#vinylnotes

This is something really personal to me, and I hope to connect with a few more of you, so this fanfiction is a bit unique something different from all the usual kenma comforts I've written. For the next blogs i'm still uncertain how it would go, but, I want to try.

Kenma skips a few work meetings to come home early.

The cursor had a strange sort of beat to it, it felt like it was moving with thoughts of it's own, it passed through a wall before forming into a text of it's own, though according to the editorial rule you had to wait for atleast two weeks before you start editing your work, or so you've heard.

You reached for the packet of biscuits laying around ideally, another simple cross marked on your notes app, it glared at you, you simply ignored it tucking a strands of hair behind your ear as you resumed work.

Kurapika X Reader||Falling In Love In Yorknew City

Imagine meeting your beloved friends Gon, Killua, and Leorio in Yorknew City as promised on September 1st. Getting tangled with the Nostrade family, and when a prophecy ignites by Neon, you're forced to confront your feelings for Kurapika, and he's utterly terrified that his darkness would taint the light in you. Happy Reading!

I'm always trying to find Kurapika gifs of the 1999 version for the absolute darkness embedded in every frame, but this is adorable.

Kurapika's eyes scanned the prophecy, in his hands, his nails digging into the parchment, re-reading it multiple times to confirm this wasn't a horrid dream. The rain outside pouring felt like shackles, it would wash away this terrible sequence of a night, it was an intense meeting with the Nostrade family, just when the news about him having to accept being a hitman wasn't something that he had buried himself in, the earlier pleading of his voice died out like a candle.

What was the precise purpose of making that statement?" His voice was measured, as if trying to restrain that anger looking at you, hoping you would provide some sensical answer but, then his scarlet eyes flickered, to the bed where Neon's aura flickered like a static, once...then twice...then once again like a broken windtape before, the pencil fell limp on the maroon rug, Kurapika's Gyo was neutralized within the next second he was aldready moving gently pushing you out the way.

"It flickered...her nen beast went to sleep?" Melody asked her voice was melodic like a note, or a fragments you couldn't really discern it. "That's terrible" Melody mumbled, her ears had mapped out, Neon's exhausted body, the lights overhead flickered before the power was cut short.

Kurapika, finally turned on all the lights by the floor and wall, little hues of golden made warm glows across the room it was like a welcome balm whatever, warmth it could offer in such a cold room was given.

In just a few moments, half carelessly, did he jeopardise your safety? He was too focused on his upcoming assignment, the shipments were important if there was forgery, even the Kurta clan eyes, his people might be fake, but he should've been more vigilant, it was his damn Kurapika barely registered your hand, hesitant to touch his shoulder, before you could pull away; he clasped it.

"Let's review the prophecy." He said finally, as if to assure you

Parchments are the souls For Transactions and look-alikes. You are a wisteria flower. Your beleaguered with ink. Your poetry has reached the fog, play a game of Caraval Cards the stars have insisted for you. The red eyes customer won't be with you. Toss the coin for a secret. For that is your only currency. Your mortal hands held a star. Which forgot to burn you. Deity is tied...

The last lines of the prophecy was trailed of, and Neon was left completely exhausted, it wasn't in verses her pencil was quivering, it wasn't a prophecy for kurapika it was an omen for him.

His hands shook at the line which said, the red eyes customer won't be with you. Don't tell me he thought, he would be in the auction house tracking the scarlet eyes. His hands trembled before you took the sheet away gently from his iron clad grip, his hand then reached for your shoulder tightening around it like a vice.

"I won't be with you! Damn it, you need to leave Yorknew take gon and killua with you."

You placed your hand around his trying to ground him, "Kura, your not listening to yourself...you saw Neon's aura flickering the beast stopped writing after a while, it's an incomplete prohecy" you tried which slices through his panic as he pulled you closer to him his hand enclosing your back to him ignoring Meldoy and Basho who were equally stunned at the display of reverence from the usual stern man they had grown used to working with.

"Your right...you always are"

That same night, he burns the midnight oil first their concern was to get Neon out of Yorknew city the troupe attack had shaken the underworld even though it was just a public auction it was a display of power and dominance that could earn a mafia community a rank, or influence that might come in par with elite mafias or the ten dons though it was a far fetched idea it was plausible, the Nostrade family with Neon's nen could do it.

"Kura...let's have dinner you've been at it for hours" your voice pulled him out of the trails of paperwork, he prided himself for sorting out, it was a boon and bail

"Alright.." he mumbled, a sigh of relief escaped you as if you had been holding in the breath the whole day, you passed the next few hours with Kurapika watching an old document featuring an alien invasion it was sticking out like a sore thumb in the Nostrade mansion but, you both needed that moment of amusement.

"I think...when the prophecy said play a game of caraval cards it was referring to Hisoka."

"Seems like Hisoka is everywhere almost omnipresent...it's annoying" you added pressing your palm to your chin.

Kurapika straightened his spine, looking away from the documentary his eyes fixated on every Micro movement you might make. He didn't want to miss it now, anything that could offer him a glimpse of your thoughts he would take it.

The city lights were a tapestry of neon lights in all shades, the streets had ears in them the phantom troupe lingered in the shadows of the auctions you needed information on, not the public auction the strings connecting like a spider web, each rumour, glimpse was a currency a currency that was terribly limited. The city was glamorous, you looked away back to where kurapika was his eyes seem to aldready know.

"You are not to keep me in the dark regarding this, if we move we move together you are not infiltrating the public nor the underground auctions."

Kurapika's voice was stern, the calculative strategist clicking back in place like a lock but, you knew the man underneath the slight tremor of his fingers tips, the scarlet eyes that brims behind his contacts, it was a plea, a desperate plea from a man who was willing to move heaven and Earth for you.

You didn't know if that terrified you, or made you feel like Yorknew city could be safe, if just maybe for a few moments.

_____________****______________

When you were warned villains won't give you happy endings, but the warning never reached you...

The Cathedral was just a whisper of Nen coating the halls like a persistent burr; the residual in this place was always trapped, like this was all it knew and a few candles were the only source of light in the moon was pale, Chrollo had a half-restored journal open on his lap, the hexagon showing the six Nen types was indefinitely flawed if compared to the research now if this particular technique would be applied the backlash would increase like a drunk person's antics, insensible but, the sheer idiocy of such a theory and the tragedy was a twisted melody he could appreciate a broken Nen ability connected so deep with the user's aura it was a double edged sword which defied some of the most rigid rules of Nen the last time he saw something like this was with the Nostrad girl it seemed, Chrollo did not dwell on that thought to much he had other matters to attend to with an easy elegance he set the journal book down it's unassuming purple tint a stark contrast to the grim finality of the book.

The December air had its own candour of snowy patterns in the city; city people were never bothered by the snowflake games that could be played, rooms would be lit with firewood, heaters, the warmth seemed ever present even in a city like Yorknew, but he would be leaving the city. Another city would feel the aftereffects of the chaos the Troupe had brought, including ruined auctions and a massacre. Chrollo held out a single piece of what looked like a typical grocery store receipt, almost reverently folded and tucked at the underside of his dark blue coat, before making his way to the location.

Every two days, usually at Tuesdays, Thursdays and occasionally on the Sundays Chrollo stopped by a cultural looking Jazz bar, the melancholic air was fresh like a time capsule but with a bizzare twist it might as well belong well into the 80's or if blended right into the early nostalgic 2000 's, his eyes found the woman with surety, tucked at the furthest corner from the usual dance where patrons moved about their days her dress was elegant, he found himself adding it to a curation that's what it felt like. A dance with a stranger who moved through the world half traveller when he boarded a train, there almost seemed to be like a destination or at least an illusion of one before he was back to being a wanderer. "Good evening, Miss. Have you eaten?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his obsidian eyes finding the woman, her features illuminated under the lights of the jazz bar. It was perfectly polite, just like the stranger was.

"I was just about to" " she answered, her fingers paused on the page, the noise around the cafe, the buzz of the familiar city charm seemed almost laughably irrelevant, Chrollo's smile gentlemanly and utterly maddening at the familiar routine.

They dinned as usual on these days, the handsome stranger would cut out slices of the fishes separating the bones with an almost ritualistic grace before picking it up with his chopsticks to her plate the wine was a familiar but the berries seemed to be grinded just a bit deeper it just was, it was painfully obvious, "Would you like dessert? The Tiramisu I believe is made with a sort of finality to it, the taste changes when one chooses to indulge in it" he explained no more than that. The woman's curiosity was piqued, "How would you know that, Mister?" she asked, taking the offered fish, the spices never overwhelming, which was washed easily down the crimson wine.

"What makes you think I'd be having a late-night coffee craving?" The man chuckled, his voice soft with amusement, how wonderfully he played the role, the woman thought as she took another bite. "You wouldn't want to miss such a delight before we check in", he said, sipping the wine himself.

The tiramisu was exactly how the man guessed it would be; it was perfectly balanced; the cream was fresh like a late-night indulgence slightly skewed towards Chrollo.

It happened as the weeks would pass by, this handsome stranger who seemed to have a ledger of secrets, and a private indulgent library of works, works from fictitious grievances to mock the irony, to Nen diagrams old and new to find the in between lines to create a blend of victory, it was his life.

The young nights dipped across the enclosure. Each inn was a perfect curation by Chrollo, the temperature just cools enough to make each slip of his hand across your skin tingle half with anticipation, and drunkenness which had nothing to do with the earlier wine she had, her eyes would find his, which seemed to hold hers. Those eyes alone had so much to say, but said nothing at once. She could only feel his hands mapping out the frame of her body like an orchestrator who was writing his beloved masterpiece, but just hadn't decided the ending yet. Maybe it could be an ongoing story? He found himself unable to decide.

Each kiss pressed to the pulse over your neck seemed to whisper like a ghost that would follow her, and she would wonder if she'd meet this Stranger again. He spoke about ancient cities like he was the architect of it all, and he just happened to share a few of his musings with her along the way until she stopped by the cafe to find the man in their usual place, engrossed in another book in a language she could not make out.

Her hand would tangle across his strands; they fell between her fingers like ink, impossibly soft. He would look at her as if daring her to meet his lips first, but it had these strings, a musical note he was composing just for these nights.

His tone was almost conversational, picking on the strangest things. The woman found herself leaning in to hear him, "Miss, tell me, is there anything you desire I can bring to you?" he asked, pressing her to the luxurious mattress. The leader of the troupe truly felt like he was unravelling.

Indulge in a Freshly brewed content about kenma Kozume, for those who crave a romance that doesn't need loud gestures, every moment the tea on your windowsill on a windy evening curled with a man who will hold you, it's like a whisper a small leaflet tucked between an Encyclopedia of butterflies speices and habitats, and you turned it open, this post offers you a homecoming.

Kenma is the type of character which makes you want to slow down, take a sip of comfort which feels suspiciously characteristic.

It was quiet, the sunlight was peeking shyly from the curtains as if it was keeping this a secret just for you, atleast that's what it felt like for you, everyday you would wake up just before dawn put on an oversized hoodie you swear two of you could fit, it was always colder in the morning, you laid out a blanket gently nudging the calico cat who deemed you to irrelavent to be spoken to just curling on the blanket, opening to the bookmarked page where you stopped last night, 5am tje clock showed. Two more hours before the whole gym would be filled with shouts from every corner one toppling over waterbottles, Bokuto nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet with a "Hey Hey Hey" a flash of a smirk curled before it was gone, the chaos itself had a new format everyday, with a tincture of exasperation from the third years who swore they were not joining in, until you heard them whisper a tip. ..........

The book in your hands was just a pocket sized journal of all sorts, you found it in a tucked away second hand bookshop, an old man watered his garden, the lush green leaves, the smiling lilies showed signs of being pampered so throughly they winked, you hadn't gone in the time capsules store with any particular list, it was just one of those days you tossed the coin, wherever your hand paused the spine in brushed, this journal was hidden, a few minutes had passed. The only sounds were the sursurus of textured paper, and the cat's purrs, which were now kneading on the blanket in pure feline bliss. ..........

"Can I take the seat there?" You suddenly heard someone barely above a solid voice, but stable enough, you didn't look up from your book to know who it was the voice, his eyes briefly met yours before he withdrew, "Go ahead" you said easily, bringing the cat now to your lap, 'strike two' it seems to say. "He likes you", Kenma said, a curious observation. That was his cat; quiet as he was, he wasn't the most energetic cat. The blankets seemed like a siren's call for the cat. "This grumpy little guy? He's been here every morning." Kenma's eyes blinked as he hummed in agreement, a tap of the console, the soundtrack followed a single note, almost like a Lofi must be a puzzle game, you thought. ........

This was how the mornings were passing by in the training camp, every morning before the world got to loud, you would be rushed back to your managerial duties to karasuno it was fun there was often leisure times between matches to hang out with yachi or Kiyoko, the topics would seamlessly flow around school politics, gospel considerations, then movies and animes this topic would fill a couple of scripts refrences were made, then discarded before being brought up again in the strangest way possible. The heat was beating down, a sheen of sweat ghosting the players' skins, the flourish of all things said, and unsaid was palpable in the air. That afternoon the match against Nekoma came to an abrupt stop when Hinata yelled a sharp accusation so thick it made the air freeze, "Kageyama! You slacked, damn it," Hinata yelled, the ball falling limp like a rag doll. The air seemed to freeze as Kageyama grabbed Hinata, "Me. Slacking? Kageyama asked as if daring Hinata to repeat it. .........

Now, that happened two days ago, it was a boiling point that finally decided to co-crust, the silent treatment was an agreement between Hinata and Kageyama. One night, you were packing up some equi. It was quiet, you liked it that. You heard footsteps turning around your shoulder. Your shoulders tensed before relaxing, "Kozume..." you. The formality made his lips twitch, which was almost imperceptible to anyone but him. You knew him long enough. Kenma held out a drink, the wrapping was cold coffee, with a sweet indulgent cookies and cream Pocky. ..........

"You didn't have... to.." just before Kenma was about to pull it away to just tease you in that sky way, you caught his wrist, "I never said I didn't want it!" A soft, restrained laugh, that kenma covered it up, with his hoodie sleeve, "Hoodies, in the warm weather? How come you're not sweating bullets?" Kenma shrugged, "It doesn't really bother me" you said unpacking the drink it felt like a soothing balm when it touched your taste buds before offering him a taste, "I'll get a sugar rush" he said but sipped it anyway "Give me the Pocky" he said taking one of the chocolate sticks for himself. Kenma gently hands you some, thing his hoodie. You, didn't question it, taking it from his hands, "The puzzle game was nice...I liked the witch's house and the storyline about the two cats was... warm", you said, mentioning that random fact, you got a thoughtful hum from your boyfriend. ........

"Do you want to watch me run through the game again? I'm building the witch's inventory" You looked at him, surprised, "Since when?" A flash of genuie lilt in your voice the witch's inventory was one of your favorite parts in the game, it was a splash of melancholic violet that seemed to hold starlight in it's hands, and midnight black, it was tinted with more blue something that reminded you intensely about a leather journal with forbidden facts, it wasn't kenma's favorite but he had probably picked up on the tension on your shoulders, it was equally comforting and utterly scary to be seen so thoroughly anyway, you agreed with a soft nod putting the equipment back. .........

As you lay on the futon, your head resting on his shoulder as he adjusted himself to accommodate you more freely, holding out his console, he opened the page, the soft rhythmic taps on the console, the glitter sound effects, and the predictable piano keys were lulling you to a peaceful state of sleep. .........

Kenma had watched catching, the hitch in your breath when the loud commotion between Hinata and Kageyama had alerted you, you had come in to see what the issue was, he understood it better than anyone, he had to live with the noise everyday until he found his solace in the console, all his focus could be on the screen variables making sense, NPC characters being useful, inventories getting stocked, allocating resources it required his presence when he was outside, there were to many unpredictable variables and he couldn't account for all of them, but he wanted to try for you, "Too..loud" he suddenly mumbled clearly referring to the afternoon incident you buried yourself deeper into his hoodie the scent of Freshly apple pie a telltale sign, "you ate it up" his ears turned a subtle shade of red caught guilty, "Statistically, the crust needed a taste testing, and apples were fresh...it was optimal time for consumption it just also happened to be in my line of sight" he said all in one breath. "Whatever helps you sleep, kitten" the familiar nickname made him freeze like a deer caught on headlights. "Unfair tactics" ..........

A few hours he sets aside the console a rarity for kenma, these were his peak gaming hours the warm blanket was wrapped more securely around you, "You logged of early" your groggy tone formed before nestling to his chest, "Mm.." he wrapped his arms around you ignoring the usual risk assessment his mind formed, it was past curfew they shouldn't be here if anyone saw they would be probably given a punishment? New gospel before kuroo comes in, he said to himself. Before darkness envelopes him the screen switching of, for now the steady breaths anchored him right here, this mattered. ........

These were how the days in the training camp passed for you and kenma, it almost felt like a creation of a sanctuary there were almost dramatic stolen moments in the training camp, kenma often teased you about the battle of the garbage dump, you would see the flicker of light through his endearing golden eyes as if like a cat making a bait for his favorite person to take it, the person who would bake him apple pie, he had searched up countless game recommendations for you, each one curated to fit something cozy, something warm the way he saw you. You were the warmest patch of sunlight, the rivalry was secondary or an afterthought., a footnote in a journal.

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December feels like the time, when kenma feels most alive for me it feels like the page to this book had always been there.

Thank you to everyone who got me to 2500 likes!

this moment is truly really beautiful for me beacuse i love these characters i'm writing about and i always wanted to really express how much i love them for others to enjoy it.