Tag: kuroo

When the numbers on his watch click to a weak shimmer of 12:00, Kenma pushes the window of his room open and jumps. 

The bushes on the ground soften his fall, the backpack he’s hidden underneath dried leaves pressing into his ribs as he crashes onto it. Kenma lies there for a few breathless, horrible moments, and listens. The silence is overwhelming. No noise from the house, no dangerous growl of his name. Kenma exhales, slow. His phone chimes. 

He gets up, snatches his backpack, and runs. 

The train ticket costs all of the money he’s been able to save up and steal away from his father’s wallet. It’s just enough, and he prays that the ticket inspector won’t throw him out because he’s wet and there’s dirt on his shoes and mud splattered over his pants. But tonight, Kenma is lucky. The night is black as ink, stars blurring into white asteroids as he curls on his seat in the late night train.

He runs the rest of the way as fast as he can. His lungs burn like acid, his feet and fingers are frozen blue, but it’s all worth it when he presses the door bell and someone opens. 
Kuroo smiles when he sees Kenma stand there. “Hi,” he begins, “you’re – “

“I’m eighteen,” Kenma says, breathless. “He can’t – can’t tell me what to do anymore. I’m free. I don’t have to – “ The words tumble out of his mouth, useless fragments, and then he tastes salt on his lips because he’s started to cry. “Tetsurou.” 

And Kuroo, perfect, wonderful Kuroo, slides Kenma inside and hugs him so tight that a broken sob falls out of Kenma’s throat. He can see a faint light from the kitchen, hears the quiet whisper of Kuroo’s parents. They’ve been waiting, Kenma realizes, and then he cries into Kuroo’s shirt and his knees gave in. They waited for him. 

“You’re home now,” Kuroo says. “It’s okay.”

The Alchemist of a Thousand Eyes. || iwaoi. fma crossover.

The darkness around him is four weeks old. They give him food and water, pull the chains around his ankles and wrists so tight that his skin bleeds underneath the fur. Every day, a man with yellow eyes visits him. He touches Hajime’s forehead, and a searing pain twitches through his head. He knows what this is, and when a cruel, sharp mind pierces into his own thoughts, he screams for help, begs, promises anything and everything. Help me, God, please. 

“He’s still human, in there,” the man says one day. Hajime whimpers. Finally, he’s heard him. The guard standing outside the cell smiles; he’s all ink-black hair that sticks into the shadow above his head in the light of the lantern. Both wear the badge of a state alchemist. They’ll help him, right? The man with the yellow eyes – he looks like a cat, Hajime thinks, licking his mouth in the hope of more water – steps out of his prison cell. He’s quiet for a long time. 

Then, he turns to the guard. “Kuroo, we need him. This could be it. Tell him that we got a chimera that’s been made by his old teacher.” And before Hajime can even open his jaws in an attempt to growl out words, the lantern goes out and darkness engulfs him yet again. 

In the three hours that pass, he lives through everything all over again. The man luring him into a house in the forest with a promise for food and money; Hajime’s stomach growling, the hunger in his chest, he hadn’t eaten since his village had burnt down in the war. Everyone dead, dead, dead, corpses in the wet, red darkness of the ruins, lingering, watching him. The man had taken him in. And when Hajime woke, he’d been in chains, and his mind had howled at the sight of his body, transformed, bleeding and there were claws, teeth, fur – 

“Is that him, sweetheart?” – “Do not call me that. Yes. We think the body’s a bear, the horns seem to be from a bull or something. Excellent nose from a dog. He’s got some humanity left in his head, so we didn’t cut him open to see if – “ 

“God, he’s… yeah, he’ll do. Let me in.” A soft chuckle. “Finally.”

Hajime barely hears the voices whispering around him. The cell door creaks, light casts over his face. He blinks, chains rattling, a growl in his chest, and then there’s a man standing before him. His eyes are dark, a glint of fire sparking in them as he leans down to touch Hajime’s nose. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” the man says. “My, what did this monster do to you, hm? You can tell me later. First, I’ll get you your voice back.” Hajime’s eyes go wide. He roars, struggles against the chains, and the man raises a hand to hold the guards back from storming into the cell. 

“Relax. This’ll only hurt a bit. I cannot turn you back into who you were. But we’ll make a deal.” Hajime hears a metallic sound. The man pushes up his sleeves, the state alchemist’s watch dangling on his hip. And then, Hajime sees his skin, and he whimpers in sheer horror. Oh God. 

“You see,” the man smiles, smiles, his lean arm flexing in the lantern’s light. His skin is covered in human eyes. Their lids open to stare at Hajime, life pulsing inside them, pupils wide in silent terror. And when a hand grips his throat and the blue light of transmutation twitches through the cell, he hears the man say: 

“The man who did this to you is the same who did this to me. I’ll give you back your voice, sweetheart, for a few of my eyes. And in exchange you’ll lend me your nose to find the man who made me the Alchemist of a Thousand Eyes.” 

When the blue lightning dies, Hajime’s throat burns like hell. The man stands and turns to leave, pushing his sleeve back down. Hajime gets up and follows him, not paying any attention to Kuroo or the yellow-eyed alchemist. 

“Who are you?” 

The man looks at him over his shoulder. His collar slides down a bit, and a row of tiny, sad children’s eyes stares at Hajime from the alchemist’s neck. The smile on his lips is dangerous, sharp enough to cut. “I’m Tooru Oikawa. You coming?”

And Hajime follows him. 

Tetsurou isn’t quite sure how he ended up in such a position, but then again it’s hard to think when he has a young god like Tooru in his lap and that soft, warm tongue licking into his mouth. Any coherent thought becomes impossible when rough hands drag down his spine, caressing his skin from tailbone to neck, a hot kiss pressed against his shoulder with a harsh drag of teeth. Hajime’s chuckle echoes deep into his bones, and when blunt nails send sparks flying through his nerves, Tooru shifts just a bit to moan softly into Tetsurou’s mouth, just as he’s pulling back from the kiss and whines. Hajime’s body is strong against his back. 

God, they are all he’s ever wanted. 

“We got you,” Hajime whispers against the shell of his ear, lips wet and burning on Tetsurou’s skin. His fingers keep dancing, worshipping every inch of him, just as Tooru wraps slender legs around Tetsurou’s waist and sucks a dark bruise below his jaw. “Relax,” his voice is playful, even softer than Hajime’s. “We’re not going anywhere, darlin’. We’ll be here all night.” 

No, Tetsurou doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve boyfriends like those two. But Hajime and Tooru have chosen him, all his bad things and dark walls and the fear that he’s been swallowing down before confessing that fuck, yes, he loves them more than he could ever put into words. He’s theirs now, and somehow, like a miracle he can’t explain, they are his as well. 

And then Tooru grins and lets himself fall back, pulling Tetsurou down on top of himself, his mouth catching the surprised gasp on Tetsurou’s lips with a searing hot kiss. ‘Gorgeous,’ Tetsurou thinks, and then a large hand slides down his back, the rough pad of Hajime’s thumb dragging along his shaking thighs, deliciously slow and teasing and perfect. “F-fuck, please – “ He’s never begged for anyone, but he does so for them, and his heart feels like it’ll melt when Tooru reaches for Hajime’s neck to pull him into a warm kiss, and then Hajime steals another one from Tetsurou’s mouth. 

“We’ll be good to you, darlin’, I promise you that.” Tooru’s voice is raw and thick against his ear, and just as Hajime breaks the kiss and Tetsurou tries to gasp for air, Hajime’s fingers slide deeper and press into him, careful, slick and gentle. “God – ah, can’t – ohh.” And he sinks down on Tooru, who runs shivering fingers through his hair and pets him, “yes, jus’ like that, we’ll take care of you,” as Hajime kisses his back and slides his fingers deeper into Tetsurou, sending liquid fire over his skin and right into his chest. 

Tetsurou doesn’t know how he deserves this. But when he wakes, later that night, Tooru’s curled against his waist and has Hajime’s arm slung around himself like a makeshift blanket – that’s when Tetsurou smiles, and thinks: Maybe he’s worth more than he’s always been told. At least, he can make them happy. He can love them, more than anything, and that could be enough. 

The young men that approach Kenma with slick smiles and confident hands full of gestures bring hundreds and thousands of words with them. They are taller than him, dark or light hair, eyes that glint and stare at his body like he’s fresh meat or soft, warm prey to bite into. 

They pour pet names over him and try to weave a tooth-rotting sweetness underneath his skin. Oh, you are such a pretty one. What is a cute thing like you doing, in a big city like Tokyo? You study – what? Computer sciences? A face like yours could do model jobs, sweetheart. Can you smile for me? I can walk you home. Hey, come on, talk to me. Hey, cutie. Come on. Don’t ignore me. What’s wrong with you? Slut. Tease.

He doesn’t lower his head. He doesn’t duck or run. He looks at them, into the blackness of their greedy eyes, and counts to five. Then, he walks off, slowly. The only thing he ever mentions is what he studies. And, sometimes: “I have a boyfriend. Do not touch me.” Kenma isn’t scared. His heart belongs somewhere.

When he drives home for the weekend, in a train that’s fast enough to blur the world into a maelstrom of colours outside, he’s already on the phone. His boyfriend’s voice is soothing, his laughter kind, happy, sometimes teasing. 

And when Kenma is curled against Kuroo’s chest at night, he traces his fingers over that pale throat until his nails leave a soft streak, painless, barely there. Kuroo’s head then drops back, his body tensing. 

“God, Kenma,” a mumble into the darkness of Kenma’s hair. “Yours. All yours.”

Kenma smiles, only then, for him. His heart belongs. He belongs, and owns.

“You’re mine.” 

And Kuroo nods, whimpers softly when Kenma’s teeth scrape along his collarbone, until he sucks at his skin and paints him a careful, gentle blue.

Kenma is similar to a cat in many ways. When expressing curiosity and gentle interest, a cat would curl the tip of its tail in a questioning way, maybe brushing along the legs of a person it intends to befriend, accompanied by a soft nudge of its head against its new friend’s calf. 

Kenma however curls the tips of his fingers around Kuroo’s wrist instead, burying his head into the curve of his warm chest, and wiggles softly until the desired arm of his friend wraps around his waist. 

And only as Kuroo rests his chin on top of Kenma’s head and pets his hair with infinite reverence, Kenma slowly closes his eyes and blinks at his friend – wordless, but saying more than any language could tell in a thousand books. 

A Witch’s Kiss. || kurooken.

His father had only taught Kuroo three things before he vanished into the night to get cigarettes and never returned. 

“Don’t trust women who are too beautiful. Don’t go out during thunderstorms. And whatever you do, never – never – fall in love with a witch.” 

Kuroo’s mother had laughed when he’d told her that. She had kissed Kuroo’s hair and traced his neck until sparks flew and dark letters appeared on his skin, and Kuroo smiled because even though they always vanished after a few days, he loved the tingling they left on his skin, and how they protected him from the sadness. 

And then, Kuroo’s world shatters in a night years later, where the sky is white from lightning and his bones echo from the roar of thunder. The lithe figure that pulls him off the street just before the car hits him is soaked in rain, their hand tiny and pale inside Kuroo’s. He stares at the now-empty street for a moment, heart storming behind his ribs. When he turns around, the thin shadow that tore him out of death’s grip is gone. 

The shadow finds him again one week later. He keeps appearing on the balcony of Kuroo’s flat over and over again, every night, dark clothes wet from the rain and lightning reflecting in his eyes. When Kuroo comes closer, he vanishes, but only after Kuroo’s been near enough to stare into his eyes. 

The irises are golden, light-spun and sunshine-bright. Kuroo finds stars around the darkness of that young man’s pupils, and maybe it’s not only beautiful women who are dangerous. The man has soft-golden hair, fading into black halfway, and his lips are always thin, pale, tinted with blue on the edges. Kuroo starts to wait for him, begins to sit on his bed and soak up the darkness with his glare until the soft thud tells him that the young man is back. 

“Can I come inside?” The golden shadow says one night. It’s the first time he speaks. Kuroo doesn’t know why he nods, why he opens the door or why he offers him a blanket, some tea, warm clothes. He has so many questions, but none are answered. As soon as he puts the blanket around the man’s shoulders, as soon as a gentle finger traces his jaw and pale lips whisper “Tetsurou”, his mind fades to black. 

The next morning, the figure is gone and the flowers on Kuroo’s windowsill bloom purple and crimson red, and a coin of pure gold hides under each of their petals. 

Kuroo reaches out to touch one of the flowers, and stops. The back of his left hand is decorated with black ink, elegant swirls forming a name – “Kenma”. Kuroo traces his fingers along the outlines, and jolts as it vanishes. 

Don’t fall in love with a witch, his father had told him. 

“Thank you for letting me in,” the golden shadow says when Kuroo opens the door for him the next night. “Hello, Tetsurou.”

The other team’s setter is, apparently, both a sore loser and an asshole. When Kenma has to shake his hand after the game, the guy leans over with a slick grin, tongue darting over his teeth, licking his lips like he’s preparing to eat. 

“If you play in the bedroom like you do on the court, I’d love to get a rematch. Are you in, kitten?”

Kuroo has to hold back Lev and Yamamoto all at once, Yaku growling next to him, Inuoka cracking his knuckles. But even though his own blood goes boiling with fucking rage, Kuroo snaps “let him handle this on his own” back at them. If it had just been the sexual implication, maybe Kenma would’ve ignored that guy. Maybe he would’ve walked off.

But there is only one person in the world who gets to call him kitten. 

Kenma tilts his head at the other setter. He pulls his hand back, runs it through his hair, taking a slow, deep breath – and gifts the guy with a smile that has this asshole swallow hard and stumble back. 

“Cats don’t play with dirty mutts.”

Kenma doesn’t know if the guy replies or not. The hollering of Nekoma’s whole team is drowning out all other noises, and Kenma’s little smile stays until the late evening, when he’s nuzzled into Kuroo’s embrace and slaying a demon king in his favourite PS3 game.

Kuroo finds him on the balcony. He stares at the stars, fingertips tiny and ice-cold, and he’s so beautiful even when he hurts so badly. Kuroo doesn’t move. He drinks Kenma in, the softness of his tears, the warm sound that his mouth makes when it opens into a symphony of syllables that turn into Kuroo’s name.

“Tetsurou.” 

And Kuroo’s body says yes. He walks over, sits, melts into Kenma through a trembling embrace that echoes into the broken core of his bones. Kenma’s lips are incandescence, and they’re worth all the prayers that Kuroo’s never dared to speak, all the holy adoration he wants to pour over Kenma’s glowing soul like gold, gold, gold. 

“Can you stay tonight?” 

His hands are tiny. Kuroo’s lips fit into the valleys of their ivory knuckles like someone carved him to be Kenma’s, and his alone. 

“Yes. And the night after, and the night after.”

Kenma curls into the warmth of his arms – and stills, heart beating, and his eyes alight. 

“Kuroo?” 
“Hm?”
“Do you think you could be together with someone who’s still a virgin?” 
“I – what?” What the hell.

On the scale of things that could surprise Tetsurou Kuroo, the first place of “Lev bottoms for Yaku and is actually embarrassed about any public affection past holding hands” had just been replaced by the soft-spoken, monotone questions from Kenma’s lips.
Kenma was seemingly waiting for a reply, and when Tetsurou simply stared at him with wide, stunned eyes, silent and rigid, the setter shrunk down a bit. 

“Because – I think – I think I like someone, but I don’t know what he’d think when I tell him that, you know.“ Kenma’s cheeks were a gorgeous, endearing shade of deep red, and he was carrying his head low, golden strands of hair touching his jaw, the sharp line that Tetsurou wanted to kiss. 
“If he would… wait. Until I’m ready.”

Ah, Tetsurou thought, and then, what? Who is that guy? Am I going to have to beat him up, what’s his name and address and why, why him, what does he have that I don’t? 

“Yeah,” is what he said out loud, “’course. I’d wait forever, that’s just – I’d wait forever for you, I’d give you all the time, you deserve the best. Fuck, what an asshole is that guy, did he tell you that you need to have sex? I’m gonna beat him up, just wait ‘till I called Kotarou, we’re gonna rip him apart – “ 

His mind snapped back to reality when Kenma’s soft, warm lips touched his cheek, small hands clinging to his shoulders. “Thank you, that’s all I needed to know,” Kenma said, and Tetsurou thought ‘fuck’. He’d just talked out loud, he’d confessed his stupid soul to Kenma, years of friendship ruined – oh. What?

“Come on, we’ll be late.” And then there was a tinier hand inside his own, Kenma’s head leaning against his arm for a moment, shaking fingers clinging to his palm. Tetsurou blinked, looked down, catching the shy nervousity in Kenma’s eyes – and finally, he grinned. 

“You could’ve said something. Kitten,” and even though Kenma twitched at the pet name, it still earned Tetsurou another kiss on the cheek, and the small hand still rested inside his own when they entered the gym.