#Baddie AJ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soranihimawari · 2 years ago

Text

Set Up

A hangover, a pretty handsome man, and how you are the common denominator for this weekend’s adventure?

Word Count: 4.6K

Pairing: timeskip!kyotani kentaro x nurse!reader

Rating: 🔞—nsfw scene// finger sucking// mentions of praise

Warnings: alcohol consumption// creep at bar//protective Kyotani is a “bad boy” saint

Notes: someone’s falling in like and they don’t understand why that is.

It’s the handholding for me guys… 🫠

Your mortal enemy is the sun. It is blissfully shining through slatted blinds. There are remnants of a party where you took home precious wine sample and sake bottles from the club. Your memory is hazily drawing up what has occurred from meting up with your friends from work to the club where by hour two, a hot guy or seven, bought you and your girls shots, and by the fourth tequila sunrise you had, you were practically, “tongue fucking a total specimen of a baddie” and your friends politely and discreetly send you a photo at 9:46 in the morning.

“Oh, oh my god!” you whisper yell at the image. The man in question was someone you typically don’t seek unless you’re sternly adventurous—tall, blonde with racing stripes for hair design, all black ensemble complete with statement motorcycle jacket and pleather boots; a total punk with a kind heart.

“Fuck me you’re gorgeous,” what an opening line to yell at him in a crowded bar corner.

He leans down, his cologne is more oceanic than he is. He wears it because he came back from the mechanic, and you, no taller than his upper arm with heels on, make his inhibitions weaker the longer you undress him with your eyes.

“Could say the same thing beautiful,” and you felt invincible as his lips nip your ear lobe like he’s tellling you a secret. That’s how the first kiss started. A little luck, a lot to gamble on a flirty line, but two drinks in each, both were feeling a bit bold. Neither you nor him would have known how far that initial liplock would take you then as you senses come back to you, you realize what happened.

Surprised to see a tuft of blonde hair behind you, yes. Horrified to find out you’re involved in a one night stand with a club member of a professional team (by contextual clues of the obscene amount of lime green in the sea of grays and black in his closet), also yes. The room arrangement is weird, but you slowly pick up the color schematics is similar to a guy your age and the fact he has a lot of swag from Sendai City Frogs scattered about makes sense. Perhaps he’s a fan, your brain asks you. Your mind jumps to a plausible conclusions: He either works with the team or perhaps plays for them you figure. However, that thought does when you see his official jersey off to the side.

The hangover migraine takes over and you groan, raising a hand to cover the heat from the window against your face. Apparently, it’s enough to when you shuffle down back to rest your head, you’re too into your head to realize the movement on your left. You feel a hand slink down against the covers to pull you against his clothed chest. The black shirt is freshly laundered when your nose graze it, and from what you can feel, sweats, and for whatever god you found favor in, you realize you’re dressed in an ivory and teal shirt with the chipped design of AJ VBC on the chest.

“Stay still,” his hardened voice is harsh, yet you have every right to listen. The pounding in your brain makes you weaker in the sense of how safe you feel. Your head is safely tucked in between his chest as his morning stubble pricks your shoulders. He sighs, knowing how you tense under his touch, so with baited breath, he quells your embarrassment. “You and I didn’t do anything other than almost fuck.”

“Almost?”

You’re definitely horrified from the second hand embarrassment you feel creeping in your bones.

“Mm,” he grunts. “You and I will talk after you’re done going back to sleep. Can ya be good f’me? Hmm?”

His lips graze your temple and if you never saw them in the light before, whiskey colored eyes and smooth sharp features on this stranger actually makes you reconsider the nights you turned down one night stands in order to find a gentle bad boy looking dude in bed next to you. You ask if you can call off work and he lets you go to reach over to find your phone again. You sit up and do your best call in sick voice.

“YLN,YN,” the recording prompts you to leave a name. “Calling out sick for my shift today at Sendai Research Hospital. See you tomorrow.”

You hang up, slide back down under the covers unexpectedly hearing him introduce himself.

“Kyotani Kentarō,” his voice is more alert when you settle against his offered shoulder.

He breathes and moves a bit to have you settle against his broadly toned chest, an ear listens to how calm he is though internally he panics. Deliberate and sweet, he thinks as you thank him for giving you shelter for the night. He does eventually talk with you hours later around eleven when you are more awake than before. Two espresso shots and two bowls of cereal with toast greet you as you sort of stumble out of the room. You stifle a yawn when you perch yourself on the kitchen counter, your host sort of chuckles and you realize he’s even more handsome in the afternoon sunny background of his open kitchen flat.

“Want to talk about last night?” he’s bold in asking after taking a sip of his espresso. The machine still whirs on your left. You being the bowl down from your rosy lips, nodding shy at the thought of reliving one of the most interesting nights since college.

“Girls wanted to go out after a shift at the emergency room, we’re all in medicine, umm… I said yes, been ‘fraid to leave my place for undisclosed reasons…”

“Shitty ex?”

“If you consider the person was an on and off again ass, sure,” you hear him hum.

The barstool Kyotani(?) uses to sit scratches against the tile as he walks around to look you square in the eye. He lifts a hand to squeeze the fat of your cheeks until your lips puff out like a fish.

“You’re really got some angel lips sweets,” his voice is complimentary of the whiskey he drank last night. “An idiot’s gotta be blind to cause you headaches as wide as the trenches.”

He lets go as you feel your cheeks heat up more and more. “Y’done?” You hand him your bowl.

“So, go on, said you went to have a girls night?”

“Mm,” you take a sip of the best almost-one-night-stand doppio espresso had ever made.

The water in the sink starts to run as you go on, in illustrious detail, the events that led to whatever this situationship was or will be.

“And you thought you’d pick the roughest fucker closing his tab?”

“Either that or get Sendai’s finest to arrest a pervy creep…so yeah.”

He dries his calloused knuckles on the dish rag before walking around to the island ledge you so happily sat upon. Choosing to tap his lips with his dominant hand, you seem to be a bit embarrassed by the gesture he alludes to. You’re not at the bar/club anymore, yet knowing how your story from last night will include going on with him, you place the cup at your side when he rounds the island corner. His shirt looks good on you, is what Kyotani thinks, sort of laughing when he explains why you’re in his clothes:

“You can’t just whisper a, ‘help me out,’ to me and not expect me to follow through. Ma would kill me if I ever made a woman feel uncomfortable—said she’d take me to the butchers to use the meat slicer…”

You guffaw but you jokingly whine saying something slick: “shame really, wanted to see what else you’re good at.”

The afternoon temperatures rise on the cityscape below, but here it reaches a feverish high. It’s the only way you could reaffirm, soberly, Kyotani has permission to steadily capture your lips with his. Though brief, the resounding groan escaping his lips leaves you leaning in for one more as a kind, “thank you,” is heard against a natural frowning lip. His lips press against your forehead for a moment thereafter.

“Stay?” he’s suddenly shier than you give him credit for. You hug him, saying you would.

“We never went through with a one night stand, did we?” you asked five minutes later in between curious pecks here and there.

“Meat slicer, remember?” Kyotani shows you his hand before lacing it with yours to bring your palm to his lips.

“Y-yeah I know, but I,” you turn his face a bit more to meet your serious face. “I would have said it was ok to wait until you thought I was in the right headspace. Full offense, but you’re really, smoking hot dude.”

Kyotani must be a volatile lover because when the words leave your mouth, his brain switched a gear. He’s suddenly more hasty in terms of his hands on approach to getting to know you; he worms his way between your legs on his counter and you readily comply. Hands sneak under his-your-shirt, teasingly passing your abs and wrapping around your hips. Your hands swoop over his shoulder lazily, the other clutches his shirt by his pectoral. It’s desperate and needy, and so, so warm here now.

“You’re hesitating,” he brushes an eyelash away from your face. You stiffen, but you bury your face in his chest.

“I’m not really good at this,” he hears an innocence you thought you lost a while ago. “Not since that asshole sort of left me with a box of my stuff outside our old place.”

And he holds you there, strong, supportive, and kind. It’s been a long time since you break down after throwing yourself into work, a mask comprised of double overtime for a month to down-pay your newly acquired residence post sleeping in a spare bunk in the x-ray hall. Kyotani let’s you cry until you subside; what twenty something year old cries like a child to a complete stranger who is strong enough to start formulating a plan to show you this is part of learning more about him and you. Sometimes love is simply blooming with the actions just like now. He whispers encouraging words he thinks you need to hear, but the difference is in how he means them.

Through the waterfalls your eyes produce, Kyotani stands there, silent and stern. You lean back, covering your eyes with an arm he stops from rising higher than your chest. His hands thumb away the stray tears as you tell him you’re not sad anymore just really glad to have a bed to sleep on yesterday.

“And you,” you point to his sternum. “Kindness manifested in of all places, a bar.”

“Pretty people always need refuge,” his voice gives you hope. “Even if they need a shoulder to cry on.”

You hum, a smile honest and true splits your flushed face. Calming yourself down, a question pops into your head:

“…Are you free Tuesday?”

“I can be, got practice early on.”

“Oh, umm… can you meet me at the pike place park around six?”

Kyotani, rough hands and all, smiles a little, and to you he’s the best surprise of the outing—he agrees telling you to dress comfortably because he wants to see what a date with you entails.

“If I choose to wear jeans and shirt, can you take me on a ride?” you’ve calmed down enough and you make the JSL sign for motorcycle.

“I’ll look forward to it,” his voice gives you butterflies around your crown.

An hour or so later, you thank him for joining you in a tasteful walk, because there is no shame when you leave his flat. He walks with you, you’re still dressed in the same outfit from last night. Finding out how he came to never leave the city he grew up in, you had this nagging feeling to ask:

“I saw a jersey in your room,” you sheepishly have a grin. “Are you a fan?”

“You could say that,” god his chuckle is charming.

Kyotani’s eyes light up a bit more as you said you’re trying to catch an official game every once in a while at the nurse’s station. You keep walking a little further with him. Amused by your question, he chooses to rather change the location of your date, instructing you to meet him at the address he just sent you via text.

“I’ll be there!” You kiss his cheek as a final thank you for being hospitable toward a stranger, then you wave over your shoulder as you disappear through the rotating glass doors of your complex.

☆✩☆✩ ☆✩☆✩ ☆✩☆✩ ☆✩☆✩ ☆✩☆✩ ☆✩☆✩

And so the day of the date finally arrives. Since you had come back to work, your colleagues are either relieved or curious about the stranger who seemed like he’s a bit…ruggedly handsome. One of the charge rn’s nudges a nervous you in the right direction. You explained about the idiot who couldn’t take no for an answer, but alas when you saw Kyotani talking to a few of his friends, your eyes met. You excuse yourself from me grabby hands, your girl friends’ words, and walk confidently toward the motorcycle jacket clad blonde:

“Help me out and I don’t have to order an Angel shot,” you use bunny quotes when describing what you said instead of introducing yourself. Sure enough, Kyotani has his arm draped around your frame as you lean back comfortably until the other dude gets the hint. You seem lost in your thoughts until Kyotani brings you out from them whispering a harsh, “think he’s gone baby.”

You continue rambling how he offered a drink, you accept on blind faith he’s a gem. Eventually, when you realize you might have been left behind, you were inebriated enough he does step up to split a ride share with you. You and him make it back to his place, a friend soberly drives his bike into the garage at the basement of his building in the suburbs. You don’t remember much after that, except you wake up in another part of town with a killer headache, moderately dressed, and with the hot blonde sleeping beside you.

“And nothing happened? YN, that’s a lie,” Rika, your med school classmate laughs. She points out how red you’re becoming. You tell them about the forehead kiss, the promise of eventually forming an amicable bond, but nothing about the breakfast nor breakdown you had. Better keep that between me and him, you think.

“But, i…erm… I have a date with him tomorrow?”

There it is. The sweet new gossip causes the ladies to squeal with delight.

“Your blonde bad boy of a knight?” Rika presses. Her eyebrows wiggle.

“Yeah.”

More squeals and active status report promises later, the hens leave you alone. Sure, they want things to work out, you want it to too.

The day of the date rolls around. You come dressed comfortably in a light blue (almost teal v-neck) graphic tee with a moon embroidered on the upper left part and dark black jeans. Your don some black Air Force ones, the most comfortable practical shoes you own. Glancing at your phone, you had to the address after stepping off the train, after all, your date said he’d gladly give you a lift home. Walking the street, you see the stadium where many volleyball dreams are either made out played; the lime green walls are getting ready for the season opener. There were a lot of fans and the families of players came to go cheer on their favorite athlete. Practice was open to the public and though some of the older players had kids as old as six running around, you are suddenly introduced to the Tsukishimas (Akiteru and his wife go every once in a while to cheer for his brother, Kei) and perhaps the captain’s kids are the ones who pique your interest after they introduce themselves.

The pair asks a lot of questions but what you didn’t expect was for them to grab a hold of your hand and drag you inside; you were waved at by Akiteru who just laughed as you mouth an apology.

“Look who we found uncle kyo-kyo!”

Kyotani wipes his face with the towel over his shoulder. Your mouth is slightly agape with awe. There was a reason why you liked him, why you’re unsure how his name sounded so familiar, and when the epiphany happens, the offspring go find their father who just waits for a little more of a clue as to who his outside hitter ran up to greet.

“You play for the Sendai Frogs?” you muse, your lips curving into a smile. “Professionally?”

Kyotani nods. His suddenly serious demeanor changes when Koganegawa whistles at your presence and the one who looks a little more like Akiteru slaps the dual-toned setter on the shoulder, thus ensuring Kyotani doesn’t lose his temper.

Slinging his arms around you, Kyotani hugs you, whispers a very breathy, “help a guy out?”

You nuzzle yourself into his pectorals, hugging him back. Eyes wide like the doe he’s seen in the woods as a child, you beckon him to “really sell who I am to you.” Kyotani raises an arm to swoop behind your neck to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Practice ends in twenty, wait for me, ok baby?”

“Hai,” you turn him around abruptly wishing him luck as the kids from earlier excitedly run up to you. They’re little and kind like their father, but boy do they love their uncles. Together you listen intently as they explain who they are and how they loved watching their dad and adoptive uncles play. Before you know it, practice is officially over with the players heading toward the locker rooms to shower and change. Eventually, the team exits two or three at a time. The talk in the locker room among the second season players centered around you of all people. You who they had seen their teammate be really chummy with at the bar, who really didn’t seem to know who the blonde was, nor did you make a big deal about him being a sports celeb.

“YN is nice,” their captain compliments. “Kids seems to like ‘er, what more do ya want guys? Leave Kyotani alone. Who knows? Perhaps he’ll have more to say next practice.”

The boys all oo’d and awe’d at that as the lockers were closing left right and center. Once dressed in almost the same outfit as before, Kyotani realized he looked more like a beat-nick than an athlete. Though, when you call out to him with a raised arm, he could feel a warmth twice the heat of whiskey run through his heart.

“Ready to go?”

He slings his bag up and over his shoulder to have it rest diagonally across his chest. You stand on the opposite side, holding his hand. The callouses make sense now, your fingers are much softer than before, a lighter than a cloud sensation is felt when you grip his palm with yours. Fingers, wide and sturdy lace gently around yours, as you listen to him explain how his day went. Practice was a bit harsh, but it was conditioning day from what you can gather. There is a practice match or two lined up before the season opener, both of which you are invited to.

“I can come? Really?”

“Sure. It would help either team out to have another set of medical eyes,” Kyotani teases.

You stick your tongue out at him before poking your canines with it.

“If you say so.”

Slowing to a stop outside a restaurant across the park you were meant to meet up in, Kyotani leads you inside. An elderly regular flags down her ‘grandson,’ and when you see the two shyly exchange a few words, you notice the respect in his demeanor suddenly change. The older woman, with his help, uses her cane to inch closer to you as if to inspect (really guess) if you are good enough for her boy.

“You are stunning,” she concludes. Her hands withered with spots and age taps your arm. “It’s about time little Kentaro brings home someone he likes.”

He sort of whines at her comment, raising an arm behind his neck to look away from your curious stare, a light pink rosy blush alights his cheeks.

“Sorry to keep you waiting granny,” you tilt your head to one side, a warm smile reaches your eyes.

“Better late than never, I suppose,” she says. Her laugh is bright and airy, like spun sugar. “Come, come child. I’ll make you some tea.”

She walks back to the kitchen with your help this time as Kyotani takes a seat at the corner table by the double kitchen doors. You return not a moment too soon to join him.

“She’s a spry one,” you say as you pull the chair out and make yourself comfortable.

Kyotani agrees. “Hard to believe she covered for me when I was about to be jumped around the corner from here.”

That took a turn.

“You really are a naughty boy,” you rest your head in your palm whilst imaging a punk younger version of him.

“Weren’t you?”

“Mm, you could say that I was more of a social pariah.”

“That was not what I was expecting for a medical professional…”

“Well, when your parents get divorced and your aunt pays for an apartment thrice the size a student in northern Osaka needs, then sure, social pariah is a label often used since bitches would bully me into angry submission–ever been part of a rumor you were caught fucking a teacher?”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly what my aunt said…No proof, no jail time.”

You move on to lighter topics from there. A little truth came out, but not much. Together, with the tea almost being done, Kyotani asks if you’d like some sesame balls.

“The old lady makes a mean ume version,” his reasoning makes you buy and split a dozen.

The tea compliments the snack and as you settle into a quiet afternoon with the athlete, you start to notice how kind he is to those who have helped him in the past. It’s a redeeming quality, one you’d like to see more of–there is a day you might have had a little argument in your early courtship, but when he returns to your door at three in the morning with an embarrassing large arrangement of wild flowers, you forgive his missing a dinner date: “it’ll never happen again.” And true to his word, he never does. Unless it’s postponed for away matches.

Currently, you are still at the precipice of asking the old lady if she needs help closing up the shop, she declines saying who is she to stop you two from enjoying the rest of the night. Hanging out with Kyotani at the park comes next. Here you walk around the mile long track. You tell him how you were ‘born to run,’ because your mother was one. You fill his head with stories of a younger you, wicked smart, with the speed of Hermes on your heels. Grandeur illusions came at the price of a car accident when you were fifteen. It’s why you wear pants or leggings. The pins and needles used to correct your bones made you the height you were now,so without ever missing a moment to remind you how fair you really are, Kyotani snaps his fingers.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but is that why,” he takes two and half steps forward to stand in front of you. He pulls you into him a bit more sternly, and you realize he’s got a pondering look of amusement on his face. “Is that why you’re the perfect height for these things?”

If your life was a movie in the Americana 1950s, you'd have been a lead in another life because in case you didn’t know you did this, you feel yourself dip to one side with a soft bend of your knee as your date securely holds you never doubting you fall. His nose teases your cheek, hot breath exhaling nervously over your mouth. And those shocked eyes of yours spark something within which makes him want to wipe that extra gloss away–and you know what? Kyotani, the fearless athlete, your date, follows through with it. Perhaps all first kisses were just that: firsts. This gesture of romance, the way he leaves you gasping as his face lingers close to you after breaking a way, this is the time you let your emotions guide you.

So, you wake up in bed again after this date. The sun is barely up, the night sky is still here. Your mind replays the memories of last night: the pizza you ordered from down the block after riding on the back of Kyotani’s motorbike made the adrenaline pump more blood through your veins. Your hands wrapped tightly against his waist, your pressing your face into the back of his shoulder made him see stars. However, he did want to make you see physical ones–the beginning of it was when you reached your home. You should invite him inside, your brain says. You listen; you ask; he accepts. In the span of moments after wrapping up the leftover pizza, you find yourself in a situation of sorts. Kyotani falls asleep on your couch, tired from the day, yet when you go to wake him up a third time, his hand snatches yours and pulls you flush against his seated self. It ends with you straddling the guy, breathing in a sharp breath.

“K-Kyo, are you awake?”

“No.”

In a dreary voice, he asks if you’re comfortable a second later. From there, things pick up both emotionally and physically–his kisses are harsher, more demanding. You comply, wondering how long you can keep it together with him. Hormones, you’re a nurse practitioner, you know what’s going to happen if you keep–Kyotani finds the spot on your neck by your clavicle that makes you moan a little louder. His lips pull and suck the skin there as you become more like putty in his hands. His hands tempt your skin under the shirt you’re wearing until in a swift series of moments, you lift it up and over your head. The scars from the accident weren’t too bad, but when he esaxperatedly calls you beautiful nicknames, you tug his shirt with a pout.

“Okay, okay,” he has a wolfish grin as you help him out of his clothes.

Resting a palm on his tattooed shoulder, you wonder why if the ink there is the reason he wears the jacket.

Clothes scattered every which way, because when you turn in bed to see the remnants of a tumble in the sheets with a blonde man with a buzz cut, you say a quiet, “good morning kenta.”

As he inhales deeply, you let his arms drag you closer to him. You’re practically halfway sprawled above him resting your knee against his hip; whatever clothing you wore or whether you preferred to sleep in the nude after last night’s activities, you feel the remnants of a kiss lulling you back to sleep.

“What’s the story my morning glory?” You peck at his lips, a grin on your face. Cracking open an eye, Kyotani swiftly lifts the rest of you up and over so you know have him below you, straddling him a bit more efficiently in a pin of sorts at the moment. “Eager to start the day like this are we, doll face ?”

You lean down to slowly miss him awake. Hands travel to steady yourself from falling over, fingers toying with the ends of your hair.

“Could get used to this,” you share a secret when you pull away slightly. Kyotani’s eyes are wide awake now and there is a mirthful bashfulness in the way your hands scratch the slight stubble on his cheek. A puff of air from his chortle grazes your parting lips.

“Careful sweetheart,” the drag of his tongue over your lips. “I might not want to leave you unsatisfied…”

You help him sit up as his lips press harder against yours and you whine his name when he rolls his hips against yours; the sensation causes you to let out a soft, needy mewl — your hands beckon to bring him forward, resting easily on his neck. Good lord he made you feel glorious several times the night prior, but it was fast and rough the more you enchanted this man into your bed.

Perhaps allowing him to help release some sexual tension after agreeing every step of the way neither of you had wanted to stop, he learns how to appease you—the face you made when he’s above you is burned by the broken sound of your voice asking, begging, to be ruined for anyone else that isn’t him. It’s both a command and praise which caused Kyotani to hopelessly jump off the deep end to tether his soul to you; an invisible chord has your name and his wrapped in a chokehold, so when you lean up to change positions, you feel his amusement tense. Your hands look around his shoulders and though you’re legs comply with his movements, Kyotani makes sure you take all of him just fine; he doesn’t mean to call you harsh names when he moves with you in fluid motions, they just tumble out with every breath he knocks out of your lungs. Sure, he finally sees and hears how his praises are taken, yet alas, you hear how fucked he is when you ride him. Half way through this round, you switch and though you’re on top, you bite your lip when he holds your hips, having your sex constrict and relax the more he assisted setting the pace to just reach you deeper. You lean back a bit before his hips buck you forward and you inhale sharply, the proverbial edge for both can be heard in the way the headboard slaps against the wall.

“Don’t let me go,” you whisper a plea in your lover’s ear as you lace your fingers though one of his hands. The bruises on your hips on the morning are still a harsh purple, but in the moment, that bruising hold kept you steady as you feel Kyotani tense both inside and around his torso. His eyes are lustfully blown wide as you slower your stride—your free hand doesn’t clutch the sheets by his inked arm, no. Your fingers bully their way past his lips and a stern, “suck,” is demanded from you.

“Good boy,” you whisper. The nickname was the final straw and though he had your fingers in his mouth, he bucks up harder than before, groaning and growling like a blissful broken man. Sex, for all the times he’s had it, never had felt this rudimentary pleasing. You are full of surprises: bold and domineering, praising him for taking your fingers so well in the same breathy tone as when he prepped you to take all of him.

You feel the sticky mess between your thighs and his, removing your hand from holes lips with a resplendent ‘pop’. There, below you is a man who breathes like he ran a marathon just now. You slump over, caressing his cheek, the moment you hide your face in the crook of his neck. You too are breathing unevenly, breasts ache from the lack of support and his kisses on the side of them. Kyotani hugs your back, whispering apologies into your hair saying it’s been a while since he had someone to match his energy in bed. You nod saying it was the same for you too.

A few moments of silence is shared as you shuffle around still joined before you hear him say he’s going to slip himself out of you lest you want to act as cocksleeve all night. You laugh saying it’s not the fabled weekend just yet, so together, you watch the satisfied pinched of his brows as you push off your mattress, closing your eyes as you whine at the hallow feeling between your legs.

As you open your eyes slightly, you make eye contact with the ripped foil package from an hour and a half ago. You recall you had a conversation with him before leading up to this point during dinner—for him, professional athlete and all, sex is all about placing. For you? It’s not a competition to see who can last the longest or be the loudest, it’s about the fun in actively loving someone who fit a fixed point in time loved you wholly. Though kyotani discards the used condom and it’s foiled counterpart, he turns his attention to you. Your back is toward him and through no fault but his own, when he slides himself back under the covers, his voice is absurdly gruff with coercing you to use the bathroom first mentioning he’ll clean you better in your shower. You barely are able to stand, mentioning it’s been a minute since you had been dicked down so well. Kyotani, wicked smile and all, steadies your hand as you wince a little when you walk into the door by your closet.

Kyotani, when he hears the running water collects his thoughts before joining you—rest assured, the tantric nature of his love is coming. He just wanted to see how you could handle him and seeing your smile rise above the steam in your shower when a damp cloths runs against the inside of your love bitten thighs as he makes good on his promise to care for you and your head tilt to one side as you utter a soft thanks. Both of you linger in the bathroom far more than what you had expected, yet when you exit first, you aptly find a set of pajamas laid out for you by the sink and his underneath yours. Glancing over your shoulder, you swear you hear the washer go off and notice the sheets were changed. You smirk as you wipe the steam off the mirror, uttering he’s a keeper under your breath as you continue your nightly routine.

The comfortability after falling asleep next to him again was blissful. Almost like the present.

And now? Now Kyotani tries to calm himself down the longer you fall compliant to his whims, thus allowing him to kiss you slower like to savor this memory. You like this, taking time to savor how he feels against you, how mornings should always start with him, assured and kind. If you do meet his ma, you tell her her son is one of the best people you’ve met—sans meat slicer. If he ever meets your father, he tells him he’d sacrifice the world to make sure you’re always smiling at the simplicity of a love built up on a quirky set up.

Kyotani moves to guide you against his lips with a soft hand on the back of your head as he burns scarlet when you reply with an aggressively hotter answer:

“Then don’t leave until you do, Kentarō.”

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #sora after hours #haikyuu x reader #🔞—kyotani kentaro #kyotani x reader #suggestive ending

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