neatly into his pockets.

That wasn’t an accident. Your stomach twisted. One of Tetsurou’s men.

Of course.

Your exhaustion snapped into something sharper. Anger burned through the fatigue, simmering beneath your skin until you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Tetsurou didn’t take your ‘no’ seriously. The audacity of him. Sending someone to stalk you. To watch you. To make sure you weren’t slipping beyond his grasp.

You saw red. You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop to think.

You marched across the hallway, shoulders squared, heart hammering, and shoved every ounce of anger into your voice.

 He didn’t react, didn’t shift, didn’t move—just let you approach, let you get close. 

Fine. You’d give him something to report back to his boss.

"Seriously?" Your voice came sharp, low enough to avoid drawing attention, but full of venom. "You’re not even trying to be subtle now? Tell your boss he can go fuck himself."

Silence.

The man tilted his head, studying you, and something about the way he did it made your skin crawl.

Not arrogant. Not flustered. Not caught off guard.

Just… interested.

"That’s a lot of anger," he murmured, voice smooth, unreadable. "He must really want to keep an eye on you."

Your breath hitched—not at his words, but at the way he said them. Carefully. Calculated.

The unease settled deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a slow-growing weight.

You narrowed your eyes, jaw tightening. "Tetsurou doesn’t need to keep an eye on me," you snapped, hating the way his name tasted in your mouth. Hating the way this man’s presence made you feel like you were back under his thumb. "So you can tell him to back off."

The man just smirked.

"Noted," he murmured. And then—he just walked away.

But the unease didn’t.

It clung to you. Crawled under your skin.

It followed you through the halls, through the minutes that stretched endlessly, through the exhaustion that should have dragged you under but didn’t. Because the worst part?

You weren’t tired anymore. You were wired.

Your body was running off something sharper than adrenaline. The feeling of being watched hadn’t faded—not really. Even now, hours later, it lingered, pressing against your spine, refusing to let go.

That man. His voice. His smirk.

Your mind kept circling back to it, turning over details you hadn’t processed in the moment. The way he didn’t blink when you snapped at him. The way he seemed amused by your anger. The way he had walked away so easily.

You shivered, rubbing your arms as you made your way toward the emergency room. Your shift was nearly over and you were hanging on by a thread.

One more round of patient checks, then you could get the hell out of here. Then you could breathe.

But just as you stepped past the dimly lit corridor near the storage rooms—

An arm shot out.

Before you could react, a strong grip curled around your wrist, yanking you sideways.

Your breath caught—

The world tilted—

And then you were shoved into the darkness of a supply closet, your back hitting the shelving as the door clicked shut.

Tetsurou.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You barely had a second to process before anger surged through you, sharp and immediate. 

The final fucking straw.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me," you snapped, exhaustion collapsing into frustration as you pushed off the wall, stepping toward him.

Tetsurou didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just stood there, towering over you, watching.

Too still.

Your chest heaved, the heat in your veins burning hotter.

"Why can’t you just leave me alone?" Your voice dropped, but the bite remained. "Is this fun for you? Dragging me into your world, making me second-guess everything—making sure I can’t turn a corner without feeling like you’re right there?"

Nothing.

No reaction.

Just golden eyes locked onto yours, unreadable, waiting.

That only pissed you off more. 

Because the truth was—you weren’t even sure if you were talking about just him anymore. The feeling had been there all day. Lingering. Pressing against the back of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

And Tetsurou?

He wasn’t even reacting.

Your fingers curled into fists. "Say something!"

Nothing.

"Fine," you snapped. "Then get the hell out of my way—"

"We’re leaving."

Your whole body locked up. The words were calm. Final. Not a demand. Not a request.

Just a fact.

Your nails dug into your palms, anger clawing at your throat. "You don’t get to decide that."

His gaze didn’t waver. "You’re done for the night."

A humorless laugh slipped past your lips. "Are you kidding me? You can’t just—"

"You’re stitching someone up," he cut in, voice like steel.

Your stomach flipped. "What?"

"That’s why I came here." He exhaled sharply, like this was just another thing piling onto the already fucked-up night. "One of my men took a hit. I need you to take care of it. Now."

You stared at him. Fury still burning. Mind still spinning. And for a moment—you considered saying no.

But the look in his eyes? Said now was not the time.

"Fine," you muttered, voice clipped. "Let’s go."

He didn’t respond. Just moved.

When he stepped past you, his shoulder brushed yours. Firm. Intentional. And then—his hand ghosted against your hip.

The lightest touch. Barely there. But it sent a shockwave through you.

A warning. A claim.

Your pulse jumped, frustration crackling beneath your skin. The cramped space felt even smaller now, his presence filling every inch of it. Too warm. Too inescapable.

His fingers curled around the doorknob. He didn’t look at you as he pulled it open.

And just like that—the fight was over.

For now.

But the heat in your chest hadn’t faded.

The tension sat thick and suffocating between you, trailing behind as you followed him out of the hospital, past the sterile white walls and fluorescent lights, out into the night.

You expected him to take you straight to wherever he had planned—wherever his injured man was waiting.

But instead—

The car slid through the Tokyo streets, past the flashing neon signs, past the familiar grunge of the city’s underbelly—until the driver pulled the car to a slow, smooth stop.

Your brows furrowed. This wasn’t what you expected. Not some dimly lit, back-alley hideout. Not some run-down warehouse or a shady underground room. Instead—Tetsurou had brought you to a restaurant.

And not just any restaurant—one of the most exclusive izakayas in Tokyo.

The kind of place where the rich came to sip sake and pretend they weren’t the worst people in the city.

The moment his car pulled up to the entrance, your irritation—already boiling under your skin—flared.

"What the hell is this?" you muttered, shooting him a look as the valet opened your door.

Tetsurou ignored you. Not unusual.

But when he stepped out, fixing the cuffs of his suit like this was just another night out, you felt something snap.

You barely had a second to push the door open yourself before he was already moving, walking ahead like he expected you to follow.

You did—but not quietly. The second you caught up to him, you leaned in, voice low but sharp.

"I thought you said—"

He cut you off before you could finish, his voice smooth, final. "Come on."

Like that was supposed to be an answer. Your jaw clenched. Your fingers curled into fists.

No explanation. No warning. Just the expectation that you’d go along with whatever bullshit he had planned.

You could’ve stopped walking. Could’ve dug your heels into the pavement and forced him to actually tell you what the hell was going on. But instead, you followed.

Angry. Fuming. But you followed.

The second you stepped through the doors, the heat of frustration crashed against the cool, controlled atmosphere.

It was warm inside—too warm.

Low jazz hummed softly over the quiet clink of glasses. The smell of grilled wagyu and sake filled the air, masking the undercurrent of expensive cologne and cigarettes. Every detail was meticulously designed to feel inviting.

And yet—you felt nothing but unease.

Because he didn’t look around. Didn’t glance at a menu. Didn’t acknowledge the waitstaff. Didn’t even pretend like this was a normal night out.

Your stomach twisted. Something was off. You leaned closer, voice hushed but sharp.

"Tetsurou—"

But before you could finish, his hand pressed lightly against the small of your back.

Not enough to push. Not enough to force.

But just enough to make you move.

Your eyes flashed. You opened your mouth to snap at him—but then he was leading you past the tables, past the bar, straight toward the back of the restaurant.

Straight toward a staff-only door. Your breath hitched. Your pulse jumped.

But Tetsurou? He just pushed it open. And just like that—you weren’t in the restaurant anymore.

Everything changed.

The second the door shut behind you, the warmth of the restaurant vanished—replaced by something colder, quieter, heavier. The hallway stretched narrow and sterile, lined with unmarked doors. The walls were too clean. The silence too suffocating.

The smell of cedar and grilled steak? Gone.

Now, the air smelled like disinfectant and metal. You dug your heels in, finally stopping.

"Where the fuck are we?"

He didn’t answer. Didn’t pause. Didn’t even acknowledge your anger.

He just kept walking, taking you past crates of imported liquor, past a door that hummed with the faint sound of machinery, down a flight of stairs that smelled like steel and blood.

Your hands clenched at your sides. Your whole body screamed at you to turn around. But you didn’t. Because deep down, you knew—whatever was waiting for you down there needed your help.

The moment your foot hit the bottom step, your mouth dropped. This wasn’t a storage room. This wasn’t a kitchen backroom. This was something else entirely

A single, worn leather couch sat against the wall, stained darker in places you didn’t want to think about. A heavy metal table occupied the center of the room, surrounded by neatly stocked cabinets filled with medical supplies that had no business being this well-organized in a basement.

And slumped against the table—his shirt peeled back, bleeding from a deep gash across his ribs—was a man.

The sight of blood—so much blood—yanked you back into reality. Your jaw locked. Your pulse pounded.

Tetsurou just exhaled, slow and easy, like this was routine. Like the blood pooling onto the table didn’t faze him. Like a man bleeding out in a basement was just another Tuesday.

"Fix him."

That was all he said. Low. Even. Like this wasn’t up for debate. Like this was just something you were expected to do.

Your blood boiled. Your vision blurred at the edges, anger pressing against your skull like a vice. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to be in the basement of a restaurant, stitching up criminals, pretending like this was normal.

And you sure as hell weren’t supposed to be doing it while Tetsurou stood there, silent, acting like nothing was wrong.

Your fingers curled into fists. You should have argued. Should have said something.

Instead, you stormed forward, snatched a pair of gloves off the tray, and got to work.

If he wanted this done? Fine. But you weren’t doing it gently.

The silence stretched thick, suffocating.

You moved quickly—too quickly. Every motion was sharp, precise, filled with an unspoken fury you had no other way to express.

Clean the wound. Disinfect. Prep the needle.

You worked like a machine, ignoring the way the man beneath you tensed as you pressed down a little too hard.

"Jesus," he hissed, body jerking slightly. "Watch it—"

"Then stop moving," you snapped, your voice clipped and cold.

He grunted but fell silent.

From across the room, you felt Tetsurou watching.

You didn’t care. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t turn. Didn’t give him the reaction he was waiting for.

Instead, you focused on the thread between your fingers, on the needle piercing skin, on the rhythm of stitching something back together— because at least this was something you could control.

The second stitch went in. Then the third. The silence pressed in tighter. You knew Tetsurou wasn’t going to speak first.

But you weren’t going to break either.

You pulled the last stitch tight, snipping the excess thread with more force than necessary.

"Done."

Your voice came flat, clipped, as you ripped off the bloodied gloves and tossed them onto the metal tray beside you.

The man on the table exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Damn, that was fast. You do this often or somethin’?"

You ignored him. Didn’t look at Tetsurou. Didn’t wait for approval.

You turned, already heading for the stairs, body rigid with unspoken words. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, anger still simmering beneath your skin—sharp, suffocating, unrelenting.

This was too much. All of it. This wasn’t your world. And yet, here you were.

Again.

But the moment your hand touched the railing—

The sound of your name stopped you cold.

Low. Even. Just enough to make the air feel heavier. You didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just waited. Another long pause.

"You did good."

The words landed differently than they should have. Maybe it was the way they came quieter, closer—like a secret meant for you alone. Maybe it was the way the air seemed heavier between you, the way his fingers brushed against your wrist, fleeting, almost unintentional. 

Almost.

For a second—just a breath—you froze.

Because it wasn’t just approval. There was something else laced in his voice, something rare, something that made it harder to swallow down the frustration burning in your chest.

And that? That made you angrier.

Because he was acting like this this was just another night. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t dragged you deeper into something you had no escape from. 

Your breath came sharp, clipped, as you yanked your wrist away, ignoring the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to hold on.

And you hesitated.

Just for a half-second. Just long enough to feel the weight of what just happened, to let it settle deep in your ribs.

Then you turned—abrupt, almost too fast.

The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

But you didn’t let him get to you.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t acknowledge the weight in his voice.

You just walked away. Out the door. Into the car. 

Without a word. 

The silence stretched. Not peaceful. Not empty. Thick. Suffocating.

The kind of silence that sat heavy on your chest, pressing down, making it impossible to breathe.

You kept your eyes on the city lights, arms crossed so tightly your nails dug into your skin. Tetsurou hadn’t said a word since leaving that basement.

Good.

Because if he had, you weren’t sure what would’ve come out of your mouth.

Your chest still burned. Anger, frustration, something sharp and bitter curling beneath your ribs. Too much had happened, too fast.

Tetsurou and that woman.

Him dragging you away from work like it was nothing.

But beneath all of that, something deeper sat heavy in your stomach.

That basement.

You knew it existed. This was the deal—stitching up criminals, keeping quiet, playing your role.

But what unsettled you the most wasn’t the blood. Wasn’t the sterile tools lined up so neatly. Not that the room was a place where men either bled out or survived. But how easily you had stepped into it.

You had just done it. Like it was natural. Like you belonged.

And whether you wanted to admit it or not—

You did.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Maybe you should have asked more questions. Maybe you should have hesitated. Maybe you should have told him no from the beginning.

But the moment you saw all that blood, the moment you heard Tetsurou’s voice—

"Fix him."

You didn’t freeze. Didn’t flinch. And that?

That should have scared you.

Another minute passed.

Then another.

And still, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t glance at you. Didn’t even shift in his seat. Like he was waiting. Like he knew the storm inside you was nowhere close to settling. Finally, the pressure cracked.

"You could at least say something." Your voice came out sharp, cutting through the weight of the silence like a blade.

His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror—just for a second—before settling back on the road. The driver didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t shift, didn’t react.

"Not sure what you want me to say."

His tone wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t mocking. And that only pissed you off more.

"You always have something to say." Your glare burned into the side of his face. "But now? Now you’re just gonna sit there and pretend like nothing happened?"

Finally, he exhaled through his nose. A slow, measured breath. "What do you want me to say?" His voice was calm. Too calm. Like he was choosing his words carefully.

You scoffed. "I don’t know, Tetsurou. Maybe an apology?"

Nothing. No reaction. Not even a flicker of guilt. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

"You just expect me to go along with all of this?"

His fingers tightened around the door handle, leather creaking under his grip.

Still, he said nothing. The weight in your chest grew heavier.

He wasn’t going to argue. He wasn’t going to fight you on this. Because he didn’t regret a damn thing. 

Your jaw clenched. Your stomach twisted. You turned away, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to shove down the frustration clawing at your ribs.

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that. It could have been minutes. It could have been the entire ride. But when the car finally slowed to a stop, you didn’t wait for him to say anything.

The second the locks clicked open—you shoved the door and stepped out.

Without another glance at him, you walked inside .

The elevator ride up was silent.

Suffocating.

You stood stiff beside him, arms crossed so tightly it almost hurt, frustration radiating off you in waves.

Tetsurou? He was unreadable.

Expression calm. Posture relaxed. But his fingers twitched—just slightly, just enough to betray him. A small movement. Almost unnoticeable.

Almost.

Because Tetsurou never fidgeted.

The second the elevator doors slid open, you moved. Straight for the stairs. Straight for the one place in this penthouse that wasn’t his. But before you could take another step—

"Stop."

The word wasn’t loud. But it didn’t have to be.

It sank into your spine, curling around your ribs, pulling you to a standstill before you could think better of it.

Your jaw clenched. Fingers curled into fists.

Slowly, you turned, fire still burning in your chest. "What?"

His gaze locked onto yours. Steady. Sharp.

"We’re talking."

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips. "Now you want to talk?"

His jaw tightened. "Yes."

Something twisted in your stomach. Because for the first time all night—Tetsurou actually looked like he knew he fucked up.

Good. You hoped he felt it.

"You don’t get to decide when we talk." Your voice came sharp, seething. "You don’t get to rip me out of my job, drag me across the city, shove me into your fucking world—"

Before you could take another breath—

Tetsurou moved.

Fast. Decisive.

Your back hit the wall. Not hard. Not rough. Just enough to make you feel it. Your breath caught—not from fear, but from the sudden heat of his presence.

Too close now.

His hand pressed against the wall beside your head, caging you in—not to trap, not to intimidate, but to make you look at him.

His voice dropped, low and controlled. "You think I dragged you into this?"

Your chest heaved.

Not from exhaustion. From something else.

You hated him for being this close—

Hated that you could smell his cologne, sharp with a hint of smoke and blood. Hated that the fire curling in your stomach couldn’t drown out the way his body heat bled into yours. Hated that even now, with everything burning between you, you still felt the electric trace of his fingers skimming over your sleeve, barely there, but enough to make something shiver up your spine.

"Move."

He didn’t.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease.

He just looked at you.

Waiting.

You shoved against his chest—but he didn’t budge.

"Get out of my way."

His gaze didn’t waver.

"Not until you listen."

You could feel his breath now.

It brushed against your cheek, warm, controlled, infuriatingly steady.

Your pulse pounded.

"Oh, fuck off." you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you—"

You cut yourself off. The words felt too heavy. Too real.

He waited.

And you hated him for it. Your throat felt tight.

"You keep doing this." Her voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. "You act like my choices don’t matter. Like I don’t matter. Like I’m just supposed to go along with whatever you want, whenever you want—"

"That’s not true."

His voice was firm. Immediate. Like he couldn’t let you believe that. Like that was the one thing he refused to accept. A sharp exhale left your lips. Your fists clenched.

“Against my better judgment, I thought you cared. But I guess not.”

That did it.

His entire body went still. Not the kind of stillness that came from processing. The kind of stillness that meant something inside him snapped.

His hand tightened against the wall beside your head. 

His jaw flexed. A slow inhale through his nose.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Rougher. 

"Say that again."

Your stomach twisted. You had been ready for anger. For mockery. For another one of his goddamn games. But not this.

Not the way his eyes had darkened—not with amusement, but something unreadable. Not the way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself. Not the way his voice sounded like it had been scraped raw.

Your pulse pounded.

He exhaled sharply. Then—his voice dipped even lower.

"Say I don’t care about you."

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth—but nothing came out. Because you couldn’t say it. 

Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when you could still feel his warmth caging you in. Not when the silence between you felt like something breakable.

Your chest ached. Because you wanted to say it. You wanted to shove it in his face, make him feel as angry, as raw, as messed up as you felt right now.

But if you said it—it wouldn’t be true.

His fingers twitched. His jaw tightened.

He waited.

You hated him for waiting. Hated him for making you choke on the words.

But before either of you could break—

The anger surged back. Your fingers curled into fists.

"You ignored me. Twice."

He said nothing.

Your chest felt like it was caving in. The words burned on your tongue, bitter and raw.

"I wrote on the fridge not to send a guard. I replied to your text. I said no." Your voice broke on the last word, and you hated it. Hated how much it sounded like something fragile.

You swallowed hard before adding—

"And still—you sent one anyway."

Silence.

But not the kind from before. This wasn’t tense. Wasn’t heavy with something waiting to explode.

This was wrong. 

The shift in the air was immediate.

Tetsurou’s entire body –locked up—shoulders going rigid, jaw clenching once, twice. The vein in his forearm twitched beneath his sleeve as his fingers curled into a fist.

You furrowed your brow. You were expecting a fight. Expected some excuse. Some bullshit response. Some smug little grin like this was just another game to him.

But he wasn’t doing any of that. He wasn’t reacting at all.

Your pulse pounded.

"Tetsurou."

Nothing.

The only sound was the slow inhale through his nose, measured and too controlled. Like he was forcing himself to stay still.

Finally—his voice came. Low. Rough.

"I didn’t send a guard."

A pause 

Then another. 

And then—the realization hit you all at once.

Your breath caught.

Your stomach dropped.

Your blood ran cold.

And then—he leaned closer.

Too close.

His presence swallowed what little space had been left between you. His jacket brushing against your sleeve, his breath skimming your temple.

You stiffened.

Something in his eyes changed.

Just for a second—just a flicker—you saw it. Something raw. Something possessive.

And suddenly, you saw him differently.

You looked at Tetsurou. Really looked at him.

And you knew.

"Then who the fuck was watching me?"

[iwaasfairy]

ETCHED IN RED | RUBY Part 2

tw. noncon, unreliable narrator, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, yandere wordcount. 1k

read part 1 here or see the valentine's masterlist

kozume kenma x reader

You’ve started counting the spots on the walls in the dark. You’re no longer all that sure if the spots are actually there, but because you don’t have the chance to walk up and check— this is the next best thing. Your eyes have gotten used to the dim light of the semi-basement, and the dry air, and the lack of heat. It would have made you cry a few days, or weeks ago. Maybe- it’s been a month. Might be two. When you got so ill even Kenma couldn’t hide his concern, you stopped counting. And that only started feeling like a critical mistake when you had no choice but to admit.

You have no fucking clue how long it’s been.

Your ears perk up when they make something out over the static. Maybe not exactly a familiar voice, but a voice, ever so faintly sounds from the ceiling above you. Where you know Kenma does his work. Where you know he misses you from up there. You only saw it once before you were led down here, the big room with bright, open windows, much unlike how you know Kenma to be now. He’s guarded and protective and keeps his feelings close. You can’t imagine Kenma to long for freedom like you do…

But still, you want to believe it.

Instead he’s here with you, cherishing you, staying with you. Feeding and caring for you when he has the time. You shouldn’t think back to those windows, with the easy latch and flowy curtains. That’s what tempted you to fight and escape a few times, even when you only ended up worse. You weren’t chained to the wall until you ran. Weren’t tied up until you tried to slice his face open with the shard of the mirror you kicked, and now you don’t even really remember what you look like.

Kenma does, and he seems to like what he sees. When he’s rubbing his thumb along your brows and down the bridge of your nose - it matters a little less that you don’t know. When he helps you untangle your hair, or lets you into the bath. You weren’t even stripped of your clothes until you tried to strangle yourself with your shirt after struggling to adapt for weeks. Oh, it must’ve been at least two months then.

The sound of Kenma talking is so muffled that it’s hard to imagine he’s talking to anyone in the room. Maybe a phone call? After a while, you start getting restless. Start rocking the bed until it bangs against the wall twice and the door to the stairs trembles. Then you try to turn onto your side to get a little comfortable, arms still tied to the bed. Still numb.

Until you hear the familiar sound of soft feet walking down, and the key clicks against the metal of the lock. Kenma thought you important enough to hang up. You can’t help but feel warm at that thought, but you try not to focus on that. You shouldn’t be jealous when he’s trying his best. That’s what he says, and when you don’t hear anyone’s voice except for his for long enough, your internal monologue starts to sound like him too. “You’re being noisy again…” he sighs as he opens the door, hair pulled back from his face into a messy bun. “What’s wrong?”

Your entire body seems to perk up at the sound. He drags himself closer, and sits down on the edge of the bed just out of reach. A slight breeze goes along your bare thighs and bare tits and makes you shiver, and Kenma’s long fingers reach out to brush circles at your ankle. “What? You just lonely?”

“M-missed you,” your voice rasps, painful and tight. “Just wanna see you.” You sound like you haven’t had a drink all day, and after racking your mind, that’s probably true. It aches to swallow; almost as much as the dryness in the air. Instead of shying away from his touch, you lean into it as much as possible, and let him run his fingers up your shin to your thigh.

An almost imperceptible smile comes onto his lips, before he scoots closer and makes you bounce with the movement, starting to grin. “You’re much more lovey dovey nowadays.” His cat-like eyes focus on your face then, as he seems to gather what you’re thinking just from the furrow in your brow. “It’s not a bad thing… I think it’s cute. I didn’t like it when I had to constantly chase you around or fight you.”

His long fingers cup your cheek with a binding intensity, as he just seems to indulge in the sight of you. Splayed, submissive beneath him. You know him well enough now to say it’s how he likes you best. You like it too when you don’t have to fight. “‘M cold,” you sigh then, watching as Kenma’s eyes start glittering with a special kind of joy. One reserved for only you. You used to find it frightening, when you first got here.

“You’re always cold, huh?” The hand slides down your neck, brushing along your collarbones to make you shiver. “Want me to warm you up?” Without hesitating, he slips his hands under your dull, crinkled shirt and traces it up your ribs to your tits. The touch is enough to have you tremble into his hands, enjoying the interaction maybe too much. You’re mewling like it’s your job, and his name is the only thing on your lips. It took a while to feel okay about letting him slip his hands down to pull off the boxers, his— your panties got taken the first day you got here.

Kenma had been overeager, curious - he’d scared you. Now you just get scared when you wake up and Kenma isn’t in the house. Your body curls into the searching touches of his skillful fingers when they brush over the beginning wetness of your lips, and push a knuckle to grind against your clit. “When I first found you, I didn’t know you’d be so difficult, y’know,” he sighs into your mouth before kissing you, “you’re lucky you’re so cute. Make me wanna put up with you.” His fingers turn to rub you open, and your legs spread for him too eager.

“Kenma, pl-please, more.”

Whining. Pleading. You’ve become something you no longer recognize— Kenma takes the loneliness away for a few hours. He chuckles as you clamp your legs around his hand like you’re scared he’ll pull away, and your chest desperately moves up and down. “Hmh,” he smiles, “does that feel good? What a pretty, little pet, whining for me to fill her up.”

It makes the slight grin on his pretty mouth grow, until he is brushing your cheek with a distant look. His tongue brushes past his lips to taste you on him, before dipping closer to you and grinding his hand deeper into your clenching pussy. “What do you think about a trip to Brazil?”

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2024. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[sugawara--san]

i just have the strongest feeling that kuroo was up at night thinking about kenma thanking him for getting him into volleyball

[adumbratrapedme]

"An autumn and spring love" Chapter 1

Story is mine, check it out on AO3, i'll update first there.

Tw: Dubcon, Older x younger, Teacher x alumn, bad english, NSFW, SH, Depression and other topics that might be triggering.

Summary:

High school. A fresh start. That's what Y/N Yamaguchi craved after years of homeschooling due to bullying. With her supportive twin brother, Tadashi, and the twin's best friend, Kei Tsukishima (who harbors a secret crush on her!), Y/N is ready to conquer Karasuno High.

But her journey takes a surprising turn when she joins the volleyball team as their manager. There, she encounters Ukai Kenshin, the charming coach who seems like the perfect gentleman. Older, experienced – surely he'll be the prince charming Y/N dreams of, right? poor y/n, little she knows what waits for her.."

Crash! A hard object smacked against my face, jolting me awake at 6:00 am.

"Ugh, Dashi! Why are you waking me up so early?!" I groaned, momentarily blinded by a light that flooded the room. "What's your problem?!"

Laughter erupted. I whipped around to see both my brother and Tsukishima doubled over, clutching their stomachs. Ignoring their snickers, I slumped back into bed. Pulling an all-nighter playing Minecraft with my friend Kenma, who was feeling down, wasn't exactly ideal preparation for this rude awakening.

"Wait... what time is it?" Panic clawed at my throat as I scrambled out of bed. Their laughter intensified.

"Took you long enough," Tsukishima wheezed between laughs. "Relax, you're not late. I'll wait downstairs." Yamaguchi tossed the comment over his shoulder as he exited the room.

How could I forget? Today was my first day at Karasuno High. Months had passed since classes started, but I'd been dealing with personal issues that delayed my enrollment. A knot of nervousness formed in my stomach. It had been a while since I'd been in a formal school setting, but I was determined to give it another shot.

Reaching for my shirt, I froze. Tsukishima still lingered by the doorway, seemingly frozen.

"Privacy! Get out!" I barked, launching a barrage of plushies at him. "Go bother Dashi! I need to get ready for school!"

"Okay, okay, sorry! Just… spaced out for a sec," he mumbled, shutting the door and fleeing downstairs.

"Stupid Tsukishima," I muttered. Starting my morning routine, I pulled off my shirt. But as I reached for my uniform, a wave of sadness washed over me. My wrists, usually hidden, bore the scars of past struggles. Tears pricked my eyes as memories of the past four years – those were really hard times for my parents, my brother and even Tsukishima – threatened to overwhelm me.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to focus on the present. The past couldn't be changed, but I could choose to move forward. Though it was a hot summer day, I opted for wearing a cardigan on top of the shirt. Dealing with unwanted questions and stares was the last thing I needed right now.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After a few minutes I scrambled downstairs, a knot of nerves tightening in my stomach. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima stood by the door, their faces a mix of amusement and concern. My parents peeked out from the kitchen doorway, their smiles strained with worry.

"Ready to go, y/n?" my brother asked, his voice laced with a hint of nervousness.

"Almost," I replied, forcing a smile. My parents approached, their arms wrapping around me in a tight hug.

"You'll do great, honey," Mom whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And remember, if things get too much, just call us. We'll be here in a flash."

Dad squeezed my shoulders gently. "Don't be afraid to stand your ground," he said firmly. "And if anyone gives you trouble…" He left the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

I squeezed them back, a wave of gratitude washing over me. "Thanks, guys," I mumbled, wiping away a stray tear. "I love you both."

With goodbyes exchanged, I rushed out the door, catching up to Yamaguchi and Tsukishima. The summer sun beat down mercilessly, and I tugged self-consciously at the long sleeves of my uniform.

Tsukishima, uncharacteristically hesitant, shot me a sidelong glance. "How are you… really doing?" he asked awkwardly. We all knew the weight of his question.

I chuckled softly. "Tsuki, come on, you practically live at my house these days. You know I'm okay," I reassured him gently.

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "Just checking. Though, it's a scorcher today. You sure about that long sleeve?" I sighed. "You know why I wear it, Tsukishima. Unwanted attention."

He nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah, I get it. But listen, you shouldn't be ashamed. Besides, if anyone gives you trouble, I can shut them down fast. I'm a lot tougher than I used to be..." The last part was barely a whisper, seemingly meant only for my ears.

My brother grinned, stepping forward. "He's right, y/n. Thanks to Tsukishima, nobody messes with me anymore."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

We continued our walk towards the station, but a brightly lit convenience store caught my eye. "Hold on, I need some candy!" I exclaimed, dashing inside.

"Seriously? Candy at this hour?" Tsukishima muttered to my brother, who chuckled softly. They followed me in, both ending up chatting with the cashier.

As I emerged with my sugary loot, they were introducing me to someone new. "[Your Name], this is Ukai Sensei," my brother said. "He's our new volleyball coach. You'll be seeing him a lot now that you're the manager."

A hot blush crept up my cheeks. I mumbled a greeting, "Nice to meet you," without making eye contact with Ukai. I'd seen him around the convenience store before, and secretly thought he was cute. Now, face-to-face with him in this unexpected situation, I felt a wave of shyness.

Ukai's smile widened when he saw me. "Ah, so you must be Yamaguchi's sister, y/n? I've heard quite a bit about you." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "He's been a nervous wreck about your first day, gotta say, he's quite the caring brother." A chuckle escaped his lips.

My cheeks burned hotter than ever. Dashi had been talking about me with him? Did he even know I existed before? More importantly, did he think I was… cute? My train of thought was derailed by Tsukishima's voice.

 “we should get going, dont want to be late again “ he said grabbing me and my brother from the shoulder and pulling us outside the store.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The train screeched to a halt, jolting us back to reality. A wave of nervousness washed over me as we disembarked. The imposing school building loomed ahead, looking far larger than it probably was in my anxious state.

Two hands grasped mine – dashi and kei, their faces etched with silent encouragement. Their touch calmed the storm brewing within me. We walked towards the school gates with each step building a sliver of confidence.

Unfortunately, that feeling was short-lived. Upon arrival, I discovered that they wouldn't be in the same class as me. My heart sank. I was a self-proclaimed introvert, new people made my skin crawl, and it always took forever to feel comfortable around them so it was definitely going to be hard but Dashi had a plan. He assured me a few of his friends were in that class and I'd be okay. Trusting him, I walked in. The room fell silent. Everyone knew the new girl was the volleyball player's sister. Opting for the back of the class, my nerves churned. The last thing I needed right now was to throw up on anyone.

A few agonizing hours later, the bell finally rang. I met Hinata and Kageyama, Dashi's friends. They were a whirlwind of noise and questions, well-meaning but overwhelming. While I wasn't instantly best friends, they were slowly growing on me.

I spent lunch with Kei since my brother had to catch up with a school project, he kinda introduced me into the manager duties and right now we are walkint towards the school gym, Im scared, i dont know those new guys and they are probably taller than me... besides that Ukai is DEFINITELY going to be there.... what if I screw up? i've never been a manager before!

The gym doors creaked open, revealing a gaggle of expectant boys. Dashi definitely spilled the beans! Seriously, was he my brother or a walking megaphone? Before I could even blink, they swarmed me, a barrage of questions erupting like a popcorn machine. Anxiety clawed at my throat. I darted a helpless glance at Tsukishima, who was doubled over with laughter in the corner. Traitor.

I stammered out answers, desperately trying to keep up with their rapid-fire introductions. Just then, the doors flew open again. And there he was... Ukai Sensei! My cheeks burned. He looked way different outside of his usual uniform. Cute. Dangerously cute. Before I could even process it all, a hand clamped around my arm and yanked me away.

"Oi! Knock it off," Ukai barked, his voice surprisingly firm. "Don't scare her off on the first day. 25 laps around the court. Now!"

Tanaka and Nishinoya grumbled their complaints, but their eyes sparkled with mischief. They even muttered something about "being blessed with cute managers" On the other side, Tsukishima shot me an annoyed glare. Laps were his least favorite punishment. I couldn't resist sticking out my tongue and letting out a silent giggle at his expense.

Coach Ukai introduced me to Yachi and Kiyoko, both radiating warmth and kindness (and undeniably cute, now I understand Tanaka's words). They patiently showed me the basics, making a nerve-wracking day a little more manageable.

Throughout practice, I couldn't shake the feeling of Coach Ukai's lingering gaze. He seemed to find every excuse to approach me, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The attention made me blush, but a voice of reason piped up. It was best not to get ahead of myself. He's the coach, and I'm a student... he could never pay attention to me... He was probably just trying to make my day better and make sure i was ok...

Practice finally wrapped up after what felt like an eternity. I started gathering my things, eager to join the guys on their way out. But Coach Ukai had other plans. "Why don't you get a head start on cleaning duty?" he suggested. "Good way to familiarize yourself with the routine."

Tsukishima, ever the helpful soul he is (lol), offered to lend a hand. Ukai, however, shook his head with a smile. "Don't worry Tsukishima, I can teach her, besides that im better at it so she will learn from the best"

A blush crept up my cheeks. Right. Probably best to keep things professional. Waving goodbye to the guys, I reassured them and Dashi would let ourparents know I'd be a little late. As the gym door shut behind the last teammate, a nervous giggle escaped my lips. Just me and Coach Ukai... cleaning the gym. This could be interesting.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

next chapter what happened at the gym, dont forget i also posted this on AO3 and ill update them there first before reposting here

[rinsoap]

no thoughts, just alt bfs <33 he lets you dye his hair every other month, looking forward to sitting on the tiled bathroom floor between your legs while you perch on the rim of the bathtub, painting over his overgrown buzzcut. he likes to give your knees little kisses as his foot taps to some system of a down song you hum along to.

he'll happily accept your offer to do his makeup after you finish yours. you drag pencil eyeliner across his lids and corners of his eyes, smearing it in lazily until it's grey to add an even more tired appearance to his face. you finish off his quick look with a kiss to his cheekbone that leaves a dark lipstick print where your lips were.

before he goes out, he always makes sure to be wearing a piece of jewelry you've gifted him; chrome rings, matching red pendants, a little sword earring. he loves being asked where he got his jewelry because then he gets to mention you! "oh this? my beautiful girlfriend got them for me, thank you for asking."

he does not take his playlists seriously at all. he just shuffles his liked songs and calls it a day. he's got one playlist though, and its dedicated to makeouts with you. and he takes that very seriously. he loves pulling you on top of him from laying beside him. he likes to have you on top of him, thighs squeezing against his hips as you straddle him. you lean down to press your lips on his, holding his face with both hands gently while the playlist blasts over the sounds of your kisses. it always starts out gentle, polite even, but as soon as the playlists shuffles to she wants revenge, all niceties are thrown out the window. he pulls you close, and you follow his movement. your hands keep switching from his face, to his neck, to his chest, not knowing where to touch, but knowing you want to touch him. he mimicks similar movements, needing as much of you as he can get. he squeezes the flesh of your hips and lets his hands roam over your body, up his shirt you’re wearing to rub the skin of your waist and back. you need each other, and that's all you know.

SUNA RINTARO. miya osamu. KOZUME KENMA!!!! semi eita. tsukishima kei. kunimi akira. KYOTANI KENTOROU!

MITSUYA TAKASHI!!!!!! ken ryuguji. hakkai shiba. BAJI KEISUKE. kazutora hanemiya.

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ after the break up (prt 2)

˚ · . kenma kozume, iwaizumi hajime, tsukishima kei, ushijima wakatoshi & atsumu miya (prt 1.)

KENMA KOZUME — he feels really stupid. kenma does a lot after the breakup in order to distract himself. he buys more games, staying up until it's almost dawn. all of his attention goes into his video games and other devices that he completely stops taking care of himself subconsciously. it's only when he's lost almost 10 pounds is when he realizes how neglected he's become. it happened so fast it confuses him. why didn't you remind him to eat? or shower? oh.. right, it's because you broke up with him in the first place. still, he tries to forget. it's one night playing a game when he's dissociating randomly thinking about you does it all hit.

Super Mario Bro's plays in the background of his room. for once, his fingers are still but his eyes are locked on the pixilated screen in front of him. his eyes are red and dialted due to the bright screen contrasting to the dark dead of night. this game was very expensive, vintage and one of a kind—yet he's subconsciously stuck thinking about you.

did you know he thought about you so frequently? did you think the same of him? he drops the console, fishing his phone out from below him. his fingers tap on the keyboard, searching up your name into his contacts. he notices the last time you texted him was over a month ago. oh–, right. you broke up with him. right. kenma drops his phone back down, laying his face down into the same giant kirby plushie you bought him a long time ago.

a soft sniffle escapes through the thick material, mixing in with the almost taunting upbeat cartoon music.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME — your breakup was done on good terms. he was moving to the U.S., you were staying in Japan. neither of you knew the relationship wouldn't withstand such a long distance relationship so the relationship came to an end. the two of you still call and text over random things, but it's not like how things were before. time passes, and the two of you have less and less contact. iwaizumi is doing his weekly stalking of your Instagram when he realizes you've posted a photo of yourself.. but you aren't alone.

iwaizumi sighs with content when he's finally allowed to sit down, his legs sore from harsh muscle training. as always, he checks his phone. once he's finished going through his messages, ignoring almost everyone except his mom, he comes across your contact. the last you spoke with him was almost a year ago. he frowns, he wishes the two of you kept in contact, but you both were just so busy.

curiously, he indulges in his guilty pleasure and opens up instagram. as if on autopilot, he searches for your online handle. you both follow each other, but of course, never speak. he mindlessly scrolls through your highlights and posts, ending up on your most recent one. it's you. his heart flutters at the sight of you once more. even through a screen, you're still as beautiful as always. you're glowing and radiant as always.

his childish smile soon disappears when he realizes someone has their arm wrapped around you. a guy. a guy who is looking at you with the same loving look iwaizumi would give you long, long, ago. iwaizumi uninstalls the app shortly afterwards.

TSUKISHIMA KEI — he avoids you. he pretends you don't exist altogether. his heart cringes whenever he hears you around, regretting immensely when the two of you arranged your classes together in the previous year. it's childish. no, he's childish. especially because the breakup was more of his fault. still, he hides the fact that his heart is broken. he treats you like everybody else with such hate and bitterness, and only realizes how stupid he's being when it's too late.

"hey kei." you say, walking along aside the tall blonde. "do you want to work on the project together? sensei said that–," "i don't want to work with you." he says coldly. tsukishima doesn't even look to acknowledge you, staring straight forward as he walks. "o-oh, well i just y'know—" you stutter embarrassingly, "i just thought that because—" tsukishima finally stops in his tracks, swiftly turning to you, looking at you through clouded lenses.

"why do you keep on pestering me." his tone leaves you shocked. you can't even think of words to say, only able to let out incoherent stutters and mumbles. "all you do is stutter, it's annoying." tsukishima says nonchalantly, still looking at you with distain.

that seems to shut you up for now. tsukishima is relived when you do, if you talked to him anymore he probably would've accidentally spilled how he missed you. his relief is short lived when he sees the tears roll down your face and out of embarrassment, you quickly walk away from him. he's left standing still, gazing down at the floor. heart heavy and regretting.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI — he thinks he's alright but he doesn't realize he's distraught. he continues on with his life like normal, seemingly at peace and happy with whatever he's doing. but, he does have to admit, he's been feeling a bit more.. confused? more like agitated. outside of his calm demeanor to untrained eyes, he seems perfectly normal. but, to those who are close with them, they can see what's actually going on in that seemingly perfect head of his.

hazel eyes watch closely as you walk past. ushijima awaits for you to come up to him like normal, talk to him and pester him with a million questions once more. he hated when you pestered him, he wished you were more quiet and reserved... or did he? he's not sure. because now you are walking away from him, not saying a single word. hell, you barely acknowledge his presence. how do you not? he's everything you said catches your eye, tall and muscular build, with a handsome perfect face.

"y/l/n." he rumbles out. the boom of his voice finally catches your attention, finally spinning around to acknowledge him. you seem defensive, like a cornered cat, a single eyebrow quirking up at his call. "..ushijima-san?" his heart, for some reason, sinks into his gut with the formality use of his name. what happened to toshi? for once, his words are stuck in his throat and he struggles to come up with something to say.

seeing that he's yet to say anything, you hurry out of his presence, trying to be released from the gaze of the man you are forbidden to love. meanwhile, ushijima is realizing for the first time, that maybe he lost someone who he isn't fine with leaving.

MIYA ATSUMU — he's like a pitiful dog. he plays off the break up like it's nothing, even to your face, he just shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something under his breath and walked away. despite the two of you dating for a year, going through so many things together, hell, he even lost his virginity to you, but he still acts like it was nothing.. but everyone can tell it's not. much to his annoyance, even his twin brother tells him to take it easy following the break up. but he's fine. it was nothing. he definitely doesn't search for you in the crowd during his games, nor does he get the random pang of forgetfullness after school as if he should be waiting for you. he's fine.

a girl comes up to atsumu after his game, batting her long eyelashes and pouting her lips. "can i get your number?" she asks, making her voice as smooth as possible. atsumu blinks at her with a blank face before turning his back to her, ignoring her entirely. he ignores her whines and curses of embarrassment, his eyes scanning the emptying crowd.

"shes not here, 'tsumu." he hears a familiar voice say. atsumu snaps his head back to the direction of the voice, seeing osamu standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes low and unamused. atsumu scoffs at his brother, "yah i know." the two of them wait in silence, but for what? what is he waiting for? suddenly, his ears perk up at a familar body frame, eyes darting to the source only to be severally disappointed with the sight of a person who looks like you, but isn't you.

"let's go home, 'tsumu." osamu says, walking past the blonde haired man. atsumu waits a couple more seconds, taking another quick scan of the crowd before he's hestiantly following his brother, shoulders low and eyes to the ground.

please like and repost with tags

[mavrintarou]

[2:53 PM] Kozume Kenma

My version of Kenma

Warning: hurt to comfort & makeup smut

.

Kozume Kenma may look like a reserved and introverted man in public, but little did anyone know about the hidden facets of his personality that only you were aware of.

Kenma had a kink for cockwarming.

Any available opportunity, he wanted to be buried deep inside your pussy. Whether it would be while you guys slept, after sex or bathing, or when he was working (aka streaming).

However, the two of you engaged in a heated discussion, resulting in a temporary separation that lasted for three days.

You clarified that you would stay at your sister’s place for the week, giving your boyfriend space. Unfortunately, you returned to your shared condo with Kenma to grab more clothes and other necessities without letting him know.

As you noticed the closed door to his office, a clear indication that he was in a live session, you discreetly made your way to the shared bedroom to retrieve your belongings and depart as silently as possible.

You rummaged through the drawer of your swimming suit and stuffed it into your bag. After ensuring you got everything you needed, you walked out but froze when you got near Kenma’s office.

His door was wide open, and you couldn’t walk past without him seeing you.

Unless he wasn’t in his office.

Taking a deep breath, you moved your feet; even if he saw you or vice versa, you two were still on a break. Kenma was great at ignoring the problem, only wishing to brush it off or pretend as if it had never happened.

You looked straight, refusing to peek at the corner of your eyes to see if he was in his office.

“You’re really going to just walk by and not say a word?”

You barely reached the doorway when you halted, and your brow raised, surprised to hear him confront you. You tilt your head back to look at him; he sits in his chair, leaning back and watching you with tired eyes.

“I forgot something and just came to grab it, just pretend I wasn’t here.” Because you’re great at doing that.

“Come here.”

You looked away and let out a sharp breath. “I need to go; my sister is waiting for me downstairs.”

“Come. Here. Y/n.” He punctuated each word in a tone she recognized as his dominant and assertive voice.

You instinctively stepped back and positioned yourself between the doorway, standing your ground. “What?” you asked, making an effort to maintain your composure despite the circumstances.

“Come. Here.” He emphasized each word, his tone firm yet gentle.

You set your bag down before walking over to him, and when you got close enough, he moved like lightning, tugging you over and between his legs. His face was buried in your stomach, and his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs. “Don’t go….”

“I’ll be back in a couple of days – “ He shook his head, tightening his grip. “Ken, we should use this time to ourselves to –“

“I’m sorry; I don’t want to be away from you anymore,” he pleaded, his gaze locked with yours, filled with desperation. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Cupping his face in your hands, your eyes scanned his entire countenance, taking note of the dark circles beneath his eyes and the bloodshot redness in his gaze. Concerned, you softly inquired, “when did you last sleep?”

Being a popular streamer, Kenma often went for extended periods without sleep, sometimes exceeding 24 hours.

“I couldn’t sleep without you.”

You couldn’t accuse him of lying knowing full well he needed you to sleep. You are his drug yet his peace and when it came to sleep, he truly needed you to sleep.

“Ken –“

“Don’t go, please…” he pleaded in a whimpering tone she had never heard of.

Letting out a deep sigh, you tenderly wrapped an arm around his shoulder and ran your fingers through his hair. “Okay, let me make a call and inform my sister,” you suggested, awaiting his response. However, he clung to you, not letting you go. “Ken, let go so I can get my phone,” you gently urged, hoping he would release his grip.

Shaking his head, his hand began searching for his phone on the desk and handed it to you. “Just use mine,” he muttered, offering a solution without letting you go.

.

You found it difficult to fall asleep because Kenma’s weight felt like an anchor, making you hesitant to move for fear of disturbing him once he drifted off to sleep. You were familiar with Kenma’s affectionate hold in bed, but the way he clung to you at that moment felt different. It seemed as though he was afraid that you would slip away once he entered a deep slumber. His weight on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder with his breath tickling your cheek and neck. He had one arm pillowing your head with the other wrapped around your waist and your legs entangled together.  

After assuring your sister you’re okay and will follow up with her, you force Kenma to turn off his computer and sleep.

He shook his head like an exhausted puppy, “only if you sleep with me.”

It’s been an hour, and you can still feel his grip on your shirt readjusting from time to time, letting you know he wasn’t in a deep slumber yet.

His fingers kept twitching and you finally exhaled and whispered, “just do it, it’s fine…”

You should have known when he stripped down to just his boxer briefs, that he was considerate enough to leave just that much of clothing on. Kenma always slept naked.

Kenma was sensitive, when he felt his privilege had been taken away from him, he needed reassurance upon receiving it again.  

He doesn’t hesitate to turn you on his side and swiftly, any lower garments you had on are gone and Kenma is behind you.

“Lift your leg for me,” he whispers huskily.

When you lift your leg, he slips his semi-hard cock into your hot and ready pussy. Your body misses him just as much as he misses you. Relaxing your leg you let out a breath, “now, sleep.”

He let out a shaky breath that sounded much like a low groan. “Okay,” he whispered, voice clearly satisfied.

You don’t feel him truly relaxed and asleep until his hand slips inside your shirt, skims against your tummy until his palm is against one of your tits, giving it a gentle squeeze. His even breath calms you at last and lulls you to sleep.

.

You wake up two hours later in the same position, Kenma is behind you and still inside you.

He was deeply asleep and you gently pry his hand away from your chest before slowly easing his cock out of you. It was no shock to you when you felt a gush of sticky fluid release and you quickly squeezed your thighs close. Kenma had no problem ejaculating in his sleep. You have woken up to him, thinking he was awake due to his hips moving only to discover after he’s cummed, he was thrusting in his sleep.

“Don’t go…”

Looking over your shoulder, Kenma was barely awake, only enough to sense you moving.

“Keep sleeping,” you whisper, pulling the comforters over his shoulder.

He locked his arms around your waist, pressing his face against your back. “No, don’t leave me.”

Frustratedly you snapped, “I’m not leaving – Christ… just…” you exhale, “just sleep, I’m just going to be in the living room.”

Incredibly stubborn, he shook his head, tightening his hold on you.

“Let me go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” you assured, tapping his hand that’s locked around your waist. You felt a huff of breath against your back before his grip loosened and you were free.

.

You wiped the residue smeared between your thighs and cleaned yourself before walking out. You nearly swore under your breath when you swung open the door and Kenma was leaning against the doorway, still naked.

“Done?”

You blinked, “uh – yeah…”

Without a word, he reached for your wrist and tugged you along back to his bed. “Get in, please.”

You followed his command and crawled into his bed again. He followed and spooned you from behind.

“I’m sorry.” Kenma must have felt your tensed body. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, I am aware of my behavior and how it affects you and I will change. I’ll talk out our problems, stop ignoring them.” He turns you around so he can see your face and tilts your chin until you stare into his eyes. “Forgive me, please?”

You nodded, “I forgive you.” You lean to press a kiss to his lips. “There’s no next time.”

You’re pulled into his arms as he confirms, “yes, there’s no next time, I’ll make sure of it.” He leans back to smile at you before kissing you again.

You’re rolled onto your back and knew where it was going. Your legs widen to allow him in between your legs. His cock was already pressed and rubbing against your pussy. “Please,” you begged.

He slips inside you and Kenma keeps a steady pace. He leans over you, supporting his weight on his left elbow right, “I can’t live without you, Y/n. You are the air I breathe, my life…” His right hand pushes your shirt up to expose your tits and groped one mound, tweaking your perky nipple. “I don’t ever want to be without you again…”

Your hands are placed on his waist, urging him to thrust deeper into you. “Me too, Ken… I missed you… fuck – ah… more… harder, Ken…”

Slow yet deep thrusts have you seeing stars. “Need you… need you…”

His chest is pressed against yours as he grunts into your ear. “Me too… always…”

The room is filled with skin slapping skin and the creaking of his bed.

You moan his name, belly tightening and your pussy fluttering around his cock. Kenma’s cock jerks inside you before following with ejaculation. You feel each spurt leaving his cock, shooting at your womb.

Kenma shifts you, rolling you both around while still intimately connected. You lie above him and straddle his body. “This is great makeup sex.”

Running a hand through his hair, he smiles, “agree. Again?”

. . .

E/n: I watched the Garbage Dump movie a few weeks ago and loved it!

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

[megapteraurelia]

comfortable silence.

summary | kozume kenma and gn!reader have a status quo to keep! only glances, only pining, yep, yep, nothing more. warnings | none! just super fluff if you don't have a sweet tooth. word count | 1309. a/n | i love kenma. that's all! please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´- part 2 to be found: here.

his hair fell into his eyes; dark strands slowly transitioning into blonde at the tips. even though the hair must be in his vision, those eyes of his were sharp. they always reminded you of the gaze of a predator. he wasn’t looking at you, yet as always, you felt a certain energy buzz around your skin at the watchfulness you could feel radiate off him. as if he was thoroughly and exceptionally aware of every fibre on your body.

kozume kenma did end up blowing the stray tangle of hair out of his way, “mhm, this level’s annoying.”

you looked away from your book again — it seemed like you couldn’t keep your eyes off him for more than a few minutes. he shifted a little on the couch, and his knee brushed yours by accident. ever so slightly. 

neither of you two acknowledged it, but your skin was humming at the contact, and a certain blush unfurled on your neck. a tinge of pink dusted the tip of his ears, and you tore your gaze away from him to the words swimming on the page in front of you.

you nodded at his words, your throat slightly dry and you peeled your tongue off the roof of your mouth, and despite not being done with the page you were reading, you turned to the next one, anyway, “must be an intense one. you haven’t looked so concentrated for the past ones.”

kenma glanced up to you, even though he had complained about having to time his attacks perfectly to be able to parry his opponents, but just as swiftly — lest anyone could accuse him of always getting distracted by you — his eyes wandered back to his console. 

for a while, there was only the noise of the clock ticking in the background, the boss music of kenma’s game, a page being flipped, the couch squeaking when somebody displaced their weight differently, slow breathing. you enjoyed those moments with him, when neither of you had the need to talk; basking in each other’s presence, warmth at the almost contact between both of your arms, a graze of skin, the sheepish glances stolen when neither one of you were looking.

“i like when it’s like this, you know?” you ended up muttering, quietly, almost to yourself, “when it’s quiet.”

“yeah. i get that.”

silence enveloped you both again, though not for too long.

kenma pressed the menu button, and the boss music dimmed into a muted version of itself. surprised, you looked up from your book, though you couldn’t even remember the last sentence you had just tried to pronounce in your head. your eyes met those of his, and he stared at you for a second, completely unabashed; the very golden of his iris growing smaller. your chest felt tight at the beat of your heart growing stronger, the centre of his attention. his throat bobbed and you half-expected him to say something, soft voice carrying words that meant something, but then his head lowered and his fingers were quick to return back to the game. 

you forced yourself to restore to the status quo, tearing your eyes away from him, even though your blood was rushing a thousand miles per hour through your ears, even though your breath was shaky when you exhaled quietly. you could swear that the air got a little heavier this time around, like a pause on your fragile friendship, teetering on the edge of unspoken sentences; potential large and unused in your hands.

you contemplated saying something, fingers creasing the edge of the page, eyes staring at the words, following the curve of the letters, wondering and yearning.

“...you’re here a lot lately,” when he spoke, his voice was soft, hesitant, hands caught in the automatic movement of trying to clear the level.

your own fingers stilled, and then you nodded, one shoulder heaving up defensively, “yeah. i like it here.”

“me too. it’s interesting.”

he responded quickly, like somebody who knew the answer to a question and didn’t bother to wait with the reply. like a fact, he said it and you couldn’t help it — glancing up to him, memorising the lines of his side profile, the soft curve of his nose, those watchful, scrutinising eyes of his, the brush of his lashes on his cheeks when he blinked, the slight twitch of his eyebrows at the concentration. he was pretty. kozume kenma was so pretty.

trying to evade your thoughts of painting him on your mind’s eye — the way you had done a thousand times during each and every moment you could lay your eyes on him — you allowed a small smile to grace your features.

“what is?”

kenma copied you, a swift meeting with golden attentiveness, and his voice seemed even smaller than before. his hand tightened around the console, and he cleared his throat, “you. i don’t know — you’re always here. always around. it’s...comfortable.” he was silent for a second, and he shifted again. this time, his shoulder grazed yours. warmth. again, it wasn’t acknowledged, but the small proximity felt different, “not everyone is, you know.”

you closed your book slowly — no chance that you could get any reading done anymore, “well. that’s good, because it would be impossible to get rid of me now.”

another stretch of silence passed between you, and it felt like something unnamed was lingering between you, a breath away from existing. kenma paused his game again, and now neither one of you had an excuse to divert your attention. except kenma really was a master at it, so he was still looking down, but your skin prickled; a cat playing coy yet giving the mouse all his utmost attention. 

his fingers scratched the skin next to his nail as he admitted, “not impossible. but…” — a quick lick of his dry lips — “i don’t want to...i guess i’m used to it now.”

he glanced up to you again, “i guess i don’t mind it.”

you were sure he could hear your heart beating for him, that he would still be able to discern the thunder of the muscle even if there were construction workers right next to you stealing the air and all its promises away. now it was your turn to clear your throat, and the music of the boss fight returned to its full volume. 

slowly, you got up, and though you weren’t going anywhere, his body turned slightly, following yours, a certain longing clear in the tautness of his shoulders that relaxed as soon as you spoke, “i don’t mind it either. i think i’ll get some water. you want some?”

“nah, i’m good.”

“okay then.”

you were about to leave for the kitchen, when you turned around, swiftly, not leaving him any space and chance to react, your heartbeat galloping through your entire body and carrying you along with its nonsense. an action that you were sure to embarrassedly mull over on the walk to the kitchen, but that grasped you with such conviction, you feared that you were not the owner of your own body anymore. 

a light kiss onto his cheek. lips meeting soft skin, his hair brushing your cheek, the surprised widening of his eyes, the gold darting over to you, but by then, you had already turned around to hurry away for some water. 

kenma wished he had said yes to your offer because his throat dried up instantly. thankfully, you also missed the very deep tulip red that rose from his neck, to his cheeks, to his ears; the hair on his neck rising in attentiveness to how close you had been, the feeling of your mouth, the residue of warmth on his cheek.

in the neighbouring house, kuroo tetsurou’s phone chimed once.

from: kenmaaaaaaah raaahhhh sjkhfdjd=(jdhfh”k hf ?????????? H EL PpPP

[kozusworld]

First Kiss. | Kozume Kenma

⋆˙⟡ — Summary: You were desperate to have your first kiss, so you ask your closest friend, Kenma, who just so happened to be your older brother's best friend.

⋆˙⟡ — Pairing: Kozume Kenma x fem!reader ⋆˙⟡ — WC: 1.9k ⋆˙⟡ — Genre: Fluff ⋆˙⟡ — A/N: Finally got out of my writer's block after so long. It's 3am right now as I'm finishing this up and I hope you guys like it! Been obsessing over the thought of NextDoorNeighbor!Kenma who's also OlderBrothersBestFriend!

Kuroo was a great older brother, the best, even. He took care of you, always bought you food, helped you with your homework; He even scared away any bullies that would bother you ever since you started going to school, but if there was one thing you could say that you hated about him, it’s the fact that he has never allowed you to get a boyfriend. In fact, he never even lets boys get remotely close to you. 

Pair this along with the fact that you were also studying in Nekoma High School, it was far easier for Kuroo to intimidate any guy who so much tried to look your way. It wasn’t just embarrassing that the guys at your school knew not to approach you, it was humiliating. 

The closest thing you’ve had to forming a close friendship with the opposite gender was Kozume Kenma, your older brother’s best friend. 

You’ve known Kenma for a majority of your life. Kuroo and Kenma grew up together and you were always in between whatever it was that they were up to that day. Mostly because Kuroo was always on babysitting duty, but nonetheless, over the decade, the two of you had managed to become good friends.

It was summer, and you and Kuroo were having your usual, and often, sleepover at the Kozume Household. It was dark out, and your older was fast asleep on the couch, knocked out after stuffing himself of food over dinner time, and there you sat, wide awake. 

Sure, a big part of why you were awake was because Kuroo snored like an absolute pig, but another reason was that your best friend, Keiko, had been bombing your phone with text messages for the past hour, fawning over her new boyfriend. She rambled on about how he was so protective and kind, and whatever dates they would have. As you sent meek replies, your heart began to ache in your chest. You were happy for her, truly, but you couldn’t help but think of when you would get to go through this experience as well. After a while, you got tired of her blabbing and texted her goodnight before shutting off your phone.

You were lonely, sad, and boyfriend-less. You were okay with it at first, but now that you’re sixteen it was becoming practically pathetic at this point. You didn’t want to be the odd one out anymore. At this point all you wanted was someone to talk to.

Without thinking, you pushed yourself up from the floor and padded your way up to Kenma’s room on the far end of the second floor of the house. 

The door was closed. As usual.You knocked on the door once before you twisted the door knob and walked in. 

Your eyes fell upon Kenma, and it was an all too familiar scene. The blonde boy had his back turned against the door, headphones over his ears and the light of his PC monitor dimly illuminating the rest of the room. Unbothered, you walked over to where he sat and tapped on his shoulder lightly.

The older boy absentmindedly glanced at you, a scowl already forming on his face, but once he realized that it was you, the irritation faded away and turned into confusion. Without looking at his screen, he paused his game and pushed against the side of his headset, lifting it over his ear.

“It’s two in the morning. Why are you awake?” He deadpanned. You could somewhat feel that his words were coming from a place of concern so you took his tone with a light heart. The longer Kenma looked at you the more he noticed the deflated look you had. Puzzled, he tilted his head and swiveled his chair so that he was fully facing you. He stayed quiet, golden eyes burning into you, it was his signal for you to continue, that he was listening.

“Do you ever think I’m gonna get a boyfriend?”

Without missing a beat, Kenma groaned and rolled his eyes and immediately turned back to his computer, unpausing the game. You huffed and pulled at his shoulder, attempting to turn him back around. The blonde attempted to shrug away your hand but you were being annoying and persistent. With an annoyed sigh, Kenma unpaused the game once more and turned to face you.

“Why do you even want a boyfriend in the first place?” Kenma grumbled, he crossed his arms over his chest. You could tell he was holding himself back from being too rude. Feeling a little awkward now, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“I… I dunno, all my friends keep talking about their boyfriends and how they kiss and hold hands all the time…” You looked down at your socks, blood rushing to your cheeks from the sudden awkwardness of the whole situation, “I just wanna experience it too.”

Kenma stayed quiet for a few moments before he spoke once more. 

“If that’s what this is about then I can’t help you. Kuro is already annoying me enough and I don’t think I would ever hear the end of it if you got a boyfriend.” Kenma voiced out with an unconcerned shrug. He turned back to his computer and went back to his game. 

He was right, what could he even offer to fix this silly problem of yours?

A thought immediately popped into your head. It was outrageous, a little daring, and the aftermath could be fatal, but why not give it a shot?

Your heart began to race, pounding against your chest, you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth and licked your lips.

“What if you were my first kiss?” You asked boldly, yet somehow meekly at the same time. Kenma froze, his fingers twitched to move his character, to pretend like he didn’t even hear you, but his character was already dead.

You looked away, already cringing at yourself. Did you make a mistake? You’re pretty sure you just made a complete fool of yourself to your closest friend yet. Another minute of silence passed and that was enough of an answer for you. With a small nod, you began to awkwardly walk out of the room.

“Sure.”

You froze up this time. Caught dead in your tracks. What were you expecting if he really did say yes to this stupid request? You turned back around to look at him, and he was already looking at you. Your eyes met for a few moments before you looked away bashfully. 

“Are you s–”

“Kuro can’t know.” Kenma interrupted. The older boy had a sudden aura of seriousness around him and you couldn’t stop your cheeks from flushing red. Thankfully it was pretty dark in his room. Was Kenma always this cool and attractive? His hair was a mess, arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread wide open on his chair. Was this the boy you grew up with?

Dumbstruck, you could only nod your head.

“Good. Y’better close the door then.” He mumbled, nodding his head towards the door. You pushed the door closed and remained standing there. You were feeling pretty intimidated now. Was this really going to happen? Were you really going to have your first kiss? With Kuroo’s best friend? Of all the people you could pick in the world, why him? These thoughts raced around in your head and it only got you feeling more nervous than you were to begin with. 

Kenma got up from his chair and walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge nonchalantly. 

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The older boy looked over at you, “C’mere.” He gently patted the empty space beside him.

With every step you took, your heart pounded louder and louder in your ears. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, you sat down next to him, hands nervously bundled up on your lap. You kept your head down, hair covering your face. You felt all but ready to kiss someone, and this suddenly felt like a really big mistake.

“Hey, quit thinking about it so much will you?” Kenma gently lifted your head with his thumb tucked under your chin. Your eyes locked onto his and once again you could only nod your head. You could feel Kenma’s sharp eyes inspecting every part of you now, and you couldn’t help but slightly adjust your posture. 

“‘M jus’ gonna give you a peck, okay?” He spoke quietly, but the words felt so loud in your ears. You were speechless, so once again you nodded your head. 

Kenma placed his hand on the side of your face, cupping your cheek. Were his hands always this big and warm? You couldn’t do anything else but look at him. You noticed his gaze flicker from your eyes to your quivering lips, and back to your eyes. You quickly looked away.

“Relax…” The blonde mumbled. He brought up his other hand and held your arm, gently caressing an area of skin with his thumb in an attempt to calm you down. 

“Jus’ close your eyes.” 

Kenma closed his eyes and so did you. You could feel him slowly approaching and soon enough his small breaths were fanning over your lips. 

After a few agonizing seconds that seemed like hours, you finally felt the odd sensation of plushness pressed against your lips. You froze up, shoulders tensed and raised and eyes squeezed shut. Your heart was swelling and a rush of dizziness came over you, was this the fireworks your friends always talked about when they kissed a boy? The two of you remained like this for a few more seconds before Kenma pulled away.

Your lips tingled and you couldn’t help but dab your fingers against them. You finally had your first kiss.

“Happy?” The older boy hummed, he sounded arrogant but you paid it no mind after taking notice of the faint dash of red plastered across his cheeks.

“That was amazing.” You noted dumbly with a nod of your head and sparkling eyes. Kenma kept his hands where he placed them, resisting the urge to pull you in for another kiss. He would never admit it out loud but he always had a small crush on you. It was hard not to. You were always fawning over his video game skills, you were cute, pretty even, a lot of things that Kenma liked in a girl, but you were Kuroo’s little sister; But this small kiss felt like the start of that boundary crumbling. 

“Yeah? Well don’t come crawling back asking for more.” Kenma joked softly with a nod off his head. He pulled away and placed his arms on the bed, propping himself up. You giggled quietly and shook your head. 

You pushed yourself up from the bed and tucked your hands behind your back. You looked back down at the older boy and flashed him a smile. 

Without thinking, you leaned down and pecked Kenma on the cheek, “Thank you, Kenma.” You hummed quietly. “You’re the only boy I could trust to make this a nice experience.” You pulled away and walked out the room, and just before you disappeared into the hallway, you turned back around and ran your fingers over your lips, closing them up like a zipper. 

The moment you were out of sight Kenma immediately flopped down onto his bed, you were going to be the death of him.

[xlettex]

Deception || tetsurou kuroo Yakuza AU - Chapter Three

From the moment you looked into his eyes, you knew—he was nothing but trouble. Everyone warned you. Stay away from him. Don’t get involved. But you never listened. Tetsurou Kuroo, better known as Kurai, is the infamous yakuza boss of Japan. Just mentioning his name is enough to send shivers down spines and silence conversations in dimly lit alleyways. He is a force of nature—deceitful, ruthless, and dangerously unpredictable. A man who bends the world to his will, leaving chaos in his wake. And yet, to you… he is irresistible. You crave him — his touch, his warmth, the way he sets your skin on fire with just a glance. He makes you feel invincible like you can take on the world. But loving him is a double-edged sword. Because just as he lifts you up, he destroys you.

pairing - tetsurou kuroo x reader genre - action romance, crime romance, dark romance, erotica/smut rating - 18+ MINORS DNI chapter word count - 7.6k content warning - violence, drugs and alcohol, illegal activities, sexual content, and angst. see each chapter for specific warnings.

Authors Note - This fanfic is inspired by the amazing fanart of the tetsurou kuroo mafia au (found image on pinterest, help me find the artist - I want to credit them). Disclaimer- This is a work of fiction, I do not condone the act of illegal activities, violence, or romanticization of the yakuza. Read at your own risk.

chapter two <- chapter three -> chapter four

✯ chapter-specific warnings -violence, references to drugs, alcohol, illegal activity, depression, mention of suicide, anxiety, death, grief ✯

You step onto the street, the morning air crisp, biting at your exposed skin. The streets hum with life—children rushing past you, eager to make it to school, adults briskly moving along the sidewalks, and the faint smell of fresh bread drifting from an open café door. You feel out of place. The vibrant normalcy of the world around you is a stark contrast to the turbulence occupying your mind. You shiver, but not from the cold. The weight of uncertainty clings to you, wrapping you in a quiet, suffocating embrace.

A few weeks have passed since you patched up Tetsurou, his cryptic words and that unnerving smirk continue to haunt you. You haven’t seen him since, but his gaze lingers in your thoughts, like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. Every time your mind wanders, his voice echoes—“I owe you”—and each time, a knot tightens in your chest.

What does owing me even entail? The question swirls around you, relentlessly, as you try to make sense of it all. But every answer you come up with only leads to more confusion.

You barely knew the man. Yes, you helped him in the alley, but surely that wasn’t enough to warrant a debt—especially one that seemed so… personal. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was instinct, a basic sense of morality. You weren’t the kind of person to leave a bleeding man to die in the street.

The hospital was already buzzing with activity when you arrived. The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of fresh coffee from the nurses’ station. The steady beeping of monitors hummed in the background as you weaved through the crowded hallway, nodding at a few coworkers who looked just as exhausted as you felt. Everything about this place was routine. It should have brought comfort, but the thought of Tetsurou lingered, ever-present, like a slow-burning fuse you couldn’t quite extinguish. You tried to push it aside by immersing yourself in the busy chaos of the hospital.

“You’re late.”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts as Shirabu glanced up at you over the top of his clipboard.

“Only by two minutes,” you said, offering a sheepish smile as you grabbed your scrub cap from your locker.

“Two minutes could be the difference between life or death in surgery,” he said, his voice carrying a touch of authority, though there was no real malice behind it. “You’re assisting with my laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Get scrubbed in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mechanical motions of getting ready for surgery are second nature by now. The sterile environment, the use of medical jargon—it’s familiar and comforting. You tried your best to only focus on work and for a moment, you almost forgot about what was plaguing your mind. Almost.

Then, during a lull between procedures, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen.

PAST DUE NOTICE: FINAL WARNING.

Your stomach dropped. You barely dared to open the message, but you already knew. Rent was overdue—again. You had a week, maybe less, before your landlord took action. And with the hospital cutting overtime hours, there was no easy way to fix this.

Your grip tightened around your phone, a sinking dread coiling in your stomach. You took a sharp breath, pushing the screen aside just as Koushi’s name flashed across the display.

You hesitated before answering, trying to push past the uneasy feeling gnawing at you. “Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Koushi’s voice came through, filled with concern and a touch of frustration, stark against the quiet hum of the hospital. “I haven’t heard from you in a while. You’ve been on my mind, especially since.....” He lets out a breath,  “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

The warmth in his voice should have been comforting, but it only made you feel more torn. You weren’t sure how to explain that you weren’t fine—so many emotions clouded your thoughts, so many things left unsaid. The weight of the chance encounter with Tetsurou was starting to feel heavier by the day.

“I’m fine,” you said a little too quickly, pushing the words out with a forced cheer. “Just been busy with work, you know how it is.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the silence thick with Koushi’s concern. You could almost hear him debating whether to press further. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer. “You don’t sound fine. You’ve barely responded to my texts and ignored all my calls. I’m surprised you answered this one. I just... I’m worried, okay? Since what happened a few weeks ago, you’ve been distant.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the counter in the break room as you ran a hand through your hair. Koushi’s worry felt like a heavy blanket, smothering you with its warmth. He was right. You hadn’t been yourself. But how could you explain the unease gnawing at your insides? How could you explain the growing dread that's taken root in your chest?

“I’m fine, Koushi. Really,” you say, your voice faltering despite your best efforts. “Just... work has been hectic. That’s all.”

Another long silence. You can hear Koushi breathing on the other end, his concern palpable, like a soft weight pressing down on your chest. “I get it,” he says, finally, a hint of resignation in his voice. “But you can’t keep ignoring everything that happened. You can’t just push me away. I’m your best friend. I’m here, alright?”

You close your eyes for a moment, pressing your palm to your forehead as if it could ease the weight of his words. He’s right, you know he is. Koushi always knows when you’re hiding behind a mask, pretending everything is fine.

You let out a breath, feeling the familiar weight of your past settle over you like a shadow. You’d never fully allowed yourself to belong to the Sugawara family. They’d taken you in when you had nothing, and given you warmth and comfort when you needed it most, but they could never replace what you’d lost. A small, guarded part of you kept its distance, remembering that people could be taken from you in an instant. Loss had always been a silent companion, one you couldn’t shake no matter how many people surrounded you.

"I... I know," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But sometimes it’s easier not to feel too much. It doesn’t hurt as much that way."

Koushi’s sigh on the other end was filled with a deep, tired understanding, “Listen, I was thinking we could meet for dinner tonight, my treat. It’s been a while since the two of us hung out properly. Maybe a change of scenery will help clear your head.”

Dinner with Koushi sounds exactly like what you need. You hesitate, staring at the phone in your hand as if it holds the answers you’re searching for. Part of you wants to say no, to remain in this space where no one can reach you, but the other part aches for a sense of normalcy you haven't felt in weeks. The quiet comfort Koushi offers feels like a lifeline you desperately need.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you said, more to reassure him than anything. “Let’s do it.”

A sound of relief filtered through the phone, and you could almost picture Koushi’s smile on the other end. “Good. I’ll text you the details,” he said. “Just... take care of yourself, okay?”

You smiled softly, though he couldn’t see. “I will, I promise.”

You ended the call and tucked your phone back into your pocket, forcing yourself to focus on the next surgery. But even as you suited up for the next procedure, The dinner invite with Koushi lingered in your mind. The thought of a quiet dinner and some normalcy beckoned like a distant shore, a place you weren’t sure you were ready to reach but knew you desperately needed to.

At the same time, far above the streets of Tokyo, in a sleek penthouse bathed in the warm glow of the midday sun, Kuroo sat at the head of a polished, modern table. The expansive view of the city sprawled beneath him, a chaotic maze of buildings and bustling streets, mirroring his volatile life. Papers were scattered before him, but his focus was distant, his thoughts miles away. His fingers swirled the glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light, but the real matter gnawing at his mind had little to do with business.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

Weeks had passed, and you still lingered in the recesses of his mind, an echo that refused to fade. Your quiet concern, the hesitation in your eyes when you helped him—it all replayed in his head like a song stuck on repeat. But it wasn’t just your actions that haunted him. It was your face—your eyes, soft and uncertain, yet sharp with something he couldn’t quite place. The way your hair fell, it was messy but somehow still perfect. The way you looked at him as if you saw something more, something deeper. He should have let it go by now. It should have meant nothing. 

But here he was —wondering what it was that made you so different.

A part of him itched to repay you, to settle the unspoken debt that lingered between the two of you. Yet, another part—the one that knew better—was reluctant to. Once he started paying that debt, your life would be intertwined with his. And being involved with someone like you? That was a danger he couldn’t afford to entertain.

The soft click of the door broke his reverie, and Kuroo looked up to find Kenma entering, his expression flat, unreadable. As always, Kenma knew. Kuroo didn’t have to say a word—his friend was sharp enough to see through the mask he wore.

“You’re still thinking about her,” Kenma said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Kuroo’s eyes flicked to Kenma, a sharp, almost predatory glint flashing in his gaze. He leaned back in his chair, his tone low, tinged with frustration. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered, trying to push the thought of you away. 

Kenma didn’t comment, but the look he gave was enough to say he wasn’t buying it.

Kuroo dragged a hand through his hair, ignoring the faint pull of his stitches. His mind shifted gears, locking onto something else gnawing at him. His eyes fell on the papers he’d been neglecting while he recovered. “Daishou’s attack... it was too messy, too risky. That’s just not his style. He frowned, his grip tightening around the glass. “This isn’t just a turf dispute. There’s more going on here.”

Kenma leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “A drug deal gone wrong?” he mused, his voice calm, calculating.

Kuroo shook his head. “No. If it were, he wouldn’t have played it this way. I have a feeling this isn’t about the usual shit. He may want to take over control—starting by seeing how much chaos he can throw into our organization—and he’s not working alone. The shift in his methods only confirms that.”  His voice turned sharp, frustration creeping in. “So who the fuck is helping him?”

Kenma considered the theory, letting the silence stretch between them. Then, finally, he spoke. “Daishou’s reckless, but he’s not stupid. If this were about taking over, he’d be smarter.” His gaze darkened slightly. “Are we sure he’s even involved, it could be an entirely new threat?”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers against the glass, the sound filling the quiet space. “Good point. We need to consider other angles.” He shifted, eyes narrowing. “Have Yaku look into that missing shipment from last week. If this is connected, I want to know.”

“Already on top of it.” Kenma’s tone was clipped.

Kuroo exhaled, jaw tight. “Someone’s poking holes in places they shouldn’t. And I don’t fucking like it.”

The room hung heavy with tension, but it wasn’t just business weighing on Kuroo’s mind. Kenma was watching him too closely, and Kuroo knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, Kenma’s voice broke through the quiet, edged with amusement. “It’s been weeks. Why is she still on your mind?”

Kuroo’s fingers twitched. The frustration inside him coiled tighter. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher. He ran a hand down his face, ignoring how his muscles tensed at the thought of her. “She helped me. But it’s more than that and I can’t figure out why.”

Kenma studied him, sharp eyes assessing, before he tilted his head slightly. “I’ve never seen you like this.” His voice was almost amused, but there was something else beneath it—curiosity, maybe. “Not since… well, ever.” A small, dry laugh escaped him. “A girl’s never gotten you this off-balance.”

Kuroo’s eyes snapped to him, irritation flaring before he smothered it beneath cold indifference. “I’m not off-balance,” he muttered. The words rang hollow.

Kenma let the silence stretch before offering a shrug. “Maybe not. But something about her is fucking with your head. And when you start overthinking, that’s when everything goes to shit.” His voice sharpened, turning blunt. “She’s a distraction. We don’t need distractions. Not with someone stirring up trouble.”

Kuroo inhaled shakily, frustration still tightening his chest. “I told her I owed her for saving my life.”

“You hate being indebted to people,” Kenma said, pausing for a moment before continuing carefully, “I know we all gave you a hard time about her at first, but she’s smart. She patched you up without asking questions and didn’t involve law enforcement. Figure out what she wants, pay your debt, and be done with her for good. Maybe then, it’ll stop fucking with your head.”

Before Kuroo could respond, the room door creaked open, and Alisa walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she approached, her smile laced with sweetness and false charm. The warmth of the sunlight framed her in an almost surreal glow, casting her shadow over the room like a predator preparing to strike. She glanced between Kuroo and Kenma, her eyes gleaming with something far too knowing.

“You two are still talking about business?” she asked, her voice sweet as honey, but with a clear undertone of something far more playful. “How boring. I’d much rather be doing something... fun.” She took a few steps closer to Kuroo, her gaze locking onto him with an intensity that bordered on suffocating. 

Kuroo’s patience snapped, his voice cold, sharp. “Alisa, this isn’t the time.”

“Oh, come on Tetsurou,” she cooed, walking closer, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his chair, her perfume—a mix of expensive florals and something darkly familiar—clinging to the air like a trap. She stepped in, her voice dropping into a more sultry cadence. “You look like you could use some relief, don’t you think?”

The frustration surged in Kuroo, and before he could stop himself, his voice snapped out, harsh. “Don’t call me Tetsurou,” he growled. His eyes flashed dangerously, the words cold and commanding. “Only a few people get to use my first name.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable—frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell. Instead of leaving immediately, she trailed a slow fingertip along the back of Kuroo’s chair, her nails just barely scraping against the wood.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kuroo,” she purred, voice dipping into something dangerously sweet. “Didn’t mean to overstep.” She tilted her head, eyes locking onto his with something closer to calculation than hurt. “But don’t forget, darling—some of us don’t like being replaced so easily.”

Kuroo’s patience was already worn thin. He rose from his chair, his towering form casting a shadow over the entire room. “I’m serious, Alisa,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “This is business. If you don't have anything valuable to contribute, leave.”

Then, with one last lingering glance at Kuroo, she turned and walked out, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp, deliberate beats.

Kuroo let out a sharp breath, the weight of his frustration slipping momentarily. He stood still for a beat, trying to shake off the anger that simmered beneath the surface, but Kenma didn’t miss it.

Kenma glanced at the door, then turned his attention back to Kuroo, a sly smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “She’s got a way of leaving an impression. Must be exhausting, dealing with that.” His voice was light, but there was sharp meaning behind it, cutting through the stillness.

Kuroo shot him a look, his eyes narrowing slightly, his voice tight with annoyance. “Don’t start.”

Kenma, clearly enjoying the moment, settled deeper into his chair. 

It wasn’t a secret that Alisa and he had a history—some heated moments, a few quick, messy releases—but frankly, Kuroo couldn’t have cared less about her. Their relationship had always been a mutually beneficial transaction. He no longer had the patience for her games. 

Just as they were about to speak again, the door opened, and Fukunaga stepped in, his expression serious with a clipboard in hand.

“Boss,” Fukunaga said, his voice respectful but urgent. “Are you still set to meet with Bokuto later?”

Kuroo’s focus snapped back into place, his movements smooth and controlled. “Yeah. I’ll meet him later. Make sure the funds are ready to move.” Setting the whiskey aside, his mind clicked back into gear. “We need to move quickly. Withdraw what I need, and have everything prepped.”

Fukunaga nodded. “Understood, Boss. I’ll take care of it right away.”

As Fukunaga exited, Kuroo turned to Kenma, his gaze cold and calculating. “Bokuto had been doing well using the bakery as a front for our drug stash, but now I’ve got him handling our finances. Laundering money, tracking earnings, and keeping the books spotless. If anything gets flagged, we’re done.”

Kenma’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as he processed the new information. “We can’t afford a slip-up, not after what happened with the last accountant. Bokuto’s curiosity could spell trouble. Keep him in line—don’t let him start digging into things he doesn’t need to know. One wrong question, and it all comes crashing down.”

Kuroo’s lips curled into a grim smile, his voice low and hollow. “Don’t worry. When I see him, I’ll make it very clear who’s in charge... and exactly what’ll happen if he sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The evening air had softened, and the usual hum had faded into a peaceful stillness, bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. Above, the sky had deepened into rich indigo and violet, the last remnants of daylight bleeding into the horizon, leaving a canvas of tranquil hues.  The colors seemed to breathe with you, a quiet exhale against the weight of the day. As you made your way down the quiet side street to the restaurant, there was a sense of calm in the air, something that allowed you to finally exhale, as if the world itself had offered you a moment of respite.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with Koushi’s name. A small smile tugged at your lips, his presence always managing to soothe the tension that seemed to cling to you lately.

"Hey," you answered, your voice much warmer than it had been earlier.

"Hey! I just parked. I’ll wait for you inside," Koushi replied, his cheerful tone reaching through the phone with ease. You could hear the sound of him settling into his seat as you approached the entrance.

The restaurant was small and cozy, tucked away from the bustling main road. It had the kind of atmosphere that made you feel at home—a haven where everything felt simple and calm. As you stepped inside, the savory scents of grilled meats and roasted vegetables welcomed you, easing the tension that had lingered in your chest all day. Koushi waved from a booth near the back, grinning as he spotted you, and immediately, the tightness in your stomach loosened.

You joined him with an exaggerated embrace, laughing as he gently teased you about your apparent exhaustion. The two of you sat down, and after ordering your food, the conversation flowed easily. But despite the usual comfort of your time together, there was an underlying weight that hung between you. Koushi’s sharp eyes never missed a thing.

“So,” Koushi began, pushing his glass of water aside, his tone softening with concern. “You’ve been distant. What’s going on?””

You hesitated, tracing the rim of your glass, as you struggled to find the right words. How could you even explain the tangled mess in your head, especially with the strange pull Tetsurou had on you? The way his presence seemed to haunt you, even now.

“It’s... complicated,” you murmured, your eyes flicking toward the door as another couple entered. “You remember the guy I helped a few weeks ago? The one in the alley?”

Koushi nodded, his eyes narrow as the memory resurfaced. “Tetsurou, right.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice trailing off as you took a sip of water. “I... can’t stop thinking about him. The whole situation’s been bothering me. It’s making me feel... off.”

Koushi’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in his seat, studying you carefully. The playful expression that usually adorned his face faded, replaced by something more serious. “Did he threaten you?”

“What… no,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “He had this….presence. Like violence was second nature to him. He warned me—told me not to get involved with him.” You hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass, “Part of me felt like I could trust him, He…. He didn’t frighten me. Not really.”

Koushi exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before leveling you with a look that was equal parts concern and frustration. “Do you hear yourself right now?” His voice was low, and measured, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “He warned you to stay away. Hell, you just said he was violent. And yet, you’re sitting here telling me you trust him?”

He shook his head, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “People like him—who hide things, who have agendas—are dangerous. You need to stay away from him. I know his type of men, they like to push just enough to make you curious, just enough to make you want to get involved with them. You don’t know him. And you sure as hell can’t afford to start trusting him.” 

His fingers tapped against the table, his expression darkening. “Tell me you’re not planning to see him again.”

You hesitated, and the silence stretched just long enough to make Koushi sigh. “Of course not,” you said quickly, but even you didn’t believe it.

Koushi fell silent for a moment, his gaze shifting toward the window. The noise from the street filtered in, momentarily muffling the restaurant’s ambiance. His lips pressed together as if weighing something in his mind, and then he spoke again, his tone heavier this time.

“You know," He said, his voice tinged with concern, “this makes me even more apprehensive about the area you live in”

Your stomach twisted slightly, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“What happened a few weeks ago…” He trailed off, glancing down at his hands before meeting your gaze again. “That man —he shouldn’t have been anywhere near you, let alone been brought your apartment.”

You took a slow breath, trying to keep your tone even. “I wasn’t going to leave him to die, Koushi. And I’m fine. I handled it.”

Koushi’s expression softened, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. “I know you did. But that’s not the point. Your place—it’s not safe. You deserve better than this. There’s no reason you should be living in a neighborhood like that. The city might not be perfect, but there are safer places you could be.”

You shifted uncomfortably as Koushi’s words settled in. As if I hadn’t thought about that before. As if the reality of my situation wasn’t constantly looming over me like an inescapable shadow.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” you muttered, trying to keep the bitterness from creeping into your tone. “It’s all I can afford on my salary, Koushi. I’m trying my best.”  

What little money you had left over went to groceries and student loan payments. 

No matter how hard you worked, or how many shifts you picked up, they never seemed to shrink. The debt clung to you, a constant reminder that no matter how many years had passed since college, you were still paying the price—literally—for a future you were barely holding together. The idea of moving somewhere safer? Laughable. You were lucky to have a roof over your head at all.

You were doing the best you could. That was the lie you told yourself, anyway. Koushi didn’t the full extent of your financial troubles, and you weren’t about to tell him.

His sigh was heavy frustration evident in the way he ran a hand through his hair. “I know you are,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I’ve seen what happens in places like that. What if it’s worse next time? You got lucky this time. But what if next time, you aren’t?

His words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. I know I got lucky. But what now? Just pick up and leave? With what money? Rent in a safer neighborhood was nearly double what you paid now. Even if you miraculously scraped together the cash for a deposit, how long would it last before you were drowning again?

You stared down at the table, picking at your napkin, as the memories flooded in—of a time when you didn’t have to worry about safety when home was a place of warmth and laughter. You remembered your mother’s soothing voice, how she used to read bedtime stories, the rhythm of her words wrapping around you like a soft, protective blanket. It was the kind of comfort that made you feel safe as if nothing could ever go wrong. Your father, too, had been a steady presence, always in the kitchen, filling the house with the smell of home-cooked meals, humming to himself as he worked. His laughter had been the heartbeat of the house, making everything feel grounded, stable, and peaceful. You used to feel like warmth was something you could reach out and touch.

But that warmth had a way of vanishing when you needed it most. And now, it felt like everything was a distant memory, a ghost of a time when life didn’t feel so uncertain.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, pushing back the unease creeping up your spine. “I’ll make it work.”

Koushi didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as he reached across the table. “I just want you to know… if you ever need a way out, I’m here. Always.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his support, though it didn’t quite reach the growing knot of unease deep inside you. The rest of the conversation passed in a blur, as Koushi tried his best to lighten the mood with stories of his students causing chaos at school. 

His familiar presence helped, but it was hard to shake the weight of the previous conversations you had—your financial strain, Tetsurou, the quiet ache of a home that once felt warm, a family that had been taken too soon. The comfort Koushi offered now only reminded you how much you had already lost; how little warmth remained in your life. You had learned to survive without it, but it still lingered like a shadow, reminding you of what you could never have again.

Unbeknownst to you, as you absentmindedly picked at your food, Kuroo entered the restaurant. His dark attire sharply contrasted against the warm glow of the space, and his eyes scanned the room with calculated care. His steps were smooth and purposeful, but when they landed on your booth, his gaze faltered, a jolt of something unfamiliar surging through him. His pulse picked up, the sensation so sudden and sharp that it felt like fate had nudged him into a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

The last time he’d seen you, everything had been chaos, and even now, he found himself thinking about you more than he cared to admit. There you were, sitting across from the man, smiling, looking so effortlessly at ease. You were—so composed, your laughter light and genuine—made him pause. He admired how the soft glow of the restaurant highlighted the warmth of your expression, the way the light caught your hair. You looked… different, more at peace than when he last saw you, and it struck him harder than he wanted to admit.

The knot in his gut tightened. Something about your appearance, the ease with which you existed at this moment, dug under his skin in a way he wasn’t ready to confront. The sight of you—so unaffected, so natural with someone else—made a strange jealousy flicker to life in his chest. 

Who the fuck was this guy?

Kuroo couldn’t pinpoint what about you had gotten under his skin. There was something there, some unspoken pull that made him want to know more, even though it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like him to be intrigued by someone in this way, especially not someone like you. But the attraction was undeniable, pulling at him with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. He wondered if maybe this—this encounter—was more than mere coincidence.

But before he allowed himself to think further, his phone buzzed, pulling him back to the reality of the moment. He glanced at the screen briefly, then returned his gaze to the two of you. His attention needed to be elsewhere. As he made his way to the back, where his meeting with Bokuto awaited, the image of you—completely unaware—remained stubbornly in his mind. Fate had placed him here, and something told him this encounter was far from over.

You felt a strange shift in the air, the weight of someone’s gaze on you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, a faint prickle of unease crawling down your spine. When you looked up, though, the restaurant was just as it had been—a warm, cozy space, no one staring. But the feeling lingered, nagging at you.

As the night wore on, the city slipped into its quieter hours. The restaurant’s warmth still clung to your skin as you stepped onto the dimly lit sidewalk, Koushi following close behind. The crisp air carried the scent of snow on the horizon, a promise a harsh winter would be settling over the city.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Koushi asked, his brow furrowing as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s late.”

You shook your head with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a few blocks.”

Koushi didn’t look convinced, but he sighed, knowing arguing would get him nowhere. “Text me when you get home, all right?”

“I will.”

He hesitated before pulling you into a quick hug, his warmth momentarily shielding you from the night’s chill. “Be safe.”

With a final glance back at him, you turned and began walking, the city’s pulse a steady rhythm beneath your feet. The streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows against the cracked pavement. The occasional hum of a passing car was the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

Despite the quiet, an unease prickled at the edges of your senses. It was subtle—like an itch at the back of your mind, a whisper beneath the hum of the street. You exhaled sharply, shaking off the tension. Koushi’s earlier words lingered in your mind. He wasn’t exactly wrong—your neighborhood wasn’t safe. The flickering streetlights, the occasional sound of distant shouting, the way you always kept your keys between your fingers when walking home—it wasn’t ideal. But what choice did you have?

You thought about the way the city felt like it was closing in, the quiet had settled in with you. In some strange way, it reminded you of a time long ago—before all of this. Back when your world still felt warm.

Your mother had always tried to shield you from the dark things, the struggles that weighed on her silently. At only eight years old, you couldn't comprehend the depths of her battle. Darkness had crept into her mind like a quiet shadow, something you couldn’t see but could feel in the spaces between her smiles and gentle touches. She hid it so well—those smiles, those soft, comforting hands—but beneath it all, the weight of her depression dragged her further and further away. It was as if, despite all her efforts to mask it, something inside her was quietly breaking. In the end, it became too much for her. She succumbed to her demons, ending her own life.

You were left with your father—a man who tried to hold it together for you. He did everything he could to keep things normal, even when it was clear that his grief was consuming him. He wasn’t just mourning her; he was mourning his inability to save her from herself. You could see it in his eyes—how every day felt like a failure to him. But what could he have done? What could anyone have done? In the silence of her absence, you started to understand just how fragile everything was. And that truth hurt far more than any single moment of loss.

When you were ten, the world seemed to shatter again. Your father was diagnosed with lung cancer, and in those moments, it felt like a sick, cruel repetition. You remembered his face, drained of color when the doctors gave him the news, and how it changed everything from that point on. You spent the next three years in the sterile, bitter air of hospital rooms, never really knowing if the next visit would be the last. You were too young to process the gravity of what was happening, but you could sense the finality of it. Your father’s strength faded, just as your mother’s had, and there were moments when you could see the same helplessness in his eyes that you’d once seen in hers. The weight of everything was too much for one person to bear.

When you were 13, you lost him too. And suddenly, the house felt like a tomb—empty and silent. There were no more shared meals, no more laughter or soft hums of comfort in the kitchen. There was just the hollow echo of everything you once had, everything you once were.

That loss, that emptiness, stayed with you. You realized then that you couldn’t trust anyone to stay—no one could be relied on forever. People came and went, and with every loss, a piece of you hardened. You couldn’t bear to be close to anyone without the fear of them slipping away. That fear of being abandoned, of having your world shattered once more, was something you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried. You had learned to keep your heart locked away, to guard it fiercely, because if you didn’t, you were afraid it would just keep breaking.

The cold air bit at your skin, pulling you away from those thoughts. The city, once familiar, now seemed colder—lonelier. The darkness crept around you, and each step you took through the quiet streets felt heavier than the last. Your mind raced, the unease growing in the pit of your stomach. It was as if something was watching you, waiting. You quickened your pace until a strange, unnerving sensation crawled up your spine.

A rustle. A footstep.

You turned sharply, only for a hand to clamp over your mouth, yanking you back into an alley. Panic surged through your veins, but you didn’t freeze. You twisted, using the momentum to stomp hard on your attacker’s foot. The grip loosened slightly, just enough for you to elbow them in the ribs and tear-free. You barely made it two steps before another hand grabbed your wrist, firm but non-violent.

“Relax, doc,” a voice purred, cold and smooth, wrapping around you like a snare. “Didn’t think you were the type to get so feisty."

That voice.

You froze, dread crawling up your neck. Slowly, you turned, already knowing who would be there.

Tetsurou.

There he was, leaning lazily against the alley wall as if he owned it, his smirk wide and confident, his eyes gleaming with something that made your stomach twist. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as you took him in—the same arrogant posture, the same gleaming golden eyes that always saw too much, always knew more than you did.

“Don’t touch me,” you spat, heart racing, the terror still clinging to your bones. You jerked your arm, trying to pull free from his grasp. His fingers barely tightened, like he was waiting for you to test the limits of your resistance.

“Why are you out here all alone?” His tone was teasing, amused even as if this was some game. “A little reckless, don’t you think?”

 “What the hell do you want?” you shot back, struggling against his grasp. 

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t want anything, doc. Just trying to look out for you.”  His lips curled into a lazy grin as he released his grip on you. “You’re making it easy for someone else to grab you first.”

“Easy?” you snapped, voice rising with indignation. “You’re the one who grabbed me, you sick—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off, his expression growing more serious, his gaze never leaving you. “Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”

The words had no weight, no comfort. You could feel the tension in the air thickening, the pressure of his presence suffocating you.

“Then what?” You demanded.

His eyes glinted. “I want you to consider an offer.” He took a step closer, invading your space without hesitation. “You’re in over your head. You’re out here alone, on your own, with no one to watch your back. Don’t tell me you don’t know what kind of city this is. People like me… we don’t let people like you wander around without knowing what’s at stake.”

The insinuation hit hard. You swallowed thickly, trying to keep the lump in your throat from betraying you. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t?” He shrugged like it was nothing as if he wasn’t talking about your life, your safety. “You’re struggling, aren’t you?” His voice was suddenly colder, harder. “Money, debts, living in fear, worrying about whether you’ll be able to pay rent next month. I can see it in your eyes, You don’t have to keep scraping by.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “How do you know about that?”

He gave a sly grin, his gaze darkening. “I know more than you think. It’s what I do.” He leaned backward, his eyes gleaming with intent. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

You furrowed your brow, trying to keep your composure. “A proposition?” you asked, your voice steady, though your stomach churned.

“Mm,” he hummed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Leaning in closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “A job.”

“A job?” You laughed, but it came out bitter, laced with incredulity. “What are you going to make me do? Sell my soul?”

His eyes gleamed with something darker, more calculating. “Not at all, doc. I need someone like you. You’re a surgical assistant. You know your way around wounds, and injuries—things people like me can’t just go to a hospital for. You’re someone who can keep their mouth shut, knows how to handle people, and isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

You stared at him, heart racing. The weight of his words settled like a stone in your chest. You had no idea whether you should be terrified or intrigued. “People like you?”

His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “People like me… people who have enemies, who don’t have the luxury of going to a hospital when things go south. I need someone who can keep them alive. Someone with your skills. Think of it as being an underground doctor.”

Your mind spun, your thoughts a blur. The words "underground doctor" echoed in your mind, but nothing seemed to settle. He was asking you to step into a world you knew nothing about—a world full of danger, of things you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“You want me to patch up criminals,” you said, voice flat, though inside, everything was screaming at you to walk away. “To be your medic.”

He nodded, his expression serious now, the casual arrogance replaced with something more intent, more purposeful. “I’m offering you security. A way out of this shithole you’re living in. A way up. You won’t have to keep looking over your shoulder every damn second. No more locking yourself in at night, hoping nobody’s out there.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and the words hit harder than anything he’d said before. “I’ll give you a place to belong. A place where you’re not just a little lost soul trying to survive. You can have more than that. If you’re smart enough to take it.”

Your mind raced, but you couldn’t shake the sense of déjà vu. Koushi had just told you that you deserved better and that you shouldn’t have to live in fear. And now here was Tetsurou, offering a “solution” that felt more like a trap.

“Were you following me?” The words shot out harsher than you intended before you could stop them.

His smirk widened. “No.” He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “I don’t need to follow you to know exactly where you are.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating, pulling at you from all directions. You knew the cost. You knew the price of getting involved with someone like him—someone dangerous, someone whose world you’d never understand. But as you stood there, breath shallow and mind spinning, the thought of running from this decision… the thought of facing another night in that shitty apartment alone… made the offer sound almost too tempting.

“Why would you offer this to me?” you managed, barely able to find your voice.

His presence loomed over you, his breath warm against your skin. “I owe you. You saved my life, the least I can do is offer you a better life in return.”

"You think I’d just jump at your offer?" you shot back, trying to keep the bite in your voice, though you could feel your resolve slipping. He was right about one thing—life was wearing you down.

His grin didn’t fade, but there was a flicker in his eyes like he could sense your hesitation. He straightened up slightly, letting the silence hang between you for a moment, before speaking again, quieter this time.

"Not jump. Just... think about it. There’s a place for you in my world. And for once, you won’t have to keep running."

Your stomach twisted. Running. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—that he saw straight through you or that he wasn’t wrong.

"I don't need your help," you managed, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound sure of yourself.

"That's what they all say," he replied smoothly, his tone almost sympathetic, but his eyes never lost their calculating gleam. "But everyone needs a little help eventually."

You hated that he was right. You hated it more because you could see it: the lifeline he was offering, however twisted, while you were drowning in a sea of uncertainty.

Despite everything you knew about Tetsurou—his cold, calculating demeanor, the dangerous air that clung to him like a second skin—you couldn’t shake this strange, irrational trust in him. It was a crazy thing to feel. He was dangerous, no doubt about it, but there was something about him, something you couldn’t quite place, that made you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. 

Maybe it was the way he looked at you—like he saw through all the walls you built around yourself. Maybe it was the fact that, for a brief moment, you felt like he cared. But that didn’t mean you were willing to dive headfirst into his world. You couldn’t forget the price of that trust. The consequences of even stepping a toe into the world he lived in.

"Think it over," Tetsurou continued, his gaze locked onto yours, unblinking, unwavering. "But this offer’s good for 24 hours. After that, it's off the table."

24 hours. That was all you had. A choice that could change everything. Your heart thundered in your chest. The shadows were closing in, and you could feel the weight of the decision pressing on you, suffocating. The life he offered was dangerous, but the alternative... scraping by in fear, always looking over your shoulder—was just as suffocating.

“I’ll think about it,” you whispered, the words slipping out more like a tentative promise to yourself than anything else.

Tetsurou’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. He seemed pleased with your answer. “Good.” His voice softened, almost too softly. “I’ll find you again.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by the night, leaving you alone with the weight of a decision you weren’t ready to make.

The alley felt colder now, the silence pressing in around you.

Koushi’s voice echoed in your mind, warning you, pleading with you to stay away from him.

You should.

You knew you should.

But you weren’t sure you would.

And that terrified you more than anything.