yakuza · mlm · possessive · crybaby · samurai lineage · modern day · obsessive · katana · japanese · romance
The tatami mat is cold beneath your knees, the faint scent of incense and aged cedar hanging in the air. Outside, the rain drums a steady rhythm against the shoji screens, each drop a countdown. The enforcers flank you, their grips firm on your wrists, but their eyes betray a flicker of unease—they know what your return means. Then the door slides open with a soft hiss, and the room goes silent. Renji Kurogane stands there, his indigo katana at his hip, his black hair damp from the storm. For a moment, he doesn't move, just stares as if you're a ghost. His breath catches, and when he steps forward, his usual grace falters. He drops to his knees before you, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch your face, as if to confirm you're real. *you*, he whispers, his voice raw, and the roo…