if you haven’t already could u do a kaneki mommy kink x reader 🤪
☆,
cw: mommy kink, lowk mean reader, overstimulation, begging, whimpering, crying, sobbing even. submissive ken. kaneki is pathetic. read at your own risk!
if it wasn’t for kaneki being absolutely obsessed with you, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this predicament..
you were sat at his thighs, hand jerking his dick as quickly as you could before you slowed down. & you cycled between the two speeds.
“hah! please.. please don’t do that..” ken let out.
you smile, he was cute when he got like this.
“why not baby? doesn’t it feel good?”
“mm- mhm! but” you quickened your strokes once again. ken’s eyes rolled back, “but- it hurts! i’m throbbing.. please just make me feel good, mommy. please. please!” tears welled in his eyes, threatening to drop.
he was trying his best not to squirm because he knew it would only annoy you.
“hmm. i dunno ken. have you been good today? do you think you deserve to feel good?” you squeezed his length in your hand, now fondling his balls with the other.
ken was fully crying at this point, you made him feel so stupid. his hips were jerking into your hand.
“yes! i’ve been so good all day, mommy. pl—hmmph. please!” ken’s hands cover his face, he’s trying to wipe his tears away before you give him a real reason to be crying.
your hands came to a halt. “no. nooo! please y/- mommy please! i’m so sorry if i did anything to upset you. please can you touch me again??”
now he was humoring you, “nuh uh kennie. why don’t you touch yourself for mommy, hm? show me you can be a really good boy for me. maybe then i might just let you cum all over yourself” you’re grinning ear to ear, encouraging him.
ken bit back his words. it took every ounce of strength he had to not shriek out.. “no! i want you to do it!” he simply swallowed & opened his eyes. his vision was blurred & he had a very familiar fuzzy feeling in his stomach.
ken grabs his dick & slowly starts to pump his hand up & down. he throws his head back once again, you lean over him to spit onto his tip.. helping him get it a lil messy for you.
“that feel better?” he nods eagerly, “ts so wet mama, makes me wish i was inside your pussy” ken squeezes his dick just at the thought of your warm walls incapsulating him.
ken continues to stroke himself, he’s doing a mix of quick & slow pumps, just like you did. “hahh! feels really good mommy. i think i’m gonna cum” ken looks down at his dick, it’s throbbing, veins popping here & there. then he throws his head back again.
“untunt. count for me.”
“what??”
“count. count until you can’t even remember the numbers anymore ken. fucking count.”
kaneki’s face went completely red. he was embarrassed.
“1..2..3..4..” you had no reason for this except for wanting to frustrate him even more.
2 minutes passed. he was still counting & jerking off.
“122..127..130.. hmmph! mommy i wanna cum!” kaneki was a goner a whileeee ago.
“cum.” you say & then you wrap your lips around the tip of his dick.
the sticky white substance shoots to the roof of your mouth. it’s salty but not in a bad way. you swallow his load & then you kiss his poor tip.
ken is completely out of it.
“kaneki.”
“wanna sleep mommy.. shhh”
bleh.
hope you enjoyed.
have a great rest of your day, afternoon, or night. 0.0
FEATURING - KANEKI X READER SMUT WITH A BITING KINK, FEAT PUSSY EATING AND BITING ALONG WITH KANEKI BEING HUNGRY AS HELL
WC - ABOUT 1.2K
!!NOT PROOF READ!! — this was also an ASK!
The night sky lingered over Tokyo, drenching the city in darkness. Creating an eerie lonely feeling, you laid restlessly in your bed, worrying about your beloved lover Kaneki. You knew far to well that he had began to delay his meals, solely due to the lack of bodies available for consumption. In your peripheral vision, you saw how truly ravenous he'd gotten, with his kagune flaring uncontrollably, the desire for blood was prominent throughout his body, you sighed and wondered if you could perhaps calm him down.
Carefully, you approached him, avoiding his thrasing rinkaku, as you combed your fingers through his hair and straddled his body. He instantly folded, his hands cupping your hips. Just proving how his body was aching with need and desperation. Potentially your body could provide solace for his derived appetite, with a taste of blood too. His eyes softened at the sight of you; the way your hands softly reached for his, your calming demeanour had allowed his body some sort of relaxation. But you knew it wasn't enough.
Kissing his cheek, you slipped off his shirts, revealing his milky abs and sweaty body, his appetite had caused his whole body to be unsettled. Caressing his abdomen, you urged him to slip off his pants, to which he obliged. Naturally, you followed suit, left in your bra and underwear, which eventually would end up tossed on the floor.
Yet, at the sight of your partially nude body, Kaneki's kagune found itself to be overwhelmed by desire and need, his body getting even more aggressive to which he groaned and huffed, attempting to stifle his hunger. To ease him, you decided to let him bite you, just a little, hoping it would soothe him. Slipping off your bra and tossing it to the side, you revealed your bare chest to him, which provoked him to bite down.
Hunger and desperation taking control of him, he bit and bit, leaving a trail of angey hickeys down your soft chest. You whimpered as his aggression, which egged him on, as he licked and sucked at your skin, like it was his last meal on earth. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you whined softly, soft tears making your eyes all foggy.
It didn't take long for him to find the junction between your neck and shoulder, which was oh so sensitive. He attacked it with his teeth, grazing it and fuelling your cries further. Your lip was bleeding from how hard you bit down on it, yet your neck was about to bleed from Kaneki's brutal mauling. In which he intended to prolong, as it provided useful for calming his body down and distracting it from the hunger. After, he began to softly kiss and suckle on each individual mark; like a desperate apology for his famished behaviour.
Catching your breathe, you looked at him, signaling that you were okay with this going further, to which he wasted no time pushing you down onto the mattress, him caging your body. As his eyes, desperate with need latched onto yours, the eye contact oddly intimate, as although his appetite was currently dominating his mind, he still was infatuated with you and your patience, just allowing him to use you as a chew toy.
He couldn't help himself, not with that soft understanding look your eyes graced him with, he grabbed onto your chin and pushed his tongue into your mouth as both wrestled for dominance, he pushed his tongue further and further into the wet cavern of your mouth causing you to mewl and scratch his back, a temporary solution to cause the ache in your core. Cupping his face, you deepend the kiss, as both muscles pushed against eachother, moving voraciously to stimulate as much arousal as they could.
Kaneki finally pulled away, deciding that his tongue wanted to focus elsewhere. He descended between your legs, and pulled your pretty panties to your ankles as he came face to face with your weeping cunt, arousal coating your thighs.
He bit down on your thighs, wanting to litter as much as your body with marks and kisses, he needed this, he needed this badly. He glanced up at you as he placed a soft kiss on your abdomen, causing you to gasp, the sheer placement was tantalisingly close to your pussy. More and more marks grafittied your pretty thighs, before he decided to tackle that sopping vagina of yours.
Steadying himself, he grabbed onto your hips before licking a stripe from your cunt. Eliciting a soft plea for him to continue, in which he happily obliged. His fingers had found their way to your puffy clit, and began to rub it softly, despite the gentle teasing of your clit, he discovered that even the simplest touch caused you to cry out a beautiful mantra of his name. Kaneki's appetite sparked up again at such a beautiful site, to which he bite down hard on your thigh, almost drawing blood from it. He had to relax, to make this perfect.
Finally, his lips captured your folds, suckling on them as his tongue began to push past them, nudging them and playing with the bundle of nerves within them, causing you to huff, your hands immediately searching for that pretty mop of hair in order to gain some sort of semblance. Slutty moans filled your shared bedroom, as you whined out Kaneki's name. Unfortuantely, your prayers fell on deaf ears, as Kaneki was absolutely pussy drunk, his tongue happily lapping at your cunt like a needy dog. With his fingers teasing your clit oh so cruelly, how could such a pretty man be so rough and cruel.
This stimulation just forced your thighs to clamp around him, with his head being caught in the crossfire, he glanced up, then at your plush thigh and bit down, hard. His teeth pinching the skin cruelly, as a few measly drops of blood spilled out, landing directly on his tongue, either saitating his appetite and fuelling his arousal. As, you found that Kaneki began to insert two fingers, albeit you were used to two fingers, the combination of his rough tongue against your folds caused you to fold, you arched your back against the mattress as his two digits prodded their way through your gummy walls, stretching them out cruelly.
Finally, you found your orgasm reaching closer and closer, you yelped out and whined signaling to Kaneki you were gonna cum soon, and to that he kept up his inhumane pace, continuing to prod and tease the bottom of your cervix, as his tongue lapped at your labia. Eventually, you came all over Kaneki's fingers and face, coating them with your slick as he simpled smiled adorable, causing you to pout at him.
He simply licked it off his fingers, appreciating the taste before one final visit to your bloody thigh and licking it softly, the drops of blood were like water in a dessert, and Kaneki wasn't determined to waste them.
After prying him off, you stuck a bandaid onto your thigh, and slipped your clothes back on, eventually rejoining Kaneki in the bed who seemed significantly more docile compared to the beginning, you managed to calm your sweet boy down, and also cause that tent in his pants to go up. But, he seemed far to tired to deal with that now, so you opted to kiss him goodnight while he wrapped his arms around your body, his face nuzzled into your neck as he admired the masterpiece, the marks, he had projected onto your skin.
Ken Kaneki the kind of guy you've always had a subtle crush on.
Ken kaneki the kind of guy you'd arrange to be your tutor. You're not too bad at the subject, but you want to be better. Plus you get to see him regularly. Randomly taking subtle peeks at his face when he's focused on his work. Coming early only to find him already waiting there every single time. You wonder if it's just because of the money or if he's also looking forward to the lessons as much as you are.
Ken kaneki the kind of guy who makes you like him even more by how cute he is, but at the same time drives you insane by how oblivious he seems to be. 'Or is he just immune?'. Brushing your hand against his on purpose when reaching for the eraser, and he apologies for the sudden contact, requesting for more coffee so you could stay together for longer. Keeping strong eye contact with him while he explains a topic until he turns his head away, the tips of his ears turning red.
Kan kaneki who likes older women. An information you bribed out of the loud mouth of his best friend, Hideyoshi Nagachika, over a simple meal of burger and fries. You're grateful about the extra information you got but still annoyed about how easy he was.
Kan kaneki who isn't sure whether you actually like him or whether he's being too hopeful and delusional at the same time, because anything that seems perfect for him has often been too good to be true.
Ken kaneki who really wants to kiss you, when you're putting what he just explained into practice and you completely zone out of your surroundings, hiding part of his face behind a book while secretly staring at you. Noting every single bit of your features, wishing he could touch it badly.
Ken kaneki who you finally get frustrated with and confess your feelings to, making a move to kiss him at the end of a tutoring session. While he walks you back home by dusk.
Ken kaneki who gets really confused and flustered when you confess, wondering if he's dreaming. Refusing to acknowledge the reality until he feels your lips on his and he finds himself wrapping his arms around your waist as he pours out his feelings as well through the physical contact.
Ken kaneki who seriously can't believe he's your boyfriend, and struggles to hide how excited he is while still trying to maintain his seriousness during your tutoring sessions. He's determined to make your grades go even higher.
Ken Kaneki your quiet boyfriend with many secrets that you plan to uncover. One by one, until there's nothing left to hide.
— a past written over and over, yet never truly gone; whispers of memory and longing seep through the layers, haunting the present with what once has.
TOKYO GHOUL; Kaneki Ken x Reader
CONTAINS: violence, gore, psychological tension / trauma, dark and horror themes, blood / feeding, strong emotional intensity
Word Count: 11.4k words and 65, 475 characters
MENU
author notes: apologies for being distant, i have became as occupied as i could ever be. this had to have been a single post, yet i was frequently occupied soo.. apologies once more :'( merry christmas to one and all humankind, advance happy new year, and delayed joyful birthday to Kaneki! ♡
the city breathes around you, a pulse you experience in your chest earlier before your feet even touch the sidewalk. wet asphalt, the scent of rain clinging to iron and concrete, the distant hum of traffic, individual notes etches itself into your senses as if it is a scripture you cannot unlearn. your boxes weigh ponderous in your arms as you climb the narrow staircase, each step creaking underfoot comparably to the solemn chime of a bell in an abandoned cathedral. one and all you carry presses against your ribs; every box is a fragment of who you are, who you were, and who you might never become again.
a somewhat existence stirs beneath your skin. subtle, almost imperceptible. you close your eyes for a moment, pressing a hand to the smooth surface of the cardboard, willing the strange pulse to retreat. hunger nibbles at the edges of your mind, not just for food, but for something unnamed, something forbidden. you force yourself to breathe slowly, as if inhaling the patience of saints, willing the primal coil inside to obey.
the apartment smells of dust and old wood, a scent that speaks of endurance and decay. your fingers trace the grooves of the banister as you ascend, noting splinters and faint scars left by those who came before you. each mark seems like a verse in an ancient text, telling stories of passage, struggle, survival. the coil beneath your skin shifts, subtle but insistent, as though the building itself whispers secrets only you can hear.
.
.
you set a box down carefully, the cardboard sighs beneath your touch. your reflection catches your eye in the narrow window, pale skin, dark eyes, hair falling across your face like shadowed scripture. you study yourself, noticing the tension in your shoulders, the slight tremor in your fingers. even now, years after leaving, your thoughts betray you. memories press against your chest like stones, ghosts of a past you tried to lock away.
the coil inside you twitches, not for packing or unpacking, but for movement you cannot allow. the apartment feels too small, too silent. every sound, the scrape of a chair, a distant drip from the faucet, the hum of the city beyond the walls makes your pulse jump. instinct, perhaps, yet something more personal tugs at you, something intimate, unnamed, and your kagune coils tighter in warning.
.
.
sunlight slants through the window, catching dust motes in a golden halo. shadows stretch long and crooked across the floor, fingers of darkness probing toward you. desire rises again, a blend of starvation, gluttony, greed, and eagerness. subtle and insistent, mingling with longing and guilt. you bite back the tremor, the twitch of the coil beneath your skin that would betray you to the universe if anyone could set sight.
you walk among the boxes, slowly, deliberately. each step is measured, each breath a prayer or a confession. shadows pool in corners, mirroring the coil you keep hidden, reaching for you, testing your control. light falls on the walls like stained glass, indifferent and beautiful. it observes you, bearing witness.
the kitchen smells faintly of the city outside. you set down a small box holding a mug you once cherished. your fingers brush it, tracing the rim absentmindedly. the ache in your chest blooms, a hunger of memory you cannot name. the coil hums quietly beneath your skin, a hymn you have never learned but know by heart.
time stretches, you busy yourself with small tasks, arranging books, unpacking, muttering quietly to yourself, but the sense of something… someone… persists, brushing against your awareness like wind through trees. you cannot place it, cannot name it, and yet every instinct within, the hunger, the silent coil, the tug of memory, tells you the world has shifted.
.
.
.
you pause mid-step in the hallway. not fear exactly, but a prickle along your spine, a quiet summons you do not understand. your reflection in the window stares back at you: dark eyes, pale face, hair falling like shadowed scripture across your features.
you move to the corner of the room, setting down another box and brushing a fine layer of dust from the top. the sunlight slants differently here, softer, almost forgiving, but the shadows remain stubborn in the corners, pooling like ink spilled on the floor. each shadow seems to stretch, reaching, testing your control, brushing against the coil beneath your skin that hums quietly, waiting, alert. you inhale, tasting the faint tang of old wood and city air, reminding yourself that control is not optional.
the boxes form a maze across the floor. you weave between them slowly, deliberately, listening to each step, each faint scrape of cardboard against hardwood. your fingers trail along the edges of stacked books, pausing to read titles and remember why you preserved them: moments of quiet joy, fragments of laughter, pieces of yourself you had thought lost. you feel the coil stir faintly, reacting to your heartbeat, reminding you that even here, in the mundane, the extraordinary lives beneath your skin.
the hum of the city filters through the window. car engines, distant footsteps, the faint clatter of a café across the street, all weave into a tapestry of noise that sets your nerves alight. every sound is a thread tugging at your awareness, coaxing the coil to respond, and you press your palms against the nearest box, willing yourself to focus on the task at hand. but the pull is persistent, subtle and unrelenting, like a hymn sung under your ribs.
.
.
you pause once more, shifting the light with your hands to see the corner of the room better. a sunbeam hits the floor and catches a motes of dust, making them glitter like shards of a broken stained-glass window. each tiny reflection feels like a message, though you cannot yet read it. you shiver slightly as the coil beneath your skin coils tighter, reminding you that instinct has a language older than words, older than memory.
another box, heavier this time. you lift it slowly, muscles tense, feeling the weight, not just of the box, but of every fragment it contains. books, papers, small relics of the self you carried through countless moves, pieces of who you were, pressed together in cardboard and tape. each item you set down echoes in your mind as verses from a forgotten psalm. you arrange, you straighten, you step back, and the coil hums faintly, perhaps a warning, perhaps a prayer, perhaps something waiting to be called forth.
you take a moment to look around the apartment. the air tastes faintly of dust and sunlight, the city outside a living cathedral, indifferent to your presence. shadows move slowly across the walls as the sun shifts, brushing across boxes and floorboards like fingers brushing scripture. hunger whispers faintly again, a reminder of what you are, a shadow of what you carry. you swallow, biting back the tremor in your stomach, the twitch in your coil, a sin you hide quietly from the world.
.
.
.
.
.
hours pass. you arrange, you unpack, you straighten, you pause. you walk to the window, tracing the sill with your fingers, feeling the cool wood beneath your touch. dust motes drift in the sunlight like fragments of memory, floating and insubstantial, yet impossible to ignore. every breath is a prayer, every heartbeat a confession. you sit for a moment, allowing the silence press against you, thick and full of potential, aware of the pull somewhere deep inside, that tether coiled beneath your skin, waiting, patient, insistent.
even as you move back to the boxes, the coil stirs again, subtle, insistent, a reminder that the world has shifted, that the ordinary day is no longer ordinary. each shadow, each sunbeam, each whisper of city noise threads into it, and you feel it in your bones: something waits beyond your sight, something that has already found you. you do not yet see it. you do not yet know. and yet, every step, every breath, every placement of a box feels charged, like the turning of a page in a book whose ending you cannot yet read.
.
.
.
.
.
the morning comes like a slow confession, brushing pale gold across the floorboards and walls. the city exhales softly outside, a living cathedral of sound and motion, the distant hum of traffic, the clatter of unseen footsteps, the faint cry of birds stirring awake. light falls through your window, stretching long fingers across the room, catching dust motes that drift lazily like fragments of forgotten scripture. you blink, heart ticking faster, and feel the coil beneath your skin stir, subtle at first, then insistent, as if the world itself had begun to whisper.
you step to the window again, tracing the sill with your fingers. the morning air presses against your skin, cool and sharp, carrying with it scents that make your stomach tighten: rain on asphalt, faint smoke from distant chimneys, the smell of the city waking. you swallow hard, tasting iron and something sweet beneath it, a hunger you cannot name. your kagune twitches beneath your ribs, a shadow of itself, curious, impatient, sensing something unseen.
you move slowly through the apartment, feeling the weight of silence. boxes remain stacked, unfinished, remnants of yesterday’s labor, but your mind can not linger on them. something pulls at you, a faint tug beneath your consciousness, whispering in a language older than thought. you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and try to anchor yourself, to remind yourself that today is just another day. but the coil refuses to settle, thrumming quietly beneath your skin, a hymn of anticipation and instinct.
the sunlight shifts. a shadow moves across the courtyard below. you freeze mid-step, muscles taut, senses flaring without thought. something, someone, has entered your perception, brushing against the edges of memory and instinct in a way that makes your blood hum. your kagune coils, a soft, forbidden whisper beneath your skin, and you press your palms to your chest to still it, to calm the pull.
.
.
.
and then you see him.
not fully. not yet. a glimpse through the glass of the neighboring building, framed by sunlight like a vision you were never meant to witness. a movement, a curve of his shoulder, a flash of hair catching the light. the coil inside you flares violently now, trembling with something you cannot name. your heart hammers, a drumbeat that echoes in your skull, in your ribs, in the coil beneath your skin. you feel heat pool low in your stomach, your hands tremble, and you cannot look away.
time slows, stretches, fractures. the world reduces to light, shadow, and the faint, magnetic pull that coils around your ribs like chains made of silk and fire. you breathe shallowly, tasting iron, tasting sunlight, tasting longing and fear all at once. every instinct you have screams, a warning and a temptation in the same breath. you press your palms harder to your chest, but the coil refuses to be tamed, writhing with need, with recognition, with hunger.
your vision narrows. the distant hum of the city dims, replaced by the rhythm of your own pulse, a cadence that matches the thrumming coil beneath your skin. you do not know why you feel this way. you do not know why the sight of him, fleeting and fragmented, makes your body betray you, makes your mind ache, makes your heart leap and stutter. and yet you do. you cannot stop it. you do not want to.
the light glances off his hair, a halo you should not see, catching in strands that sway as if moved by a wind you cannot feel. shadows fall across him, making him more solid, more ethereal, a vision and a reality all at once. you can feel the air around him shift, subtly, imperceptibly, equivalent to a prayer held in suspense. your coil hums in response, a quiet song of instinct and memory that you cannot yet name, a hymn you cannot yet sing.
your stomach tightens, a physical echo of your heart’s unsteady rhythm. every nerve in your body alight, every muscle poised between flight and fascination, between fear and need. your breaths are short, shallow, tasting both anticipation and dread. the sunlight seems too bright, too sharp, yet you cannot turn away. every instinct screams at you to remain still, to hide, to resist, but every other impulse pulls you closer, leaning into the thrill, into the heat, into the undeniable gravity of him.
.
.
.
time fractures further. a bird cries outside, distant, sharp, like punctuation. you hear it and feel a shiver run up your spine, coil quivering beneath your skin in response. shadows shift on the walls; the dust motes drift lazily in sunlight, fragments of holy light and dust and memory, all dancing around the image of him. and you are aware, deep in the marrow of your bones, that everything is changed. that the day, ordinary just moments ago, has become a tethered precipice, one glance away from falling.
you cannot move. you cannot look away. you are caught in a silent prayer, a whispered psalm of recognition and denial, of longing and restraint, of sin and salvation. the city exhales, the sun climbs, and the coil thrums beneath your skin, a living hymn that cannot be silenced.
.
.
and then, just as your pulse threatens to split, just as the world teeters on the edge of revelation, he moves, steps that you cannot yet see fully, presence that you cannot yet name. your vision narrows. your heart leaps. your kagune coils tighter, thrumming, vibrating, alive.
you do not yet know him fully. you do not yet understand. and yet every fiber of your being, every whispered instinct, every prayer and pulse and coil tells you the same thing:
he is here. and he is everything.
.
.
.
the morning sunlight spilled over the city like liquid gold, washing the streets and rooftops in warmth that seemed both comforting and indifferent. Kaneki stepped into it, each movement careful, measured, as if the air itself might betray him. the streets were alive with the quiet murmur of awakening: footsteps striking pavement, distant engines rumbling, the faint clatter of something shifting in an alley. he moved through it all with the practiced neutrality of someone used to observing rather than participating.
yet beneath his ribs, something stirred, faint, subtle pulse, a vibration he could not name. it was almost imperceptible at first, a whisper of sensation beneath the skin that made his muscles tense ever so slightly. he dismissed it, attributing it to the normal stirrings of hunger, or fatigue, or the slight chill that morning air always carried. however, it did not disappear.
the coil of his kagune, long dormant, quivered faintly beneath his chest, responding to something unseen, something outside his conscious awareness. a subtle twitch, identical to a bell vibrating in a cathedral, quiet yet insistent. he did not notice it consciously, but instinct registered, a quiet hum threading through his nervous system, tugging at him like a string he could not see.
he walked past the familiar streets, past the rows of shops and apartment buildings. the sunlight caught in the curve of his hair, and he felt the faint warmth on the back of his neck. shadows stretched across the pavement, long and crooked, brushing past him with an almost tangible presence. the city hummed, a living thing, and he moved through it with awareness sharpened by habit. yet even amidst the routine, there was something, something faint, something insistent, that prickled at the edges of his consciousness.
the air carried a strange tang, subtle and fleeting, almost like iron mixed with sweetness. he breathed it in without realizing, a shiver running along his spine that he chalked up to morning chill. but the coil beneath his skin thrummed quietly, responding to it, reacting before he could name why. every noise became sharper in that moment. the scrape of a cart on asphalt, the faint hum of engines, the distant clatter of shoes on concrete, it all threaded through him like a melody only he could hear. the vibration beneath his ribs answered it, faint but growing, a slow song of instinct and tension.
sunlight shifted over the buildings as he passed, brushing across walls and windows in ways that made shadows twist unnaturally, like fingers reaching out, testing him. his kagune hummed again, subtler than a whisper, responding to something he could not see, something he had not yet encountered but whose presence tugged at him like gravity.
he did not see you yet. he did not recognize you yet. and still, every instinct he had, the quiet pull in his chest, the subtle tightening beneath his skin, the tremor that ran through his stomach, told him that the world had changed. that something, unseen but undeniable, was near.
he continued walking, outwardly calm, maintaining the neutral posture of a man used to the ordinary, yet inside, every nerve was alert. every muscle coiled subtly beneath the surface. every beat of his heart resonated with the faint, almost imperceptible pull of something. someone. waiting just beyond his perception.
.
.
the city breathed around him, indifferent, eternal, and yet, beneath the indifferent morning light, the invisible threads wound tighter. the pull persisted. he did not see her, but his kagune, subtle and obedient to instincts he did not yet understand, hummed in anticipation. something was coming, something unavoidable, something that would demand recognition, whether he was ready or not.
he passed a sunlit corner, shadows sliding across walls and pavement, and the vibration beneath his chest grew stronger. it was faint, but undeniable; a quiet tug, a premonition, a silent hymn of instinct that threaded through him, tethering him to a presence he had not yet met.
and still, he walked on, unaware, oblivious, yet already caught in the pull, already drawn toward a moment that would upend the morning entirely, a moment that would change everything.
.
.
.
you experience the weight of him before he even speaks. the room is small, suffused with the quiet gold of morning sunlight spilling across the floorboards, painting long, hesitant lines on the walls. dust motes drift lazily in the beams, catching the light like fragments of something sacred, something fragile. and fragile is what you feel, your heart, your soul, the coils beneath your skin, all trembling in anticipation, in grief.
he is standing there, shoulders slightly hunched, hands fidgeting at the sides as if the world might shatter beneath him. his eyes are wide, innocent in that way that makes your chest ache, that makes your throat close with longing and guilt at the same time. he does not know what is coming. he can not. and part of you wants to throw yourself into him, to hold him until the world stops spinning, yet another part, a darker, hungrier part of you, coils tight beneath your ribs, reminding you why this must happen.
“ I can’t do this anymore, ” you whisper, barely audible, as if saying it louder would shatter something fragile between you. your hands shake, brushing against your thighs, the subtle hum of your kagune beneath your skin thrumming in response to the nearness of him, to the pull of his pulse, to the invisible tether between you that refuses to break.
he frowns, confusion knitting across his face. “ ...What do you mean? ” his voice is soft, careful, tentative, but there exists a tremor at the edges, the kind of tremor that comes when someone senses the world shifting under their feet but can not yet see why.
you can see it, the way his body leans slightly forward, how his eyebrows draw together, how his lips part and close, searching for words. he does not know the half of it. he does not know the coil that stirs and hums beneath your skin, the hunger that twists and pulls at your insides, the danger you carry like a second heart. you wish you could tell him, wish you could explain, wish there were words small enough to contain the enormity of it all.
“ I love you, ” you manage, each word heavy, laden with truth and heartbreak. “ But I can’t… not like this. ” your kagune flares subtly beneath your ribs, reacting to him, to the warmth of his presence, to the quiet thrum of his heartbeat that always seemed to sync with yours. “ I’m not just what you know. I’m… more...I can’t, I can’t drag you into this. Not when you’re.. you're you. ”
the silence stretches between you like a chasm. he takes a small step forward, but he hesitates, uncertainty in every line of his body. “ I… I don’t understand, ” he admits softly, and it is the truth in his voice, the unfiltered, pure truth, that cuts deeper than anything else could.
your throat closes. you want to tell him. you want to tell him that it is not his fault, it has never been. that it is the hunger, the coil beneath your skin, the danger that waits in the quiet folds of your body. you want him to understand that leaving is not because of him, is not because of lack of love, is not because of anything he did. yet the words twist, fall apart in your mouth, and you can only shake your head, swallowing the tremor in your stomach.
“ You don’t have to understand, ” you whisper, voice trembling. “ I just can’t. Not anymore. ” your kagune coils tighter now, vibrating faintly, a hymn of longing and regret that echoes between you. you can feel the pull of him in the air, the quiet ache of the bond you shared, and your body betrays you with a shiver that feels like mourning made flesh.
he looks at you, searching your eyes, trying to find some hidden path, some glimmer of hope, some way to cross the space you are creating. his lips part, close, part again, and he swallows. “ But… I thought— ” his words falter, caught between confusion and hurt, the raw edges of love and disbelief that make your chest split with grief.
you flinch slightly, coil flaring, instinct bristling. the pull, the longing, the love—it all remains there, and you can not reconcile it with the truth you carry. “ I thought so too, ” you admit, whispering, barely holding it together. “ I love you, I still do. But loving you isn’t enough. It’s never been enough.. And I can’t stay in this and keep myself, or you, safe. ”
he swallows again, brow furrowing, and the vulnerability on his face makes you want to reach for him, to tell him everything, to promise that nothing else matters. yet you can not. you can not risk it. not now. not ever. the coil beneath your skin thrums violently, alive with hunger and sorrow and longing, reminding you that this is the only way.
the silence grows heavy, pressing down on both of you. the sunlight feels too bright, too sharp, cutting across the room like shards of glass. dust motes drift lazily, fragments of memory and prayer, and you feel every one of them like a small stab. he doesn’t move. he doesn’t argue. he just stares, and you know, he’s holding back the storm inside him too, holding it with the same careful restraint you’ve tried to maintain.
“ I… I understand, ” he whispers at last, voice trembling but calm, gentle. the words are a knife through your chest. his hands tremble at his sides, fingers brushing together, unsure, aching to reach for you. you feel your kagune flare once more, sharp and aching, responding to the invisible threads of your bond, the invisible coil that still sings for him even as you break it.
you turn first. the movement is small, careful, like a leaf drifting from a tree. every step away from him feels like tearing yourself in two, ripping out a piece of your heart and leaving it behind. his gaze follows you, wide, uncomprehending, and you can feel it pressing against you even as the space between you grows.
the door closes behind you with a soft click, but the echo of him remains, embedded in the air, in your ribs, in the very coil beneath your skin that thrums like a silent hymn of grief. you step into the hallway, breath catching, stomach twisting, every nerve screaming in mourning for the love you cannot keep.
even as you walk away, even as sunlight catches your hair, painting it in gold, you are aware the wound will linger. you are aware that the pull of him will never fully fade. your kagune hums softly, a quiet, relentless echo of what was, and what you can never have.
you hesitate at the threshold of the room, just a step away from leaving, but your feet feel rooted in sorrow. every fiber of your body aches to turn back, to throw yourself into him, to hold him until the world stops moving, yet the coil beneath your ribs twists tighter, reminding you why you can not. it hums faintly, alive, thrumming with grief and longing, a tether you cannot sever.
he takes another step toward you, slow, cautious, as if any sudden motion might shatter this fragile, agonizing moment. his eyes are wide, searching, desperate to anchor themselves in yours. the sunlight catches them and makes them glimmer like fragments of fragile glass, and you feel your throat close, your chest constrict, every instinct screaming at you to reach for him, to tell him everything, to undo what you are about to do.
“ I… please, ” he whispers, voice trembling at the edges, “ please don’t go. Please… I don’t understand. I don’t want this, don’t leave me. ” his words are soft, broken, unsteady, and they pierce your chest like a shard of ice. you can feel the pull of him, a magnetic thread tugging at your ribs, at the coil beneath your skin, begging for release, for reunion, for forgiveness.
you close your eyes, pressing a trembling hand to your chest. “ I… I have to, ” you whisper, barely able to hear yourself over the thrumming of your kagune and the pounding of your heart. “ I love you. I always will. But this… this isn’t something you can bear with me. I can’t keep you safe. Not like this. Not if you’re.. not if…” you swallow hard, voice breaking.
he steps closer, hands half-raised as if to reach for you, to stop you, but fear and uncertainty freeze him. “ I… I don’t care, ” he says, and the words tremble with raw, unguarded honesty. “ I don’t care what you are. I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I… I love you. That’s all I know. ”
a sob rises in your throat. your kagune coils violently beneath your skin, responding to him, to the near-touch, to the invisible string that binds your souls even as your logic tells you to leave. you want to collapse into him, to allow yourself drown in the warmth and the love you have denied yourself, but reason holds you back like iron chains.
“ I… I can’t, ” you gasp, tears spilling freely now, catching in your lashes, blurring the sunlight that streams across his face. “ I love you, but I can’t risk you. I can’t risk us. ” you feel the coil quiver, a sharp, painful vibration, echoing the grief in your chest, a hymn of longing you cannot voice.
he steps closer still, brushing the tip of his fingers against yours, hesitating, just the faintest contact, but it sends a shock through you. the coil beneath your skin flares in response, a wave of instinct and desire and grief that makes your knees weaken. his eyes plead with you, full of confusion, love, and desperation, and you feel it, the ache, the pull, the silent thread you can not cut.
“ I… don’t understand, ” he whispers, voice trembling. “ I… I don’t understand why. Just… tell me. Please. Tell me why. ”
you shake your head, tears spilling unchecked now, hot and unrelenting. “ There’s… no way I can explain, ” you whisper. “ There’s no way you can understand… . I, I’m sorry. I have to go. ”
.
.
.
.
the contact ends. his fingers fall away, the warmth of him leaving a hollow ache that tunnels through your chest. you step back, slowly, painfully, feeling the coil flare one last time, thrumming violently with all the love, longing, and grief you cannot express. your heart pounds in your ears, a deafening drum of loss, a silent psalm of a bond broken too soon.
he does not move, does not reach for you again, yet you feel him watching, every eye blink and shallow breath a silent echo of your decision. the room seems impossibly empty now, though the sunlight still spills across it, oblivious to the heartbreak it illuminates.
the door closes behind you with a soft, final click, and the sound reverberates through the hollow ache in your chest. you walk into the hallway, tears streaking your cheeks, trembling hands pressed to your thighs as if you can contain the storm that rages within. the coil beneath your skin hums faintly, a mournful hymn, a tether that sings of him even as you leave him behind.
you take a few shaky steps down the corridor, each one a betrayal of the love you cannot abandon, each one a promise that this wound will linger forever. every memory, every touch, every laugh, every glance is seared into you, and the ache blooms in your chest like a flame that refuses to die.
even as the sunlight catches the edges of your hair, catching in tears and sweat and grief, you know this is a wound that will never fully heal. your kagune thrums softly, humming the song of what was, the hunger of what cannot be, the love that remains even in absence. and deep in your chest, you carry him still, the fragment of your heart that could not leave him behind, the invisible tether that time cannot sever, the silent hymn of heartbreak that will follow you until the day you see him again.
.
.
.
.
you close your eyes for a moment, leaning back against the edge of the windowsill, letting the morning sunlight wash over you, but it does nothing to calm the storm churning inside. every heartbeat feels too loud, every breath too heavy. the memory of him, the way Kaneki had looked that morning, the tremor in his voice, the raw confusion, the desperate plea, presses against your ribs like a weight you can’t lift.
guilt coils tight around you, sharper than any hunger, twisting beneath your skin. you left him. you left Kaneki, the person who had once been your entire world, and even at this moment, the echo of your absence reverberates through you like a broken hymn. you can feel your kagune stir faintly beneath your chest, subtle but insistent, reacting to the memory, to the pull of him, to the invisible threads that somehow still bind you together.
you blink against the sunlight streaming through the window and try to tell yourself that today is just a day like any other. you unpack boxes, arrange your new apartment, carry bags of groceries up the stairs. each mundane motion, lifting, setting, walking, feels heavy with distraction, each step punctuated by the quiet thrum beneath your ribs, reminding you of him. you can not stop thinking about Kaneki. his name presses at the back of your mind, unbidden, insistent. you see the way his hair had caught the morning light, the tension in his shoulders as he had reached for you, the confusion in his wide, innocent eyes. you see the way he had whispered your name, voice breaking, fragile and raw, and it makes something inside you twist painfully.
even as you arrange your kitchen, setting plates in the cupboards with methodical precision, your thoughts wander. you picture him walking the streets nearby, oblivious to your presence, to the coil that stirs inside you at the thought of him. you wonder if he remembers the way your hands fit together, the warmth of your laugh, the faint hum of your kagune as it had responded to him. you know he does not, he would not, but the ache of what was lost presses down anyway, heavier than you anticipated.
you try to distract yourself. you clean, you unpack, you make coffee, watching the steam curl in spirals above the cup. but even the mundane carries his ghost. you see him in the tilt of the sunlight on the floor, in the curve of a shadow against the wall, in the hum of the city waking up outside your window. every sound, footsteps on the street, a car engine idling, a distant shout, triggers the faint, insistent coil beneath your skin, responding before you even consciously notice. you pause mid-step, pressing your hands against the edge of the counter. the coil vibrates faintly, almost painfully, reacting to something you cannot yet name. your chest tightens, heart hammering, and you realize it is not just memory, it is instinct, a recognition of something still alive, still waiting. and the guilt surges anew, sharp and unrelenting. you left Kaneki. you walked away from him. yet even here, he lingers in your mind, in your chest, in the faint hum beneath your skin. you try to reason with yourself. “ It’s fine, ” you whisper, voice catching. “ You’re safe. He’s safe. You—he… it’s all fine. ” but the coil does not listen. your thoughts betray you, spiraling, replaying moments of laughter, the gentle brush of his hand against yours, the ache of his longing, the confusion in his eyes, the heartbreak you caused.
by the time you finally sit, coffee in hand, the sunlight falling golden across the table, you realize hours have passed and yet nothing has changed. Kaneki lingers in every thought, every subtle hum beneath your skin, every ghost of a memory you cannot shake. you stare at the steam rising from the cup, wondering if the air around you could carry him here, if your kagune could hum loud enough to call him, if you dared to hope that something still remains.
and even as you sip the coffee, mechanical and careful, you know it is useless. you can attempt to focus on today, on the mundane tasks of life, yet Kaneki threads through every second, invisible yet impossible to ignore. your guilt settles like a stone in your stomach, heavy and cold, yet strangely intimate, reminding you of what you lost, what you left behind, and what you can not reclaim, not yet, maybe never.
.
.
.
.
.
you step out onto the balcony, sunlight warm on your skin, carrying the subtle scent of morning streets, fresh asphalt, distant exhaust, something faintly metallic that makes your stomach tighten. you pause mid-step, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, drawn by… something.
at first, it is just a movement across the street. a shadow, a figure threading between the sun and the buildings, light catching the curve of shoulders, the sway of hair. your kagune stirs faintly beneath your ribs, a quiver, a vibration, subtle and almost painful, and you freeze.
.
.
.
.
.
.
then you see him.
Kaneki.
his hair catching the sunlight just so, his posture as familiar as a memory you never thought you had feel again. your stomach twists violently, every breath catching in your chest. he is real. he exists. alive. and yet… he does not see you. not yet.
the coil beneath your skin flares subtly, instinct screaming recognition even before your conscious mind fully processes it. it is as if some quiet, eternal thread has pulled taut between you, humming in resonance with him. the world around you blurs, street sounds fading into the background, light scattering across the edges of his figure like fractured glass.
your heart hammers, a deafening drum in your ears. you want to move, to call his name, to reach across the space that separates you, but your legs betray you, frozen in awe, in shock, in a strange mixture of joy and dread. memories flicker across your mind unbidden: the first laugh you shared, the quiet afternoons, the small, intimate touches, the heartbreak of the day you left him.
he shifts without noticing you, his own steps careful and measured, unaware of the coil inside you thrumming with recognition. the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, the curve of his hands, the way he tilts his head slightly as if listening to a sound only he can hear. and your kagune hums, alive, reacting to him with the quiet insistence of something that knows, something that remembers, something that cannot be denied. you feel a tremor in your chest. his presence, Kaneki, pulls at you in ways you can not name, ways your mind refuses to interpret. it is not just memory. it is instinct. it is longing, it is the quiet hymn of a bond severed but not destroyed.
for a heartbeat, maybe two, you simply watch. breath shallow, hands gripping the railing, stomach twisting. the city hums around you, indifferent, alive, but all you can see, all you can feel, is him.
then, he pauses. just a fraction of a second. and you swear, though he does not look directly at you, your kagune flares, subtle but undeniable, humming in resonance with his own. it is as if his body, without memory, without conscious thought, recognizes something deep, something elemental, something… you.
your chest aches, every nerve screaming, every fiber of your being alert, and yet he still does not see you. the world stretches in that moment, tense, fragile, impossibly electric. you can hardly breathe. you can hardly move.
and all at once, you realize: no and ever will ever be the same. the moment you have been expecting for, both dreaded and longed for, has arrived. Kaneki is there, alive, present, and yet untouched by your gaze. your kagune hums beneath your skin, a quiet hymn of recognition, of memory, of longing, vibrating in anticipation of what comes next.
.
.
.
.
Kaneki walked down the quiet street, his mind occupied with nothing in particular, just the rhythm of his steps, the hum of the city waking up, the morning sunlight brushing against his face.
.
.
.
and then—
something flickered in the corner of his vision. a subtle pull he could not explain, a vibration beneath his skin, faint but persistent. he stopped, instinct nudging him forward even as his mind protested. a shadow moved across the balcony opposite him, a shape that made his chest tighten, a pulse he couldn’t name. the sensation passed as quickly as it came, but it left him restless, uneasy, like a chord struck in a room and left hanging in silence.
he shook his head and continued walking, telling himself it was nothing. yet somewhere deep inside, his kagune hummed faintly, responsive to something he didn’t yet understand, tethered to a presence just out of reach.
.
.
.
.
.
the morning passes in a blur, though the city hums around you in sharp, relentless detail. you move through your apartment almost mechanically, unpacking boxes, placing dishes, brushing crumbs from the counter, each motion precise, controlled, but your mind is not here.
Kaneki lingers in every corner of your thoughts. his shadow across the street earlier, the faint pull in your kagune as if calling out to something long buried, every memory, every fragment of emotion presses at your ribs. you try to tell yourself it was nothing, it was just instinct, just a fleeting tremor, yet your heartbeat betrays you, quick and uneven.
lunch comes and goes. you sip coffee, stir it absentmindedly, eyes catching the sunlight slicing through the window. you imagine Kaneki walking somewhere nearby, oblivious to you, and the ache blooms again, subtle but insistent. your kagune twitches beneath your skin, faint pulses of recognition you can not name, humming with longing and grief you have never quite left behind.
even in the smallest moments, he invades your thoughts. you catch yourself staring out the window, tracing the street below for a fleeting glimpse of him, as if your subconscious cannot bear not knowing whether he is close. each sound, a door closing, footsteps, distant chatter, makes you tense, alert, aware of the invisible threads that still tether you to him.
.
.
.
.
.
.
hours pass, but the ache does not fade. your movements grow slower, distracted, even as you try to immerse yourself in tasks: organizing your room, labeling books, folding clothes. nothing can anchor you. you feel it in every fiber of your being: Kaneki exists, near or far, and you are painfully aware of it.
.
.
.
.
night falls like a velvet shroud, swallowing the city in indigo and the soft glow of streetlights. you stand by the balcony, the quiet of the world outside pressing in, the hum of the city fading to the edge of your awareness. your stomach twists violently, a hunger you can not ignore, a coil beneath your skin thrumming with insistent, restless need. the memory of Kaneki, his shadow across the street earlier, the pull of recognition in your kagune, the ache of the love you left behind, mingles with the raw, gnawing hunger inside you.
you know you can not battle it eternally. every instinct screams, every fiber of your being taut with need. you slip quietly into the shadows of the city, your movements careful, deliberate, almost ritualistic. the night air presses against your skin, carrying the scent of the world alive below: smoke, asphalt, faint perfume, and the metallic tang of life itself that draws your kagune into awareness.
.
.
there exists a figure. alone, vulnerable, unaware. your breath catches, not from hesitation, from anticipation. the coil beneath your skin flares, humming, alive, responding to the pulse of life before you. you shift forward, silent, predatory yet restrained, heart pounding, thoughts of Kaneki tangled with the immediacy of your hunger. he is not here. he can not be. yet the memory of him, of the love, of the pull between you, laces every motion you make.
you strike. quick, precise, necessary. the hunger consumes thought for a moment, primal and sharp. there is a grim poetry in the act, cold, efficient, a dark dance in the shadowed street. and yet even in the midst of it, your mind drifts: Kaneki, the first time your kagune had responded to him, the ache in your chest when you left him, the impossibility of returning to what was. guilt presses at you in waves, mingling with satisfaction and dread.
the body collapses silently, life leaving with a whisper. you kneel beside it, trembling, gaze fixed. your kagune coils, flaring faintly, responsive not just to the kill but to the residue of emotion, guilt, desire, longing, grief, all intermingled. hunger twists again, insistent. you taste it on your tongue, the metallic tang of mortality, and you press a hand to your chest, wishing desperately that Kaneki were here, that he could understand, that this moment could somehow be absolved.
.
.
but he is not, and you know he can not.
you feed. slowly, deliberately, as if savoring both sustenance and the release of tension, the coil beneath your ribs thrumming in harmony with the act. every bite is a mixture of instinct and guilt, desire and despair. you close your eyes, letting the metallic tang mingle with memories of him, the shadow of Kaneki across the street, the pull of your kagune in his presence, the ache of love abandoned yet never gone. guilt presses at your chest, heavy and insistent, yet so does exhilaration, the primal satisfaction of hunger fulfilled. your hands tremble, kagune coiling faintly, responding to the lingering echo of life taken, life consumed, and the quiet, insistent thread of Kaneki pulsing somewhere in the back of your mind.
you retreat into the shadows, leaving the city, and the lifeless figure, behind. the night stretches around you, heavy and intimate, carrying the scent of blood, the quiet hum of your kagune, and the ghost of Kaneki threading through every memory and sensation. you return to your apartment, steps careful, body trembling, stomach easing only slightly, hunger sated but heart torn.
even as you lie on the edge of your bed, staring at the ceiling, your thoughts are consumed with him. Kaneki, the way he had appeared that morning, the curve of his shoulders, the pull of your kagune in his presence, the ache of the love and the loss that never fades. you whisper his name, soft, almost a prayer:
.
.
.
Kaneki…
.
.
.
and in the darkness, with the city asleep around you, you feel the coil beneath your ribs hum softly, vibrating with memory, instinct, and longing. the guilt presses at your chest, but so does the thrill, the pull, the undeniable truth that you are alive, and hungry, and irrevocably tied to him, even across the years and the distance.
you close your eyes, letting the golden glow of your apartment mingle with the deep indigo of night outside, and realize: nothing, nothing, can stop Kaneki from threading through your every thought, every heartbeat, every hunger, every coil of your being.
.
.
.
.
.
the sunlight is harsh and golden, slanting through the blinds with an almost accusatory sharpness. you wake with a start, squinting against the glare, the world around you hazy and heavy. it is 4 PM. Afternoon. too late for breakfast, too early for night. your limbs ache slightly from last night, from the hunger fulfilled, from the lingering thrum of your kagune coiling faintly beneath your skin. you stretch slowly, chest rising and falling, attempting to ignore the ache threading through you. the city hums faintly outside, the distant buzz of traffic and footsteps like an indifferent symphony. hunger is gone, sated, yet the restlessness, the pull, the low hum beneath your ribs… that can not be ignored. you are aware you need air, movement, to get out of the apartment and escape the heaviness pressing at your chest.
the sunlight hits you hard as you push open the apartment door, slanting low and golden across the streets. late afternoon, and the city hums around you, faint traffic, muffled voices, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, yet you barely notice. every nerve is alive, every sense sharpened, every pulse of your kagune thrumming faintly beneath your skin. something is wrong. something is… different.
you walk slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the space between you and whatever waits ahead. you attempt to tell yourself it is just instinct, a leftover coil of tension from last night’s hunt, from the hunger finally sated, yet even as you move, the vibration beneath your ribs grows, faint but insistent, like a low hum you can not ignore. it responds to something in the distance, something familiar, something that pulls at you with a force that feels both ancient and immediate.
.
.
.
and then you see him—
Kaneki.
he is just a few meters away, walking in the dappled sunlight, hair pale, almost white, not bleached, not dyed, white like bone, like snowfall in a place that should not have winter. his eyes… calm, but there is something cold hiding deep inside. like he is here but not fully, a new version of him, written over the old one like ink over erased letters, catching the glow in threads like shattered glass. close enough that if you reached out, your fingers would brush the fabric of his sleeve.
.
.
your stomach drops.
your heart lurches so hard it hurts.
your kagune reacts instantly.
not unfurling, but trembling, sensing the familiar shape of another predatory presence.
his.
but his feels sharper now. cleaner, controlled but dangerous. and gods, your body remembers even if he does not.
your kagune coils beneath your skin flare sharply, not just in recognition but, something more. something layered, alive, a resonance you cannot name. it is him. he is Kaneki. and yet he is not the Kaneki you remember entirely, not just the boy you knew, but something changed, hardened, refined, haunted.
your chest tightens. memories rush through you unbidden: laughter in quiet rooms, the way his fingers brushed yours, the heartbreak of the day you left, the ache of absence stretching over years. and now… now he is here, near exactly thar you can see the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he moves carefully, silently, as though carrying invisible weight. the pull of his kagune hums faintly beneath your own, a vibration in resonance with yours, subtle but undeniable, tinged with confusion, caution, and something raw and unspoken.
your heart hammers violently. the sensation is surreal. seeing him again, after all this time, after all that’s happened, is like standing on the edge of a cliff with the wind screaming around you. you want to run. you want to freeze. you want to fall into him and disappear. you want… everything you can not have.
he notices the shift first. his gaze slides to you like he was already expecting someone to catch his eye.
Kaneki steps forward, voice careful, soft, and deliberate: “ Have we… met before? ” his voice is soft, but there exists a quiet, unnerving certainty to it, as if he has been turning this question over in his head long before he asked you. as if some part of him has been pacing, restless, searching for something unnamed.
a feeling so familiar it terrifies him.
shock sears through you. your stomach clenches. your kagune flares again, hotter, tighter, vibrating as though recognizing something beneath his skin you cannot see. he does not remember? he does not remember you? the words hit sharper than steel. you feel the ache of years of longing and guilt press down, unbearable, coiling around your heart.
you force yourself to remain calm. you must. you have to. your lips lift in a small, measured smile, voice steady, though every muscle in your body is taut: “.. Have we? "
the vibration beneath your ribs continues, insistent, humming, responding to him in a way that makes your fingers itch, your body tingle. there is recognition here, but it is deeper, stranger, layered. something in his presence, his scent, the quiet hum of his kagune beneath his skin, the pull in the air between you, reaches through the gap in memory and resonates with yours.
Kaneki studies you, really studies you. his eyes flicker with something like recognition, or instinct.
your kagune curls tight inside you, overwhelmed, confused, hungry for clarity or closeness, you can’t tell which. he steps closer, tilting his head, frowning slightly. “ You… seem familiar, ” he murmurs, voice soft, uncertain. his eyes, pale and sharp against the sunlight, study you.
you feel it, too, the subtle pull beneath his skin, not just your own kagune reacting, but his, restrained, alive, brushing against yours like a whisper you can not hear but can feel. your stomach twists, your pulse races, and every memory, every emotion, every ache coils tightly in your chest.
you force a light laugh, delicate, casual. “ I must be the wrong person, ” you say, masking the tremor in your voice.
but you are not certain he buys it. Kaneki’s frown deepens, eyes narrowing with curiosity and unease. there is a tension in his posture, a dangerous kind of awareness, as if his body has already decided something about you before his mind can catch up. as if he is fighting the sense of déjà vu clawing at him.
there is a tension in the air now, palpable, almost dangerous, electric. your kagune flares subtly again, a low hum vibrating through your body, reacting not just to him, but to the change, the white hair, the air around him, the way he moves differently than before. something is different. something is alive beneath the surface.
a beat of silence stretches between you, heavy and electric.
.
.
.
.
then—
for a flicker, a split second—
his expression softens.
not gentle, more like pain brushing against memory, fleeting and raw.
your chest tightens with the familiar mix of longing and pain. seeing him now, Kaneki, alive, altered, distant yet magnetically close, is comparable to watching a ghost you thought you had lost for the better. the ache in your heart, the pull in your kagune, the subtle recognition threading between you… it is overwhelming. you swallow hard, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, masking the tremble in your hands.
Kaneki studies you in silence, tilting his head slightly, his presence deliberate, cautious, almost hesitant. and still, he does not remember. yet you can feel it in the air, the pull of his kagune brushing against yours, hesitant, curious, alive. it hums in your chest like a song you have always known yet forgotten the words to.
the street around you is alive, indifferent, distant. yet in this moment, all you feel is him. all you hear is the subtle hum beneath your ribs. all you see is the change in him, white hair, quiet intensity, a weight in his eyes, and the impossible truth: he is real, he is here, and he does not know nor remember you.
.
.
.
you force your expression into calm, measured neutrality, hiding the storm beneath your skin. but inside, your kagune thrums like a heartbeat, the pull undeniable. the tension between you stretches tight, unspoken, almost unbearable, a silent promise of what is to come.
" Have we met before? "
those words echo in your mind as you take a breath, steady your pulse, and force yourself to act normal. yet nothing about this moment feels normal.
the first thing Kaneki notices is the sound.
not a sound he hears—
a sound he feels.
a low hum, buried deep beneath the skin,
a vibration that should not exist,
that was not there a second ago.
.
.
it spreads through his ribs like someone plucked a string inside him.
he stops walking.
just… stops.
for a moment, the world keeps remains footsteps, voices, cars passing, yet everything feels filtered, dimmed, muffled,
as if he is underwater and the surface is miles above him. his breath catches in his throat.
.
.
why?
what is this—
this… pull?
Kaneki’s hand twitches once at his side.
he presses his palm over his sternum, fingers curling against the sudden pressure building there.
it is not pain.
not exactly.
more like… recognition.
his heart stumbles—
one uneven, heavy beat—
and then the hum intensifies, curling warm then sharp inside his chest.
.
.
.
Kaneki closes his eyes for a second. the sunlight behind his eyelids feels too bright. the air feels too thin. it is the same sensation he gets when another ghoul is near, that subtle, instinctual warning—
yet this is different.
sharper.
stronger.
his kagune stirs under his skin in a way that makes his breath hitch.
not emerging—
just waking.
like something inside him has recognized something before he does.
“ …What… is this? ” the whisper slips out before he can stop it. his fingers tense against his shirt. the world flickers around him.
this should not be happening.
he should not react this way,
not to a stranger passing on the sidewalk,
not to anyone.
.
.
.
and yet…
his vision sharpens at the edges,
colors heightening,
sounds stretching and thinning.
.
.
time does not stop—
yet it pulls tight, drawn out,
as everything is slowing around him
while he stands locked inside the moment’s teeth.
.
.
that same pressure behind his sternum twists,
blooms,
expands so suddenly he almost staggers.
.
.
his breath catches hard.
his kagune thrums.
a deep, instinctive pulse,
like it is answering a call it remembers,
even if Kaneki does not.
.
heat crawls up the back of his neck. his arms tense, fingers curling involuntarily.
his senses sharpen toward you without permission.
why? why is his body reacting before his mind understands? Kaneki swallows, throat tight. he takes one step forward.
slow. careful. as if approaching something fragile
or dangerous,
or both.
.
.
his pulse kicks again—
too fast, too loud.
.
.
it feels like—
like he is supposed to know you.
like he should speak.
reach out.
do something.
.
.
.
yet his mind is blank.
.
.
white noise.
static.
a sense of loss so sharp,
it nearly steals his breath.
.
.
he squints slightly, eyes narrowing,
trying to piece together a memory that refuses to exist. your silhouette shifts in the light.
.
.
familiar.
unfamiliar.
familiar.
.
.
his chest tightens painfully.
a flicker—
a flash—
something warm, soft, blurred—
laughter?
a hand brushing his?
something breaking?
someone leaving?
.
.
.
.
it is gone before he can catch it.
and the absence hurts.
.
.
Kaneki inhales slowly, steadying himself,
forcing down the tremor running through him.
what is happening to me? his grip on reality feels loose, slipping.
.
.
he does not know you.
he should not know you.
there is no reason for this
.
.
yet, why does it feel like the world tilted
the moment you stepped into it?
why does his chest ache as if he is remembering a wound he can not set sights to?
why does his kagune burn with recognition?
Kaneki stands there, caught between one step and the next, between instinct and confusion, between fear and something unbearably gentle he can not name.
.
.
the sunlight feels too bright now,
the air too warm,
your presence too sharp,
his own heartbeat too heavy.
and yet he can not look away.
.
.
.
a single thought pushes past the haze, quiet and trembling:
why do I feel like I have lost you before I even know you?
.
.
Kaneki was not prepared for your voice.
not the softness of it.
not the familiarity buried in it.
and definitely not the words themselves.
“ Don't push yourself too hard. ”
.
.
the sentence drifts out of you like it weighs nothing, yet the moment it reaches him, it drops straight into the center of his chest like a stone hitting deep water.
.
.
.
everything around him stretches.
slows.
.
.
the air thickens, heavier, almost syrup-like, as if time itself wants to suspend the scene and replay it in slow motion just to torment him.
Kaneki blinks once. too slow. his breath catches halfway. too sharp.
a faint tremor flickers under his skin, that restless, dangerous part of him. his kagune stirs with a low, instinctive pulse, reacting before his thoughts even form.
a shudder trails up his spine, his coat shifting just slightly with the movement beneath it.
.
.
why.
why you?
why that simple, human concern?
.
.
the resonance inside him keeps tugging, subtle, but insistent. like a heartbeat that does not belong to him, syncing to yours without permission. his kagune twitches again, a quiet, hungry ripple, and Kaneki feels his jaw tighten in a reflexive attempt to stay composed.
you do not seem to notice the storm you just hit him with. you are just… observing him. worry softening your eyes in that way that makes something fragile twist inside his ribcage.
he hates how easily that look slips past the walls he keeps rebuilding.
.
.
still like that…
the words replay in his mind, slow and echoing.
.
.
his lips part, but nothing comes out.
there is too much happening inside him, too loud, too tangled.
your presence feels like pressure against his sternum, soft but undeniable. his heartbeat stumbles, then steadies into a rhythm just a little too aware of you.
a breeze carries your scent past him, warm and familiar. for a second, one dangerous, impulsive second, he almost reaches for you. his hand lifts an inch, fingers curling as if already remembering the shape of you.
his kagune answers that instinct with another deep throb.
.
.
.
he stops himself.
hand dropping back to his side,
jaw locking.
.
.
because he knows himself.
if he touches you now…
he will not want to let go.
.
.
.
his throat works before sound manages to escape.
“ ...Why would you say that… now? ” the question barely makes it out, low and rough, worn at the edges.
his eyes stay fixed on you, unblinking, as the resonance inside him thrums harder, that strange pull tightening, coiling, anchoring him to this single moment with you.
and somewhere deep inside, beneath every fear, every instinct, every ghoul-born reflex…
…something in him reaches toward you anyway.
.
.
you smile.
not wide.
not bright.
.
.
just that small, unbearably gentle curve, the kind that feels like it was made to ruin him in the quietest way possible.
and then you breathe it out, soft as if it should not matter:
“ Take care. ”
two words.
thrown out casually.
yet Kaneki feels them like a blade sliding right under his ribs.
.
.
before he can even react, before he can choke out anything back, you are turning around. that single motion knocks the world off balance.
his eyes follow you automatically, helplessly, the way someone watches a memory walk away a second time.
.
.
he does not move.
he can not.
his hands hang useless at his sides, fingers twitching with the instinct to reach out. his kagune pulses from deep within, a sharp, echoing kick against his spine, like muscle memory trying to call after you even if he will not
why is it reacting like this?
why now?
.
.
he watches the back of your figure get smaller with each step, and something in him pulls tight, painfully tight, like an old wound reheating from the inside.
his breath drags unevenly.
he should let you go.
he knows he should.
a stranger. someone he “ should not ” know.
.
.
but the resonance,
god.
it spikes the moment he loses sight of your eyes.
a trembling surge runs through his body, so sudden he has to brace a hand against the wall beside him. his heartbeat slams once, twice, like it is syncing to an echo that is not his. his pupils narrow, then expand, catching the light in a way that betrays exactly what he is.
his kagune wants to react,
wants to answer whatever you stirred by simply existing near him.
.
.
Kaneki clenches his jaw until it aches.
this is too familiar.
too close.
too… wrong.
.
.
he should not care.
he should not feel anything at all.
yet he watches you walk away, and every step you take feels like his chest is being scraped hollow.
something about the way you said it,
“ Take care. ”
as if you already knew he wouldn’t,
as if you’ve told him this before,
hits a place inside him he didn’t know was still soft.
.
.
he lowers his eyes, breath shaky. why does it feel like losing something he does not even have?
his voice almost slips out.
your name—
something—
anything.
.
.
.
yet he bites it back, swallowing it like poison.
the air around you vibrates, subtle but insistent, a resonance that coils in his chest and spreads through his kagune like electricity. it hums, alive, aware, tugging at him, pulling him forward, pulling him into something he can not name.
every second stretches. the world; the street, the sunlight glinting off cracked pavement, the distant murmur of life, slows until it feels like it exists only around you. he notices the way your hair catches the light, the sway of your shoulders, the tilt of your head as you move. every detail etches itself into him, even as instinct tells him to reach, to close the distance, to anchor himself to your presence.
his kagune stirs beneath his skin, coiling, alive, trembling in recognition. he does not understand why it reacts so strongly, why it hums with a low, insistent vibration, why it aches like a living thing beneath his ribs, but it does. and he knows, somewhere deep inside, that it is you. that it has always been you.
he takes a step forward, slow, careful, stretching out time with deliberate precision, but his heart hammers in a rhythm too fast to match the movement of his body. every fiber of him screams: do not let her go. his hand lifts, reaching instinctively toward you, toward the faint pull that wraps itself around his chest and refuses to release him.
you shift slightly, and the smallest movement sends a jolt through him. the resonance flares sharply, coiling through his kagune, into his chest, up his spine. he swallows hard, every breath trembling, every nerve on fire. the world contracts until all that exists is you, your presence, the invisible tether that pulls him forward even as logic tries to hold him back. his hand stretches, nearly touching your sleeve, nearly bridging the impossible gap between now and what used to be, between what was lost and what he cannot yet remember. time seems to hang, suspended, every heartbeat elongated, every moment taut with anticipation. he can see the faintest tension in you, the subtle movement of your fingers, the way your body shifts almost imperceptibly, yet enough to make his chest tighten, his kagune pulse faster, alive with awareness.
.
.
.
.
and then—
shouts.
the world snaps sharply into motion once more. the quiet tension shatters under the boots slamming against concrete, voices commanding, authoritative. the sudden intrusion fractures the moment, slicing through the tension like glass. the CCG storms in, bodies moving with rigid precision, a solid wall that drags the moment from suspended breath into chaos.
Kaneki freezes. instinct claws at him, every fiber screaming to move, to reach, to protect, to claim the impossible connection that hums beneath his skin, tethering him to you. his kagune coils tighter, alive, a low, insistent pulse that vibrates through his chest, through his spine, through every nerve that cries out for recognition.
you stop, just for a heartbeat, fairly enough for him to catch the tilt of your head, the faint tension in your shoulders, the imperceptible shift of your weight. your presence slices through him like a sharpened blade, a reminder of what he can not yet name, of what has haunted the corners of memory he cannot reach.
the intruders advance. voices bark orders, steel and authority cracking against the quiet pull that binds you both. the distance between you stretches impossibly, unbearable and sharp. every instinct in Kaneki screams to close it, to defy the barrier, to act before time or reason can claim you.
he lunges forward, a fraction, just enough for the air around you to shimmer with the warning pulse of his kagune. the tension coils tightly around him, threads of recognition, desire, and primal awareness snapping with every heartbeat.
yet the wall of bodies, the rigid uniformed line of CCG agents, halts him. his hand hangs in the air, trembling, fingers inches from your sleeve. his chest tightens violently, lungs burning with the need to move, to call, to reach, to anchor himself to the single undeniable truth of your existence.
for a moment, everything freezes. the sunlight gleams off cracked pavement, dust motes drift lazily in the sudden stillness. your eyes flick back, a whisper of a glance, enough to send a shock of resonance coursing through him, sharpening the ache of impossibility.
the moment stretches, taut and electric, the pull between you unwavering, alive, defiant. the world continues around you in rigid motions, yet for Kaneki, for his kagune, for the coil of memory and instinct and unspoken truth, the universe narrows to a single point: you.
the CCG steps closer. orders rise again, voices harsh and unrelenting, slicing through the invisible tether between you. the moment shatters, the spell breaks, yet the pull remains. a quiet promise thrums beneath his ribs, lingering, impatient, waiting.
Kaneki’s gaze does not leave you. every fiber of him burns with the memory he cannot place, the pull he cannot resist. every breath, every beat, every thrum of his kagune screams the same impossible truth: he will find you again.
this is a work of fiction. any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and not intended. all characters depicted are not owned by me and belong to their respective creators. this work is purely fictional and for illustrative purposes only.
have you enjoyed it? : ) i am aware that i stated, it is possible that my Juuzou Suzuya x Reader might arrive earlier, but due to circumstances, ( i'm occupied... ) i am yet to finish it. hence, even this one at the moment. i began this around Nov 24 for i have randomly gained the idea, but is yet to finish it. this is not proofread, and may contain faint errors. i am not certain to continue this one yet, but felt bad for not posting such masterpiece in this occasion. this remains no continuation YET, though i will continue when the time has come. MERRY CHRISTMAS!! ♡
a quick drabble - not proofread + might make a part two?
Juuzou is unsure of this feeling.
It's not achy, not an open wound that bleeds and oozes with each thought of you. Not the feeling he associates with pain - punishment, a fast-paced reckoning.
It's slow. A pause between words, an icy breath taken in to wash over his lungs. He wishes to hold it, clutch it close to his heart and savour the way his skin lights with the softness of it.
It only peeks out of it's hiding place when you're around. It leaks through when you greet him with your smile, when you adjust your hair or uniform, the whispery noise of a bell that draws attention to your laugh.
Around a week ago today, you and him were stationed on a regular patrol of the 17th ward, usually nothing much happens except petty fights that don't escalate. That night, they did.
Before he could even think about using his quinque, you pulled yourself in front of him weilding your own. In a flurry of movements you block a would-be fatal attack aimed at him, giving him a quick smile as if you weren't fighting a ghoul in that same moment.
And when the job was done? You give him that same grin. Covered in a splatter of vermillion dripping down the side of your face, decorating your white coat like blooming chrysanthemums. The moon above casts a silvery glow over your frame like a holy limelight.
"You're all good, I take it?" You said. He only nodded with a slightly-open mouth.
He didn't care about the scene, a pair dead ghouls laying limp before the two of you, grime and vicsera coating the ground and walls of the alleyway. A faraway stench of rotting food covered by the familiar metallic pang of blood.
He thought, in that very moment, in the after-glow of battle, you looked beautiful.
It only got worse from there.
The feeling hooked onto you from inside his heart, pulling him to be closer and closer to you, to seek you out during lunch breaks and to be stationed together for patrols and missions.
The Suzuya squad notices straight away, more aware of human emotions than their leader is. So when he comes to them with an off-kilter demeanour they prepare for whatever the question may be.
"Whenever I see her, it's like everything around us isn't there, or it's far away. It's just us." He mutters, looking at his hands splayed on the table he folded the top half of himself over.
Abara gives the others a look, reciprocated immediately between them all. Knowing, caring but not surprised.
"Sir," Tamaki begins starts to find the words with a small grin, "Have you ever had a crush on someone, or loved someone before?"
The black-haired man looks over at his subordinate, "I don't know. This feels new, it's different."
Mikage shrugs, "Seems that you like Investigator (L/N). Just be normal around her, don't push anything but ask her about it sometime."
Juuzou isn't sure what he meant, but he continued as he was. He did his job. He took down ghouls, he did his patrols, he even filled out a bit of paperwork. But that was all dull; until he saw you time dragged on and the world seemed colourless.
So it continued. The breaks with you, work gossip shared over forgotton cups of tea or coffee, half eaten sweets left on plates as you shared experiences. The treats you'd leave on his desk with the schedule for the day, a wonky smiley face or something else drawn on the corner (he rips those drawings off and keeps them in an empty folder, there's over four dozens of them).
After missions the two of you find the nearest bathroom, whether it be a grimey 24-hour store or a sleepy cafe. You wipe his face down gently with a spare rag, sleeves rolled up, but the pink water still rolls down.
You don't pull away when you brush over the red threads pulled taught across his skin. You simply dig your nail into the cloth and press a little harder.
You don't treat him like he's used to. Something between patronising and tormenting. It's gentle, but not as if he's a child. Rough, but not like a threat.
Juuzou has no idea what this feeling is, all he knows is that he likes it.
Tokyo Ghoul Characters & The Romantic Gestures That They Do
Multi Fandom: Romantic Gestures That They Do
Ayato Kirishima's approach to romance is rooted in his "Black Rabbit" persona: a blend of fierce, unspoken protectiveness and a slowly softening shell. While he initially presents as cold and aggressive, his character development reveals a partner who expresses love through quiet actions rather than grand declarations.
The Silent Shield: Much like how he took on the Black Rabbit alias to divert the CCG's attention from his sister, Ayato will intentionally put himself in the line of fire or take on dangerous missions to ensure you stay in the "safe" zone.
Hyper-Vigilance: Ayato's a very light sleeper and extremely attuned to his environment. If you’re resting, he’ll naturally position himself near the door or window, acting as a constant sentry without making a show of it.
Practical Caretaking: Ayato secretly covers for you when you're forced into tasks you aren't suited for, such as combat or killing.
Acts of Service: Ayato's surprisingly skilled at sewing but will never admit it publicly. He’ll quietly fix a tear in your favorite jacket or a hole in your bag while you're not looking.
Shared Interests: Though he acts tough, Ayato has a soft spot for rabbits and simple things like tropical fish. A "date" with him might just be sitting in comfortable silence while he shows you something he finds genuinely interesting, away from the violence of the ghoul world.
Letting His Guard Down: Ayato allowing you to see him in a state of vulnerability—like falling asleep near you or letting you see him without his mask—is his highest form of intimacy.
The "Stay Close" Tug: Ayato might not hold your hand in a crowded area, but he’ll keep a firm grip on your wrist or the back of your jacket to make sure you're right beside him.
Aggressive Comfort: Ayato's affection can be rough around the edges, involving lip biting during kisses or pulling you close with a growl if he feels you're getting too far away.
Height Sensitivity: Ayato's insecure about his height, so he particularly appreciates it when you lean into him or make him feel like the "protector" despite his "short king" status.
Jake was home again, after weeks of not seeing him he was finally home. The twins were off from their first year of school and all Lila wanted to do was spend an entire day with her day.
So when Jake finally got home on a Tuesday Lila jumped into his arms.
As Jake hugged Lila back he took in the living room, all four of you were still in your pjs, the living room was a mess. Matthew was laying on your chest as he snuggled his favourite teddy bear that uncle rooster had given him when he was born, Luke was watching some kind of superhero movie on the tv and Lila’s color pencils were all over the coffee table.
Jake hugged Lila extra strong before setting her down again and walking over to you to place a kiss on your forehead before taking Matthew from your arms and going to put him in his bedroom.
As Jake comes back into the living room Luke was still absorbed into the tv, and Lila had sat down to continue her drawing.
Jake slid over and laid beside you on the couch, stroking up and down your side.
He was finally home again, and it was times like these where he hoped his next deployment wouldn’t be for years to come. And although he knew that wouldn’t be the case he was allowed to dream, allowed to hope that he wouldn’t miss any more firsts.
Ayato always prided himself on his hearing. Even for a ghoul, it was exceptional. He had always been able to hear even the smallest detail in a conversation. The rustling of clothes, the quick inhales and exhales, he could hear it all.
It made for awkward encounters in the apartments around him. Whether that was sex, arguments, or a combination of both, he could hear every syllable.
Earplugs became his best friend when he was home in his apartment complex.
At least… until he heard something about you.
What sounded like a glass shattering against the wall or floor sounded above Ayato.
With a frown, he paused his video game, and pulled off his noise-canceling headphones to listen better. He didn’t know much about you, only that you lived above him. You were the only one to welcome him into the complex when he moved into his little two-bedroom apartment.
He knew some vague information about you.
You lived in apartment 305B, just as he lived in 205B. You kept to yourself but always made it a point to wave to him when you passed each other in the halls.
You were cute, quiet, and, more importantly, you were human.
Someone shouted. Something about lying. And then you responded.
You sounded like you had been crying.
Another glass, more shouting, more crying. Ayato stared at the ceiling for a moment, debating, thinking, mulling his choices over. Then, he made a choice.
His game was switched off. He pulled on trousers over his boxer shorts and zipped up his jacket. He was out the door before he even knew what was happening.
What was he going to do? Fight your significant other? Kill them? He had put that all behind him, what with the incident with his brother-in-law last year. And while he hated the phrase, he considered himself a changed man. And that meant he would actually help humans in need.
A short elevator ride up to the floor above him, down the hall, third door on the right. He paused outside your apartment door, pausing from knocking on the door.
What was he doing?
Before he could think too much about it, Ayato took a deep breath and knocked.
You opened the door a moment later, sweater zipped up to your chin despite the humid summer heat. You swallowed thickly, shifting from side to side,
“Mr. Kirishima! How can I help you?” You said, the cheer in your voice obviously being fake. Ayato shrugged,
“Just wondering about the noise I was hearing. Is everything okay?” He said quickly, and you blinked, staring dumbly.
“Oh! The glass? Sorry, I’m just a bit clumsy! I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’ll be more careful—”
“I meant the yelling. Is everything okay?” He reiterated and watched your face fall.
“Must’ve been the wind.” You say quickly and go to shut the door. But Ayato can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong. So, he wedges his hand in between the door and the doorframe and stops you.
“Oi! What's the holdup? Get back in here!” Comes another voice, and your expression twists in a brief flash of fear. It wasn’t on your face for long, but it was there.
And for whatever reason, it hurt Ayato’s heart to see it.
But before he can do anything, you shove his hand off the doorframe and shut the door hurriedly in his face.
The next time he goes up to your apartment, it’s a week later.
Ayato is woken up in the early morning by a slam of a door that rattles the walls of his apartment. Instinctively, he feels his kagune pop and fizzle underneath his skin, and he knows for a fact that his kakugan is turning his eyes into a nightmare of black and red.
He can hear some angry choice words coming from your partner, and the words make him grimace. No one should be talking about you that way. So, again, he rolls out of bed, throws some clothes on, and heads upstairs to your apartment. He doesn’t even bother to put shoes on.
You take a few minutes to open the door. And, like always, your sweater is zipped to your chin.
“I said I don’t want to talk—Oh… Mr. Kirishima… You heard all that then?” You trail off and peek around the corner as if waiting for your partner to come storming around the corner. Ayato nods,
“I heard the slam, at least. Everything okay?” Once you’re satisfied that your partner isn’t going to come back, you sniffle and shake your head.
“No… Everything is not okay. But I don’t want to bug anyone, so let’s just say that it all is alright?” You say and go to close the door in his face again.
But… Like last time… Ayato stops you.
“Want to go get coffee?” He blurts, and the door pauses, mere centimeters from shutting all the way. He sees your watery eyes peek out of the crack and swallows.
What was he doing?
He really shouldn’t get wrapped up in a human’s business.
The cafe is quiet, with few people, as you and Ayato take a seat at a booth. You order your drink of choice, and Ayato orders his usual go-to coffee. Black, no cream or sugar. Once you’re settled in with your drinks, you seem to relax, if only slightly. And in turn, that makes Ayato relax.
“So…” He starts and watches you hide a flinch. Your hands begin to shake.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Please, if only for a little while.” You whisper, but as always, Ayato’s exceptional hearing picks up on it.
And your tone of voice just breaks his disgusting black heart.
So… He shrugs, sips his coffee, and changes the subject.
“What do you do for a living?” He inquires, and your eyes shoot up to meet his own in shock. It's as if you’re surprised he actually listened to your plea.
When was the last time someone actually listened to you?
“I—I’m a teacher,” You say, and he feels his lips twitch in a small smile. You reminded him a bit of Hinami.
“What grade?” He asked, and you huffed out a quiet laugh, and his heart soared at the sound.
“I teach kindergarten. What about you?” At this, he pauses. Could he say what he actually did? Aogiri Tree wasn’t a thing anymore, nor was the CCG, but there was still a stigma around ghouls.
He then remembered the yelling at your partner. It was always about lies—lying about this and lying about that.
So he decided on the truth.
“I work alongside the Tokyo Security Committee with the United Front.” He said quickly and didn’t miss how you stiffened. Your normally floral perfume gained a sharp, bitter scent of fear, and he could hear how your coffee cup rattled in your hands.
“Are you a ghoul?” You whisper, and he nods,
“I am. Does that scare you?” He asks, and you nod honestly,
“But…” He glances up from his coffee and finds your gaze locked on your lap.
“But what?” You finally meet his gaze, and a single tear drips down your face.
“You scare me less than my partner.”
It’s at that moment that Ayato decides that he doesn’t want you to live like that any longer.
“Come with me.” He says quickly, and you frown,
“Pardon?”
“Come with me to the United Front. You’re a human, but they’ll take you in. I have a friend, Fueguchi Hinami. She’s a teacher as well and could use an assistant.” He implores you, reaching across in a moment of bravery to take your hand. You flinch but don’t pull away.
Instead, you seem to mull it over, nod to yourself once, and offer a watery smile.
