Mouse Trap [Oneshots]
Blood Oath-1
The scent of burning incense lingers in the air, heavy and cloying, as if trying to mask the blood that once stained the wooden floors of the Himura estate. Though years have passed, the memory of that night clings to the walls like a shadow refusing to die.
You were only seven when your world was painted in red.
The storm outside had roared like a beast—thunder cracking through the sky as if the heavens themselves protested the act that was about to unfold. Inside, in the vast, dim-lit hall of the traditional compound, you had sat quietly in your room, tracing your fingers over the petals of a chrysanthemum pattern stitched into your kimono. Your father, Himura Daiki, the head of the feared Himura-kai syndicate, had told you that chrysanthemums were a symbol of honor. Dying with one in hand, he said, meant dying with pride.
But he hadn't died with pride. He had died betrayed.
That night, he was found lying in his study, a blade through his chest, the calligraphy he had been writing soaked in blood. There were no signs of struggle—just the silent ending of a man who had trusted too deeply.
And then came Tsukishima Ren.
Already your father’s right-hand man, Ren was the only one who stepped forward to take you in. But unlike the cold and ruthless reputation he held in the underworld, he never passed that darkness onto you. He had sworn to your father—no matter what happened, you would never fall into this life. So, he raised you not with harsh discipline or weapons, but with warmth. With goofy grins, awkward dad-jokes, and late-night snack raids. He made sure you laughed. That you felt safe. That you never had to know the monsters he kept at bay behind the scenes.
And for ten years, he kept his promise.
Now, in the present—
The final bell rings across the schoolyard, and students spill out of classrooms like birds released from cages. You walk with a small group of classmates, your dark hair tied loosely, laughter tugging at the edge of your lips as one of your friends shares a meme you don’t quite understand—but you laugh anyway.
Your friend
“Hey, Himura-san,” *nudges you with a grin.*
Your friend
“Is that a car waiting for you?”
You blink, eyes drifting toward the sleek black car parked just outside the school gates. The windows are tinted, but you already know who’s behind the wheel.
Y/N
"Uh yeah.. that's my bodyguard." *hesitately*
Your friend
"Oooh!! That sounds so cool!" *teases*
You just smile awkwardly and wave goodbye as you approach the car.
The passenger door clicks open the moment you near, and you slide inside, setting your bag on your lap.
Ren
“I heard what you said there, little minx,”
Ren doesn’t even look at you as he speaks—his left hand is on the wheel, while the other reaches over and ruffles your hair, messing up what you’d so carefully combed.
You protest, trying to smooth it back down, your voice slipping into a sulky tone.
Y/N
“Am I wrong? Aren’t you one? Always following me around, everywhere…”
Ren chuckles, his smile wide and annoyingly smug.
Ren
"It's for your safety." *says, though the lightness in his voice carries an unspoken firmness.*
He drives with one hand on the wheel, sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose, a glint of mischief in his eyes every time he glances your way.
Ren
“What do you want for dinner?”
You stare out the window, fingers tapping silently on your thigh.
Y/N
“Anything,” *you murmur, your voice soft and barely there.*
Ren
“Anything,” *smirk, but the sound doesn’t carry far.*
Later, at home—
The kitchen is dimly lit, the lights above casting a warm, golden hue over the room. The smell of soy, garlic, and grilled meat still lingers faintly in the air, but the plates on the table are untouched. The food has gone cold.
And in the middle of the kitchen stands Ren—his arms wrapped around you, your face buried into his chest like you're trying to disappear. Your hands tremble where they grip his shirt, the silence between you loud and suffocating.
He should’ve stepped back. He should’ve said something, anything.
Your lips find his—hesitant, searching, desperate. A quiet plea you don’t speak aloud. And he doesn’t stop you.
Because in that moment, all his rules, all his promises to keep his distance, shatter under the weight of your touch. You’re no longer the little girl who clung to his hand ten years ago. You’re you now—grown, beautiful, broken in all the places he had once sworn to protect.
And he’s the one breaking you now.
His hand curls gently around the back of your head, the other gripping your waist—not too tight, but enough to keep you grounded. His mouth moves with yours, slow, aching, too familiar.
Then he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, voice low and teasing,
Ren
“So this is what you meant by ‘anything’?”
You blink, flustered, heat rushing to your cheeks.
Y/N
“Y-You’re the one who kissed me!”
Ren lets out a soft, amused laugh and without another word, deepens the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening, possessive and reverent.
Ren
“You look so devourable, princess…”*breathes into your mouth.*
Blood Oath-2
The scent of grilled miso and eggs draws you from the warmth of your futon. Bare feet kiss the cool wood floor as you step into the hallway, rubbing the remnants of restless dreams from your eyes. You hadn’t really slept—just closed your eyes and let the night wrap around you like a second skin.
Your cheeks burn at the memory of it.
In the kitchen, Ren stands at the stove, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still damp—maybe from a quick shower or just the steam curling from the pan. He doesn’t turn when he speaks.
Ren
“Up already, princess? It’s the weekend, you could’ve slept more.”
His voice is light—too light. Like he's trying to cook the tension away with sizzling eggs.
You don’t reply. You just move closer, silently, until your arms wrap around his waist from behind and your cheek rests softly against his back.
It’s always like this. You, reaching for warmth. Him, tense—like he’s afraid he might shatter if you hold him too tightly.
You never know if he wants you to stop. Or if he’s just terrified because he doesn’t.
Ren
“Go sit down. It’s almost ready.” *nudges you gently with elbow*
Reluctantly, you let go, fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt. You settle at the small dining table, yawning, arms wrapped around yourself.
Ren places a steaming bowl in front of you, then takes the seat across, stretching slightly before relaxing into his usual confident slouch.
Ren
“Any plans for today?”
He asks, tone smooth, but his eyes are far too alert—tracking every flick of your lashes, every shift in your posture.
You shake your head and poke at the tamagoyaki. The rice is warm, comforting. Your appetite is not.
Y/N
“Do you have to go today…?”
The words leave you before you realize you’ve said them aloud.
It’s so brief—barely there—but you see it. The flicker in his eyes. The guilt. The hesitation. The war he fights every time he looks at you.
Then he offers a smaller smile.
Ren
“Well… if it’s not urgent,” *he says with a lazy shrug,* “I guess I can stay with you.”
Ren
"Oh, I'm definitely not."
He leans forward, resting his chin on one hand, eyes gleaming with something playful.
Ren
“So, what does my princess want to do today?”
You look at him—and really see him. The curve of his mouth. The man who kissed you like a man starved, and the same one who used to braid your hair when you cried.
Later, the curtains are half-drawn. Afternoon sunlight filters in through them in fractured stripes, painting golden prison bars across the floor.
Ren stands by the open balcony door, shirtless, cigarette balanced between his fingers. Smoke coils around him in lazy spirals. He could still feel his manhood twitching even after p0unding into your tight cat restlessly.
Behind him, you're curled under rumpled sheets, your body still warm from tangled limbs and breathless gasps. The silence feels heavier now, like even the dust is holding its breath.
Ren
"I'm such a monster.."
He mutters, voice low. He flicks ash into the breeze like he’s trying to rid himself of it.
And yet, he hadn’t stopped.
Not last night. Not this morning.
He was the one meant to protect you.
Blood Oath-3
Dim light casts amber shadows across the velvet walls of the underground den. The air is dense with smoke, curling upward in slow, serpentine coils. Jazz plays faintly in the background—low, sultry, and entirely out of place in a room where death is often discussed like weather.
Kiyoshi Arata leans back on a black leather couch, legs crossed, a half-burned cigarette dangling between his fingers. His eyes—sharp, foxlike—glint with lazy cruelty as he exhales a ribbon of smoke toward the ceiling.
He wears a burgundy silk shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the inked dragon tattoo coiling over his chest. Each movement of his wrist is languid, theatrical. A man who kills with a smile.
Kiyoshi Arata
"Ren… that mutt is still wagging his tail for the Himura girl—no, for her,"
He muses, voice like silk dragged across broken glass. He flicks the ash from his cigarette into the crystal tray beside him.
Kiyoshi Arata
"Loyalty's a pretty thing—but even a dog can be put down."
Laughter ripples from the men nearby. One of them, broader-shouldered, with a scar across his neck, leans forward.
Kiyoshi doesn’t answer right away. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid dance. Then, he lifts it to his lips and sips, slow and precise.
Kiyoshi Arata
"No." *a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.*
Kiyoshi Arata
"First, we take away what keeps him human."
He sets the glass down with a soft clink.
Kiyoshi Arata
"Let’s see how long he stays sane then."
Sunlight pours through the glass ceiling of the upscale mall, glinting off marble floors and polished display windows.
The weekend crowd hums with movement—teenagers laughing, parents wrangling children, couples strolling hand in hand. Everything is normal. Safe. Or so it seems.
You walk ahead, your steps graceful, casual elegance in every motion. You’re dressed in a soft cream blouse tucked into a navy skirt that sways gently with your stride. Your hair is pinned into a loose half-up style, a few strands brushing your cheeks as you glance back.
Ren follows silently, a few paces behind, posture straight, hands occupied with paper bags filled with clothes you may or may not buy. His dark shirt is buttoned high, collar neat, sleeves rolled back just enough to expose the veins along his forearms.
Y/N
"Ren, wait here. I want to try this one!"
You flash him a quick smile, holding up a hanger with something blush pink and lacy. Without waiting for his reply, you slip into the women’s section, disappearing behind a wall of pastel dresses.
Ren nods—mostly to himself—and shifts his weight, eyes sweeping the crowd instinctively.
At first, he’s calm. Composed.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. Then fifteen.
The bags in his hands suddenly feel heavier.
His jaw tightens. The backs of his teeth grind in silence. His fingers twitch slightly.
He pushes past a pair of chatting teenagers, ignoring the staff’s curious glance as he steps into the hallway near the changing rooms.
Inside, it’s too quiet. He sees your slippers beneath one of the doors—neatly placed, untouched
But no sound. No voice. No movement.
A dark fog coils in his gut.
Without hesitation, Ren yanks the curtain aside.
You gasp—but not in fear.
You’re frozen beneath the dim yellow lighting, your blouse discarded and only a delicate lace bra covering your chest. Your cheeks flare crimson as your eyes lock onto his.
he doesn’t move. Doesn’t leave. Doesn’t apologize.
His movements are slow, deliberate. Like something ancient being pulled from deep water.
He reaches you. Gently, he lowers his head and rests his forehead against your shoulder, closing his eyes as he breathes in—like you're the only thing keeping him anchored.
His voice comes out low, rough around the edges.
Ren
"Here I was wondering what’s taking you so long…"
His breath is cool against your skin. His hands are clenched at his sides, trying hard—so hard—not to touch. Not to ruin what little purity he hasn’t already shattered.
Your heart hammers in your chest. Your arms rise slowly, looping around his neck, delicate fingers brushing the nape where his hair begins.
You whispered into his ear.
Y/N
"I didn’t mean to make you anxious."
The silence that follows is thick. Your breathing falls into rhythm. Your skin is warm against his cheek.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just holds on.
Too tight. That you could feel his muscular chest pressing hard against your bla-clad breasts.
Y/N
"Hey.. enough now.. move."
A staff member calls politely from outside.
"Excuse me, miss? Are you done yet?"
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