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I NEED KAKYOIN NSFW

AGED UP

SHORT ENEMIES TO LOVERS

SAME HOTEL ROOM?

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ILL DO ANYTHING PLEASE

˗ˋˏ 𖢻 ˎˊ˗ Trust Me, Won’t You? (P4!AU Noriaki Kakyoin x Reader NSFW) ˗ˋˏ 𖢻 ˎˊ˗

ദ്ദി •⩊• ) Soooo initially I said I wouldn’t do age ups. Im debating on it, bc I did enjoy writing this, but I will be making a more concise and accurate rule set over this weekend, please read them before sending something in. No shade to this request tho; like I said it was fun!! (Clearly bc it got so long lmao)

Kakyoin is so chill, it’s hard for me to imagine him disliking anyone lmao. In this, you, Jotaro and him are around the time period of P4. Hope this did justice!

Mentions: shower/non sexual nudity, alcohol, Kakyoin going down on you, afab genitalia, penetrative sex, emotionally constipated Kakyoin

Unwavering support, a nearly endless stream of money on an IV drip. Seamless excursions to every corner of the world to investigate those accursed ones who coveted the cut of the arrow, its fever belying untold power— that was the quality you were used to, admittedly, spoiled by, from the Speedwagon Foundation.

The one time there was an exception to the rule, of course it had to be now.

“Only… one other room is available?”

If this had been ten years earlier, the man in white would have shot you a death glare for the “redundant question”, but now he merely sighs. Age and peace had sanded down doctorate-student Kujo’s sharp demeanor; not like you’d mention it. Perhaps it was also the presence of the other man’s hand settling on his shoulder, patting him gently, with an uneasy smile.

“It’s not a problem, Jotaro. There’s a couch in your suite, isn’t there?” Kakyoin asks. “I have no problem sleeping there.”

Without even asking, as usual. Frowning, you open your mouth but he shakes his head before you can speak.

“Ah-ah,” he teases. “Jotaro and I have roomed together quite a bit, and you had à very long flight.”

“And?” You ask, crossing your arms and tapping a foot on the carpet. Maroon, gold and purple dressings give the Hong Kong lobby a rather modern, Western look, almost lounge-like if it weren’t for the dark wood framing plush cushions, flowers spraying out of tall, ornate black vases. Low RnB curled around the furniture, a crooning voice recalling lovers past. Abstract paintings with brush strokes that arch the same as the flower steps with hang on the deep colored walls— it feels downright suffocating, you think, as the summer heat swells against the insistent push of air conditioning. Sheesh. You fan your face quickly before looking the red haired man his face, hard. “I’m also not as long as the couch.”

His eyes narrow. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“Neither of you could take it anyway.”

“Pardon?” Kakyoin says. Jotaro pinches the bridge of his temple.

“The old man is upstairs, remember? He’s in my bed, I’m on the couch. Didn’t think he should room by himself…”

And he doesn’t know when to not butt in, you can hear him mutter. Just like—

“Ah. Of course. It’s not 1989 anymore,” the red haired man concedes, and crosses his arms tightly.

Noriaki Kakyoin rarely betrayed any hint of being flustered, to your absolute annoyance— you’d seen him angry, sure, residual Stand users who had pledged themselves to Dio coming after you would annoy anyone, but never unsettled like this; pink cheeked, shoulders ramrod stiff across. It could just be the heat.

He is dressed in a full, forest green suit— a gauzy white and yellow shawl draped around his shoulders that he often used to prevent his scalp from burning in the more southern ventures. Muscles that had only grown and expanded beyond the high school pictures he showed you one time tighten and flex beneath the silky fabric. Over-elegant, as always.

Before he can meet your eyes, you fan your face again and look away, pressing your marginally cooler fingertips into your cheeks to dispel the blood.

Chrissakes. Sharing a room with him would be the worst. Not that he would be the usual freak; or maybe he was, with that creepy Stand. Never had he pushed you beyond the same polite flirt he’d toss at a waitress who paid extra attention. Professional to a T. Jotaro felt extra aggressive in comparison, but at least he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Kakyoin’s coolness was almost unsettling in comparison. It was impossible to read him. Apart from how clear he thought you were immature for this position.

The worst was how everyone else saw the “gentleman”, taking the lead during missions, cutting you off in conversations, rewriting your plans without discussing them with you. You kept it cool. You kept it professional, even when he moved you around like a chess piece despite your equal standings.

A job. It’s just a job, nothing more. He’s your coworker. You take a deep breath.

“Well,” you say lightly, almost half joking— maybe that would make the black haired man stop staring daggers above the trembling receptionist’s shoulder— and laying a hand on the cool marble desk, you shrug a shoulder. “As long as the AC’s better in there than in here, I don’t mind. It’s a double, yeah?”

The receptionist catches your line and bobs his head in a nod. You smile, and visibly his shoulders relax. Creases in the shoulders of his ill fitting suit refuse to settle.

“Sounds good. Don’t overthink it,” you toss back at the two men behind you; though you’re saying it as much for them as yourself. “Let’s just get through this trip.”

“Tch.” Jotaro shakes his head out of your periphery, and you roll your eyes as you face the anxious receptionist once more.

“Y-yes. Please enjoy your stay, we truly are sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers.

Sweat beads at his brow. As he hands you the keys in hands that are too still shaking just a hair, they’re covered in a thin film of perspiration where his palms were. You try not to cringe.

“Alright—“ stretching your arms above your head and grinning; if the room was half as plush as this lobby, you’d be sitting pretty over the next few days. “As you said I had a loooong flight, Kakyoin, I think I’ll go drop off my bags if you want me to take yours—“

But as you turn to face him, you pause.

His eyes are a little harder than usual— or is it your imagination? Stormier. The usual easy curve of his mouth is razor thin.

Before you can ponder, the darkness dissipates from his expression. Back is the gentle smile and he nods, talking easily, in the same quiet, polite tone that grated you.

“Would you like me to carry your bag? I at least want to drop mine off as well. If you would like to shower, Jotaro and I could debrief.”

“No need, I have—“

“I insist,” he replies simply, and picks up your duffle bag with as much effort as scooping up a puppy. His own suitcase rolls, and carefully he loops the straps of your own bag to hook onto the extending handle he pulls along.

Your brow raises. Of course he’d take it on himself. As you three head to the elevator, you bite your cheek. Just à few days, you remind yourself. You can do it.

“Were you two going to do that at the bar?” You hand Kakyoin his own key, and, punching in your floors, you tap your toe on the ground. “I can wait to shower if the Foundation is paying for a little cocktail.”

“We have to be up at nine tomorrow,” Kakyoin warns. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, and I’m offended you still think I’m a lightweight. Remind me who it was that woke who when we were in Berlin?”

The dark haired man sighs, pushing his hands in his pockets. “Chrissakes. No, we were going to meet in my room. There’s already a bar provided if you’re so inclined.”

“Why do you have to phrase it like that?” You shake your head, and “tch”.

“Just relax.” You manage to hide à scowl at the nudge Kakyoin gives you, cornflower irises glimmering in the low light. “If the selection in his room isn’t to your taste, it’s à sign.”

“If I keep sweating like this, I’ll need at least two,” you remark.

“Don’t get drunk,” Jotaro mutters. You stick out your tongue.

“Fine. One,” you say.

“Nope. Definitely five.”

Maybe seven. Maybe you didn’t even want to wake up tomorrow, you think, rubbing your temple. Because if the prospect of sharing a room set you off, sharing a BED would send you through the impressive glass windows and into the inky night like a shooting star. You were high enough. You would die instantly. And you’re seriously considering it as you both stare at the (admittedly large) king size bed.

“There’s a couch in here too,” Kakyoin says. But it’s a little strangled, as you pinch the inside of your arm to bring yourself down to earth. Slowly, you exhale.

“That’s barely a loveseat, don’t even.”

Are you projecting, or do you hear satisfaction in his voice? “Then, you admit it’s too short for yourself as well.”

“No,” you start, but before you can continue, he sighs and cuts you off.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

This stupid shtick. “No way, we need you to be mobile. I can rough it an inch.”

“You are the only one with the ability to go undercover.” He counters, and presses fingertips together. “They’ll know Jotaro and I immediately, we need you in top acting form.”

“And you don’t think I can act after bad sleep? What kind of half assed—“

“I refuse to sleep in the bed,” he says firmly.

“Fine.” You hesitate. Ah, hell. Neither of you would end up sleeping in the bed at this rate, and damn didn’t that bed look nice. “Well if we’re going to share anything, it’s gonna be the bed.”

He coughs. You glance up at him, his cheeks reddening rapidly, and unable to meet your eyes. “Um… You’re positive?” Kakyoin asks, and you use every ounce of you to make your tone nonchalant, a tiny bit of laughter sneaking through. How could you help it, he looked so boyish, blushing like that and looking away. His turn to get treated like à little kid. And it alleviates a tiny bit of the pounding of your heart against your chest.

“We trust each other with our lives on the field, I could trust you here, Mr. Perfect Gentleman. And I’m sick of arguing.”

“Oh I’m-- you really think that of me?” he asks. As you scoop your bag off his, you frown.

“Yeah… is something wrong with that?”

“No, but… it’s not important,” he reassures, and sits on the bed, smoothing a hand over the clean white duvet. But you can’t help but notice the bitterness in his voice… the usual poise cracking just a hair. Brows furrowing further, you unzip your bag and scoop out your toiletry bag and a loose suit set, something that would be nice enough to sit around with your colleagues but not uncomfortable, a light cotton inoffensive to the weather.

Silence descends upon the room, stark as night without a sunset. The lamplight is honey-colored, not particularly bright, and casts his neutral tones into a strangely warm glow; highlighting the cool maroon in his red hair, and you pivot to the bathroom.

“If you say so. I’m going to shower.”

“If I meet Jotaro, I’ll leave à note,” he calls behind you. You close the door without letting your gaze go above where his knees may be. Heart pounding. Squeezing your eyes shut.

Fuck. This was going to really suck.

Steam lifting off your freshly scrubbed skin, you sigh and step out into the cool tile of the bathroom. You hadn’t gotten to soak it in earlier, too stressed with the situation of the room, the fact that there was yet another fly to squash, who likely had no important new information. Last… three leads were duds?

You try to remember, tucking your head into a towel and wiping down the majority of your body with another. At the very least, there was an abundance of those-- you think, sliding on the soft blue cotton set and opening the door.

He’s seated on the bed, up towards the small bed desk. When he sees you, he pauses-- doesn’t say anything, and then turns back to the phone. “Jotaro?”

“What is it?” you whisper. Kakyoin shakes his head and continues to listen with a frown.

“I understand. If you would like--”

Another pause. Then, he says, slowly, “Yes. Then, let’s wait until tomorrow. I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

Quiet again. You clear your throat.

“Mr. Joestar has fallen asleep. Jotaro was asking if we could postpone the debrief.” Actually focusing, you really look at him, and blink-- he’s also gotten into more comfortable clothes, a tee shirt and loose silk pants that contour his thighs well.

You hope you haven’t looked too long. Had you ever seen him out of uniform? Him looking somewhat human was almost more annoying than his usual appearance.

“Okay, that’s fine. Did you want to--”

“There’s--” he stops. “I’m sorry. I’ve done that a few times now.”

“It’s… fine, did you want to go to the hotel bar?”

“I would prefer not to step out like this. And it’s likely not a good idea to go alone.”

Unfortunately he was right. You sigh, and shrug.

“No worries, then.”

“Well…. We have small bottles,” Kakyoin says. You frown; hadn’t he just said you shouldn’t drink barely an hour before? “Would you like one in particular?”

You hum, leaning against the doorframe. “A red wine?”

“I’ll take the sake.” He scoops up a white bottle and a clear bottle filled with red liquid from the open fridge.

He’s graceful. Opening your bottle and pouring it first, handing you the glass before he even looks at his bottle. Always so considerate.

“Here.”

“Thanks,” You say, trying to sound nonchalant, to a middling effect— trying not to cringe. Hair falling in his face, he tips his own cup against yours; a small sake cup, porcelain.

“Kanpai.”

“Cheers.”

Taking a sip, you stride towards the bed. Fatigue crawls through your veins as you sit, carefully, on the edge. The only other option is the loveseat, which is not any less stain proof than the duvet, and you’re beat. As soon as your body heard the permission to relax, it did, and you swirl the little bit of wine in the glass.

“I suppose Mr. Joestar is getting up in years. Was he really that much more spry ten years ago?” You ask. Casual conversation had to be better than just sitting here in silence. Maybe he wouldn’t be so insufferable when he actually talked about himself.

“He had his pains, sure. But I wouldn’t call him anything less than capable back then.” He pauses, and tilts his cup back. “Quite a threat.”

“Hm. It would be interesting to see him at his prime… though, did he have a Stand then?”

“No, he didn’t.” The bed dips beside you. You tense for a moment as he lays back on the pillows, kicking his feet up. Kakyoin plucks two pillows from the headboard and lays them in a vertical line down the bed towards you. You can’t help it, snorting and shaking your head.

“You don’t have to do that yet, we’re not going to bed yet.”

“Are you sure?”

You sigh. This felt like too much. Despite each of your best efforts, you couldn’t focus on the topic, especially not when he was staring at you like that. Your arms cross.

“Listen, I’m not dense. I get that you think I’m immature or something, but we’re adults. We can sit next to each other without à wall between us.”

“What would you know about what I think?” he asks.

You freeze. That’s not a tone you’ve heard from him before… strained, sure, but lower than usual. Taking one more swallow of your drink you set it down, looking up at the man-- who closed the gap between the two of you in what feels like an impossible amount of time.

You almost fall off the bed, leaning over to set your cup down. Deep breath. The words are on your lips, as you’re turning to him: that you hate me?

He answers when his lips press to yours.

A startled sound between a squeak and a gasp is muffled by his mouth, as he leans forward into you, your elbows pressing into the mattress. Hardly leaning any of his weight on you, and yet still he feels overwhelming; the taste of the rice wine, his clean eucalyptus aftershave. Lingering warmth from the hot water. The tentative, hovering heat of his body above yours.

As his soft lips leave yours, you meet his eyes. Your stomach leaps when you see the pupils blown out with lust, lids heavy as if the thin scars were pushing them shut. Almost immediately, he blinks, and retreats just a few inches.

“I-- I’m sorry, I’m being--”

But this time, you don’t let him finish.

Practically pouncing on him, you kiss Kakyoin with a renewed fever-- blood pumping, heart practically vibrating in your chest. He’s surprised for only a moment before he kisses back with as much fervor, wrapping his arms around your waist, heaving you up to sit on his lap in one smooth motion. You were right about his strength.

Wavy hair brushes your nose as he slides the clothes you just put on back off-- one hand on your hip, the other on your back, under the thin fabric. Beneath you, the insistent swell of his cock makes you gasp. He responds by tossing your shirt to the side.

“Did you really.. Think I couldn’t think of you like this?”

“What?” You whisper, confused-- before you can form another thought his mouth is against the curve of your chest, kissing, nipping, one hand on your back pressing you to him and the other gripping your waist so tight you worry you’ll bruise. Slow, but painfully so-- he slides his hand under the waistline of your pants, on the bare skin of your hip. Tentatively you let one hand slide under the hem of his shirt, and his hand on your back hastily meets yours and scoops his shirt off. Your bare stomachs press against each other. Another shaky breath leaves your lips when your hips twitch along his lap; the red haired man groans.

“Maybe it’s too late to ask,” he murmurs, and without another moment’s hesitation, flips you over onto your back. You don’t get to say anything before he’s tugging on your bottoms, not pulling them all the way down, but low enough on your hips that the v-shape of your pelvis is visible from where you lay. Satin like curls brush against your bare skin with a shiver.

“Is it alright?”

Seriously? You grit your teeth. “Kakyoin, I swear to god, if you don’t--”

He pulls your pants down just enough to slot his face between your thighs, and immediately scoops under your swelling clit with the tip of his tongue.

Choking on your own breath, you press back into the headboard, hips curling into his mouth. One hand pushes your clothes down all the way as he gently laps at your soft folds, sliding a thin finger down from your clit to your entrance, circling it. Your hips jerk

Wetness from you mixes with his spit, and as he pushes the digit into you the obscene squelch sends shivers down your spine. Shit.

He hums around your clit. “You sound nervous.”

“You should put that silver tongue back to its best use,” you rasp, and a hand tangles in his hair to push his lips back down to your pussy.

Without hesitation, he dives back in. Sucking along the little bundle of nerves at the top of your thighs, curling his finger against your g-spot, you moan; grasping into his hair, you feel him do the same before you hear it. Eagerly he eats you, letting the rough pad of his tongue brush up against every sensitive part before the curl in your gut snaps.

“F-fuck… Kakyoin, I—“

And you tip over the edge, body trembling. Pleasure ripples from your wet cunt all the way up your spine, a strange light feeling that lifts you off the bed. But his hands lock around your hips, and even as you spasm, he continues to fuck his fingers in and out of you, sucking harshly on your clit.

Too much. Too much.

Your hands tighten on his hair, and you can feel how harshly you’re tugging on it, but Kakyoin bullies you through it. His hold is iron. Your abdomen muscles flex and twitch as you slide down the headboard, weakly trying to push his soft lips and tongue away. But it’s as if he’s possessed— ignoring your protests in a cracked voice as you arch away from the mattress and unwittingly, further into his mouth. That same feeling ripples through you again, and you cry out as your second orgasm of the night wracks your frame.

“S-stop… s’too… Kakyoin…”

He finally rises from your thighs with a pop, releasing your puffy, abused clit and straightening. On your back, dazed from cumming so hard, you can’t help but feel small as he looms over you. The curve of his cock under the silk pants barely brushes your stomach— you whimper.

“This is the only way I can stand to hear that sound,” he murmurs, pulling his pants down— your hands hover around his thighs, as his length hits against his stomach lightly. It’s impressively sized, in a way that makes your chest flutter. You wrap your hand around it, and give an experimental stroke; he moans, and leans over you. Teasing the hot head between your wet thighs, he continues softly, “Just like this.”

As if asking, the very tip of him dips inside you. Hissing, you widen your hips further and let him sink into you, the sheer length of him brushing against a spot so deep you almost gasp. He exhales, straightening, and gazing down at you.

Gone are the politely sweet, near condescending eyes of before. He looks positively feral.

After a moment he begins to move. Kakyoin’s sharp hips snap against yours in a soft rhythm at first, building into something needier. You too, scrabble at his arms, for purchase, something, his pelvis brushing against your oversensitive clit and pushing out soft, fucked out sounds. Kiss swollen lips are caught again as he picks up your hips, bending you back further as you squeak.

“So good…” he murmurs. “You feel absolutely amazing around me.”

Nonsense babble is all you can come up with. Wet, lewd sounds filling the air as he drags his cock against your cunt, squeezing around him like a vice. Each vein. The scoop of his head. You fit him too well. As he tilts your neck to kiss you, you hold to him for dear life, legs bent back and trembling, the warmth too much as you clench.

“Mm.. Kakyoin, I’m go—“

“You first,” he manages to get out, and the pad of his thumb finds your clit one more time.

Fuck. Fuck him for that.

And you cum around him with a scream.

The ecstasy spreads through you like lightning, seizing your limbs and making you tremble. Spent, you tuck your head into his shoulder, heaving, your exhausted body sweaty against his.

He hisses. Thrusting into you off rhythm, he breaks, pulling out and spilling his release over your tummy, letting it drip towards your crotch and abused pussy. Kakyoin breathes heavily, pressing his forehead against yours.

Neither of you speak for a moment. As if in disbelief. That hadn’t… happened, right?

But as you’re pondering that in your fucked out head, there’s the soft brush of a towel against your midsection.

As you look up, you’re met with your companion’s red face, unable to meet your eyes as he cleans you up. His lips part, but close again. There’s almost a glint of shame in his eyes.

Was he… why was he like fhis?

Frowning, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. He presses his lips together, feigning irritation— but he can’t hide his blush.

“Kakyoin.” Your voice cracks with the last hour’s use.

“Y/N.”

“Can we be adults for a second?”

He raises an eyebrow. You sigh.

“Why do you coddle me?”

His expression shifts, and you’re as surprised as he looks. “I do… what?” He asks.

“You always shift plans so I have the least involvement. Or you get rid of me entirely in the planning. I barely get into the field and it’s becoming an issue because you two are so recognizable— you said it yourself earlier. I don’t hate you,” you add slowly, your voice getting softer. “I just don’t get why you think I’m incompetent.”

He hesitates, and exhales, shoulders slumping. “I apologize. I’ve been acting somewhat like Jotaro.”

“At least he’s easy to read.”

“And I am not?” He asks, exasperated. But then clears his throat and continues, calmer. Sheepish, even. “I thought I was obvious. I kept moving you because… I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You blink at him. Then, as if planned, you swipe up one of the pillows he’d used to create a line between you two, and hit him in the head.

“W— what the heck?” He snaps, but his tone starts to elevate in surprise as he hears you laugh. With it, like a bucket of cool water, you feel every single muscle in you de-tense, shaking your head, finally grinning at him. Kakyoin blushes.

“Yeah, yeah, you have more years of experience, but chrissakes, do you have that little faith in the foundation’s training?”

He huffs. “No. And I realize how foolish I was now.”

“Thanks for explaining yourself. At least. I didn’t expect you to be shy with your emotions.” You slide off the bed, steadying yourself on worn out legs.

He takes your hand, keeping you upright. As you ready à tease, he cuts you off, softly, saying something that makes your heart race. “I lost my reason. I do, around you.”

As he stands, you keep your hand in his, looking up at him. Tousled red curls. His carved jaw, the elegant sculpt of his neck and shoulders down to his chest. Such pretty eyes. Focused on you with gentleness, but adoration as well— as if you were a sight he’d traveled hundreds of miles for.

“Kakyoin…”

After à moment of debate, you kiss his cheek.

When you retract, he’s even redder. You grin.

“Let me keep you on track, then.”

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