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revasserium · 1 year

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prompt 5 + kita shinsuke

send me a number or a prompt and character and i'll write you a thing

100% love (05. love as one of the dead languages)

kita shinsuke; 3,086 words; just fluff, bc i rewatched the inarizaki match and caught feels during the kita ep LOL

the first time you meet him, it’s in detention, though you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’s here — after school, cleaning the classroom when he doesn’t have to be.

“wait — what do you mean, you didn’t get in trouble?” you blink at him, your arms propped on your mop handle, watching as he methodically dips his own mop into the water, pulls it against the strainer, and then sets it to the floor again, dragging it through in strong, solid motions.

“exactly what i mean. i didn’t get in trouble.” kita barely looks up as he redips his mop, strains, mops. dip, strain, mop.

“so… you’re here because you want to clean up the classrooms?”

“yes.”

you bite your lips, chewing on them as you watch him work his slow way across one half of the classroom.

“if you want to leave, you can,” he says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, with no resentment or any hint of ulterior motive, “i’ll take care of it.”

but something about that digs itself into your lower belly and twists, and later, atsumu might tell you that’s what a gut feeling is, so you huff, shove your mop into your water bucket a bit too hard, splashing the floor even as you pull your mop through the strainer and smack it onto the floor.

your mopping is nowhere near as good or thorough as kita’s, but you get the job done.

when he gets made class president, no one is surprised, but you do find your eyes drawn to the back of his head as he stands up to bow and accept the position. when he enlists your help for the school athletics fair, you grumble about having to do the extra legwork, but he simply blinks at you.

“you’re good at that kind of thing, so i know you’ll get it done.”

and really, you shouldn’t have blushed so damn hard at such a terrible line but… you did anyway. and the fact that he hadn’t meant it as a compliment — well. you might’ve liked that too.

“ah — here are the bandanas for kibasen… and i think we’ve got the teacher-student relay sign ups all done,” you drop a bagful of brightly colored bandanas onto kita’s desk during lunch before plopping down on the seat in front of him, straddling the back of the chair to watch him as he opens up his meticulously crafted bento box.

“thank you,” he says, moving the bag to the floor.

you cock your head, “kita-san… do you ever eat junk food?”

he bows over his lunchbox, pausing as he considers your question.

“not really. i’m not that fond of things that aren’t good for me.”

“hm… but y’know — some things could be bad for the body, but good for the soul, right?”

he blinks as you grin up at him, your cheek pillowed on your arm, your eyes bright as sunrise.

“hm. i’ve never thought about it like that. thank you.”

you consider him as he considers you. and for a moment, your entire world is the size of a homeroom class, your heart clattering inside your chest like loose crayons in a box, your stomach empty as the rows of afterschool lockers. kita smiles then, and it shakes through your whole body like the last bell in the afternoon, letting spill a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies into the world beyond the school gates, their wings flickering orange against the afternoon sun.

three days later, you arrive in the morning to find something tucked into your shoebox, a white plastic bag with a note tucked in. a box of pocky along with a sheath of vitamin c tablets — something good for the soul and something good for the body (it’s getting colder out, please be careful) - kita.

you break into laughter so hard you scare the two girls standing behind you, chattering about a cute new cafe in town.

a week later, kita arrives at school to find a similar white plastic bag shoved into his own shoe box with a chocolate orange and a bottle of pocari sweat, a note written on glittery pink stationary states — if the unhealthy thing is in the shape of a healthy thing, does that make the unhealthy thing healthier? (also, is pocari sweat named pocari “sweat” because it tastes a little salty?)

he stares at the note for a full five seconds before smiling and folding it into quarters, tucking into his uniform pocket.

that day at lunch, you’re halfway through your second onigiri when a slice of chocolate orange appears in front of you, carefully offered on a bright white napkin.

“did you know that dark chocolate is actually quite good for your heart in small amounts? there’s been a lot of research done on it’s link with improved cardiovascular efficiency.”

you blink at the slice of chocolate orange before your eyes slowly flicker up to meet kita’s, his expression open, his smile small but sweet. you grin, quirking an eyebrow as you take the slice and pop it into your mouth.

“yeah, but i got you the normal milk-chocolate ones.”

kita laughs, a light, wonderful, skin-tingling thing, and drops into the sat in front of you, unpacking his own bento box on your desk with a nod.

“yeah, you’re right.”

you have lunch together the next day, and then the next day. that friday, you flick open your phone and turn it around to face him during lunch, shoving it wordlessly towards him. he pauses mid-chew and stares for a second before swallowing and reaching for it, punching in his number and equally wordlessly handing it back to you. you both take a breath and like a hitched breath or skipped frame, the world continues to spin, but somehow, everything is just a little bit different.

you mention a movie you want to see; he tells you that he’s been meaning to see it too.

the following tuesday, you find a single movie ticket in your shoebox.

wednesday afternoon, after volleyball practice, kita flicks open his phone to find a text from a number he doesn’t know. it just says — caramel or chocolate popcorn?

he finds himself smiling as he hits the reply button, someone is already peering over his shoulder.

“oya! kita-san is texting a girl!” atsumu’s voice is much too loud in the clubroom, full of half-dressed boys, and of course, everyone instantly pauses to look over.

“oi, oi, tsumu that’s none of your —”

“wait, is it that girl you’ve been having lunch with every day?” atsumu’s face presses in and kita sighs, methodically buttoning up his shirt.

“yes. it is.”

“ah! kita-san has a girlfriend!”

kita hoists his backpack over his shoulder, turning to slate a look at atsumu before heading out the clubroom door.

“she’s not my girlfriend yet. please don’t forget to lock up again. see you all tomorrow morning.”

everyone bows and says their goodbyes as if on autopilot. it isn’t until the door swings closed behind kita that omimi frowns, turning to aran with a confused blnk.

“wait. did he say she’s not his girlfriend… yet?”

saturday afternoon finds you both outside the local movie theater, you fidgeting with your phone charms, him showing up with a light smile. you have to stop yourself from staring at the simple white tee he wears over a pair of well-worn jeans, a single hand raised in greeting.

“so. the popcorn,” you say as you both make your way to the front of the concessions counter.

“yes,” he says, grinning as you purse your lips, eyes gliding over the various flavor options before settling back on him. there’s a blush on your cheeks the color of peach blossoms that kita sort of wishes he could take a picture of and keep forever — tucked into the pocket of his school uniform or perhaps sewn into the lining of his jacket.

“did you mean it?” you ask.

at this, kita laughs, nodding as he turns to the cashier, “can we get the large popcorn combo please — both caramel and chocolate.”

the cashier bows and someone behind the counter starts to scoop out equal amounts of each flavor into a large divided popcorn bucket. you resist the urge to squeal as the overflowing bucket slides across the counter. kita picks it up and motions for you to follow him.

after the movie, you’re wandering around the bustling streets of amagasaki, the early evening air warm as it settles around you both, already a little humid, weighted with possibilities.

“be honest, have i been a terrible influence on you?”

kita is quiet before letting out a small laugh.

“hm… that depends on what you define as a ‘terrible influence’, no?”

“and… what would you define as a ‘terrible influence’?”

you peer at him over the ice pops that you’d both bought in a nearby convenience store.

“objectively speaking… i’ve been eating things that aren’t the best for my diet, but i’ve been careful to balance them out with other, healthier things,” he says, his eyes trained on his own ice pop before he gives it a tentative lick. a shiver chases down your spine as his eyes slide over to meet yours.

“but i think i’ve been feeding my soul a lot of good things since we met. and i think that’s really important too.”

you feel that familiar twist in your lower belly, the rush of warmth as it rushes up your chest, cresting into your cheeks in a great wave. you feel your heartbeat like a hummingbird’s wings, fluttering against the base of your throat, your mind a freshly cleaned chalkboard with only one sentiment — ah… if we kissed right now, i wonder if our lips would stick.

you decide to find out.

and the answer is, they do. but neither of you feel the need to talk about it in any depth, instead preferring to press in closer, and then closer, till both your popsicles are forgotten, dropping onto the pavement at your sides.

“ah… what a waste…” you sigh, a little bit breathless as he finally lets you go, both his hands cupped around your face.

“i don’t think so,” he says, and his voice is light, his smile even lighter, but the brightness shining behind his eyes tells you more than anything that he’s eager for more. and who are you to deny him, anyway?

“yeah, you’re right — we can always get more ice pops…”

he leans down to press his lips back to yours and neither of you think to mention that well, you can always have more kisses too. but. priorities, right?

he tells you he loves you three weeks later, your fingers laced, the night already full and dark. you’d waited for him after practice, waving at his the rest of his team as they hooted and hollered at you from the 2nd floor clubroom. your breath catches in your chest as you turn to look at him.

there’s that light, easy smile on his lips, and for a second, you wonder how someone who’s so serious all the time can say something like that so lightly. but then, his eyes meet yours and you feel yourself caught like a kindling to a flame in the intensity of his gaze. you blush and look back at the empty street before you, the summer night a blaze of humidity and cicada song.

“you don’t have to say it back but… i thought i should let you know.”

you squeeze your eyes shut — don’t say that like you’re talking about the weather this weekend!

but it’s kita, and you know him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t lie to you. not about this; not about anything else either.

his fingers in yours never tighten or loosen either, and for a beat, you’re stumped by his certainty, by the casualness of it all. by his unwavering belief that this, of all things, is true.

it takes you three whole months to say it back, but when you do, he only kisses you like rain, like certainty and sunrise and he smiles.

“i know,” he says.

you frown, just a bit, pursing your lips.

“you… knew?”

kita laughs, and this time, it’s a real laugh, full-bodied and weighted, rumbling deep in his chest, shaking his entire body as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer on his bed, you slotted between his legs, the latest copy of jump! splayed over his stomach. and in another time, in another situation, the position might’ve been something less casual, less innocent, but he only grins as he recovers from his bout of laughter, reaching out to trace the line of your cheek with a gentle finger.

“yes, i did — i do. of course i do.”

“but… how?”

he closes leans down to close the magazine, sitting up to hoist you over his lap. you let out a small squeak, a now too-familiar warmth curling in your stomach as he easily maneuvers you into a comfortable position. you’d long since gotten used to the strength in his body, the long sinew of his limbs, his movements, the ease with which he could, he if chooses, to manhandle you into any position he likes — a concept that, admittedly, neither of you had brought up to explore fully just yet. but soon, you think.

he takes his time, running both his hands up the length of your back, drawing them back down to rest on the curve of your hips, his movements unhurried.

“they say that 93% of human communication is nonverbal,” he says, like he always does, his words steady and strong.

“right…” you say, amusing yourself with tangling your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging on them slightly, almost absently.

“so what do you think you’ve been saying to me these past three months when you wait for me after practice, when you stay after school to help me clean the classrooms, when you blush like this… just sitting with me?”

and it’s then that you notice, the slight hitch in his voice, the more-than-usual sharpness in his eyes, the way his fingers are digging into your hips just a bit more than before. in return, you feel your own skin simmering up with heat, your stomach roiling inside you, your heart racing as if it were trying to escape your chest, leap from you mouth and perhaps into his —

“i — “

he smiles then, a raw quirk of the lips that sets your whole body ablaze.

“you’ve been telling me this whole time,” he says, leaning in to ghost his lips along yours.

“yeah… but that last 7% still means something right?” you fist your fingers in his hair, gasping as he rucks you up into his lap, just a bit further, the heat between your bodies condensing like water against a frozen glass, beading along your skin as he grins against your lips.

“of course it does… but now that i have all 100%, what do i still have to complain about?”

you puff out a laugh before he catches your lips between his and you’re lost to the warmth, to the desire calcifying inside you. after a good few minutes of kissing, of lips and teeth and tongues and gasping, he flips the pair of you over, pinning you beneath him as he trails a searing line along your jaw, down your neck.

“i love you,” he says, in that earnest, all-too-sincere way of his, but there’s nothing soft about the way he looks at you, nothing innocent about the way his knee presses up between your legs, making you hiss. you let your eyes flutter shut, arching up into the liquid fire of his touch.

“i love you too,” you say, your words cut off by a high whine in the back of your throat as he inches a hand down to tease at the skin of your thigh beneath your skirt, the hard calluses on his fingers and palms chasing desire through your veins.

“i know,” he says, nodding as he presses another kiss to your collarbone, “but… will you let me show you instead?”

you gasp out a laugh, nodding as well, glancing up at him through glazed-out eyes, the expression on your face one that he think he’ll never forget, all pink-cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, your hair a halo on his pillow, your clothes mussed and rumpled.

“h-haven’t you been doing that all these past months anyway?” you breathe out, your chest heaving as he traces abstract circles into the tender skin of your inner thigh.

kita laughs, bobbing his head as he pulls back slightly to pop the first few buttons of his shirt. he watches as you swallow, the way your entire body seems drawn taught, how this is all for him — and he can’t help thinking that ah… love looks good on you.

he wants to see more, to see all of it, to see all the different ways that this love can be played out against the milk of your skin. and he wants to be the one to do the playing. so he leans back down over you, kisses you sweet and deep and thorough, kisses you till he is unsure of which breath is yours and which is his, till he himself is dizzy with the taste, the feeling, the mere thought of you. and he knows that it's at least a little irrational, that there's no guarantee this will lead to a future with you, that in all likelihood, it'll end with one or both of you with your hearts broken, that it'll end, but that doesn't matter. it's never mattered to him -- not really.

because he knows that even if in the future, it might break him, that it might not be good for him, that right now, this is what he wants -- his body, his soul -- he wants to sink himself into the abyss of you and hold his breath without thinking about the drowning. he wants -- god he wants. because this journey is so much more important to him than where either of you end up, though he can't help hoping that you'll end up with him anyways.

he wonders -- no, he knows that at least for him, this is what "love" is.

“yes, i have… but i can think of a few more ways,” he says, tugging lightly at the material of your skirt.

you reach up to tug at the hem of his shirt in return and he knows he’s lost.

you smile, catching your bottom lip in your teeth as you watch him.

“alright then… show me.”

and so, he does.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #kita shinsuke scenarios #kita shinsuke imagines #haiCUTIES #floofy floof floof #bRO bro bro brO why is it that this time around -- i mean this rewatch/reread im finding myself suddenly into like...#a whole dif cast of characters??? like kita?? bro. im kinda here for it.

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