breaking and entering (yandere! Kuroo x fem reader)

33 || fever dream

You huffed dramatically as you buried your face deeper into Kuroo's chest, demanding attention that remained stubbornly fixed on the thick novel resting in his hands.

The dim sunlight pooled over the yellowed pages, catching faintly on the crease between his brows whenever he focused too hard on a passage. One of his arms absentmindedly circled your waist, thumb lazily brushing against your hip as his eyes continued scanning line after line.

"Tetsurou."

"Hm?"

"You're ignoring me," you accused quietly, poking his chest with your finger.

"Am I?"

You moaned, "you love that dusty book more than me."

That finally earned you a reaction. A soft chuckle left him, and without even looking away from the page, he leaned down to press a distracted kiss on your temple.

"Impossible."

You narrowed your eyes at the title stamped across the worn cover - Crime and Punishment.
You weren't really a fan.

The pages fluttered suddenly as you blew air directly onto them, gaining a sharp glare from above.
"You're making it hard to read," Kuroo muttered.

"And yet you're still reading."

He clicked his tongue, flattening the page back into place with long fingers. There were faint pencil marks littering the margins in his messy handwriting, little underlined sentences scattered throughout the paper like secrets.

You caught one briefly before he turned the page, eyebrows flashing in an instant: "but you are spattered with..."

"Wait I was reading!" you whined, quickly flipping the page back.

"But you are spattered with blood" observed Nikodim Fomitch, noticing in the lamplight some fresh stains on Raskolnikov's waistcoat.
"Yes... I'm covered with blood," Raskolnikov said with a peculiar air; then he smiled, nodded and went downstairs.

"What is this even about?" You questioned, eyebrows furrowed in perplexity.

Kuroo hummed vaguely, eyes still moving as tracked his place back through the paragraph.
"Some guy kills a pawnbroker."

"No, I know what the book's about," you insisted, "I mean that passage specifically. The spattered blood and shit."

He looked up to the ceiling, as though he'd find the answer etched in the wall, "Something about guilt," he answered, now looking down at you as he pulled your body closer, "he's dirty with another dude's blood, but it's not related to the actual murder," he rushed to explain. "But he's using it to confess the real murder."

"The pawnbroker's?"

"Yeah."

You stared at him suspiciously, "Why are you smiling?"

"I'm not."

"You literally are."

His mouth twitched faintly at the corners before disappearing again beneath something unreadable. Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the quiet rustle of paper beneath his fingertips.

"What do you like about it?" you asked eventually, tracing idle circles against his stomach through the fabric of his shirt.
His eyes lifted from the page again.

The look in them made your movements slow, as you watched his gaze drift somewhere else - not physically in the room, but not quite in his mind either.

"I dunno," he finally declared, shrugging lightly, "It's interesting."