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ditttiii · 3 years

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gold rush. || kth {m}

⇢ summary: kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch?

⇢ genre: porn with feelings, soft smut, angst, is unresolved tension and feelings a genre?

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 4.4k

⇢ rating: explicit / 18+

⇢ theme: strangers to lovers, s2l!au

⇢warning/s: public/elevator sex, exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (female receiving), lots of kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex? reader’s on the pill, swearing, tension and so much of it, unresolved-repressed feelings, taehyung is a certified dingus & reader is hopelessly smitten.

⇢ a/n: betaed by @yeojaa who owns my heart and is the most precious bean ever.

also have all my virtual, socially distanced cuddles @btsmosphere @papillonsgf @birbdae & @unoriginal-username15432. if it weren’t for their support this wouldn’t be out today. my gratitude knows no bounds ♡ also big thanks to taylor for the fic title.

banner by @chillingkoo & moodboard by @today-we-will-survive their art breathed life into this fic ♡ a belated birthday fic for one mr.kim taehyung & the beautiful @kerikaaria. this fic is also my submission for @thebtswritersclub january monthly project.

lastly, i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it x 2021 here v go ♡

You wonder when the shame stopped making you hide behind a curtain of messy bed hair. When the smell of a man's cologne on you and a fruity fragrance on him started to feel normal; routine.

The elevator closes with a 'ping', and your eyes track the numbers as they descend, the warmth of another human, the soft puffs of his breath, warming your shivering, scantily dressed body.

"What happened to ‘she’s too old for me?’ " You grunt, slipping off your six inches of agony inducing footwear and pushing them to a corner.

"What happened to you not being jealous?" You can feel his smirk, oozing of self-assured nonchalance and smugness that would seem ugly on anyone but fits like a well-tailored suit on him. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he leans back, hands resting on the metal railing while his tall, lean body slouches lazily, almost invitingly, and you have to force your eyes away from tracing the curves of his pecs. It's a tempting sight, but you aren't about to give him any more ammo to goad you with. As it is, he already knows too much, is far too keen.

"Of your sugar mama? I don't think so."

Taehyung hums but doesn't refute the statement and the silence between you two stretches on. A burning ball of jealousy in your stomach continues to eat away at your peace, and with a clenched jaw, you allow your head to rest against the cool metal of the elevator and pretend that the proximity doesn't affect you.

It's always the same between you two, a constant game of tug and war, where one pulls too firmly, and then the other comes tumbling close until one of you comes back to your senses and then it's back to square one. Back to bickering and recounting the previous night’s escapades of half-truths and lies told from kiss-swollen lips and hooded gazes as you try your best to rile the other one up.

It's stupid. You are in your twenties and this isn't like you. The lying, the pretence that you are still seeing your ex-boyfriend and biting and sucking your own lip until it swells; until you look properly ravished; none of this is you.

You should have known the day he first stumbled into the elevator with a half-buttoned shirt and bite marks painted over the pale skin of his neck, a satisfied smirk curled on his dark pink lips, that he wasn't good for you. But no, like the absolute fool that you are, you fell for him. Fell knowing full well he wasn't yours to have, that back then you weren't his to have.

The elevator comes to a stop with a shudder. Your eyes, closed sometime during the descent, snap open and your feet pause when the sight of the closed doors grace you.

"You stopped the elevator." It's not a question, not when his hand is still hovering over the stop button, head tilted as his eyes stay trained on you.

"I did." He admits to a question you never asked.

Biting back a hiss at his insistence on being difficult, you twist on your heels, lips pulled into a smile whose edges sting like shards of a broken glass and parry, "And why did you do that, pray tell?"

He doesn't answer, just looks at you with that half-lidded gaze and his silence only infuriates you more, makes the back of your neck feel heated as an angry flush rises from your chest all the way up to your cheeks and with a few angry stomps you’re in Taehyung's space, barely a few inches left between you two.

"God!" You start, and the anger, the jealousy, the ugly ball of insecurity and lust and something you haven't quite found a name for yet all coagulate and rise up your throat, burning your heart in their wake until you are hurting and seething. “I don’t get you, nor do I want to anymore!" The words tumble out, one after another and half thought out but your chest still burns and the ugly ball still feels scorching hot in your throat and you can't bring yourself to stop, to shut up and think. "Stop doing this. Stop flirting with me and stop looking at me with those hooded eyes of yours and for the love of god, do you really need to lick your lip that often? Why don't you carry a lip balm if your lips are that dry, huh?"

The cross of your eyes is almost painful, but you have started and fuelled by anger and unreciprocated feelings there’s no stopping your steam. "And now this! Stopping the elevator! What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His lips part as if to answer but without waiting for his response, you plow on, "What! Do you actually have an answer? Really? Let's face it; you think I’m some sort of challenge that needs to be conquered. Another notch on your bedpost. You and your stupid smirks and half-lidded eyes and that damn mole on your nose and god, can you just not—"

The soft pad of his finger on your lips pauses your rant, leaves them parted and your heart hammering while unsaid words clutter the hollow spaces in your throat, tighten around your vocal cords like a noose until they become their own nemesis.

"I broke up with her last night," Taehyung says, and from where you are standing so close to him, his breath on your neck, cheeks, lips is too enchanting, too much like something you had hoped and begged and prayed for far too long now. Breathing out harshly you blink yourself back to reality because you must be hearing him wrong.

"Huh?"

His hand slowly comes up to hold your chin, thumb running over your lower lip with a feather-like touch, "I broke up with her last night, went home and came back early because I didn't want to miss you." He says, and your chest feels tight, palms numb and it's only when his hand gently settles over the nape of your neck and you inhale painfully that you realise that you had stopped breathing.

"Why?" You rasp out.

Don't hope. This means nothing. Do not hope.

Something twists in your belly, a thread tightens around your heart, and you know, despite it all, that you are hoping.

"Why do you think?" He asks instead, and you stifle the sudden desire to bash his head into a wall.

"Don't play games with me."

A sigh, his breath dancing on your lips and you barely suppress the tingles that burn down your spine, "I'm not. I don't want to, not anymore." The hand resting around your neck curls, fingers caressing the soft skin behind your ear.

"What do you want then?" Your words are quiet, hope and longing laced into every syllable that you desperately hope to hide but fail.

Your heart hammers into your ribs with so much force you are half afraid it will leave them cracked; splintered just like your love for the man who is touching you, holding your entire heart in the palm of his hands while you wait for it to be crushed. Because it will, it's inevitable. Kim Taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. All narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is too good. Too good for the woman he was with and certainly too good for you. You would be happy if you looked half as good on your wedding day as he regularly does because he is that gorgeous. And unreal, and pretty and it hurts.

It hurts because you can never have him and any second now he will push you away and ridicule you for getting flustered so easily and he will never understand, and god it cuts. It tears at you because despite knowing better, you long for him, his touch, his warmth.

Maybe even his love. But that is one hope you refuse to acknowledge out loud.

Your breaths mingle from where you two are standing so close, and part of you aches to reach out, to pull him closer and wrap yourself around him until you can sync the beat of your heart to his, to nestle your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, drown in the scent of that spicy cologne that you associate with him and nobody else. Because it's tempting, oh so inviting and he is so so close.

You could touch his chest, caress the skin peeking from in between the dip of his low neck shirt and it would be easy, he would let you, you know that too but what about after? How do you come back from holding someone your soul is in love with and then pretend that being with them for one night was enough? How does your hope keep living on in the name of that fragment of love? His arms your shelter for one night and then you are back to being strangers, sharing elevators and bumping into each other at the grocery store, pretending all the while that you do not yearn to visit that one night you spent together whenever your head hits the pillow?

"I..." Taehyung struggles, chews the words before his lips form them because this is his last chance and if he loses you now, it's over; he knows that too. The pair of you are done playing cat and mouse.

"I know my words don't hold a whole lot of value. I could promise you things, but you won't believe me and that's fair. I get it." He admits, another hand coming up until your face is cradled in his open palms, fingers slipping behind the edges of your ears and you will yourself to not drop your gaze, to look into his eyes and search for...love? Honesty? You wish you could say you know what it is that you are hunting for, but held so close all you can think about is the chestnut brown of his eyes, the black that rims them, the high arched brows and the thin, smooth lips and that mole; that mole that you can only see when you are pressed close, a hair's breadth of space between you two.

"But...?" You ask, pray, and yet again, against your better judgement hope.

"But I love you." He confesses, voice forever rich and deep and you feel the hum of his baritone from where your chest is still pulled tight to his. "My love for you is unlike any I have ever known, and it scared me; it still scares me because I don't know. I don't know what I will do if I ever lose you. I care too much, I—" His grip on you tightens and instinctively your hands snake around his waist, clenching the soft cotton of his shirt, nails biting into your skin as his words thread your hopelessly lovesick heart back together; piece by piece.

"I love you too much." Taehyung whispers and the ice around your heart thaws, his raw confession lighting a fire in your nerves until you are left buzzing from the high of his admission. "Trust me. Just this once. Please." He is vulnerable in his plea, and for the first time you wonder if you had characterised him wrong. Boxed and stored him like a gift on a shelf without bothering to look underneath the paper wrapping.

Taehyung doesn't have to beg, he doesn't have to try and persuade anyone, and for all the gibes you threw his way, all the daggered words about him dating only for money, you didn't truly believe any of them. Sure, the woman he had been with for the last few months was older (a voice in your head whispers wiser), but that wasn't because she was, as you would often insist, his 'sugar mama', but instead because their interests aligned. Kim Taehyung is a man of taste, whether it be his fondness for a violin's trill, fascination with modern art, or his love for jazz music. He is an enigma and with no small amount of embarrassment you think back to all the times you have bought a book after he made a passing comment on it, searched the pages and the characters to find some semblance of him.

Maybe you are pathetic, perhaps you are far too infatuated with this man for it to be healthy. Just maybe...

"No," Taehyung commands, his voice so determined you’re snapped back to the present, head thrown out of the haze your wandering thoughts had created.

Seeing your obscure expression and strayed eyes (look away because you can't acknowledge how much he matters), he pushes, one hand sliding down to grip your chin and urge you to look him in the eye. "Don't."

Maybe he sees something in your eyes, spots your hidden insecurities, reads you like an open book and dog-ears the pages that hold your weakness.

"Don't what?" You deflect, gaze drifting away again as you pretend to not know what he means but secretly long for him to keep pushing, to keep trying—your denial’s a facade to hide all your pleas.

"Don't do this to me. To us."

"You'll hurt me." You protest, a half-hearted attempt at trying to protect your already doomed heart even as your fingers clench tighter, pull him closer.

"No, I won't." He speaks with certainty that you don't wholly believe but fuelled by far too much love and longing, you don't protest any further and instead toe closer, rise higher, and breathe in the shaky exhale he lets out when your lips skim the sharp curve of his jaw.

"I've wanted this for so long." Unadulterated desire courses through your veins at his admission. Even if Taehyung is lying, even if he leaves you stranded after today, you'll live. You'll live on the high of this moment, the memory of his skin under your touch, the crisp of the cotton draped over his lean torso.

It's easier to let go and surrender yourself, easier to lay yourself bare because you have already come too far and there is no protecting yourself anymore—your heart is now his to do with.

Your hands twine around his waist, slide over the vast expanse of his back like he is yours; as though if you try hard enough, you'll leave an imprint, a sign that he belongs to you. Mark him for the rest of eternity and brand him with your name on his heart.

Kissing him is easy, the slight ache of staying on your tippy-toes going by unregistered as you get lost in the sensation of his lips, his sighs on your chin, the tickle of his lashes against the high curve of your cheek.

The cradle of his palms around your face is gentle, almost careful, as though you are a porcelain doll and he is afraid one harsh move will leave you splintered. Chest tight, you push down the last remaining traces of hesitation clinging inside your throat and twist to catch his lips instead, licking a long strip from the soft cleft of his chin over to his parted lips, dip into the hollow of his mouth and slide over the soft flesh on the inside before you catch his upper lip in between yours and suck.

His responding groan has you clenching your thighs and you break the kiss, breathing in to replenish the oxygen that doesn't seem as important when his lips are on yours. When your gaze catches his, for once you don't look away, don't force yourself to stop from swimming in the beautiful, clear pool of his eyes.

"I love you too." Your admission is quiet, more a careful whisper than anything else, as though any louder and you'll break this spell and things will go back to the way they were. He will come to his senses and realise he doesn't love you after all and then you'll go back to being a pining, lovesick fool, only this time with a broken heart and no hope to cling to.

His eyes grow soft—gentle in the curve of two crescent moons, and you smile your first real smile, the edges twitching and pulling into a gentle grin before you can bite it down and the answering smile that Taehyung rewards you with has your heart squeezing almost painfully inside your chest.

"Yeah?" He asks as though he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it again, profess your love for him again and you do. You say it again and again, press your lips over every inch of his face and emboss the words onto the smooth, unblemished skin.

Taking in a shuddering breath, you answer from around the suspended ball of disbelief and love in your throat. "Yeah."

When the clothes start coming off it’s a gentle, slow affair, the spaces in between filled with tender touches curious to explore the skin that they had desired for so long and open-mouthed kisses pressing promises of forever and happily ever after onto the naked expanse, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Legs twined around his waist like ivy, you arch off the floor. A tug of your hand and his shirt slips low, and then your mouth is pressing warm, wet, kisses, tongue slipping out and desperately tasting his skin, his sweat— him. You lean back and then he's on you, low, low, low until his lips are close enough to skim the edges of your panties and you buckle, arch and push without meaning to as you ache for relief only he can provide.

"You are beautiful. So so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

His words are rough, less speech and more growl as he pushes his head closer to your soaking heat and inhales. "Fuck."

Breathes turning to hitches, words into gasps, you can scarcely keep your eyes open when he runs a long, slim finger through your folds and circles your wet opening before your walls are pulsing around him, sucking and pulling the finger in as deep as it will go. One and two then three, your cunt can't have enough of his fingers, his heat and him and oh—

His lips are velvet against your clit, your body a molten mass of gold moulding itself around his fingers, your sanity and restraint slipping and dripping down onto the carpeted floor from in between the spaces. With the last left strength, you prop yourself onto your elbows and the sight of Taehyung's mouth on your sex is almost enough to send you slipping back down again. His tongue laves across your folds with the desperation of a man parched, caressing every fold, greedily licking away your dripping arousal and moaning out obscenities too vulgar for how early the day is.

When you come, it's with a cry that sounds too animalistic to be yours. One that comes from your chest and leaves your back arched like the ends of a boomerang. "Good?" He asks with glistening lips, and you wanna scream, hysterical in your pitch— good? Is there anything better that exists in this world than his lips on you making you come? Again and again, until you can no longer stand the sensitivity?

But instead of screaming, or shaking him by his shoulders until it gets through his head, you reply with a spent nod and let your elbows slip. This is what being eaten out by Kim Taehyung feels like. The pleasure coursing through your veins is something far more potent than any you have ever felt before. The blood in your veins thrumming, almost sizzling under the thin layer of your skin.

He presses his forehead to yours, rests to catch his breath and with every shuddery inhale you breathe your arousal in, a swipe of your tongue across his glistening lips, and then you can taste it too. It tastes of nothing and yet everything. Coming from his lips, it tastes of what your dreams are built from, like liquified recklessness and yearning and above all —Taehyung.

It tastes of him and his smirks and all the kisses you couldn't have and all the kisses you now hope for.

His fingers are gentle when they tuck your hair, eyes bright behind the curtain of messy, ink-black strands, "There's a law somewhere that says when you love someone with all your heart, you are unavoidably loved by them as well. Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona."

Your eyes search his, frantically rove all over his face, search the lines under his eyes, pause at the small mole on his nose, and then stop at the sight of the one on his lower lip, the one that your eyes would always drift to every time he'd smirk or grin in the past. Now he's smiling, lips stretched into a soft boxy curve, the mole evident against the edge and you raise a trembling hand, run your thumb across it. Cup his face with both your hands until your vision blurs and then your lips are on his. Locking and licking and your mouth is a leaking faucet of I love you's, hands working to the back of his head and getting lost in those perfectly long, wavy strands.

You hope this is the real thing when you wildly take off your dress, rip off his shirt unmindful of the last few buttons that clatter to the floor and undress until the both of you are as bare as you were the day you were born.

The steel railing is startlingly cold against your rear but before you can wince Taehyung's large hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until all that's on your mind is the feel of him, hard and hot against your dripping heat. His mouth is on your breast, lips sucking marks into the flesh and tying you to him, leaving traces of his presence behind until you can no longer differentiate the ache in your heart from the burn in your belly.

Somehow through the haze of want and compulsive need, you collect yourself enough to tell him you're on the pill when he remembers the lack of protection in his wallet, and then he's inside you. The thrust inside is fluid, and you are moaning, keening at your wetness, at how long he is, at how unbearably, entirely full you are.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like the last words of a man dying an untimely death, desperate and hurried and like if he takes a second too long he might never get the chance again. The scratch of your nails against his back must hurt, the grip of your heels around his sides must be painful, and still you can't bring yourself to let up; to let go.

The air inside becomes humid, reeks of sex and sweat and everything that shouldn't seem so right, and yet does.

You come first, hit your peak and crash through it like a ship in a torrential sea, hot and volatile and like something vital that you'll retain even in the afterlife. Taehyung–sweet, sweet Taehyung – helps you ride it out, makes your body sing with the honed practice of a pianist who has spent more decades playing than he can recall. His tongue is on your neck, stroking that one sensitive spot in the hollow of your clavicle while his hand brushes your clit, builds the pleasure and lets it drift, unhurried and soft until you are crying from the overwhelming rightness of it.

With a shudder, you finally push his hand away from your quivering heat and bring it to your lips, kiss the bony knuckles and let it rest on your thigh from where he wraps it tight around your waist and drives to chase his own high.

Sated you watch Taehyung, catalogue all the features that you had never seen before but up close can. Just in case—just. File them all in a part of your heart where only he resides, a piece you will always come back to, regardless of if the man in your arms chooses to stay or not. You will be selfish with these memories, hoard and treasure them in secrecy until the day you can look back upon them with nothing more than nostalgic fondness.

The appearance of a deep furrow on his forehead, between those long arched brows and the breaking rhythm of his thrusts, alerts you to how close he is and you clench. Clench with all the love and devotion you nurture in your heart and hope that somehow it will be enough. If not forever, then at least until you can have your fill, until you can love him for a life's worth and live off on those memories. Live on them like a late mother's half-finished perfume bottle that you take out and sniff on your sorriest days, a push strong enough to keep you going.

One more day, then one more and then just one more until you can finally meet him in the afterlife, old and having done all that you had been sent to do. Except for love. You doubt you can ever love like this again.

Kissing him after feels like the best kind of heartbreak because you know, somewhere deep in your gut where you house your intuition and insecurities, you know this won't last.

Yet you wouldn't take back anything. Your lips form words on Taehyung's shoulder 'i love you so much. i always will', and you tighten your arms around his waist. Anchor him to the present and pray that the defence will be strong enough to keep him with you for a little while more.

Just a little.

a/n: the end is up to your interpretation, you are free to imagine whatever end you’d have liked to see. If you enjoyed reading this please let me know through comments, reblogs, tags or asks. the feedback makes me insanely happy and i love hearing from you guys ♡

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glitterge1pen · 3 years

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Crayons Not Cigarettes

Kyōtani Kentarou x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 2,770

If you looked it up on google the descriptors were "small venue" and "sports arena" and "stadium". The place took roughly ten minutes to walk around, the parking lot was huge, and it had those bright white lights out in the front. The entrance was a bit grand, big pillars with dozens of different sports flags. Tons of different teams, tournaments, and practices were held here.

You were starting your part time job at the concession stands today. You had already gone through the training a couple days ago, all that was left was actually doing your job. You were hoping you had a good shift partner, that you didn't spill any drinks, that people would be nice to you.

Tonight there was a volleyball match, you decide the crowd was decent for thirty minutes before game time. The regular attendees stood in lines at the front gates, waiting to be let in. Walking up to the employee only entrance you struggled with your key card to get it open. This was exactly how your manager had done it on training day. There was only five more minutes before your shift started, you were starting to worry you might be late.

"Turn it over"

You whipped around to see another person standing right behind you. He had blonde dyed hair with black streaks, and his eyes doused in eyeliner.

"Oh, thanks"

You kinda mumble it out, embarrassed that this very cute stranger had to see you struggle opening a door.

"Do you work here too?"

You ask as you hold the door open for him.

"No"

You take his short reply as him saying the conversation is over. You still have to awkwardly walk next to him down the long employee corridor though. After a rather long pause he continues speaking.

"I'm a volleyball player. On game days we get to use the employee entrances and doors."

"Really? That's cool,"

Up further down the hall you can see where your paths will diverge.

"Well I hope the game goes well for you"

He says nothing, but does nod his head before leaving for the locker room area. You turn the other way to the employee office. Put your jacket and bag into a locker, clock in on the old desktop, and walk out to the counter to start your shift. Your shift partner isn't there yet so you begin setting things up at the booth alone.

You flick on all the machines, filling up the icee mixer with dyed flavors, a new pouch of cheese for the nacho dispenser. You unpackage plastic cups, open up different cupboards and drawers trying to familiarize yourself before you have to start serving people. You get change from the back, filling up the register. Finally your shift partner shows up. Just in time to because you start to hear the sounds of people entering.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Your next shift was for a highschool gymnastics tournament. The concessions stand was in a large hallway between different gymnasiums, wedged between the gift shop and Subway. Since it was a smaller event you were the only one working the counter. Hardly anyone was buying anything though. The fan behind the counter gave a gentle hum, the music rather quiet amongst the sounds of people.

“You still got bottled water?”

It was that guy from your first day. You duck below the counter to grab a bottle, hand it to him and start ringing up the total.

“You guys won that game the other day, right?”

You knew they had won. You had spent your break trying to get a glimpse of the player who you had spoken to. You had only gotten to see him for a few moments, his body in the air, hand coming down on the ball sending it over the net in one fluid motion. After pulling the metal shutters down over the counter at closing, you had walked back to the courts to confirm the score.

“Yeah,”

It was here that another volleyball player came up to the counter.

“I told you that you could use one of my extra water bottles! You didn't have to go and buy one!”

The other player turned his attention to you.

“Sorry that my scary friend is bothering you-”

“Scary?”

You asked confused, but he kept talking.

“I’m Konganegawa, me and Kyotani are both Sendai Frogs!”

Kyotani.

“Nice to meet you both”

You say.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Kyotani sat on the counter of the concession stand. You liked it when he was perched up there, he warded customers off fairly well. You were certain that practice had ended a while ago, but you said nothing in fear of sending him away. He didn't always say much, or anything sometimes, but his presence was comforting to you. Even if it wasn't always abundantly clear you could tell he paid attention to you, like he was standing watch.

He knew your schedule, what snacks to buy for you on break, what songs you liked best on your manager's store playlist. He had quickly become your favorite part of work. It didn't matter who you shared shifts with, if you had gotten swamped at the register, or if you had to mindlessly wipe the counters with boredom. As long as Kyotani was there work wasn't ever terrible.

“The team is having a get together”

You had been re-arranging the plastic utensils on the counter but stopped to listen to him.

“You wanna come?”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“And you like Kyotani? Like you’d want to go on a date with him?”

Yamaguchi was teasing you, his voice trying to communicate how ridiculous he thought the notion was. You had quickly grown close to him after tagging along to a few of the Sendai Frog events. He came to every game and usually made an appearance at the concession stand to chat with you or you would find him in the stands. Today was one of those days.

“You are literally dating Tsukkishima”

Yamaguchi perked up in defense,

“They are nothing alike!”

“That I can agree on”

Both of you dissolving into laughs. Yamaguchi's face steadied and got more serious.

“You really do feel that way about him?”

He asked.

“Yes, I mean even when we first met I thought he was cute, and we keep hanging out more and more, and I just keep liking him more and more”

Yamaguchi looked ready to say something else when he stopped himself. You turned around, suddenly feeling another's company. Kyotani was right there, you wondered if he had heard anything you said but his expression betrayed nothing.

“You're on your break?”

“Yeah, what's up?”

He seemed, you couldn't find the exact word, but it was between dejected and bitter. You wanted to ask if he was okay but he spoke first.

“I thought you'd be watching the game”

“We had been,”

Yamaguchi said, jumping into the conversation.

“Yeah, the first set was just about to end, concessions is gonna be swamped when I get back”

You said, you trying to meet Kyotani’s eyes, to see if they would reveal anything to you but no such luck was granted.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You try to focus on the customers you have. A dance competition was in the big gym today, the entire place was packed. You hand out bags of popcorn, perfectly filled cups of beer to the brim. At one of the tables placed outside your stand is Kyotnai. He was practically stewing, his aura strong and unavoidable. He was making it harder to count out change and your eyes kept drifting from customers to him. He had been sitting there for a while. You thought that maybe someone else from the team would come drag him back to practice, but that didn't happen.

The last customer in line left, the competition having gotten louder, more intense, pulling people away from the food. That last customer was replaced with Kyotani’s scrunched up sulking, angry face. Normally you wouldn't call it sulking, just angry or annoyed, but he definitely had traces of sulking on him.

“A couple weeks ago,”

He got this part out fine, but the rest of his words came a little more quiet.

“You had been talking to Yamaguchi on your break during a game, who were you talking about?”

You don't know what to say. You stumble over a few words, none of them sounding right. He was so direct and challenging, you felt as if no matter what you said he would eventually pull it from you. You only managed to get one word out properly.

“Why?”

He didn't answer and this surprised you.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Kyotani stood under one of the lamps outside the main entrance. You thought you could see the outline of a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He didn't smell like smoke and you had never seen him do it before. You didn't move for a moment wondering if you could catch him smoking now.

“Hey fuckface! We going or not?”

Kyotani had spotted you and called out.

“Yeah, yeah”

You said rushing over to meet him. You could no longer count on your fingers how many times you had hung out with him. A couple of movies, lots of grabbing food after his practice or your shift, that time you found out he couldn't roller skate, that one trip to the museum. He had kissed one of the statues in defiance when you told him to stop touching things. Unfortunately for him that was the exact moment you had pulled out your phone to snap some pictures.

Today though he was tagging along with you to the store. You needed to pick a couple things up before going home. He had offered to drive. In the car, you recounted that day's incidents. A spilled soda on your pants, a customer yelling at you about their cotton candy, and getting scolded for coming in five minutes late.

“Why are you working there? Not that it’s bad, but you kinda hate it”

“Anyone hates working in a job where you have to give people food and wear a collared shirt, plus I don't hate it you're there”

That part about him wasn’t something you planned to say and you chose to ignore the seinement and keep talking.

“I’m just trying to save up money right now, I have other things in life I want, and you?”

You asked, at the light he stopped to look at you.

“What do you mean?”

“You just have volleyball brain, that's it?”

He hesitated here, it was brief but it was there.

“Volleyball brain is my diagnosis”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Once in the store Kyotani pushed a cart around while you led him up and down different aisles. You pulled off bottles of dish soap, a pack of clorox wipes. You were going to turn down to the electronics center to see if they had any cute phone cases you might want when Kyotani cut in front of you with the cart.

“Let’s go the other way”

“It’s faster if we go this way”

You tried walking past him but he didn't budge. You huff, and shoulder check him when turning in the direction he wants to go. This happens a few more times. You wanted to loop around to the grocery aisle when he insisted you lap the whole store instead of just cutting past the toys and books. You forgot to grab that extra phone charger you had been wanting and he wouldn't let you pass by the magazines to get it. In the end you had waited with the cart while he went to grab it for you.

When you were loading the bags into the back seat of his car he asked what you wanted to eat.

“You sure you want to go out? You seemed nervous in the store”

You say.

“I’m fucking hungry”

Is all he says, but you know he's trying to lighten the mood from the strange way he was acting in the store. In the car he lets you pick the music and roll the windows down.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It was a weekend morning and once again you were back at the store. You thought about the last time you were here a couple weeks before with Kyotani. Recently you have fallen into a type of rhythm with Kyotani. You spent a lot of your free time with him, with each other's friends, your lives were almost totally meshed together. More often than not people assumed you two were dating. Even if you wanted that to be true you were still unsure how he felt about you.

You had your basket and were on the way to the check out when spotted a book on display. Oftentimes you would send pictures of frogs and frog merchandise to the Sendai Frog group chat you had been roped into. Even if you weren't on the team you had officially been adopted into the group because “you work for home base!” according to Koganegawa. You picked the book up off the shelf.

They were the cutest drawings you had ever seen. They were simple and rough. Done in crayon which made them so charming. The title of the book was Frogs Go Ribbit! , if the display card was right this was the authors fourth picture book and so far the most popular. You opened up the first pages.

Frogs ribbit all day long

When they snooze and when they watch the morning news

Each frog had different types of music notes drawn coming from their mouth. Some frogs had bright colorful notes, one had notes that looked like plants and flowers, one had notes covered in flames. The one with flames had dark lines drawn under its eyes. It reminded you of Kyotani, if you weren't going to buy the book before you were now. You turned the page. Then snapped it shut.

At the movies buying tickets, during museum visits

It was you. Sure you were a little crayon cartoon but that was you. It was you and a little frog that looked like Kyotani. That was your hair, your favorite pair of shoes. It was you and frog Kyotani in line buying movie tickets. You pull out your phone and scroll back in your photos to when you and Kyotani had first gone to the movies. It was even the same outfit. On the museum page you gasped when you realized who the other frog was.

Tsukishima's frog had glasses, a figure that was unmistakably Yamaguchi pointing in excitement at a painting next to the frog. There was no way it wasnt Yamaguchi and Tsukki. The green tufts of hair, you had helped him dye many times now so obvious. You and Kyotani were on the museum page as well. Kyotanis frog sticking its tongue out to latch onto a statue while you hit him on the head. Little yellow exclamations drawn around the point of impact. You flipped to the next page.

In the trees, on the court they ribbit, ribbit, ribbit! It fills their hearts!

There was a Koganegawa frog hidden in a basket of volleyballs. Tsukishima's frog blocking a serve from Yamaguchi with its tongue. Yachi was also on this page cheering from the stands. You were crouched down next to Kyotani’s frog patting him on the head, a doodle of a heart floating off him. The rest of the team was there drawn as frogs as well. Sure they weren't wearing jerseys with their numbers, there wasn't a Sendai Frogs banner, but that was them.

You flip through the rest of the book rather quickly. The book telling the tale of how frogs need to take breaks from their ribbits, how they need to eat well, sleep well, and love others. The page with the frogs eating had you feeding Kyotani a plate of flies. When you closed the last page and turned over to see who the author and illustrator were, all that was there on the front cover were the initials M.D. You pull out your phone from your pocket as you start grabbing as many of the books as you can. Your hand finding the contact you were looking for.

“Yamaguchi, you're never going to believe this but I think Kyotani feels the same way I do and you're also not going to believe how I figured that out”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: ahahahahah I don't know why this ended up so long BUT ALSO LIL FROG THAT GO RIBBIT. And here's the playlist that I listened to while I wrote; cherry sparkling water

#kyotani x reader #kyōtani kentarō #kyoutani kentarou #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #sendai frogs

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