“But I’m cold.”
Your voice whines in a pitch that makes Kiyoomi’s brow hitch up in annoyance, arms crossed firmly over his chest as he stares at you from the end of your bed.
It’s late, he’s been staying later every time he comes over after practice, almost as if to see you off to bed. You tell him- well, beg him- to just stay and spend the night, it’s too late for him to drive and you’ll miss him.
Deep down, you know that’s the point that seems to make him want to cave the most, but the stubborn asshole hasn’t given in fully yet. He’s told you from the beginning he’s more of a ‘sleep in my own bed’ kind of guy, but it did make you feel a little insecure about why, then, he never invited you over.
Kiyoomi promised you it was just because of the early mornings, he never wanted you to feel like you had to dash out, or even wake up to see him off, but the insecurity burns all the same.
“If you’re cold, get under the sheets,” he says, as if explaining to a child. “I’ll leave my hoodie for you, if you’d like?”
You fiddle with the threads of your blanket stiffly, “I don’t… I don’t want to get under the sheets.” You sink your teeth into the fat of your lip in embarrassment, trying to ward off awkward tears that want to sting. “Because, when I do, you’re going to leave.” From your sitting position, you see him deflate slightly.
Then, he pads his way next to you. He scoots on your bed, and he wraps an arm around you, tugging you close. You burrow into his side, inhaling the warmth of his skin.
“How about I wait until you’re asleep?” He offers, voice low. He moves the hand not embracing you to gently grip your chin and angle you to look up at him, eyes soft and calm.
“You hurt my feelings when you don’t want to stay, Kiyoomi.”
The words slip out unprovoked, and as his face morphs into one of guilt, yours turns to one of embarrassment. You clear your throat and turn away from the fingers against your chin.
“Yeah,” You pant. “I… I understand that you don’t want to stay. If you don’t mind waiting until I’m asleep, that… that would mean a lot.”
He nods, mind deep in thought as he curls more around you, protectively, letting you get lost in the fabric of his sweatshirts and the bulky arms encasing you. You purr, and just like it does when you’re always with kiyoomi, your mind settles and before you can know it, you’re off into sleep.
Your dreams conjure minimal, little flickers of familiar faces in ridiculous scenarios, but you jolt awake when there’s a teeny nightmare that manages to catch you off guard, and your eyes fly open to try and stop the fear that started brewing.
Now awake, you gladly are able to take in your surrounding and shake off the fright; you’re not entirely sure how you ended up in your pajamas and under the covers, but you’re not complaining. As sunlight peers through the blinds, you stretch and try to curl in on yourself, but you’re blocked by a solid body next to you.
You yelp, slightly alarmed, but there’s a soft, smooth “shhhh,” that comes from the person beside you, and as an arm wraps around you, you burrow into his familiar scent with a happy mewl.
“Omi?” You mumble, pulling your arms close to your chest as he pulls you closer. “You stayed?”
“Shut up,” he murmurs. “You were shivering.”
The meek attempt at denying why he truly stayed makes you giggle, and you burrow against his chest in search for that addictive warmth he’d granted you through the whole night.
“Thank you,” you say, nuzzling your head under his chin. His arms are protective around you, his sleepy grunts barely audible, you’re sure you would’ve missed them if you weren’t so close, but they’re the sweetest noises you’ve ever heard, and you hate that he denied you them for so long.
“You wanna talk about your nightmare?” He says, voice drunk with sleep.
“What nightmare?”
“You were flinching a little before you woke up. Figured it scared you awake.”
You smile and plant a kiss along the muscles of the pectoral you’re nuzzled against, “it wasn’t serious. I’m more impressed you knew it had me awake.”
“Of course I knew; you only tremble like that when you’re scared.”
“You care about me or something?”
“I just happen to pay attention to you.” One onyx eye peers down at you, “because of course I care about you, dickhead.”
Fuck, you think to yourself. He’s damn good.
And he is. Kiyoomi is ridiculously good, he always has been, and while you hadn’t meant to upset him with your confession last night, there is a small sliver of you that’s grateful he listened and caved to be with you.
Even if it was a little out of his comfort zone.
“This is nice,” he mumbles into your hair, his fingertips dragging up and down the slope of your spine.
You nod and move one of your hands to the nape of his neck, carding the curly locks and relishing in the mewls he lets out, “I told you. You just don’t listen to me.”
“Because I’m not used to you being right.”
“You’re so rude,” you snort, and once again, his vocal chords vibrate against your head as he laughs. It’s quiet once again, and you’re almost ready to doze back off when on the nightstand next to the bed, his phone vibrates loudly.
“Omi-“
“No,” he grumbles. “‘S just Miya. He’s fine. We’re comfortable.”
“We are,” you giggle. “But I don’t want you to be late.”
“I’m never late for anything.” He shifts to nuzzle his head deeper into the pillow, “besides, you’re the one who convinced me to stay, why are you trying to get me to leave now?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” you assure.
“Yeah, I don’t either.”
“You have to,” you snort, your eyes watching as his Adam’s Apple bobs with each swallow and word that falls from his sleepy mouth. “Come on. Meian will be pissed, Miya will be blowing up your phone soon enough.”
“Fuck Miya,” he grumbles. “You’re trying to get me to stop snuggling and leave and you think Miya is your best argument?”
You give him some more laughter, your fingers gently running over the moles and scars that adorn his chest and side, and you smirk as the muscles quiver under your touch. Ticklish. He would be. “Oh?”
“You wanna keep that hand?” He grumbles, and if you knew him any less, you may have missed the way you could hear the smile in his voice. “I suggest you don’t get too creative there.”
“Oh, I’m getting very creative.” Before you can provoke him further, a hand grabs yours and tenderly brings it up to his lips, planting warm, soft kisses to the knuckles.
“Don’t be annoying,” he mutters, sleepily looking at you from the corner of his eyes, “just be affectionate. I got months to try and make up for.”
He looks cute, soft in the early morning haze, and you do decide You yield as you curl into the bend of his sides, letting his breathing even out before his phone starts ringing again. He’s warm, his snuggly, and he’s still the Kiyoomi only you have the privilege of seeing.
And now, you’re hoping he’s giving you the privilege to see it every morning.
2K notes
·
View notes
Happy birthday to my beloved mother Kiyoomi <3
——-
If the sun pouring through the blinds wasn’t going to wake you up, the cooled side of the bed next to you would, and your arm, in attempts to wrap around Kiyoomi, hit the mattress with a soft ‘poomf.’
Your brows furrow and you pout slightly as you process that Kiyoomi wasn’t next to you, but the sound of breakfast skillets popping made you smile in defeat. Ever the early bird, he’d be up and at ‘em, preparing for the day before you could even stir. Today, clearly, seemed to be no different.
You grab one of his shirts and boxers and make your way out to the kitchen, watching as, almost rhythmically, he cooks your breakfast. Thin tank top hiding the best things to admire about him, sweatpants low on his hips to splay a sliver of his boxers, and humming along in agreement to whatever podcast he had playing on his phone.
“And what exactly are you doing?” You say dramatically, his shoulders relaxing at your mere presence.
“Changing the car’s windshield wipers,” he says flatly, only to cast you a look over his shoulder, equally dramatic as you. “I’m cooking breakfast, what do you think I’m doing?”
“I think it’s your birthday,” you scoff, stalking up behind him. Your arms wrap around his waist and your face nuzzles into the planes of his warm back. “And I think I’m supposed to be spoiling you.”
He chuckles softly as he reaches for something on the counter, “you’d burn this whole damn house down if you tried to cook right now.” You bite his back, snickering at the yelp he lets out. “Besides- you do spoil me. I get to wake up next to you everyday.” Bashfully, at the sudden change in his word choices, you squeeze him tighter, hoping your scalding cheeks don’t give you away.
“Drool and all,” he adds promptly.
“Yeah. There it is,” you snort at his playful jab. He chuckles, and you feel the muscles of his back contort and contract with each lazed breath. Your eyes lift up to dance over the marks and moles that adorn his shoulders, some from birth and others from accidentally roasting in the sun. There’s some scars from childhood and adolescent injuries, and-
“Blink. I feel your eyes searing into me.”
“Sorry,” you giggle. It’s not uncommon for your eyes to glaze over as you look at him. He’s just such a sight, and who the hell would you be to not indulge? “You’re just like… really pretty.”
He pauses before he turns around to look at you, smiling genuinely as an arm opens up for you to curl into. You do, happily, letting yourself be engulfed in his beefy arm while he hums happily. “I know I’m pretty, babe.”
“I know you know,” you murmur. “It’s annoying that you know how pretty you are.”
He smiles widely, fakely at you before falling down to his usual, eased smile. You could watch him for hours doing his most mundane activities, watching his brows twitch with each little reaction, the way his lashes beat subconsciously, and if he wasn’t looking at you like you’d lost your mind, you’re sure you could keep observing him in his natural habitat forever.
Your head turns slightly to dip your nose against his ribs, letting in a relaxed inhale for a deep, selfish breath of his scent. “You smell so damn good,” you rasp.
“You’re so poetic,” he snorts sarcastically, and you don’t have to have your eyes open to know he’s shaking his head in amused disbelief. “Go set the table, birthday boy is hungry.”
“Can the birthday boy give me a kiss?” You mewl, and you fight your laughter when he looks down at you, blankly. He does, however, comply, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss.
Morning breath and all.
“Happy birthday, my love,” you say softly, chasing his lips once again after you speak.
He smiles and squeezes you softly, “it is now, baby.”
712 notes
·
View notes