#Makki smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelyunholyc · 1 year

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cozy

!! nsfw - minors and blank/ageless blogs will be blocked :) !!

cw: fem!reader, oral (f! and m! receiving), blowjobs, face sitting, unprotected sex. established relationship. pls let me know if i missed anything :)

it had started with a bet.

you hadn't figured out what to wager yet if you won, but the bragging rights were more than enough incentive for you. it seemed trivial, but with your reputation as a scaredy cat who couldn't handle horror movies on the line, you were willing to do anything for redemption.

hanamaki had first choice for the movie since he had initiated the idea, and you were the one with something to prove. he picked an indie film, dubbed the most terrifying one of the year by critics, and though you never really trust reviews, you trust that your boyfriend always plays to win, so there was no doubt that this would be a challenge.

all you had to do, as per the rules he'd so kindly laid out, was last the whole movie, start to finish, without covering your eyes or ears or making any kind of "scared noises" (his words). simple and straightforward.

the first few scenes are easy enough to get through, as the characters are introduced and the plot is laid out. you make yourself comfortable on your couch, resting your head on his shoulder and tucking your legs beneath a blanket, letting him feed you gummy worms (because he insists if you try to feed him or yourself, you could use it as a distraction from the movie). when the strange occurrences start to come in, however, and you start to flinch, the familiar chill of fear seeping into your bones, it's a different story altogether.

it doesn't take you long to come up with a plan.

it's practically foolproof, because you know he can never resist you. the thought makes you smile to yourself, the distraction already affecting you to your benefit.

makki doesn't seem to notice when you hug him even closer to you, shifting so your hand lays surreptitiously on his chest. you slide it across his shirt slowly, letting your palm rest over his abs.

he starts to side-eye you then, you can feel it, and you bite your lip to stifle your mischievous grin. "babe? you doing okay?"

you hum out a reply, lowering your hand to his waistband nonchalantly.

makki jolts slightly, but you're pleased to know it's because of the film and not your gradual encroachment on your mission.

"gummy," you say anyway just for good measure to distract him, and look up and open your mouth in anticipation.

he supplies you immediately, popping another gummy worm in your mouth and smiling sweetly when you catch his wrist and kiss his palm in appreciation.

you chew on the candy, wait patiently for your time to strike.

another jumpscare that gets even him, and your hand slides home, down between his legs and has him jumping for a different reason entirely.

"baby, what are you d-?" he starts, but cuts himself off with a gasp when you continue squeezing at the bulge in his pants, kissing slowly up his neck until you reach his jaw, licking at the sharp line of it. he grows in your hand, and you feel a potent sense of triumph at how quickly and easily you can get him hard with barely a few touches, how sweetly he responds to you without fail.

makki's looking at you now, and even in the dim blue light of the tv you can see him blushing so nicely, despite the furrow of his brow he's trying desperately to hold. "hey, that's not-" he starts to pant, jolting once more when you find the head of his clothed cock and thumb over it. "that's not fair!"

you lick your lips, smiling smugly. "you didn't make a rule against it, hiro," you remind him, brushing his fringe away from his forehead with your free hand so you can see his eyes better. "unless you want me to stop?" you give his cock one last, sound squeeze before you let him go, and instantly his hips follow the warmth of your palm, as if on instinct. it makes you want to please him even more.

makki groans, gives you a half-hearted glare. "i didn't think you'd play dirty," he scoffs, but there's an adoring glimmer in his pretty eyes that tells you he's not too upset about this turn of events.

"with you, baby, i can't help it." you wink, give him a pointedly chaste kiss.

he curses under his breath, sighs heavily, but you know it's for show, know that he's already given in. "c'mere, you little minx," he murmurs lowly, his voice dropping lower sending shivers down your spine. he tugs you closer by the hem of his favorite sweater, the one you fight over at least once a week, and easily captures your smirking lips.

the kiss starts slow, a flurry of lingering pecks until you place your hands on the sides of his head to keep him still, growing increasingly impatient, hungry for more. you can feel him grin against your lips at that, a little wider when you shift to straddle him, never fully breaking away. he opens up for you without much prompting, lets you lick into his mouth and plunder it for your own enjoyment, until spit drips down the corner of his lips. and you don't let that go to waste, either, pulling away when your lungs start to burn and swiping it up with your tongue, smiling deviously.

god, he loves being loved by you, being desired so passionately like this, so wholly and unconditionally it makes his head spin.

and how much more dizzying it is to know he feels the same way, that he would do anything for you, would pluck out the stars in the sky for you, give you all of himself and more.

you're above him now, outlined in the flashing blue light of the tv behind you, and he thinks you look like some kind of diety, radiant with that triumphant smirk on your face, lips bitten red and all the more kissable. because you know you've already won, that he'd fall to his knees and worship you instantly.

makki's fingers dig a little deeper into the flesh of your thighs when you press your hips closer. he can feel the heat of your cunt even through your clothes, and it makes his cock twitch, hips bucking up once to chase the friction.

"hiro," you start, looking too smug for your own good, fingers tickling at the short hair on the nape of his neck. "let's make another bet."

he hums in interest for you to keep going, leans in to trail wet kisses down the side of your neck.

"if you cum before the movie ends, you have to let me sit on your face."

makki sits up then, brows furrowed in confusion. "baby, i do that every other day, and i don't consider that a punishment." he pecks at your lips, nudges your nose lovingly with his own and grins mischievously. "in fact, i see it as a privelige that i cherish greatly."

you laugh, wrap your arms around his shoulders. you suppose he's right, it has become one of his favorite things to do - and yours, too. "okay, then you owe me dinner for the entire next month."

"deal," he says before you can even finish your sentence, leaning back in to kiss you again, one hand sliding up from your thigh to prod at your clit through your silk pajama shorts.

the sudden contact makes you gasp, and he swallows it, traces the seam of your lips with his tongue, but before he can dip into your mouth once more, you pull away.

makki groans again, narrowing his eyes at you like you've interrupted something gravely important.

you kiss his frown away and giggle, slipping from his grasp to trail your lips further down his body. "can i suck your dick, 'hiro?" you ask sweetly as you settle on your knees between his legs, fluttering your eyelashes and biting playfully at the waistband of his sweats while you wait for his answer.

makki grits his teeth, presses his hands into his face to collect himself, clearly exasperated for all the best reasons. "god, you're so fucking hot, you're gonna kill me."

your smile is beyond sinister, and he thinks for a second that maybe he should be more scared of you than the movie. you nudge your nose into his bulge, delighting at the pulse his cock gives in response. "well?"

"yes, yes, fuck, please, baby, do it."

you sit up on your knees just to kiss him while you pull his pants and underwear down his thighs. he shifts to the edge of the couch with you, watches you settle back on your knees between his own, shuddering pleasantly at the hungry look in your eyes and the cool air on his newly exposed skin.

you waste no time at all, only giving him a cursory glance before taking hold of his shaft and giving the glistening tip a kitten lick. makki lets out a shaky breath above you, and the helpless sound only spurs you on. you lick a slow stripe down the underside, tracing along the prominent vein, grazing your teeth gently on his frenulum on the upstroke and earning a deep-seated groan.

makki already knows he's done for, that he'd never last the rest of the movie, has resigned himself not to even attempt that. it seems like such an impossible feat, with how well you know his body and can have him falling apart for you within minutes, how perfect your mouth feels around his cock when you pull back, satisfied with how slick you've gotten him with your spit and his precum, and then relax your jaw and surge forward to finally sink down on him, slow and steady, until he hits the back of your throat.

"sh-shit, honey," he heaves, chest tight with how you've managed to punch the air out of his lungs. "you're so fucking good at that."

he knows if you could smirk, you would be.

your fingers fondle at his balls, and he tries his best not to squirm too much in his seat. he clutches helplessly at the blanket you'd thrown off at some point in your haste beside him, his other hand tangling absently in your hair, following the way your head bobs when you find your rhythm.

he knows you love how vocal he is, so he starts to whimper your name intertwined with a variety of curses as the heat of arousal pooling low in his gut threatens to overwhelm him. not that he could help it, anyway, when you build him up and tease at him the way only you can.

you pull all the way back once, slurping up your mess as you go, and suck lovingly around the head of his cock. it makes him shiver, your eyes never leaving his, half-lidded and watery with exertion yet so determined to get what you want from him.

you fist the base of him when you pop off with a soft smack, your combined spit and his precum easing the slide of your hand, and finally you can smile lopsided at him.

makki blinks back slowly, his own eyes just as wet and lustful, cheeks irresistibly rosy, his hand drifting from your hair to caress fondly at your face despite the mess you've made of it. "i'm so fucking in love with you," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion and open desire.

you giggle breathlessly at that, kiss down his length. "you wanna cum in my mouth, hiro?" your voice is rougher, the grit in it from him, from having his dick down your throat, drives him crazy.

he nods vigorously, whines at the filthy words coming out of your mouth when you're looking up at him so innocently, then whines at the sight of his dick disappearing between your plush lips, all red and swollen now with use when you wrap them around him once more.

you grab his hand and place it back on your head, tapping at his wrist to signal him to move you the way he likes.

it makes his heart nearly give out with excitement.

makki takes care to never hurt you (unless you explicitly state that you want that, sometimes), so even in his lust-addled state, he makes sure not to push you too hard or too fast, drawing in a shaky breath when he bottoms out once more, the tip of your nose just barely grazing his pelvis. he guides more than pushes you up and down on his length, careful, meeting you halfway with a subdued buck of his hips.

you moan around him, encouraging him, and the vibrations make him groan so deeply it comes out as a growl, the pretty, choked up noises you make just for him spurring him on to speed up his pace just a bit.

he only lasts a few more sloppy thrusts before he finally gives in to the absolutely divine wet heat of your mouth. he cries out your name and spills down your throat and on your tongue when you pull back to let him watch with wonder while you work him with your fist, prolonging his high until his nerves start to sting with oversensitivity.

you swallow heartily, licking at your lips and catching stray drops of him on your chin, give the swollen head of his cock one last chaste kiss before you tuck him back into his pants. you climb back up and settle in his lap again, your thin bottoms soaked through completely and becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

makki can't wait to catch his breath before kissing you, so he doesn't, and gasps into your mouth instead. you taste like a mix of him and candy, and it shouldn't be that irresistible, but it is. he chases it from your tongue, laughs breathlessly with you when you start to laugh, both of your faces growing increasingly messy with how careless and eager he is just to taste from you.

eventually you break away and press a palm to the center of his chest to hold him back, remnants of laughter still on your face as you swipe at it with your (his!) sweater sleeves. "you're gross," you say fondly, "now you got us both all sticky and gross."

makki just waggles his eyebrows, smirks salaciously. "speaking of sticky," he starts, fingers inching up your thighs, but you give him pause by starting to wipe at his face, too.

"speaking of gross," you counter, glancing behind you at the tv screen that's still obviously playing the film even you'd forgotten about. "you didn't make it, baby. guess you'll owe me food for the whole month."

he just smiles wider, doesn't let you finish cleaning his face before he shoves a hand down your shorts, fingers finding your clit with expert ease. "yeah, yeah." he leans in to kiss you, then continues down your jaw, then your throat. "give me my reward first."

you can only gasp and laugh again, pure joy and adoration thrumming through your veins in equal measure as arousal. makki guides you down gently, positions you at the edge of the couch cushion and takes his place on his knees between your legs. you can't help but be charmed by his excitement, the obvious lust and hunger to please you glimmering in his eyes, big hands pulling your shorts and underwear off in one motion before he places your legs over his shoulders.

"fuck, baby," he murmurs, licking his lips when he finally gets a glimpse of your bare cunt, loves how your skin shimmers so nicely with how wet you are. "all for me, huh?" it makes his chest swell with pride - you were that turned on just by pleasing him.

your fingers find his hair and soothe at his scalp lovingly. "all for you," you affirm with a playful wiggle of your hips.

makki grins, and the look on his face is not unlike when his favorite meal is laid out in front of him. because, in fact, he'd argue that you were his favorite meal. he leans in and gives your slit a long, appreciative lick, from your hole to your clit, humming in satisfaction at the taste of you bursting on his tongue. he flicks and circles at your sensitive bud with the very tip of his tongue, making you gasp and whine, before he pulls away, eyes glazed over with delirious lust.

"turn around for me, angel," he says lowly, and you scramble to turn away from him, knees spread on the cushions and hands on the back of the couch to balance yourself, just as eager.

as soon as you get situated, makki sits on the floor with his back to the couch and slides his head underneath you, between your legs. you hold the hem of your sweater up against your sternum so you can see him clearly, just in time for when he grins lopsided up at you, all charm and beauty and a feral kind of hunger that makes you want to rub your thighs together, had he not taken hold of them already.

"are you ready?" you ask, breathless and in love, heart hammering in anticipation.

"give it to me, baby."

makki squeezes at the fat of your thighs in encouragement, guides you down towards his face. he wastes no time, knows you're just as ready and eager as he is. as soon as his warm tongue slides back through your folds you want to pull back, already overwhelmed, but he keeps you there, holds you firm.

he works your cunt the same way he kisses you - deep and passionate, just the right kind of sloppy, making you even more of a mess. he gathers your slick on his tongue, runs it back and forth through your folds, like he can't get enough, like he wants to savor you as much as he can, moans against you when your hips start to follow his movements, your fingers finding his hair.

makki closes his eyes, deeply satisfied, his cock starting to jump back to attention. he pays it no mind, too lost in your taste, the breathy, pretty little sounds you make, the way you pull at his hair and scratch at his scalp, just as lost in pleasure. he licks at your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, and the way you gasp and shake above him makes him groan. you're so wet at this point that you're dripping down his chin, soaking his skin and yours with a mix of your slick and his saliva, and he laps at it gratefully, ravenously, not intent on wasting your bounty so carelessly.

he slips his tongue inside you just to coax more of your juices out, just to hear you whimper. he smirks against you, slides deeper until his nose nudges into your clit and you cry his name.

"fuck, hiro," you breathe, pleasure so tightly wound in your gut it steals your voice and makes you choke on your words. he blinks his eyes open just a bit, just to catch your own and make sure you don't miss the gleam in his eyes when he slurps you up loudly, smacking his lips against you.

the sound makes more heat rise to your face in embarrassment, though you're the only ones home. "love you," he mumbles into you, the words jumbled into your wet skin and broken up by each lick.

"i love- fuck, i love you," you manage to respond, knowing he'd decided then to slip his finger into your entrance just to make you stutter.

makki doubles his efforts, pushes another finger in and starts pumping, and lolls his tongue out against your swollen bud, his free hand guiding you into a slow grind onto his tongue. you whine, grip onto the back of the couch to steady yourself as your hips buck, barely controlled, chasing the sweet friction of his tongue and the pressure of his fingers inside you.

you sing his name like a prayer, back arching as you feel your high draw nearer.

makki crooks his fingers into the spot inside you that makes you keen, simultaneously catching your clit between his lips on your forward stroke and sucking, and you swear you see stars. you fall so suddenly into your orgasm, your body seizes up momentarily. your walls pulse enticingly around his digits as he continues thrusting them in and out of your cunt. he laps up what gushes out of you as if it's nectar, continues rubbing your aching clit with his tongue until you're gasping at him to stop from sensitivity, thighs trembling and no longer able to hold yourself up.

you lean all of your weight into the back of the couch in front of you, your knuckles turning white with your grip on it, as makki languidly slides his tongue through your folds a few final times. you let him clean you up, too spent to protest much, though your muscles twitch and quiver with exertion.

"hiro, kiss," you request when he finally slips out from under you, tapping at your ass cheek playfully.

makki indulges you without question, swiping haphazardly at his wet chin with his sleeve before settling back down on the couch. he grins, utterly lovestruck at your satiated expression, at the stars in your own eyes when you reach for him. he pulls you back into his lap and leans in to kiss you, the most tender one of the night. you smile against his lips when you taste yourself on him, and the lingering sweetness of the candy you've both been eating.

"you're hard again," you laugh softly when you pull away, cradling his face. even in faint light you can just make out the sparse freckles dotting his cheeks, the playful glimmer in his pretty eyes. his bangs are slightly damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, and you brush them back fondly.

"can you blame me?" he winks at you, and it makes you laugh even more. his hands slide up under your sweater, caress over the curve of your waist before he's cupping fondly at your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and chuckling when your breath hitches. however, he makes no move to alleviate the discomfort of his erection, and instead tilts his head towards the tv screen that's since been rolling end credits. you'd forgotten it was even still playing. "i'll give you one chance to start over for your reputation."

you huff, sitting up and shaking your head. "you can play it again, but i have a better idea." your grin is nothing short of completely devious.

before he can ask about it, you shift to straddle him again, slipping a hand between you and beneath his pants again. whatever he was going to say is lost in a gasp when you stroke his cock and pull down the band of his sweats with your free hand to release it.

"angel-" makki starts, but it dissipates into a deep, guttural groan when you take hold of him and run the head of his cock against your clit and the slippery folds of your pussy, until you're both moaning together.

the swollen head of his cock catches on your entrance, and you pull him in eagerly, sink down on him slow and smooth from how wet you still are. when he bottoms out he whispers curses under his breath, and you shiver and moan at the sweet stretch, the pressure of his shaft against your walls and the tip nudging right into your sweet spot, filling you in a way you can never get enough of, in a way only he can.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in to kiss him deeply, greedily, like you need his mouth more than you need air in your lungs. he obliges, responds in kind, the feel of you wrapped so snugly around him making him all the more desperate.

when you pull away, you wink at him, too. "okay. now you can start it over."

#hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki smut #hanamaki x reader #haikyuu makki #hq makki #haikyuu makki smut #makki smut #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu smut #hq makki smut #hanamaki takahiro x reader #hanamaki takahiro smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #ten.writes #nsfw.#haikyuu

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betbeton · 2 years

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𓆱 Menace to Society

Things the HQ boys did to ruin sex

18 + Minors and Ageless accounts DNI , Post Time Skip

·GN Reader ·

· Not Beta'd ·

· A/N - i'm on my bullshit ·

Part 2 · Longer Version

・❥・ masterlist

⪧ Sugawara Koushi

Bit your cheek when he came once. You had a big ass bruise for weeks afterwards.

⪧ Hinata Shoyo

Nutted in your eye. Was far more distraught then you, had to comfort him while naked with a stinging eye.

⪧ Tsukishima Kei

His sex playlist is just podcasts about dinosaurs.

⪧ Nishinoya Yuu

Was hitting it from the back and thrust so hard you smacked into the headboard and got a concussion.

⪧ Oikawa Tooru

Came after one pump when you two took each other's virginity. Blamed you for being too tight, said to stretch out your hole.

⪧ Matsukawa Issei

You were having nice soft intercrural sex when he decided to spice it up by slipping it in. You swung and gave the dumbass a black eye.

⪧ Hanamaki Takahiro

Tells Mattsun everything. That new kink you've been thinking about exploring? Yeah Mattsun knows all about it.

⪧ Iwaizumi Hajime

Mistook the hand sanitizer for the lube bottle in the dark.

#haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #hq smut #iwaizumi x reader #Iwaizumi smut #Oikawa x reader #Matsukawa x reader #Hanamaki x reader #mattsun smut #Makki smut #Oikawa smut #sugawara x reader #sugawara smut #Nishinoya x reader #nishinoya smut #hinata x reader #hinata smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut

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lukalime · 1 year

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Okayyy soooo there are a few things that i eould like to write in the future so this is just a list that i might update :) and i’d like to hear what you fuys think too, it would help alot to hear your thoughts and Inputs on this

Bokuto, kuroo, oikawa foursome

All the captains + romero gangbang

Seijoh 4 5some

Ukai smut

Washio smut

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moons-thots · 2 years

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NSFW AHEAD.

minors dni 🤢

i’d wanna get high with issei and makki. makki would definitely be the one to start anything sexual between you three though. he’d place his hand on your thigh while you’re taking a hit from the bong, making you drop the lighter as mattsun, who’s suddenly closer than before, starts talking about how your a clutz and he’ll do it for you. which leads to him shot gunning you and…😫.

should i keep writing about this??

#hanamaki x reader #mattsun smut #matsukawa smut #makki fluff #haikyuu smut #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki smut #makki smut

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tojiphile · 8 months

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when your teacher assigned him to be your tutor, you’re sure he didn’t expect it to end up like this. it’s 5:46pm on a school night and instead of studying, your panties are bunched around your ankles, your cropped skirt flipped up and your blouse unbuttoned obscenely. your sports bra barely keeps your tits in place as your alleged ‘tutor’ bends you over your desk, fucking you silly.

“well, what’s the answer?” he asks, one hand on your waist and the other rubbing small circles around your swollen clit. “i- ‘s too much!” you cry, trying to squirm out of his grip. he traps you in place firmly, slipping his cock in and out of your cunt slowly, causing you to tremble with desire.

“please…” you beg, hot tears spilling down your face, “i- i can’t do this anymore!” you’ve been in this position for an hour; your clit overstimulated and your pussy desperate for more. he’s brought you so close so many times but never once did he let you cum. “why should i?” he scoffs, “stupid girls don’t deserve nice things.”

“if you answer correctly, i’ll fuck you properly. how’s that sound?” he baits you, hook, line and sinker. he asks the question again and you strain your brain to find the correct answer, trying your best to resist his delicate touch.

inevitably, you never get the answer right. that’s okay though, because at the end of every class, your tutor always says, if you can’t be smart, you could always be his little trophy wife. still, stupid girls don’t deserve to cum, so he focuses himself on relieving his own stress, pounding into you like a dog in heat, bullying your cunt and stuffing it full with his cock.

you still feel good though, because at least you’re useful for something! <3

TSUKISHIMA KEI, GETO SUGURU, nanami kento, tendou satoori, sugawara koishi, TETSURO KUROO, takahiro hanamaki, ryomen sukuna, ooc!saiki kusuo, kamisato ayato, KAEYA ALBERICH

#tojiphile #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #genshin smut #haikyuu smut #smut blog #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kaeya x reader #tendou satori x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #sukuna x reader #makki x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #nanami kento x reader

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pin-k-ink · 1 month

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Matsukawa Issei X Reader X Hanamaki Takahiro

CW: public setting, fingering, hand job, groping, low-key dubcon, dry humping, threesome, no penetration, dirty talk, name calling

a/n: this was something i wrote for my seijoh wattpad fic

"dude, i think we already missed our train. we're gonna have to take the 8pm one." makki groans in annoyance as he collapses onto the bench.

"why don't we just walk?"

"hell no! we just practiced for five hours straight. i'm not-"

"makki..."

"i'm not gonna spend another hour walking-"

"makki..."

"walking halfway across the whole-"

"makki!"

"what?!"

"look." matsukawa points to a lone figure standing against the wall, eyes fixed onto the phone screen. "is that who i think it is?"

makki grins wolfishly, his eyes darkening slightly at the sight of you, the object of desire of nearly half of the school. "who knew? little miss president takes the train with the commoners."

"you know she's not like that, makki. this just means that she usually finishes her work later than us. and that she's probably been traveling by the same train that we usually do."

"yeah... if i knew it sooner, i would've started staying late with oikawa at practice so i can see her on the train."

"...makki... you're down bad."

"shut up! don't act like you don't like her either!"

mattsun grins, standing up from the bench to get a better look at you. "oh i certainly do like her." makki gapes as his friend is suddenly walking towards you.

"for fuck's sake..." makki grumbles and begrudgingly begins to follow after him.

"hey there, ms. president. fancy meeting you here." mattsun says flirtatiously, leaning against the wall right in front of you.

you blink and look up at him, taking one look before sighing tiredly. you reach up to take one of your earbuds out, glaring at the taller boy. "you volleyball players have nothing better to do than bother me, don't you? why're you here? did your pathetic excuse of a captain send you here to annoy me?"

"haha, of course not. we just missed our train and were waiting for the next one. meeting you here was just a coincidence."

you narrow your eyes at him before placing your earbuds back in. "right, a coincidence. now leave me alone. i already have to deal with you half-wits at school. i don't want to have to deal with you people outside now."

makki chuckles and approaches you from the back, leaning closer to take your earbuds out again, his breath brushing against your neck as he whispers. "oh come on, don't be like that. you know we appreciate everything that you do for us, miss president. i thought we were friends."

"friends...?" your face almost contorts with disgust at the foreign word, a witty comeback on the tip of your tongue. your words quickly die down in your throat as you suddenly feels makki blow air onto your nape, making you shiver.

mattsun couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at your response, leaning in closer and closer until-

the sudden arrival of the train breaks the three of you out of your trace.

you quickly grab the opportunity and slip out from between the two boys, trying to ignore the sudden warmth pooling in your lower stomach as you board the crowded train.

makki and mattsun both share a glance, a single thought uniting them both: they needed to go after you.

like a predator stalking its prey, they both board the train, easily spotting you in the crowd. acting subtle, they both began to make their way deeper into the crowd until makki was behind you again, mattsun at your front.

the latter bites his lip as he feels every inch of your supple body press against his hardened one, looking down to see your chest squished against his.

feeling himself grow harder underneath his pants, he leans down to whisper in your ear. "you shouldn't have run away, princess. now we're going to have to punish you."

mattsun looks up at his friend, watching him nod with a devilish grin before makki slowly circles his hands around your middle, his hands smoothing over your soft stomach, playing with the waistband of your skirt.

he leans down as well, nibbling on your earlobe as he feels her breathing pick up. "tell me what you want, princess."

you chew on your bottom lip, feeling your honey begin to drip out of your cunt at their words, but your pride wouldn’t let you give in.

mattsun knew you needed a little more convincing and decided to take matters into his own hands. literally.

his hands slowly snaked around your body as well, his large palms smoothing over the globes of your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

he could feel you lean against him, your breath fanning across his clothed chest as your body trembles.

makki, in turn, slides his hand under your skirt, stopping just short of where you needed him most, his fingers brushing against the edge of your panties.

"please..." you finally whimper softly, your eyes tearing up.

"what was that, darling?" mattsun grins, his hands still kneading your plump ass cheeks.

his breath hitches in his throat as he looks down, only to be greeted by the breathtaking sight of your flushed face, your large doe eyes lined with unshed tears and your plump bottom lip pushed out in a pout.

"p-please... want you to touch me.."

makki kisses your shoulder, his fingers finally slipping under your panties.

"say no more, princess. let us take care of you."

mattsun leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans just as makki slips two of his fingers inside of you easily. "fuck, you're so fucking wet for me, princess. such a slutty girl."

mattsun pulls back a bit, taking your bottom lip between his own lips, sucking softly before he lets go, enjoying the flustered look on your face. "is that right, princess? are you really a little slut?"

makki chuckles, pulling at your collar a bit so he could press his lips against your shoulder, breathing in your lovely scent. "it's gotta be true, mattsun. look at how wet our little girl got. she must like getting fingered in public."

as if to prove a point, makki pulls his fingers out of you, his eyes darkening with lust as he sees your arousal webbing between his fingers.

"oh, baby. you like the idea of getting caught?" mattsun whispers in your ear, watching makki lick his fingers clean before slipping them back inside you. "how does she taste, makki? is she as sweet as we thought?"

"man, she's even sweeter than i imagined." makki attached his lips to the side of your neck, sucking a mark onto your skin as he pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt.

unable to hold himself back anymore, mattsun slowly guides your hand down towards his pants. "go on, princess. make me feel good too. otherwise makki won't let you cum. isn't that right?"

"hmm, he's right, baby. go on and jerk him off. you gotta make him cum first, okay?" makki whispers in your ear, his own erection pressed against the side of your hip.

you whimper softly, tilting your head up to kiss matsukawa again as your hand fumbles with the zipper of his pants, your other hand digging into makki's thigh.

"go on, princess. i wanna see you jerk him off." makki continues to suck red and purple bruises onto your skin, his fingers unrelenting inside of her.

with bated breath, you finally manages to free matsukawa's length through the zipper hole, your breath hitching at the sheer size, or rather, at just the mere sight of it. "is this your first time seeing one, princess?"

you nod, trying to close your fist around his girth, barely making your fingers meet due to his thickness. a small pearl of precum beads at the tip and you rub your thumb over his slit, slathering the clear fluid around.

"you're doing so well, baby. keep going." hanamaki encourages you, watching your small hand move along his friend's dick.

he couldn't help himself, his own hips moving ever so slightly as he humped his erection against your hip, slipping a third finger inside of you.

he bit down on your shoulder, wanting to feel your own hand around his cock, but he knew he had to wait. the movement of your bodies were strategically masked by the moving train, the people around you lost in their own little world, unaware of the sinful acts the three of you were committing.

matsukawa continues to make out with you, whispering your name against your lips before slipping his tongue into your mouth. he could feel himself grow impossibly hard, leaking an ungodly amount of precum just from the sounds coming from your luscious lips.

"such a good girl for us. does this feel good, baby?" makki manages to angle his fingers just enough to brush against your g spot, hearing your muffled whimpers as your thighs tremble.

he continues to finger-fuck you, your own hand unrelenting against mattsun's cock, shivers running down your spine as you feel him twitch and throb against your palm.

"fuck, you're so good at this..." mattsun whispers against your lips, feeling your fist squeeze the head of his cock before moving down again. at this point, he was practically fucking your fist. "ah god... k-kamine, m' gonna- gonna-"

you let out a sharp gasp as you suddenly feels something hot and sticky flood your palm, your hand instinctively milking out every last drop before you feel his length soften in your hand.

grinning, makki decides to take it up a notch. "good job, princess. time for your reward." his free hand slides around to rub tight circles on your swollen clit while he pumps three of his fingers in and out of your sopping hole.

he lets out a soft groan as he feels your tight, velvety walls clench around his fingers, your nectar flooding out of you and onto his fingers.

mattsun had cleaned himself up and tucked himself back into his pants. he stayed silent as you slump against his chest, taking a couple of tissues to wipe your inner thigh as makki licks off every single drop of your honey off of his fingers.

your hands tiredly grip at his shirt, your face buried in his chest as you whimper softly, still coming down from your high.

"shh, it's okay, princess. we got you." matsukawa presses his lips to the top of your head as he holds you close. "you did so well for us."

makki smiles as well, wiping his fingers clean before he presses his lips against one of the hickeys he made on your neck. "who knew our cute little president was such a freaky little-"

he gets cut off as he feels a sharp kick to his shin, looking down to see you glaring at him. "hey now, i was just joking."

matsukawa chuckles, continuing to hold you close to him as the train arrives at their stop. "we'll walk you home, okay?"

he didn't wait for an answer before taking your hand and tugging you outside of the train.

#haikyuu x reader smut #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu #makki x reader #mattsun #mattsun x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut

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kiyoors · 11 months

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baked expectations

warnings: use of drugs (weed), third person's (makki's) pov, i thought this was funny

Makki thinks something is up with Mattsun. Which is kind of a lot to say because almost nothing is ever up with Matskawa. He'd even go as far to say that almost nothing is ever up to bother Matsukawa this long.

"What is it?" He asks his friend, who has been idle for the greater part of the time they've been at this house party. You and Iwaizumi had quickly gone ahead of them, having spotted some of your friends, you'd sprinted off to greet them, a stumbling Hajime in tow.

Makki sloppily dodges a guy who's struggling to open the refrigerator door, probably in search of more beer, as he meets his friend by the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

Mattsun nudges his head in the direction of you and Iwaizumi, both listening to something a very drunk Kindaichi is signaling about.

"There's something going on with those two," is what he finally tells him, taking a hit of his pen before exhaling cannabis scented smoke. Makki blinks at him, and then at his two friends in the living room.

His brain feels fuzzy and some of what mattsun is saying doesn't make sense. "Did they get in a fight?" a new song starts booming from the speakers, and it scratches Makki's brain just right, "they seem pretty alright now." Whatever this is, he's sure it'll be resolved by the end of the night.

But Mattsun's eyes are still focused on you both. "I think they're fucking."

Makki blinks, his reaction a little slow as he looks from Mattsun to the supposed couple in the living room, his mouth slightly agape. You and Hajime do seem a little touchier than normal, he has his arm around you as you laugh a little too much into his personal space, but you're also both drunk, and he knows you both get like this.

"Huh." is what he ultimately responds, still somewhat unconvinced. Mattsun finally turns to look at him, bloodshot eyes meeting his own red ones. He can't help it. He snorts at Mattsuns fucked out face. His friend starts giggling, giggling, too.

"They're in love," is what Mattsun says.

"Yeah, and you're not baked at all," Makki responds, snickering at his friend.

Mattsun has a pleasant look on his face, he smiles at Makki and then again nods his head in your direction.

He looks just in time to see Hajime whisper something into your ear and you nodding and taking his hand, leading him out.

Matsukawa lets out a low whistle behind him as they both watch their friends (who are very much in love) leave the party without so much as saying goodbye.

"Expect a wedding in the next five years," is all Mattsun hums, satisfied.

Makki blinks again, catching the way Hajime lightly smacks your ass right before the door closes behind him, "I think give it three years actually."

#slowly getting back into the writing groove #this was supposed to be something completely different #but idk if i can tackle a smut scene just yet #heeh #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi haikyuu #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi haijime x reader #iwaizumi drabble #(kinda lol)#mattsukawa issei #hq mattsun #takahiro hanamaki #hq makki #jess writes!☆*:.｡. o

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a-kaash-me-outside · 1 year

Text

the walls are thin - ch8.5

in which atsumu is your college neighbor that reminds you how in love you are with your ex boyfriend. previous | ch8.5 [masterlist]

// carefully attentive, the same person he’s always been ~ ᴍᴀᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 5517 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni omg maki smut, pet names (maki calls you puppy oops), confessions, last chapter hey!, oral f!receive, face sitting, soft fucking, fucking with feelings, afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ (only a 12k epilogue left that does not follow this path) ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

(don't read this until you've read the beginning of ch8! this is a continuation <3 you'll know when to come back over)

before you can send a joke back his way, atsumu rolls onto his back, a large puff of air exhaled from his lungs as he does so. he smooths his palms over his face, fingers parting his own hair, eyes squeezed shut as he exhales again into his hands. “god, you make me feel like-,” he takes another breath, sitting up this time. you get a good look at his back from this angle and if the words he were saying weren’t so important, you’d interrupt him by kissing the toned muscle all over.

“like-,” he pauses, shaking his head, turning his neck, twisting his back to face you, “i don’t even know. i can’t even describe how you make me feel.” he narrows his eyes at you like he’s thinking of the most difficult math problem and trying to solve it in his head. “i know that sounds cheesy, i know it does, but i’m serious, i’ve never felt like this before.”

you sit up with him, his face morphs into realization, a tiny moment in time that causes your heart to start beating ferociously. it looks effortlessly difficult, a long road to get there, figuring out his feelings in real time, and yet it doesn’t come out like a question. “i love you.”

your stomach drops. you can’t breathe. “you love me?” you ask.

even without instant reciprocation, he doesn’t show an ounce of regret, not a single one. in fact, he replies quickly, even more assured this time, “i do.”

you really can’t breathe, can’t catch a good breath, it feels like you’re suffocating. the air is thick, tongue like cotton in your mouth, and he sees your adverse reaction to this and all he wants to do is make it better. “you don’t have to say anything,” he offers back, reaching his arm out and resting his touch on your elbow. he curls his fingers around your skin, but you can’t really feel it amidst the tingling taking over your entire body.

he continues on, “i just wanted to tell you because i’ve never met anyone like you. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and i’m a better person for having known you, so thank you.” you’re still not saying anything back to you, so he just keeps talking, reasoning slowly shifting from confidence to doubt. “i just don’t think i’ve ever met someone who’s gotten along so well with my friends and my brother or someone i’ve ever really even let do those things, because i’ve just been in my own head or maybe because i haven’t found the right person.”

you need him to stop talking, to give you a second, just one second for a thought to pop into your head to communicate what you’re feeling, but he just keeps talking. he’s great. he’s perfect. this is exactly what you were afraid of.

it comes out like vomit. “i think i’m still in love with maki.”

even after it’s left your mouth, you can’t believe you said it. the entire room is silent. you can’t even hear him breathing, can’t hear the fan or the birds or the hum of the fluorescent lights. this entire time, each waking minute you’ve spent in this bed, something’s felt uneasy, there was this underlying confusion that you couldn’t shake, and now that you’ve said this impossibly difficult thing out loud, you no longer feel confused.

instead, it’s transferred over to atsumu, you can see it in his face. you’re expecting betrayal. you can handle a look of treachery, of anger, of mistake, but none of that ever comes. his eyebrows are furrowed and he can’t look you in the eye, only steals glances as often as his body will allow. you should explain, you know you should explain, but how do you explain that the only thing that’s made you realize your feelings for maki were the kiss that you shared and having sex with someone else for the first time.

“i wish that maybe you would’ve told me that before last night,” he says, swinging his legs off of the bed and standing up, grabbing pieces of clothing that are strewn across the room, yours, his, his, his, yours, yours, his. he throws yours onto the bed, puts his on quickly.

“come on,” you say, voice small, “you’ve had plenty of one night stands. i’m just another one of ‘em.” your hands move slowly as you put on your clothes.

“you know that that’s not all you were to me,” he says, voice cold, breaking at the end, “is that all i was to you?”

“atsumu,” you say, but his name doesn’t feel right on your tongue anymore, not to either of you. his shoulders slump, air expelled from his lungs, fingers comb through his own hair, pausing at the top of his head as he tries to figure out what to do next. “do you want to talk about it?” you ask, wincing at your own question.

“there’s not really much to say,” he replies, offering nothing more.

it’s silent. you count the seconds, starting over every time you hit 60 until you can’t take it any longer. “should i leave?” you ask. he winces this time, maybe part of him thought you would follow up with something along the lines of but i want to make it work with you or i’m just kidding i love you too.

“fuck, i can’t believe this,” he says, shaking his head, “oh my god, i can’t believe this.” he puts his head in his hands, leaning on his desk as he rubs the heels of his palm into his eyes. he reaches down and grips the edge of the desk. he couldn’t look at you the entire time, even still it takes everything in him to raise his gaze to you, and fuck, you wish he hadn’t. “i let you meet my fucking brother.” his tone isn’t angry, isn’t pointed. it’s defeated. he inhales, throws his head back, exhales. “you should probably go.”

you know that you’re the one that suggested it just a moment ago, but the thought of it is making you sick, of walking out that door. you know there’s no turning back from it. you will have a few more weeks of sharing a wall and then your life will continue on without atsumu. you stand up, a few painful strides to the door. he walks behind you, reaches past you, opens the door for you.

“fuck,” he says, much softer this time, soft enough that you might have even regretted the past couple minutes, “why couldn’t i have met you freshman year?” he asks. it’s not a question either of you can answer. he’s not expecting an answer anyway, not sure he would accept one if he was.

“i don’t know if you would’ve liked me freshman year,” you admit.

“i would’ve liked you,” he says as sure as up is up and down is down, “any time. no matter what. i’m sure of it.” it would have been easier if he wasn’t. you step out into the hallway.

“i’ll see you around,” you say.

“probably not,” he says.

you take one last look at his door, at the miya atsumu written across it. the name no longer unfamiliar, person no longer unfamiliar, no longer a distinction, no longer a vastly different side of a person you know. no, now not a side at all, but just a part of a person you used to know. this is exactly what you were afraid of.

/++/

“it’s before noon on a fucking sunday, you better have a good reason-,” the complaining comes before the door is even open. you can hear it clear as day even before there’s a tiny crack letting the sound through. your skin hasn’t stopped tingling, face hasn’t stopped burning. your body has been moving on autopilot since you left atsumu’s room, even through showering, putting on clean clothes, navigating here.

and yet, the second that he opens the door, it’s all you, no automation, direct, meaningful, purposeful movement and thought.

there’s nothing stopping you, nothing could stop you. you take two steps forward. if it were anybody other than maki, it would have been weird, awkward, clumsy as you collide with him, foot half stepping on his, almost tripping into him, but he holds you steady as if he anticipated this. you push your lips into his, taking another few steps forward and in from the hallway. he lets the door close softly behind you, wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you in deeper. he doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t try to pull away, just kisses you for the second time this week, savors every second of it as if it will be his last. he knows better now.

you really hope that when you pull away, he won’t ask any questions. you hope that you’re good enough at communicating everything through this kiss and the touch on his hips. his eyes are wide when you eventually do pull away and you know that there’s a question coming. you’re already figuring out an answer in your head.

“what if issei answered the door?” he asks, head tilted, shaky breath the only sign that he was caught off guard.

“shut up,” you say, quiet smirk forming as you press your smile into his again.

you snake your arms around his neck, clasp them overtop of one another, pulling yourself into him deeper, holding onto him tight, you can’t get close enough. he runs his hands down your sides, leans backwards to signal that he can support you completely. even after all of this time, you know what that means. you jump into his arms, bracing yourself as he walks backwards to his room. he doesn’t have to ask or motion, you open his door, and when he turns around and puts your back against the door to close it, you lock it.

he pulls away this time. “are you going to tell me what got into you now?” he asks.

you shake your head, leaning forward and closing the gap, eyes closing gently at how soft his lips are, at how comforting it is to be in his familiar arms again. you’ve missed this so much, more than you could have known.

he pulls away once more. you wish he would stop doing that. you don’t want to stop kissing him. you want to kiss him for hours. “do i at least get to know if this is a one time thing?” he asks.

“i hope not,” you reply. it answers a lot more than just that one question. you move to kiss him again, but he starts speaking against your lips, desperate for answers.

“okay and-,” he starts.

it makes so much sense to you, all laid out in your head. the kisses, the grip, the familiarity, the need. it’s hard to take yourself out of your own head, to realize that he’s been caught so off guard with this and is taking it pretty much in stride. still, you huff because explaining means that you don’t get to kiss maki and it means that you have to admit something very difficult.

you pull back completely, arms still draped around his neck. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss, about what you said, about thinking we’d get back together or just keep going with what we were doing forever; i want that.” the end of your explanation comes out in one long sentence, mashed together just as it was in your head. “‘m still in love with you, maki.” there’s no i think this time.

he closes the gap this time, doesn’t need to hear another word, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, quickly pulling you away from his door and walking you over to his bed.

“wait, wait,” you say against his lips as he sits down on the bed, gently letting your knees sink into the mattress.

“god, no, yea, that is annoying,” he says the second your lips are off of his.

you roll your eyes dramatically, shaking your head the tiniest bit, a tiny smile on your face, “are you- is that-,” it’s not coming out right, your chest rising and falling as the question struggles to form in your head, “do you want that? is that okay?”

“are you asking if i’m in love with you?” he asks.

you nod, grateful for his ability to understand you so well even when you’re not making any sense at all, eyes darting back and forth between his trying to find an ounce of an answer before it comes from his lips. “of course i am,” he says plainly, confused that it’s even a question, “i never stopped, you know that.”

you push forward into his chest and he moves back with you until his back collides with the bed. the two of you always moved like this, in time with one another, thoughtless and in sync in a way you only get to if you’ve known each other for years. you clasp your hands at the base of his neck, pulling him into you as you kiss him deeper, parting your lips to swipe your tongue across his bottom lip.

this time, he doesn’t pull away, accepts the invitation thoughtlessly, tongue entering your mouth, and it’s like something snaps in you. you got to kiss him not long ago, get to touch him and hold his hand and sleep in his bed, but now you get to taste him, for the first time in too long. your fingers close around nothing, scraping against his skin and you know it’ll make him shiver, and it does. you feel the shudder all throughout your body.

you can’t stop, tongue slipping against his, scraping over his teeth and cheeks, you can’t get enough. you never want to stop kissing him. you missed the way he feels in your mouth, his sweet, familiar taste. you smooth your hand around his neck, down his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, pressing your lips into his harder.

his hands are roaming, in your hair, down your back, gripped into your waist, sculpting over your ass, settling on the backs of your thighs, rocking you against him. he grinds up into you, hard against the inside of your leg, evidently just as turned on by this previously forgotten sensation. you’re the first one to pull away, and he lets you, actually welcomes this tiny moment to catch his breath, to just look at you.

“i,” huff, “really missed you, maki,” you say and then lean back down and give him another quick peck, “like a lot,” kiss, huff, “wish you would’ve just taken me back to your room that night.”

you kiss him again. a smile grows against your lips and then a laugh comes along with it, light at first and then he can’t stop. you pull back. “maybe this was my plan all along.”

“oh, really?” you ask jokingly, tilting your head.

“nah,” he says, lifting his head up, lips pursed but they don’t meet yours. instead, he places a soft kiss on your nose. “i just wanted to make sure that you really wanted this.” one hand stays on the underside of your thigh, takes your hand in his other, keeps them both pressed against his heart. “not just in the moment, but really wanted this. just as much as me.” ba-bump.

“and is this proof enough?” you ask, trying to swallow your giddy giggles. he narrows his eyes at you, quirks an eyebrow, he doesn’t even have to say it, you can read it loud and clear. duh, obviously. he pulls you back down.

“plus, now it’ll be even sweeter,” he says, pressing his nose into your neck, dragging his wet lips against the skin. he runs the flat of his tongue from your chest up your neck and repeats the motion, starting point getting lower and lower every time until he’s met with the fabric of your t-shirt. it’s quickly thrown to the side, one motion, as he sits up, his face situated perfectly between your tits.

“maki,” you breathe, blushing as he uses his large hands to surround himself with your tits, palms rough against your hardening nipples, placing small kisses against your sternum, right against your heartbeat.

“missed these,” he says, sound muffled like he’s talking into a pillow, vibrations sending a wave of goosebumps across your delicate, now bare skin.

“maki,” you say again, more embarrassed this time, but he knows you better than to stop at this little fit of self-consciousness. in fact, he doubles down.

“could sit here like this all night, puppy,” he mumbles, but you can hear it so clearly, rolling your hips, chewing on your lip.

“maki,” you repeat for the third time, reaching your arm up, hiding behind the crook of your elbow.

he pulls away, hands continuing to knead into your soft tits as he gets a good look at you. “don’t get all embarrassed on me, now. it’s just me,” he says, reaching up and pulling your arm down from your face, placing both of your hands on his hips. you let him. you take a breath. it’s just him. you nod, keeping your hands on his hips, gripping them into the shallow valley of the bone. “good,” he smirks, runs his hands down your sides, right back to the backs of your thighs, tugging you towards him.

the pressure builds, grip pulling and pulling until you slide up to his stomach and then his chest, but he just keeps coaxing you forward. you look down at him, questioning, and he throws you back a devilish grin, turning his head to the side to press a kiss into your knee. “are you going to come sit on my face or what?” he asks, nipping at your skin when you jump at the question.

“maki!”

“come on, you’ve made me wait long enough,” he says, turning his head the other way and placing a kiss into the opposite knee. “you know i’ve been thinking about it since you got on top of me.”

“then take it,” you breathe. fuck, he missed that.

you use the wall to steady yourself as he pulls your shorts and your panties off. he places both of his hands on the insides of your thighs, pushes your legs apart. your stomach refuses to settle, flipping over and over as you stare at him so intently, just waiting for his next move. he moves you forward again by your hips this time, lifting you just high enough for your lips to drag against his hanging tongue.

“fuck,” you say, nails curling against the drywall, forehead gently resting against the surface.

he digs his fingertips into you, pulls you harshly onto his tongue, into his face. he loves being suffocated by you, always has. once he nearly passed out, too drunk on your taste and the sounds that you made to care about staying conscious. breathing came second to your pleasure. that’s why he was so fucking good at it. “god, fuck, maki.” the back of your head meets the top of your spine, chin pointed towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut as he presses the tip of his tongue into your hole repeatedly.

his hands pull your cunt into his mouth harder, positioned on your lower back, gripping into your ass as he rocks you back and forth on his tongue, juices flowing down the sides of his cheeks and chin. the sounds are so lewd, squelching and slurping, moaning into your pussy as he devours you.

“gonna- gonna come,” you announce, rolling your hips in time with his tongue. his teeth scrape against your clit, lips close around your folds, tongue prods at your tight hole. his arm has to reach as he presses his palm against your stomach, follows the center of your chest up to your neck and wraps his long fingers around it. the grip is weak, more focused on the repetitive motions to drive you to your orgasm, but just the small amount of pressure is enough to throw you over the edge. you squeeze your thighs together as you come, waves of pleasure rolling over your body, legs shaking. you move your hand instinctively to the top of his, squeezing around your throat, eyes shut tightly.

“holy fuck,” you say, using all of your strength to push yourself up and off of his face, to give him a breather. he gasps for air, taking in a huge breath and exhaling quickly. he repeats this six times. you count it to ground yourself.

“m not done,” he says, pulling you back down. you almost lose your balance, but he holds you strong. it’s more desperate this time, hungrier, needier, not like he’s got something to prove, but just because he’s enjoying it that much. you're sensitive from your last orgasm, from your clit being attacked again so soon, rolling it between his teeth, capturing it between his wet lips.

“you should,” huff, “you should not be so fucking good at this,” you say, shaking your head even though he definitely cannot see you. you barely know if he can hear you.

you’re already putty on his tongue, but that’s not enough for him. he’s got to reduce you to a pile of nothing and you’re surely on your way, circling your hips on his tongue, second orgasm taking you by surprise. you’re not positive that you can even sit up off of him this time, moving to slide back instead. he doesn’t let you, hands securely holding you in place, he doesn’t get to take another breath, like he’s challenging you or himself, you’re not really sure.

“maki,” you whine, eyes opening for the first time since your last orgasm, looking down between your legs to see his eyes blissfully closed, nose nuzzling against your clit, face sheened and messy. you thread your fingers into his hair, shoving his tongue deeper into your cunt, because he’s not going to stop until he’s made you come again and you’re not sure how much more of this you can take and he hasn’t even been inside of you yet.

your third orgasm ruins you. you can’t even sit upright by yourself, so many forceful orgasms running over you in succession. maki’s hands and your brace on the wall are the only things that are keeping you from forgoing everything and falling onto the bed. if you didn’t say your next words, broken and whimpering, you’re certain he would have kept going. “maki, need you, please,” you say, legs like fucking jello.

he slides you back, wet cunt dragging across his chest and stomach as he tries to compose himself. his breath is unsteady, heavy, face completely a mess, tongue swiping over his bottom lip trying to get all of your juices in his mouth, down his throat. “you’ll have me,” he breathes, sitting up, flipping you over so that you’re on your back and you’re still amazed at how he has so much strength left after something like that.

“now, please, now,” you say, reaching down and placing your fingertips into the waistband of his boxers. you don’t pull them off completely, already moving your fingers to the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up so that you can see his stomach, hand slipping under it to feel his chest, heartbeat violent against your palm. “hiro, now, please,”

“come on, you know that’s not fair,” he says, shaking his head, following your movements, taking off his shirt, “been years since you’ve called me that.”

you slip your fingers into his waistband again, pulling him towards you, “been years since you called me puppy, think we’re even now.”

he hooks both arms under your knees, pulling you towards him until the backs of your thighs are resting against the tops of his. he reaches into his boxers, pulls himself out, hissing at his own touch against his painfully hard cock. “you gonna ask for my cock again?” he questions, hips rocking forward just far enough for his head to slip against your clit.

“want you,” you whine, “hiro, please, missed this so much.”

he presses inside of you, precome leaking against your walls as he stuffs every fucking inch into your sensitive pussy. it’s so much, perfectly thick and long, fits so perfectly inside of you. there’s a dull stretch that you want to feel forever as the tip of his cock hits the back of your walls. “fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter, linking your hands behind his neck and pulling him into you, your shoulder against his chest, nose nuzzled into his collarbone. “shit i missed this.”

he lets you hold him close, lifts his hips to pull out of you and fucks back into you slowly as you cling to him. you speak into his neck, “need you, need this, more, fuck, you’re mine, are you mine, baby? fuck, tell me you’re mine,” you babble.

he pulls away from you, almost regrettably so as he sees the desperation in your eyes, but he rests on his forearm, smoothing his palm over the side of your face, cupping your cheek and stroking your jaw. “i’m yours, i promise. all yours,” he says incessantly, carefully attentive, the same person he’s always been.

you roll your hips, lifting to meet his slow thrusts, circling and shaking arrhythmically. you need more of him, more of him. you run your hands through his hair. he holds you steady. “it’s okay, i know, fuck,” he says, starting to pick up the pace. your eyes shut quickly, already almost there for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

“gonna come on your cock, you’re gonna make me come all over your cock, maki, please,” you mumble, nodding your head against his shoulder.

“already puppy?” he asks, snapping his hips into you hard.

you’re gone, whimpering and whining and crying as you tighten around his cock, fingers digging into his shoulders, lifting your hips off of the bed to fuck yourself on his cock harder, riding through your orgasm, walls clenching around his fat cock as you thank him over and over for making you come again.

when it subsides, his pace slows back down again, rolling his hips leisurely, just enjoying how pretty your cunt looks sucking him in, how your wetness clings to his cock as it pulls out and how it gathers around your entrance as he pushes in. his breath is shaky, grip the same.

“you are not allowed to make fun of me for not lasting,” he groans, “because fuck this is all i’ve been wanting since the last time we hooked up.”

you laugh, breathy and spent. “when even was that?” you ask, eyes closing as the tip of his cock brushes knowingly against your spot.

“god, i don’t know,” he presses a kiss into the side of your face, rhythm unwavering, “over a year.”

“why did we stop?”

“stupid,” he says, breathing labored, “because we’re fucking stupid.”

he pulls out of you, flips you over, his thick cock slipping between your plush thighs. he uses both hands to spread your ass, breath stuttering, cock throbbing as he sees your puffy lips from between the fats of your thighs. “because we could’ve been doing this the entire time.” he digs his fingers into your ass, watches how your skin ripples when he smacks it so lightly, “could’ve seen this fucking sight,” he smacks it again, “this entire fucking time.”

he slips inside of you again, fucking you from behind, underside of his cock relentless against your spot as he starts to fuck you faster and faster. “you don’t have to hold back, y’know,” you breathe, arching your back, hips lifting just enough to make your cunt that much more snug, the angle making maki see fucking stars. he grips into your ass. “you don’t have to savor it. we have plenty of time for that.”

he tries to hold off as long as he can, really, he does, but he hasn’t been inside of you for over a year and despite how much he’s thought about it, he’s truly forgotten how good you actually feel, how tight you are around him, how thick your thighs are, how well he could make you come, how creamy you made his cock.

“promise?” he asks, slamming into you, cock throbbing, hanging on to your every word.

“i promise,” you say, your voice sweet. “please come for me.”

“shit,” he says, hips stuttering. he wants to give you everything you want and more and he’s already so close, it’s a miracle he didn’t unload inside of you right then. “where?” he asks, closing his eyes for just a second, tearing his eyes away from your sloppy cunt swallowing his cock for just a moment, butterflies filling his stomach, because he knows you and he knows exactly where you want his load.

“inside, maki,” you whine.

he presses his hips full against your ass, shoots his load as deep inside of you as he can, letting your quivering walls massage his cock. all he needs are your pretty, snug walls surrounding him and he’s dumping his load into that perfect pussy, stream after stream coating your insides.

it takes him longer to recover from this than he did from almost suffocating between your legs. “can i pull out now, puppy?” he asks, curling his fingers against your skin. you nod, so grateful that he’s asked and prepared you for feeling empty. he’s slow to pull out, lets you feel each inch dragging against your creamy walls until they’re clenching around nothing.

he flops to the side of you, one arm snaking underneath you, one arm overtop. he pulls you closer, kisses your shoulder. you turn to face him and before he can say a single word, you have to admit to him everything that happened with atsumu, how everything went down. your heart is beating wildly and you don’t exactly know how to say it, how you came to this realization. you don’t know what he’s going to say or how he’s going to react, but you have to lay it all out there.

“atsumu and i-,” you start explaining.

“doesn’t matter,” maki says, cutting you off, “i don’t need to know. whatever happened between you guys, that was before. but from now on…,” he trails off, let’s you fill in the sentence.

“it’s us,” you say, quickly.

“kinda always has been, huh?” he asks, but it’s not really a question.

“it was always supposed to be you, maki,” you answer, though it’s not really a question, “from day one.”

“so does this mean you’re my girlfriend again?” he asks, head tilting, inching closer to you until his forehead is resting against yours. you lean forward, pressing a kiss into the side of his cheek.

“that’s a weird way to ask me to be your girlfriend,” you joke.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, not hesitating for a second.

“do you even have to ask?” you smirk.

he instantly jumps at you, caging you in beneath him and kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, all over your face, your chin, your lips. it starts as a giggle, grows to a laugh, and before you know it, you can’t breathe. “maki!” you whine, playfully pushing at his chest as he kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck.

“i can’t hear you,” he pretends, shaking his head, wrapping his arms under your lower back to bring you closer to his kisses.

“maki!” you scream again, laughing even harder as you try to squirm out of his grasp. “stop it!”

“then answer me,” he says, not letting up until you give him a real answer for his rhetorical question.

“yes! yes! yes! okay! yes, of course, i’ll be your girlfriend,” you yell, grabbing both sides of his face in your hands and pulling his face to yours, kissing him softly at first and then deep, hard, tangling your fingers into the back of his hair and relaxing into his touch.

there’s a banging on the wall next to the bed so violent that you can feel the mattress shake. “please, shut the fuck up,” you hear issei shout through the wall. your face is instantly burning. this isn’t something that hasn’t happened before. you were aware of how thin the walls were. maki and you used to get into trouble like this plenty of times when you were together. this is just another one of those times, you suppose.

“hopefully when we move into an apartment somewhere, the walls will be a bit thicker, yea?” he asks, voice a bit quieter, not skipping a beat, not feeling embarrassed when the assumption leaves his mouth. why would he? you nod, smiling bright.

“perfect,” you mumble, kissing him once more, “really perfect.”

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#hanamaki x reader #maki x reader #hanamaki smut #maki smut #makki x reader #makki x reader smut #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu smut #toriwritesshit #twrt!

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namikawa · 2 years

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— [trust me]

featuring: t. hanamaki

cw: smut, not proofread, chubby!reader, facesitting, cunnilingus, praise, reader is insecure ab weight, pet names (angel, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart), wc: 800

notes: this is dedicated to @seijohlations. this drabble is lowkey awful cause i wrote it in like 20 mins so i might rewrite it another time or write an actual fic w makki hehehehe. BUT I LOVE U SHAWTY<3

“i wanna try something, you trust me right?”

that was the only thing hiro said before grabbing your hand and dragging you up toward your shared bedroom. you weren’t necessarily sure what he was planning but you trusted him enough.

once the door opened his lips instantly found yours, his large hands gripping at every curve they could find. you could feel the urgency in his touches, this wasn’t like hiro. his touch was always incredibly calculated, never this thoughtless.

“mmh, hiro what is it?” you pull away from the kiss, attempting to let your shallow breaths even out. his hand leaves your hips, finding its way back to your hand and squeezing tightly. “well.. i was thinking you could sit on my face?” your body froze completely at his words. there was no way he wanted you or more like all your weight on him?

“i can feel you overthinking, baby. can we at least try? this is something i really want” he smiled softly, rubbing circles onto your hand with his thumb. you took a deep breath, nodding slowly at his request. hiro had never denied your requests, always giving you whatever you wanted whenever you needed it; so who were you to not at least try this simple thing for him?

his smile widened almost instantly, beginning to press loving kisses all over your face. “you won’t regret it pretty girl, i swear!”

hiro squeezed your sides as he got onto his knees, letting you know that he was going to take off your pants. he slowly removed them, leaving short kisses and bites down your thighs. he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this as much as he did, cause god was he going to enjoy it.

“stop hovering and fucking sit, you aren’t gonna kill me.” hiro breathed out. you didn’t know if he really wanted this or if he just wanted to make you feel good… either way you were nervous.

“stop thinking about it so much pretty girl cause i’m done being patient,” he gripped your thighs harshly, fully pulling your weight down onto his face. his tongue quickly lapped at your cunt, sucking feverishly as you whined out pleas. he wasn’t listening though and to be completely honest he didn’t really care how you felt at the moment, this was for his pleasure. your hands reached forward, tugging at his soft, pink hair. you were so overwhelmed with pleasure that you weren’t sure how to feel.

“please hiro, wait fuck” he let out a small chuckle, sending the vibrations directly through your core. he didn’t understand why you were so worried about what he was doing as long as it was making you both feel good. and you couldn’t deny that it was making you feel good, it was evident in the way you were dripping all over his face, slick coating his long tongue and slender fingers. your body was betraying you, no matter how much you tried begging him to stop he knew it wasn’t anywhere close to what you really wanted. needed.

he lifted your body up, catching his breath. “fuck you taste so good, could do this all night, sweetheart.” a small whimper came from your lips. what if he thought you were too big? or weighed too much? what if you were hurting him?

suddenly you felt hiro’s teeth sink into your thigh. “get out of your head angel, just relax. i promise i’m okay.” you sighed, softly agreeing to let him continue. he brought his hands up to your hips again, squeezing them gently in an effort to calm your nerves.

he was right though, after relaxing more and getting out of your head you realized just how good hiro was at this. his fingers filled your cunt so perfectly, almost as perfect as the way his tongue moved inside you. sucking and flicking on your clit, it felt like heaven. you were right on the edge and just needed a little bit more.

“gonna cum soon, hiro! please don’t stop…” you moaned. his fingers pressed onto your clit, rubbing a bit faster. hiro’s hips rutted into the air as you began grinding your body onto his face, desperate to cum. once you did cum your entire body went numb, crying out broken whines and whimpers of his name. he came too, not that you noticed, you were too wrapped up in the overstimulation that was starting to set in.

"please no more, 's too much!" you cry. eventually after a few more minutes, he was satisfied and stopped. pulling you into bed next to him and cuddling into your chest, he hoped that you wouldn't comment on the wet patch rubbing against your thigh.

"hiro-"

"shhh go to sleep," he laughed, kissing your tummy as he got up to go change.

#haikyu smut #hanamaki takahiro #haikyu x reader #hq imagines #hq smut #seijoh #hanamaki x reader #makki x reader #✉️#📧

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selznick · 28 days

Text

ushijima was not trying to get oikawa to shiratorizawa for the colleyball team, his real reason was that he was trying (and failing) to be a wingman for tendou

#im just saying utter nonsense abt haikyu dw abt it #ol but fr who has read the 20k pure smut fic abt makki x mattsun x oikawa x iwazumi x tendou #my life is changed tbh #you wouldn't think 20k could just be one sex scene #but it is

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shibaraki · 6 months

Text

AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME

synopsis: with a few days remaining, the five of you run from Tooru and Hajime's impending departure for a little longer—and tackle some unearthed feelings along the way.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, childhood best friends to lovers, romantic + sexual tension, mutual pining, a lot of casual physical affection, sharing a bed, angst + fluff, masturbation, festivals, alcohol consumption (everyone) + smoking (makki), yay love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual smut, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (reader rec.)

wc: 18K

↳ written in three days while in my feels and on new medication: for the komorebi collab hosted by yours truly lmao ↰

Like most impulsive plans it stemmed from a tipsy throwaway comment. Ruddy cheeks, the warm, honey tinge of whiskey on his breath, Hajime’s lips came loose.

“We should go somewhere together,” he’d said, ensconced by the booth cushions. Your gaze met meaningfully across the table, half lidded and dopey. Even as Issei’s arm wrestled its way around his neck and jostled him, wrangled him closer with the promise of teasing, Hajime had not looked away from you.

“Oh! Let’s rent a little bus, like in the movies. That’s a cute idea,” Tooru enthused, inflection slurred by the warmth of his liquor. “Hajime, who knew you could be so cute?”

“Hajime has always been cute,” Issei drawled, eyes gleaming as his knuckles successfully rub back and forth over Hajime’s skull, even as the man squirms against it. “But you’re both leaving again soon. We can’t go far, or for long”.

It had been pure luck that Tooru and Hajime managed to synchronise their brief visit home in the first place. You think that they might’ve even conspired to match their flight times as close as humanly possible, just so they could find one another in the airport upon arrival.

“Now look. Poor ‘kawa,” Takahiro strummed his finger over Tooru’s puckered bottom lip, pink and plush as it bounces back. “Quick. Tell him he’s cuter before he starts crying”.

And the drink-addled idea passed. You, however, let the thought marinate in the morning that followed. Knowing that it was Hajime who suggested it felt significant. He’s the quiet sentimental type. With both his and Tooru’s upcoming departures you had fully expected to be inundated with their company—savouring the remaining time you had left, never quite touching on the topic, still too tender for the three of you. It surprised you. A trip felt final. Another last hurrah. The tying of loose ends, to separate on a good note.

Ultimately you decided to forward a link to an article detailing different overnight itineraries and festivals to the group chat with hopes of bringing it to fruition. Now you found yourself standing beside Hajime’s car under an early eventide in a pair of old sweatpants too long at the ankle and listening to them bicker, wondering why you ever got the ball rolling.

Phone, check. Keys, check. ID, check. Wallet, check. Overnight bag—

You glare down at the offending object propped on the ground beside your feet. A good twenty minutes of your frantic afternoon had been spent trying to zip the thing shut. Check.

“But Hajime, the otter cafe!”

Tooru yelps, and you glance up in time to watch as Iwaizumi jostles and loosens his grip, “No. We don’t have time. We’re sticking to the plan".

“Are those even ethical?” Issei wonders under his breath, bending at your side to lift the case and ignoring your weak protests. It’s handed off to Hajime with ease, and you allow yourself a brief appreciative glimpse of the muscle flexing under his fitted shirt.

You shake your head, full of mirth as you call to him, “Tooru”.

The sinking sun is crowning his head in a dewy flare. Tooru looks up from Hajime’s back and the halo slips, highlighting the hidden wispy strands of ginger by his temples. Balmed lips pouted, his brow arched in question.

“Stop fussing and sit with me”.

The curiosity smooths out and he looks increasingly pleased at the request. It lasts a few sweet moments, broken by the smug uptick of his mouth. Tooru grins, “Of course you want to sit next to me. I’m your favourite after all”.

Years of repetitive back and forth taught you that arguing that point was futile. With a fond eye roll, you reach across in his approach to pinch at his bicep. “Just get in the car before I change my mind,” you say.

You duck in to sit beside Tooru as he scrambles for the window seat. Hajime is angled toward you while he fiddles with the centre console, a muscled arm wrapped around the headrest, deliberately waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you do, he mouths the words, “Thank you”.

From the minute you met there’d always been something there. Maybe it was pheromonic, the way you know something is right the instant you find it; or maybe it was the chubby, six year old hands that plucked the cicada shell from your hair one summer morning. Presque vu, years spent waiting on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t escape you that this might be the last chance to do anything about it.

You’re shaken from your reverie when the car rocks on its axles. Issei throws himself into the far right passenger seat beside you with a heavy sigh. Broad shoulders push you closer into Tooru, thighs pressed together and feet parted awkwardly on either side of the rear suspension.

Takahiro excitedly clambers in the front with an energy drink in hand, uncapped, earning an indignant shout from Hajime when he slams the door with too much force.

“Oi—!”

You grin as he struggles to dodge Hajime’s successive smacks. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry, be nice!”

“I told you already, it's my dad’s car. That means no tracking dirt, no spilling anything, and no smoking inside. Capiche?”

“Aye-aye,” Issei drones, knuckles grazing your hip where he fastens his seatbelt. There is little space, yet it is oddly comforting. Tooru snorts, slumping until a head of unkempt brown hair rests heavily against your shoulder, tilting briefly to nuzzle your jaw.

The radio switches on automatically as the engine starts, an initial splutter tapering off into a gentle hum. You reciprocate Tooru’s affection and rub your cheek over his crown, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut milk shampoo. He takes your weight without complaint, and when Issei leans forward to receive a sip of Takahiro’s energy drink, your knees knock together.

Hakone was the chosen destination, thanks to a local festival taking place tomorrow. Of the five of you, Hajime is the best driver in terms of navigation and road knowledge. Issei is a close second. Both Tooru and Takahiro got their licences for the sake of convenience, but you doubt they could make their way around a clockwise roundabout without crying.

Takahiro whoops, his hand thudding in line with the beat on the car roof, “Road trip, baby!”

The scenery becomes less and less familiar, turning onto streets you do not recognise. Heading west out of Tokyo toward the Chuo Expressway, it isn’t until a passenger window is opened and a gust billows into the car that you shake the final dregs of sleep. Tooru’s hair is whipping in the wind as Hajime reaches for the radio and switches channels, bass vibrating through the speakers.

Reality sets in like a slow simmer and excitement buzzes under your skin as the giddiness swells. You lean forward, cheek squashed unflatteringly to the back of the driver's seat, and paw at Hajime’s arm.

“Turn it up, Haji”.

Above the road ahead is a large blue sign detailing directions to Lake Kawaguchi—a purposeful detour, for the sake of acting like tourists. There’s a spot with a perfect view of Mount Fuji. Despite having lived only a forty minute ride from Tokyo, you can’t say you’d ever thought to look at it outside of a postcard.

It’s nice to step into the shoes of another. View the country through a less acclimated lense. You’re taken through winding roads that thread between verdant mountains; entrenched by nature, only to be thrown out into the open as the foliage breaks.

Lake Kawaguchi greets you brightly, the sunset surface glittering across a vast horizon. You are yelling harmoniously with Takahiro as it comes into view. Issei’s phone is already pressed against the window, scenery rolling across the camera screen as he repeatedly taps his thumb to recalibrate the focus.

“I can hear you laughing at me,” he casts a suspicious look over his shoulder.

You grin, “You’re such an old man”.

“We’ll park just up here. There’s a good spot for pictures down by the bank,” Hajime says, the heel of his hand flat to the wheel as it turns left. “Not too far to walk. Pretty sure there’s a cafe just nearby, too”.

You watch his reflection in the rear view mirror, admiring the soft crinkles by his eyes. His mouth isn’t visible but you know he’s smiling. Issei bumps his knee into yours—again. Simultaneously, Tooru bends make quiet kissing noises against your ear. Swatting them isn’t justice enough, and threatening to throw them out of the moving vehicle only makes them snicker.

The car park is entirely deserted and unmonitored, surrounded by brush. No line markings or need for payment, just a part of the ground carved out and filled with gravel that crunches beneath the tires as it displaces. Cruising toward the far end of the lot, Hajime chooses the spot right by an old staircase that appears to lead down the bank.

He pulls the handbrake with a resounding click and shuts off the engine. Comfortable silence befalls you as the radio cuts out. Soft, muted chirps rippled throughout the treeline, and as Issei popped open his car door, those first few notes bloomed into many more.

You climb out and step onto the uneven ground, the crisp air pinching the tips of your ears. You reach up and rub at them, running your palms over your cheeks in hopes of warmth. It isn’t cold—just refreshing. Cool enough to feel it in your sinuses when you breathe.

“Come on,” Tooru whines. He’s already stood by the railing, weight shifting restlessly between his feet. You smile at the bounce of his hair, frame outlined in darkening sunlight, breaking through the curls like a canopy.

An arm snakes loosely around your back and Hajime pulls you into his embrace. You fall in line with him, his pace purposefully slowed to remain at your side. He guides you forward, and once you’re close enough, the others begin to descend the staircase.

You hear Issei whistle. Glancing up from the final step, you’re met with a watercolour come to life. Open skies, there lay smudges of orange, red and pink. No telling up from down. The surface of the lake is completely still, reflecting a perfect mirror view of Mount Fuji.

“Wow,” you murmur, breathless. Hajime hums in agreement, awe bleeding into the sound. Tooru is crouched near the water, struck with wonder, idly swirling his fingertips over the surface as Takahiro and Issei station either side of him, the pair deep in thought.

Dragging your eyes from the picturesque view, you take in the emotion on Hajime’s face. People always claimed him to be intimidating—he could be, without question. But to you, Hajime was made up entirely of soft lines, deliberate kindness and telegraphed movements, as though he were a gentle giant, despite being the shortest of the four players.

He still carries some chub in his cheeks. You know, because you’re often inundated with the urge to pinch at it. This is your Hajime, the one you’ve always known; only now there’s stubble lining his jaw.

“It’s grown back again already,” you comment sotto voce, careful not to disturb the pensive atmosphere that has settled by the lakes edge. “You really are a big boy now”.

“It’s annoying”.

“Looks good though,” you muse. “Kinda rugged. I like it”.

His throat flexes as he swallows, hand coming up to itch his jawline, and you try not to stare. It’s always so easy to turn him pink. “You do?”

Too much, you think, poking the swell of his cheek in lieu of a response. It yields under the pressure, and as he smiles it takes on the appearance of a dimple.

Casual affection was second nature, now. You found yourself thankful for the excuse to touch, and knowing that he’ll be leaving soon has emboldened you somewhat. All those years ago you’d preemptively decided that crossing the threshold would lead to rejection, but the initial borders defining your relationship have long since blurred, and it’s hard not to wonder where you truly stand. If you got it right.

“Guys,” Takahiro demands your attention, hand cupped by his mouth with a lit cigarette held precariously between his fingers. The other is in the air waving his phone back and forth. “We’re here to marvel at the miracles of mother nature, not each other!”

You step out of Hajime’s embrace, disguising your reluctance.

Joining their lanky huddle rewards you with a chorus of cheers as Tooru latches on to your back and props his chin atop your shoulder. He flashes an effortless peace sign. The others attempt to fit themselves into the frame mirrored on Hanamaki’s phone screen, an iridescent crack running from one corner to the other, Mount Fuji’s blushing snowy peaks crowning your heads.

“You really gotta get that fixed,” you hear someone say. Their voice is muffled, as if they’d been talking with their lips closed, and one glimpse finds Issei trying resolutely to keep his posed smirk in place. Your own mouth flattens into a thin line to keep yourself from laughing.

The camera shutters.

You groan, “I wasn’t ready for that one”.

A few more are taken and sent to the group chat, eyes on you while you set a particularly sweet one as your wallpaper. Crowing with delight, you find yourself surrounded by bodies and squeezed in a firm group hug.

“Alright, alright,” you huff. The discomfort stems more from the insistent, cramping sensation in your stomach. Your smaller hands meet a hard, muscled abdomen, pushing fruitlessly. Neither man budges. If anything, your resistance only encourages them to coil tighter. “You’re all too heavy. Get off!”

They relent, but only at the sound of your gut rumbling. “Hungry?” Hajime asks. The sheathing sun reflects in his irises, burning bright, verdant green, as though he were part of spring itself; soft in apology.

“Food is that way,” Issei points out. “Looks like it’s open. Maybe”.

There’s a stout, cosy structure further along, tucked atop the edge of a hill and half hidden by a cradle of Japanese maple. If you squint you could make out the moving silhouettes inside.

Tooru cranes his neck, lips comically pursed as he looks toward the cafe. “It’s pretty romantic. If we have Hajime get on one knee out here for a picture, think they’ll give us a free meal?”

Hajime shoves him half heartedly and clicks his tongue, “Why me? Do it yourself”.

You watch as they share a long, unspoken moment, conversing without words. Tooru offers him a scathing look, one of total incredulity and that alone is enough to break the suspension. Hajime juts his chin in the opposite direction and turns his back, beginning a stiff march toward the cafe.

“What was that all about?”

“He’s so bullheaded,” Tooru muses, knuckles rapping gently to your skull as he passes. When you are offered nothing but a fond laugh in the face of your confusion, you stalk off after them.

Petulance has you speeding ahead of the group, further picking up the pace at the sound of hurried feet. The natural instinct to run nips at your heels. As the earth begins to incline upward and your strides broaden, there’s a burn in the back of your thighs that Takahiro seems to have no issue with, if his sudden sprint ahead has anything to say about it.

“Last one there has to pay!”

“Bastard,” Issei hollers from the back, refusing to run and carried by his heavy gait. “Just because you’re unemployed!”

Your lungs are burning with the exertion, laughter coming in short bursts. Issei remains in last, Tooru second, Hajime fourth. From the terrace, Takahiro pieces his thumb and forefinger together into the shape of a heart, nowhere close to apologetic. “Buy me something and I’ll give you a big wet kiss,” he returned in a singsong voice.

Issei lumbers through the gate, movements broad and slow. His brow arches, Takahiro immediately losing bravado. “You’d do that for free”.

“Get me out of here,” Hajime mutters. “Kill me”.

You take pity on him and herd them all through the doors, “Less flirting and more pastries, please”.

Inside is painted in rich deep browns. The fresh air weaves well with the aroma of freshly baked goods. You breathe it in, your hands dancing over shelves sparsely stocked with baskets of flatbread, loaves and cakes. While quaint, the ceilings are high, held up by large beams on which decorative lights and plants are carefully draped.

You feel slightly awkward and out of place in your shabby old sweatpants. A calming melody is playing overhead. Soft spoken voices belonging to the few employees and fewer patrons encourage you to lower your own into a whisper.

Hajime subtly leans down to listen as you say, “I think we should get our food to go”.

He hides his amusement against your shoulder and you accept the brief weight with a grin. Then you feel him nod in agreement.

Issei holds his hand out when you reach the counter. There are already multiple paper bags tucked under his arm. “Give me the goods before I change my mind,” he says, exasperation set plain on his face.

“Thank you Issei,” you recite like a child, pressing two sweet rolls shaped like a cornet into his palm. Hajime chooses comfort—curry bread. Shared on countless late night walks home; the memories stir something melancholic deep within your chest that you’d rather not examine right now.

Your initial concern about being out of place were not entirely unfounded. The employee behind the register greets your group kindly enough, and her smile is genuine, but you cannot ignore how her eyes seem to flicker back and forth to the disgruntled customers seated by the terrace.

If you had to guess, they were regulars. Retired elders that lived nearby and had the privilege to spend their evenings here. Though irritating, you are honest enough to admit that your gaggle of idiots would certainly fracture this place’s peaceful ambiance. So Issei pays, feigning nonchalance at the long, wet kiss Takahiro leaves on his cheek, and you trudge back to the car with food in hand.

Tooru ambles around to the front passenger seat, hip checking Takahiro toward the back where he previously sat. You knew he might do this at some point during the trip. Eating before a car ride made him prone to nausea, and since he was young he’d claimed sitting in the front helped. Anpan held between his teeth, Tooru peers at you through the headrests and smiles with his eyes, entirely too pleased.

Takahiro nudges your side as he clambers in. Lifting your hips, he buckles the seatbelt, and soon after you are half-draped over his lap to allow Issei to do the same. You glare at him as he wiggles his eyebrows, stopping short when he flashes you his phone. There’s a picture, this time of you and Hajime at the lake curled into each other; you’re cradled by his arms, and he by the mountainside, entirely in your own world.

You relent, “Send me it”.

“As I thought,” he mutters smugly.

The lake is rarely out of view. Heading south to Hakone, the road hugs the water for most of the journey. Tooru connects his carefully curated road trip playlist to the speakers and the car swells with an old city jpop song. You pick at your sweet rolls, barely humming along; choking on feelings left to fester in your throat, unacknowledged and unspoken.

You remember the day they told you their goals for the future. Plans to leave. Together, across from you, hands wrung in their laps. Grief filled your body like lead, and you recall thinking to yourself, half-hysterically, ‘How can I do this alone?’

That was a time in your life you couldn’t imagine a world without Tooru or Hajime in it. Day in, day out, seasons passed side by side. Three small stars converging on the same path. It never needed to be clarified—all plans were made with the tacit promise of being together. The unwillingness to part pulled even your families along and you were hard pressed to recall a first New Year shrine visit without their relatives present. Until they decided to leave.

It’s loneliness tinged with a smidgen of guilt. You’re not truly alone. Issei and Takahiro are some of your best friends, and they weren’t going anywhere far anytime soon. Still, you can’t help but brace for the ways your orbit will further unfurl in Hajime and Tooru’s absence when they return to their lives.

Hakone is a town tucked away in the shadow of Fuji-Hakone-Izu national park. Long, mountainous roads lead you toward an expanding vista. Faces sun drenched in varying hues of red maple, pink blossom and youthful green. The next hour and a half passes in the blink of an eye and the destination closes in. You angle your head, stretching across Takahiro’s lap and squinting up to make out the shape of ropeways cutting across the burgeoning sky. Tiny, far off carriers glide along the cables.

Something about it compels everyone to stop and take a breath. You lapse into pleasant silence. The car slows to cruise through the busy streets, music lowered into a faint buzz. It is larger than life.

While advertised as a quaint getaway from the chaotic, fast paced lifestyle of Tokyo, in actuality Hakone is made up of seven separate villages, each with its own distinct history. Lush hills crowned with cumulus clouds of smoke from the hot springs; young families standing beneath grand, crimson painted torii gates; vendors sheltered from the sun by conical straw hats tied beneath their chins with silk.

To get to Gora, you must first cut through Yumoto—a lively, compact area lined with shops and restaurants that have attracted an uncomfortable amount of foot traffic. Hajime drives with his body strung tight, knuckles losing colour as yet another tourist almost walks out in front of his car.

“Almost there, man,” Issei offers sympathetically.

Hajime grunts, “Don’t talk to me”.

Tooru is too preoccupied with taking pictures to notice his best friend's struggles. The small noises of awe only seem to push Hajime’s shoulders higher. You have to duck away from the rear view mirror and bite your inner cheek so as not to laugh.

Eventually, the place you’ll be staying at comes into view. You all release a collective sigh of relief. The modernised ryokan is much larger than most family run facilities. It sits conspicuously on the end of a private road, concealed by forest and threadbare canopy that casts shadows across the windshield as the car pulls in, sliding effortlessly into one of the empty spaces.

Four staff members adorning pastel yukata’s greet you by the wide genkan with a deep bow. The woman standing behind the reception desk mirrors them when she meets your eye. You’re offered a pair of new grey slippers and gently ushered out into the lobby with your outdoor shoes in hand while Hajime heads to check in.

When he rejoins the group his expression is distinctly uncomfortable and pinched in a way you recognise as embarrassment.

“There’s been a mix up with the room—suite, I guess,” Hajime admits. Hesitant, his gaze drags up from the floor to where you’re standing beside him. “I showed her the booking but no dice. We’re stuck with a tatami room and bathroom, but she promised there’d be enough futons to roll out”.

While it was last minute they’d all designated tasks to each other, and his task had been booking accommodations. Having expressed that he would make the effort to get you your own room for the sake of privacy and comfortability, despite your protests, you understood his immediate reaction. Letting people down—at least, his own arbitrary idea of it—never sat right with Hajime.

“Let me go talk to her, Iwa-chan. I might even charm her into giving us some extra amenities,” Tooru grins wolfishly, already fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. Faint freckles scattered along his forearms, some newer from the summer months. Tendons flexing with determination, he takes the proffered print out and saunters toward the counter.

“I can be charming,” Hajime mutters childishly, shucking the cross bag higher up his shoulder. He frowns you. “Am I charming?”

You pat his cheek. His pride always rears over the most obscure things. “In your own way”.

Takahiro voices his amusement with a heavy clap to Hajime’s back. “Yeah, man. You appeal to people’s baser instincts. Makes me wanna get knocked up in a cave and nap while you’re out hunting for boar, or something”.

“Shut up, idiot”.

Tooru leaned his body against the counter, closed the distance and tilted his head, a coy sequence you’ve paid witness to a thousand times. You can imagine how he’s holding the receptionist's attention, speaking in low, dulcet tones that slide through her like warm butter.

“What a bastard,” Issei sighs. Hajime grunts his agreement, and you realise that the four of you are lined up, watching them unashamedly as if it were a piece of theatre.

“Alright, weirdos. Move it,” you prod insistently at Takahiro’s waist, snickering when he flinches away from your fingers. “Stop staring and get your bags together so we’re ready”.

“You sure are confident in him,” Issei smirks, picking up his luggage nonetheless. There’s a loud click as you extend your suitcase handle, pulling with force when it jams halfway.

“You’re not? It’s Tooru—” your voice abruptly halts at the heat of another, their hand encompassing your own. Hajime relinquishes your grip and readjusts the handle without fanfare. Flustered, you clear your throat, “He always pulls through for us. Though I still think this is all a bit unnecessary”.

“I, for one, am glad he’s with us and not against us,” Takahiro snorts, eyes flitting between the two as Tooru tips his head and laughs. The sound is trim, practised and forced to your own ears, yet manages to make the employee blush. “Kinda scary, isn’t he?”

Unfettered affection pulls at the corner of your mouth. You smile, turning away from them before they can see and tease you for it. Without a doubt, you had missed being with them more than you realised, and the giddiness was hard to temper.

When Tooru returns, it is with a self satisfied grin, a new set of keys and a slip of paper. “That her number?”

“Yep,” his lips pop as he flips it over between his fingers, flashing the numerical digits scrawled on the back before flippantly sticking it in his jacket pocket. “We now have a modern double, a tatami room and a private onsen. Don’t all thank me too quickly, now”.

Hajime accepts the keys with a begrudged sigh. “You should worry about texting and thanking her before we leave”.

“Stop trying to make me a better person,” Tooru sniffed, allowing himself to be herded toward the cramped lift. You trail closely behind, shaking your head.

The room is bigger than expected. Family sized, you’d say. Traditional with a modernised touch; the main tatami room that flowers in the moonlight as it floods in through the sliding lattice doors. Behind it comes the promising sound of running water and after setting all your shoes in the modest genkan—pointed outwards—Takahiro rushes to discover the private onsen.

Hung in a recessed alcove is a silk scroll inscribed with calligraphy. Staggered wall shelves frame a small flatscreen TV, neatly decorated with painted vases and incense. Tucked away in the corner is a closet full of freshly aired futons. The rice straw flooring yields softly under your feet as you explore.

Two other rooms are cordoned off, a smaller tatami room for the futons and one largely taken up by a double bed featuring a western style ensuite bathroom. Tourists must love this place, you think. It offers a palatable amount of Japanese culture, while simultaneously providing them with the simplistic comforts of their own.

Issei makes work of the futons, nudging the low table and cushions into a corner and dragging the blankets over to the other room. Lip worried between your teeth, you find yourself hovering uselessly with no task to attend to aside from unpacking, which you thought to be just as useless.

A hand snakes around your arm. Tooru’s, you soon recognise; impressively soft given his choice of career, lithe, and slightly balmy from a fruity smelling moisturiser his sister gifted him from her travels in South Korea. “Come on,” he insists without explanation, a dramatic weariness about him.

You are guided into the modern room and handed a travel sized torch identical to his own. You flinch away from the bright light as it abruptly begins to blink, but catch on quickly. ”Look everywhere you can think of”.

“What’re you guys doin’ in here?”

Ignoring Takahiro’s question, you bend to flash the torchlight into the plug sockets. As Tooru peeks into the vents—giving the theatrical whisper of “all clear” with every check—you circumvent around the bed, looking under the frame and the nearby closet.

“Makki, stop hovering like a ghost and check the bathroom for cameras. Actually, I’ll do it,” Tooru waves him off dismissively, sleuthing precariously into the small bathroom. “Gotta check the shower head. Can’t have my darling friends showing up on some dark web auction…”

Once Tooru is mollified that there are no hidden cameras the group allow themselves to settle. You are set up in the double room. It is the only door with a lock and a private bathroom, and you suspect that is why it was foisted onto you.

Still you are conscious about the proximity, or lack thereof. Listening to them bicker and scuffle through the walls, their footfalls and voices passing beneath the crack in the bathroom doorway. Your fingers lingered on the turning lock for too long and in the end, you’d left it horizontal. The intense anticipation in your belly culminated into what you recognised as yearning—longing.

The shower can only be described as a transparent box. Aside from a few shallow shelves left to house the complementary body wash, you’re surrounded only by clear, frameless glass panels that do nothing to obscure the view of your naked body. Anyone could walk in at any time. Standing under the warm spray, pressure just right against your shoulders, even as the dense steam fogs up the glass your gaze still falls back to the door handle.

You run a washcloth over your skin and ignore the muted arousal that flares between your thighs. Sounds can be heard over the white noise, muffled by hollow mortar yet still clear enough that the sounds are coalesced into words.

“Get your shoes off my futon,” Hajime demands. Hand braced against wet tile as though to touch the baritone of his voice, the other passes innocently over your sex, and you shudder. Thoughts wander.

Tentative, you slide your fingers through your folds. Massage wet, loose circles around your clit. Eyes fall closed and you dip into your imagination. There’s a firm body behind you, cock grinding tantalisingly slow against your ass. Shaped around your back as though you were an extension of him. Your rhythm stutters when Hajime nuzzles below your ear. Tender kisses forge a path to your shoulder while his hands smooth across a resting stomach toward your chest.

Curtained by hot water as it patters away at the tension in your muscles, droplets slip into the seam of your lips and they part for breath. You lean on the tiled wall, seeking cool relief where the steam starts to overwhelm you, and slip abruptly on the condensation. With an undignified yelp, you quickly find your footing—though not without first knocking over the travel sized bottles of body wash.

Deafening silence follows. You inhale deeply, exhaling to steady your breathing. A hesitant knock to the door gives you pause. The handle remains mournfully upright.

“…You alive in there?”

Your face twists into a grimace as you attempt to recompose yourself. You clear your throat. “I’m fine, Hajime. Sorry. The only thing I’m dying of is embarrassment”.

His short laughter is warm and uninhibited. It rings true in your ears long after he’s gone. Turning away from the spray, your head tips forwards until it thumps against the glass. Shame prickling behind your eyes, you groan, “What the fuck is wrong with me”.

Surprisingly there are no teasing comments awaiting you when you leave the privacy of your room, dried and redressed. All the screen doors have been pulled open, connecting the main room to the spare tatami room where they’ve rolled out all the futons to create one large bed. Five, together. You smile but don’t mention it. Issei greets you with a lazy wave from his place amongst the blankets.

“Makki’s just havin’ a smoke,” his thumb points to the door leading out toward the private onsen. Through the lattice you can make out a blurred silhouette standing on the small veranda.

“The other two?”

“Headed downstairs to ask about the festival tomorrow, and dinner”.

“Are you looking forward to it?” you perk up, kneeling to sit cross legged on one of the beds.

Issei smirks at your enthusiasm and hums an affirmative. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle movements of his hands where they fiddle with the inseam of his jeans. “Yeah. Heard they’re lighting some bonfires”.

Your mouth parts with a sound of recognition. “On the mountainside, right?”

“That's the one,” he nods and bows forward to rest an elbow on his thigh. You straighten up as he pins you under an intense stare. “I can slip away with the guys, if you want. Tomorrow. It would be a good time for you to talk to him”.

Heat prickles over your face. Your pinch your cheek between your teeth, eyes instinctively darting to the hallway. You’re not sure whether it’s his consideration of you or your own piteous transparency that makes you want to cry. It has been this way for years; a tentative dance that never seemed to end. They all know. You wished you could still be ignorant of that.

“Do you…” you clear your throat as your voice cracks. Issei’s gaze softens and you feel naked. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?”

After a short, pensive silence, Issei exhales a long breath and lays his hands flat on the futon. He leans into the heel and pushes onto his knees to drop his body heavily beside yours.

You struggle against his weight as he slumps, flinging both arms around your waist. “Issei—!” an aborted yelp falls from your mouth when he hooks his chin over your shoulder and locks his jaw, pressing it into your back.

“Stop! That hurts, bastard!” you squawked, pushing down against the forearm cinched across your middle like a belt. They flex under your hands, not moving an inch. You can feel his cheeks lifting as he grins.

“Sure. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he offers slyly, tightening his grip. You fall slack as the fight bleeds from your body. There’s a familiar burn behind your eyes, closely followed by a swell in your throat that the words can’t quite seem to get around. “And for the record, I do think it’s a good idea”.

“It’s a terrible idea,” you intone flatly, smile fraying at the edges. “He’s leaving again after this, Issei”.

Issei must hear the clear defeat in your voice because he gathers you against his chest to hug you properly. “I know,” he murmurs. You breathe in the light notes of amber lingering on his skin, his big hand splayed between your shoulders.

Then you feel the unmistakable press of a kiss to your crown. “You’re a coward,” your brows knit together as you glare up at him. It's just like Issei to make it sound like you’re fussing over nothing after you’ve spent years building it up in your head. His grin widens, crooked. “But you’re our coward, and we want to see you happy”.

You feel your irritation melt away at his sincerity. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth. The sweet atmosphere is swiftly soured as he adds, “So hurry up and fuck already”.

Takahiro’s return is poorly timed. Shutting the lattice door behind him, he strolls in with scent of tobacco following close behind, “Who’s fucking?”

A wave of embarrassment washes over you. It makes you go hot and cold in quick succession. Issei surrenders and rolls onto his back, cushioned by the futon as you push him away, loud cackles bouncing off the walls.

“Nobody is. Be quiet, the pair of you”.

“Is it about Hajime?” he continues, crouched before you with eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Takahiro jumps backwards with a snicker when you angle your hips to kick at him. The bitter smoky smell is much stronger around his fingers. He grabs your ankle to keep you still but Takahiro’s smug air dissipates in an instant, mouth falling open as you drag him down. “Hey—!”

Issei stays quiet with his arms tucked behind his head, happy to no longer be the target of your ire.

That is the scene Tooru and Hajime returned to only a minute later. Having rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, Makki had accidentally pushed you down into Issei, the three of you tumbling backwards in fits of laughter.

Spurred by the need to be included, Tooru took it upon himself to flop unceremoniously into the pile. Your pained yelp had caused quite a stir, the image of Hajime’s face twisted in worry playing on a loop in your mind.

You inhale deeply and grimace in discomfort. The air is humid here. You can feel it sticky in your lungs, right beneath the fresh bruise blooming across your rib. Tooru’s eyes flicker, caught in the movement as you rub at your sternum. The corners of his lips downturn.

“Sorry again,” he mumbles over the sound of gentle, trickling water from the nearby spring, knocking your elbows together. You’ve strayed toward the back of the group alongside him, his stride slowed to keep pace as you wandered around the low lit gardens to kill time before dinner. Flowers are few, evergreens abundant, stone lanterns guide you forward.

With a forgiving sigh you link your arms to keep him close. Tooru’s rigid posture relaxes as you nuzzle against his bicep. “Nobody died. It’s fine,” you laugh quietly.

“If it were up to Iwa-chan I might’ve”.

You roll your eyes. “I can handle a bit of roughhousing. Grew up with you, didn’t I?”

Tooru’s face is thrown into stark relief as moonlight filters through the canopy, and you watch his small smile scrunch up into a moue. “With my sister you mean,” he says, with a fondness betraying his expression. “What a beast”.

You have vague memories. Downy brunette hair fisted in a small hand. Eyes swollen with tears. A young boy sent to the corner to think about his actions. Tooru always started those fights, not that he would ever admit it. But you knew he was fighting for his older sister’s attention more than anything else at the time.

“Liar. She spoiled you all the time,” you tell him. “And you were as bad as each other”.

Tooru hums, the way he often does when he doesn’t believe you. Your paths converge, misstepping as he sways and you throw his too-innocent act a look of suspicion. “So,” he starts a beat later.

It’s apparent in his eyes. That gleam of curiosity, and hesitance. Bingo. Tooru barely moves as you return your weight to his side and almost veer him onto the grass in protest. “No,” you reply.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“No? Well if it’s not about me confessing to Hajime then please, do carry on”.

Tooru makes a petulant, frustrated noise. There’s an indent in his cheek where the inner flesh is pinched between his teeth. You roll your eyes, scuffing your shoe to the stone path. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to confess now,” you tell him quietly.

“You’re just scared,” Tooru returns under his breath. His expression is solemn now, as is his tone.

“And what if I am?” Your voice raises a bit, rousing the attention of the men up ahead. When they look back you muster a smile and give a reassuring wave. Your attention momentarily drawn to the huddle behind them by the bamboo gate. A small family shuffled by, heads bobbing with gratitude as the boys made room, when their toddler took notice of Takahiro and became appropriately delighted by him.

While the mother spilled panicked apologies and took her daughter's hand, the girl stood on the very tips of her purple jelly sandals and Takahiro bent to let her pat him on the head before departing. Tooru drops the topic with an offended hum as you abandon him to rejoin the group, examining the trim of his nails to feign disinterest, “She only liked you because your hair is pink”.

“Actually it’s strawberry blond,” Takahiro snarks, equally affronted and amused. “Just heavier on the strawberry”.

Their movements coalesce, blindly shuffling after one another back into the hotel lobby. “Should probably head back soon,” Hajime mutters as an afterthought, his gaze trailing wall to wall before landing on the clock hung above the main desk. “Should we buy some drinks and stuff for tonight?”

“I can get it,” you volunteer at the same time that Tooru interjects with, “We’ll go get it”.

You glare at him.

Hajime disapproves. At the very least he’s worried. It’s in the flex of his fingers, the set of his jaw, the earthen eyes narrowed at the pair of you. “Will you be okay together?”

“Yes, Iwa-chan. This isn’t an episode of ‘My First Errand’,” he reaffirms his grip on your arm, giving it a decisive squeeze. “It’s no problem, right? Right”.

“Right,” you say, the decision clearly made for you. You turn your attention from Tooru’s pointed smile back to Hajime and the others. “We’re good. Text us what you want and we’ll bring it up to the room”.

Murmured acquiescence ripples through the group, and Tooru ambles you out through the main entrance as you part ways. Your entwined shadows elongate, the wall mounted sconces leading a path to the small sundry nestled in the east side of the hotel.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“No”.

“Not even if I say please?”

“No,” Tooru chimes again, tugging you through the automatic doors. The cashier acknowledges your arrival with a quick smile and continues to restock the empty shelf in front of them.

The temperature drops as you turn onto the drinks aisle and Tooru opens the closest fridge while refusing to let go of you. “I just don’t understand why you’re not taking the chance,” he continues, frowning at the bottle labels. When he plucks the umeshu from the rack you know it’s for him. “I don’t want you to regret it”.

“They’re asking for beer and shochu,” you read tiredly from the phone in your free hand. The text chat bumps as another message comes through. “Uh… Issei wants dried calamari. We should get seaweed tempura, too”.

“Stop changing the subject”.

Annoyance sparks in your chest. “This is what we’re here to do,” you grumble, shoving your phone into your pocket and opening the adjacent fridge door with more force than necessary. You shiver at the gust of cool air.

An indolent sigh seeps from him. “C’mon. You have to know,” Tooru murmurs, moving closer to hook his chin over your shoulder. He softly knocks your heads together. “The chances of you being rejected are less than zero”.

“No, I don’t know that. And—even if that’s true, what then?” you shake your head, chewing your lip. “Like I told the others, it’s not a good idea”.

“Okay,” Tooru replies, standing upright and turning to saunter away. He draws out the word as he does whenever he concedes an argument he still thinks he has won. You stare at his retreating back with a bereft sense of defeat, now cold where your arms had been linked.

“Tooru,” you say. He makes an inquisitive noise, his nose wrinkled as he rummages through the deep fried snacks. “Being rejected and watching you two leave again—I can’t do both”.

Your voice cracks. That strikes a chord square in his chest; the sudden crestfallen expression is evidence enough. Tooru abandons the tempura shelf and tucks the bottles of liquor under his armpit while tucking you under the other. You're a mess, a cacophony of emotion threatening to spill out through your tightly closed eyes.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to push you”.

“I mean. You did,” you laugh thickly, and Tooru has the decency to appear sheepish. He rubs his hand down your side. “But it’s okay. I know you mean well, you all do”.

It’s enough to see that it comes from a place of love. The extent of your yearning has affected him just as much as anyone. Tooru watched consistently over the years while you stood in place and dug, and dug, and dug, for somewhere to put your feelings. That along the line it became a crater you couldn’t climb out from. That while you were desperate to make it hospitable, desirable, to be a person Hajime could want, he had managed to blindly pivot around it his whole life.

The electrical buzz emanating from the fridges is abnormally loud as Tooru, for a precious second, actually stalls to gather his next words. “Look. I’ve been thinking,” he says with a rather rehearsed air.

“That’s not good”.

“Don’t be mean. Hear me out,” he grins. “It was weird for Hajime to suggest a trip so last minute, don’t you think?”

You purse your lips thin with a contemplative hum, grabbing the snacks and shuffling along the aisle while he talks. You had thought it significant, that being the main reason you encouraged Hajime’s idea in the first place. “See, he’s a straightforward, honest guy. And he’s earnest. That’s why you think if he returned your feelings he would’ve said something, isn’t it?”

The cashier furtively looks you over as you wander closer to the counter and set them down. You offer a strained smile. “Hi, that’s everything. Tooru—what’s your point?”

Tooru pulls out his wallet and emphatically states, “My point is you’re wrong!” He hands over the money, “Oh, here. Keep the change. Thank you”. You take the carrier bag, wincing when the glass bottles clink together. “Anyway,” Tooru exhales a heavy breath, visible as he steps into the night air, “You’re underestimating his cowardice”.

Coward was not a descriptor you’d ever ascribe to Hajime. Yourself, sure. You shoot Tooru a sidelong glance, and he smiles at your clear scepticism. “Iwa-chan is bad at being selfish. He feels a certain responsibility toward the people he cares about. Did on our old team, and with the guys, and especially with you,” Tooru continues, a warmth to his tone. “He’s probably not thinking about his own feelings. He’s mostly worried about you, and yours”.

Your pace lags until you’ve come to a stop. Tooru does so a few steps ahead. “So he brought us here for what? To let me down gently?”

“Did you listen to a word I just said?” Tooru cocks his head, the moon crowning his head, light threading through his hair as his expression is shadowed. “I think he was always aware of what could change if he outright confessed. He needed to be sure, and he needed a reason, because his gorilla brain thinks it’ll ruin your whole relationship. That’s why we’re here,” you blink at his lithe fingers, waving in your face and wriggling. “It's an excuse. Because he wants to try!”

Eyes wide, caught in the place between awed disbelief and crippling anxiety, your fingers almost slip from under the bag handle. The trip being symbolic of Hajime’s resolve—could that make sense? You swallow against the lump in your throat. Memories of every recent there-and-gone-again touch and gentle look hold new meaning as they resurface. “He said that?”

“Well, no”.

And the lump in your throat, presumably your heart, drops straight into your stomach. You march past Tooru into the hotel lobby with a bitter laugh.

“Wait, would you—! You’re both so frustrating”.

“Me?” you whirl around to glare at him. People linger at the edge of your vision. Those prim, soft looking women that greeted you mere hours ago are gathered at the reception desk and pretending not to stare. Lowered into a broken rasp, you tell him, “What happened to not pushing? You aren’t being fair, Tooru”.

“This isn’t about fairness. You said you're scared,” Tooru says. Your eyes dipped low to avoid the surety in his gaze. “And that’s fine. I just want you to consider that maybe you’re not the only one who’s scared”.

His words register gradually, and they make you ache; similar to that of a bruise, as the implications become clearer, and your reply comes quietly—not whispered, with a voice that carries no strength. “Fine,” you lift your head, ball your fist tighter and the plastic handles dig into your palm. The tension smooths in Tooru’s brow. His eyes soften, squinting at the corners, and you realise you’ve begun to smile too. “I’ll keep it in mind. You’ve said your piece. What now?”

“Oh. Now we go back to the room before Hajime sends a search party, eat as much as we want and drink until we fall asleep,” Tooru says, casting a quick glance to your surroundings. He drapes arm around your shoulders haughtily, “Then at the festival tomorrow I’ll conveniently slip away with Makki and Mattsun to leave you and Hajime alone. Do with that what you will”.

You snort, feeling an unrestrained fondness for your friends, and will yourself not to cry. “You three already had this planned, didn’t you? Issei told me the same thing”.

“Confess, don’t confess. Either way, I think it’ll be good for you to talk alone,” he says resolutely. Tooru’s one armed embrace has the steadiness of home. You return it, hooking around his lower back, and walk together. His strides that much longer, and you feel a smidgen braver.

Returning to the room you’re greeted by the sight of three men crowded in the genkan pushing to get their shoes back on. As Tooru anticipated they were preparing to go out looking for you both. The smile on your face only grew at Hajime’s admonishments now you're considering the love behind them, Tooru’s words relaying through your memory.

If Takahiro and Issei exchange a look at the bounce in your step, well. You happily ignore it.

Yukatas had been laid out neatly for each of you to wear for dinner. Once you’ve changed you putter into the main room and settle on your knees, resting back on your calves. The tatami is comfortable underneath your shins. Set on the table is a lavish spread of food brought up to you by the ryokan staff.

The heat of another body radiates to your left. Hajime smiles when you look at him and your heart thunders. He’s unbearably handsome in his complimentary robe, a darker blue than your own, and he has it loose at the neck. You feel a headache coming on with the effort it takes not to ogle his chest.

To your right Takahiro’s navy coloured garb is worn equally loose, somehow managing to look dishevelled rather than natural. As though he had pulled it on haphazardly in his excitement to get to the food.

Tooru saunters into the room alongside Issei. His robe matches your own. It is drawn tight at the waist and closed at the collar, closely outlining his upper half. You are always startled by how broad Tooru truly is, given how lithe his movements are. He huffs when he notices the spots rather side of you are taken.

“Ready to eat?” Issei rumbles, sitting opposite at the low table looking nonplussed as ever. You can’t help noticing his belt is barely holding tension and could fall open at any time, both sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It smells incredible,” you say. The dinner is beautiful, a healthy array of colour, covered in mouth watering glaze. Seasonal flowers and leaves and decoratively cut vegetables have been used as finishing touches on each dish, artistically expressing the end of the summer. Your stomach twists in hunger as both palms come together in synchrony, “Thank you for the food”.

You take your chopsticks and reach for the dish closest. Limbs cross over the table top. A familiar, homely scent of saffron, garlic and onion fills your senses. The gloaming moon watches you eat in the relaxed atmosphere. Soft sounds of satisfaction, the clang of cutlery. “S’good,” Hajime says. He catches you staring and lifts his chopsticks toward you, free hand cupped beneath it. “Want to try?”

It’s unnecessary in the best way. “Mmn,” you replied, leaning forward with an indulgent smile. You don’t trust yourself to speak, the spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to your body.

Could Hajime really return your feelings? Tooru certainly thinks so. Issei and Takahiro. Seemingly everyone that has been within twenty feet of you.

Tooru watches the interaction over his glass of umeshu, radiating a smugness that can only be interpreted as ‘I see you’. You don’t particularly enjoy being seen to the bottom of; it makes you want to shrink back. It’s the strange flicker of determination on Hajime’s face that keeps you from doing so.

You’re not the only one afraid to say something, a voice insists in the back of your head.

The food falls apart gently on your tongue. You give a pleasantly surprised hum, engrossed in the rich flavours, and you almost miss how Hajime preens. His mouth pulled into a small, boyish grin, unable to look you in the eye.

“Hey man, give me some,” Takahiro bemoans, his amusement on the precipice of teasing. You recline to allow Hajime to pass the dish across and instinctively know what will come next. “I see how it is. Not gonna feed me too? Favouritism at its finest—” With a flat glare he scoops a large chunk of rice and shovels it into Takahiro’s mouth mid sentence, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

As the plates empty your imagination wanders. It’s a careful unravelling of doubt. You’ve navigated every one of your relationships with a certain level of trepidation, Hajime most of all. Taking a forward step only when certain it wouldn’t creak. Years of doing nothing, saying nothing, because it was the safe option. You had been prepared to spend your life in that unspoken purgatory if it meant keeping Hajime, and there had been comfort in that decision.

But now you have permission to hope and you don’t know what to do with it. You’re quieter than usual, though nobody points it out. If anything they seem relieved. Three of the four, atleast. Hajime won’t stop sending you worried glances. You wonder if he’s overthinking his actions, and your reactions, the way you’ve always done.

The main tatami room is fragrant with the remains of dinner. You’ve gathered some pillows, shared out the snacks and poured their drinks, five sups in and counting. The boys are bickering over which movie to watch. Sake heats you from the inside out, plucks you right from your entangled thoughts and back into the present with loose limbs and a looser tongue.

You speak loudly over them, “How about a comedy?” It’s the first one you can think of. “Tampopo?”

Issei, Takahiro and Hajime pause to consider. Tooru groans, already knowing he has lost the majority vote. “I wanted to watch ‘Before we vanish’,” he whines. “Sci-fi is better than comedy!”

“We always watch sci-fi,” Hajime remarks as he works the remote, switching the movie category to comedy and searching for ‘Tampopo’.

“There’s a drinking game for this one,” Takahiro adds. “I think you sip every time somebody says ‘ramen’”.

“If you want to be put on a waitlist for a new liver go ahead,” Issei says.

The room briefly fades to darkness, lighting up not a second layer as the studio logo spins onto the screen, emphasising the shadows of Hajime’s laughter lines. “We should drink every time there’s a weird food-porn montage instead,” he suggests, sinking back onto his elbows. Your traitorous mind immediately notes the few inches between your hands.

“Well I’ll be drinking in protest,” Tooru turns his nose up though his eyes betray him, fixed on the screen with obvious interest. “And I’m not sure I want to hear the word ‘porn’ from your mouth ever again”.

“Porn,” Hajime says. “Porn, porn, porn”.

“Quiet,” you hiss, focus absorbed by the opening scene. An odd pair of lovers, one delicate woman and her white-suited gangster, enter a movie theatre. Their entourage scurries behind them with champagne and a wicker basket of food, setting up a small table as though in a restaurant.

“Oh,” the dapper man’s voice bleeds through the speakers as he approaches the camera to break the fourth wall and harangue the viewer. “So you’re at a movie too. What are you eating?”

“Dried calamari,” Issei answers loftily. Takahiro snorts into his drink.

Scene to scene, you drink when prompted and settle into uninhibited contentment. Feet tucked up under your thighs, propped on a plush pillow. The heat from Hajime’s hand grazes your skin. Closer and closer until the simple stretch of your fingers would see them entwined.

The movie is funny. It is also unabashedly sensual and hedonistic, and heavy handed about its themes surrounding food. From oysters to noodles, including a scene involving the two lovers using their tongues to move an egg yolk between their mouths before it bursts, you're barraged with wet slurping sounds as the characters on screen eat, and eat, and eat.

“Hot,” Takahiro slurred, while Tooru cried, “What the hell are we watching?”

You drank twice for that one. Too tipsy to parse whether the hot flashes through your body were embarrassment or arousal or an intermingling of both. You’re overly conscious of Hajime’s movements and his closeness, so much so that the plot passes through one ear and out the other.

The dim lamplight from the ensuite room pools across the tatami, the door left ajar to luminate the spot where you’ve lined up the liquor bottles. You squint at the labels. Fuzzy. Laughter ripples through the group at the ongoing scene, an elderly woman being chased around a grocery store and hit with a fly swatter for seemingly—fingering the food?

You smile at the sound as you lift Tooru’s umeshu bottle to the light to measure the remains before pouring some into your glass. A hand circles your ankle, shifting back and forth to fit the peak into the gaps between his knuckles. The soft evocation of your name. Hajime is holding out his own empty cup with a half lidded gaze, the left side of his face thrown into stark relief by the TV screen.

Something hot flares through your chest, your perspective on his tactile habits shifted; the initial desire suffuses to the very tips of your fingers. Now you’re restless with it. He’s so handsome, you think. And he’s still looking at you.

You fill his drink too, and hope the alcohol will not steal these warm moments come morning.

Once the movie is over your sprawled out bodies eventually migrate toward the futons Issei prepared. You forgo the bed to crawl into the covers, to the surprise of no one, and let your eyes trail after Tooru. The flush across his nose has steadily deepened throughout the night. He flicks on the electric fan and kneels to roots through his luggage, pulling a compact from the front pocket with a triumphant noise.

“Comfortable over there?” Tooru circles the pad of his pinky into the balm and brings it to his mouth. The faint strawberry scent is enticing, preferable over the heady, bitter smell of beer. His brow quirks when you don’t reply.

“Want some?” he asks. Slowly, you nod, and he flashes a wry smile, setting down the pot before stretching to reach you. The motion draws you in, tipping your chin up. His fingers are soft on your cheek, splayed out and cradling your jaw.

Tooru kisses you. Your heart maintains a steady rhythm. It’s a friendly, chaste press of lips; you rub your own together as he pulls away not a second later, finding them smoother. Sweeter. The hints of strawberry linger right beneath your nose. Caught in your own world you fail to notice the other two men staring.

“Oh no,” Issei drawls. Turns off the light as he saunters in. He drapes himself across a prone, drunk Takahiro, tilting his head in Tooru’s direction. “My lips are so dry”.

The atmosphere sparks a little. Issei’s teasing, syrupy tone is like flint striking steel. A fond, syrupy sensation settles around your bones—or perhaps that was the alcohol easing the tension. Flirting came easily amongst the others because it was without expectation. The silly pet names and heavy handed affection; it’s all a playful toeing of the line. People found your group dynamic odd no matter how much you tried to articulate it to them. You think in the end, it boiled down to trust. To safety. They all loved you in their own, individual ways, as you loved them. Maybe that's how you'd managed to be so content with Hajime's friendship. It had been enough.

Tooru hums and sits cross legged on his futon. He settles back onto his hands, smiling hazily as Hajime kicks his foot in passing, “I’ve noticed”.

You can’t help appreciating how genuinely coy it is. Patently different to the way he behaves with strangers—not so forced. With his friends flirting is more about working for Tooru’s permission; it’s more fun that way.

Issei purses his lips expectantly. Tooru leans forward.

“You okay?”

You blink. Hajime lowers onto the futon beside yours. His yukata has fallen further open to display his firm chest. Not that you’re looking. You’ve been cordoned on the far end of the room together. Takahiro is too drunk to make any purposeful decision but it’s obvious—at least to you—that Tooru and Issei chose from the remaining futons to keep you and Hajime together.

“Sleepy,” you say, the lull to your voice earning a gentle smirk in response.

“Want any, Iwa-chan?” Hajime’s frowns at the interruption and looks over his shoulder, taking in the suggestive intermittent puckering of Tooru’s mouth. You think at this rate there’ll be no balm left.

“No thanks,” he says.

“Have it your way,” Tooru grumbles from his place beside Takahiro, right in the centre. Pale legs kick at his covers until they’re rumpled a certain way, apparently satisfying to him, and he wriggles down into the mattress. “Still think we should’ve watched ‘Before we vanish’. I’m going to have nightmares about oysters”.

Issei snorts. He turns on his side, laid at the furthest end from you. “But does ‘Before we vanish’ use an egg yolk to symbolise orgasm?” his hand makes a sweeping gesture in the shadows, “I don’t think so”.

“Tha’s cinema baby,” Takahiro slurs, mouth muffled against his pillow. A beat passes. You meet Hajime’s gaze. His lips are pressed thin, trembling. You hear a smothered wheezing sound coming from Tooru’s futon, and the stillness is abruptly broken by a unanimous fit of laughter.

“Shit,” your cheeks ache, your stomach is in knots as you pull the covers up over your persistent grin. The collective glee tapers. “I’ve,” Hajime starts after a deep breath, rubbing at his eyelids, “missed you idiots”.

Tooru sniffles at that. “Don’t make me cry,” he says, clearing the emotion cloying in his throat. You feel a pang of sympathy, overcome with it yourself. “I’ll wake up with swollen eyes and I forgot to bring gel masks”.

“Use a cold damp cloth or something”.

“Mattsun, you're so primitive”.

Eventually the murmuring between the boys settles into silence; the kind that makes the shadows in your room a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. The electric fan and the cicadas hum a cohesive song into the night.

Through the thick of it, you hear a new whisper. Hajime calls your name and there’s barely any voice behind it—uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace. The corner of a blanket pulled back to expose his torso.

Intention clear, you first glance at the sleeping figures over his shoulder. Tooru curled into a cocoon with his bedsheets tucked under his feet. Takahiro laid out on his belly, open mouthed and drooling. Issei on his side, arm bent beneath the pillow, breathing so shallow you’re tempted to pinch him awake.

Hajime waits while you think. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the trepid smile on his face. Emboldened, you crawl out of the futon and into his.

“Looked cold over there,” he reasons.

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years, Hajime is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. You guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest, legs overlapped. Made up of yourselves but also each other.

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as your nerves settle and anticipation thaws. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm.

It reminds you of when you were kids. The jagged shape of a tall, lego Godzilla had forced you to find home between him and Tooru more times than you could count. Everything had been so much bigger. Scarier. Still, those watercolour memories don’t quite hold a candle to this.

Hajime’s hand glides down your back in repetitive, methodical strokes. It makes you feel delicate, like something in you might fracture. You try to ease your breathing as he pulls you closer. The proximity isn’t anything new, but this is something else. Different. It always is, with him, only this time you don’t need to convince yourself otherwise.

Fingers twisting into the thin cotton of his yukata, you mumble, “Thanks, Haji”.

You feel his lips on your temple like hot wax. Your eyes flutter closed, and all at once you feel brave enough to say it, but the moment passes as his head drops against the pillow.

From the recesses of your memory rose the rehearsed speeches, the recipes for honmei chocolate, the imagined cliche scenarios that you left dog-eared in highschool. All the ways to say ‘I love you’.

Hajime has always expressed love in smaller ways. You’ve observed, over the years, his little habits. Easing small burdens. He’d take the clothes off his own back if it could make your journey smoother but wouldn’t ever dream of asking you to stray from it. That’s where you differed, and what you feared.

If he got cold feet you would need to be the brave one.

For all that you had doubted about the nature of Hajime’s feelings towards you over the years, you could have some faith in it now. The thought of him leaving again without hearing it from you—without knowing you were an option—doesn’t bear thinking about.

Vague and half-formed, you succumb to sleep on the end of a drowsy self imposed promise. Tomorrow, you’ll tell him.

Wading through a cottony haze, your consciousness sharpens in increments. Every physiological response in your body is shouting that it is far too soon to rise. You groan, tilt your head and let it loll against your arm; the other is flung outside of the covers, fingertips skimming the futon edge.

You’ve turned on your side in the night. Slowly, you realise a firm body has conformed to your back, knees nudged up behind your own, bending them toward your chest. The way you melt into their warmth and nudge against the cradle of their hips is instinctive. Then the shallow, steady breaths brushing the nape of your neck stutter on a sharp inhale and your eyes fly open, remembering where you are.

Hajime.

After a few seconds endured with bated breath you release the tension in your muscles. He’s asleep.

There’s stark relief. The initial terror in your chest ebbs. Careful as you go, you slip out from Hajime’s grip. A crease forms in his nose, frowning at your absence, and you stay to see how he reaches for you even subconsciously.

A long yawn forces your jaw open, tongue sitting like cotton as the last dregs of sleep fade. A quick look around the room tells you Takahiro is the only one up. The latticed door to the onsen is cracked open. You pull your yukata tighter to your chest to shield against the slight draft. Blood rushes down to your toes as you walk, prickling white noise filling both legs.

Bordering the onsen is a quaint patio area mimicking a traditional veranda. There’s a mosaic garden table and two matching folding chairs, one of which is occupied by a visibly hungover Takahiro.

“Anyone would think you had a night out,” you murmur, closing the door behind you. The air is cool again. Morning birdsong carries over from the trees. Takahiro peeks at you through his lashes, a permanent frown etched into his brow. A headache, if you had to guess. He’s slumped in the chair with long legs stretched outward, a cigarette nestled in the ‘V’ between his fingers, held up by a loose wrist like it alone was too heavy.

The tip glows red as he takes another drag and turns his head away to exhale the smoke into the dew laden air. “Never let me mix drinks again,” he rasps.

“You say that every time,” you cross your arms over your middle and sit down. The metal is cold under your thighs, felt through the thin fabric. “Sleep well, atleast?”

“Like the dead,” he flashes a conspicuous smile as he brings the cigarette to his lips. “You?”

A voice nonchalant in a way that betrays his interest. Subtle in his teasing. Despite already knowing he would’ve seen you and Hajime on his way to the veranda, the confirmation leaves you feeling hot.

“It was comfortable,” you reply stiffly, braced to defend yourself ad nauseam. Takahiro’s eyes softened in the rousing grey-blue daylight.

“Good,” he says.

“That’s all?”

“What, you want me to force the subject? Figured you've had enough of that already”.

“No,” you sigh, sinking into your chair. “…Thanks, Makki”.

Takahiro shrugs lightheartedly and stubs his cigarette out. There’s movement from inside the room. At that moment the door slides open, and Hajime pops his head through the narrow gap.

Your fingers twist hard around your obi. He looks sleep mussed where he’s sitting on the tatami, pushing the door further open to lean on the frame. There’s recognition and relief in his gaze as he glances from Takahiro to you. No indication he was awake before.

“Hey,” Takahiro says.

“Morning,” Hajime replies, sounding as though his throat is dry. A draft dances through and his face scrunches slightly at the nicotine smell. “I set an alarm for breakfast. They’ll be here in any minute”.

“The other two up?” you ask.

“Mostly,” Hajime nods in their general direction. “Tooru’s getting in the shower and Issei’s on the phone to his little brother”.

Takahiro takes a deep inhale and pushes his centremost knuckle to his forehead. “I’ll go help put away the futons,” he states with a groan. Hajime tucks his legs in to allow him through and swats at the hand that scrubs over his hair in passing.

He turns his attention to you. A crease from his pillow marks his cheek. “Have you been awake long?”

“About ten minutes,” you reply, staring hard at the dense garden and dwindling into silence caught somewhere on the knife’s edge between awkward and companionable. Running water streams from the wooden spout into the onsen, making the surface ripple. You latch onto the sound. “Shame we didn’t use the onsen”.

“We’re still here another night,” Hajime says placatingly. “Use it when we’re back from the festival if you want”.

You nod, adjusting your yukata without reason. The simple need for distraction. “Maybe,” your mind can’t help veering toward the worst case scenario. What would’ve changed by that time, tonight? What would you say, and how, if anything at all? The thought makes your stomach twist. You’re not sure you could recover if he reacted poorly.

Blinking out of your reverie, you realise that Hajime had been talking. Heat prickles under your skin. “Sorry,” you grin awkwardly, and it feels brittle on your face. “Got lost in my thoughts”.

“About what?”

You wet your lips, like that could soften the blow. “I’m going to miss you,” you tell him. His expression falls. “Both of you,” you add hastily, which does little to reassure him. “When’s your flight again?”

Hajime’s mouth thins, eyes dipping low. “Late tomorrow night. Or early I guess,” he answers. His shoulders shake and he laughs ruefully, “I’ll miss you too, y’know. Not sure you realise how much,” like it was a matter of fact. The earth would go around the sun and Hajime would miss you.

“Like a hole in my head,” you murmur, so quiet you’re not certain he heard you. Then, slightly louder, “Are you excited to get back to California?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m excited to leave. Got a lot of interesting stuff coming up this semester, though,” he perks up when you gesture, encouraging him to continue. Inwardly, selfishly, you only want to hear him speak a little longer. “One thing I’ve really wanted to do is biomechanical testing. We use it for detailed analysis of our players movement. So…”

The air stifles as the sun rises and drapes across the private veranda, warming the wood panels beneath your feed. Once breakfast has been laid out—and you’ve been bid an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ by the staff—you gravitate toward the same seating arrangement as the night prior.

It’s nothing short of a buffet. A traditional Japanese-style breakfast, hot rice and miso soup, grilled fish, dried seaweed and shellfish boiled in soy sauce and sugar, all served across four hand-woven bamboo trays. There are western elements to the spread, including coffee and bread, which Tooru happily reaches for.

“A person like you should really avoid stimulants,” Hajime muttered as he came to sit at the table.

Tooru startled, hands poised over the steaming coffee pot. He pouted, “A person like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Paranoid, is what I mean”.

“If you're so concerned about my overactive limbic system maybe try being nicer to me!”

The morning crawls onward with an atmosphere of trepidation. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. You squirrel away in the ensuite bathroom again to get dressed, taking longer than necessary. Condensation from Tooru’s hot shower sticks to the tile and the mirror’s surface. The reflection is foggy, your figure like a smudge. You regret not bringing a kimono for the festival—knowing you’ll be surrounded by all that beauty and colour and you worry you’ll look dull in comparison.

Regardless, you smooth out any lingering creases in your outfit. Dull or otherwise it flatters your silhouette nicely.

“Oh”.

You step out just as Takahiro angles his mouth to exhale. Smoke plumes out the open door in delicate wisps, swept away by a humid gust of wind. “Shit—sorry,” he mutters, a little flustered as he scrambles to shield you from the smoke, eyes roving over your form.

“You okay?” you ask, unsure if you should be amused or insecure.

He stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray balanced on the side and wipes his hands on his jeans with such speed you worried it might create static. Then, suddenly, he’s across the room with his thumb sinking into the swell of your left cheek, tobacco fingertips framing the right; he pushes them together until your mouth is puckered. There’s nothing sweet about it. Rather, it looks like he wants to squeeze you like a clementine.

“You’re all glowy. And determined,” the crease in his brow deepens, and he adds pressure to his fingers until you’re squirming, flustered. “And you look cute”. Issei emerges from the garden at that moment. Hand up his dark turtleneck shirt, scratching idly at the hair on his belly.

A deep groan rumbles in his throat. “What are you two doing?”

“I think it’s finally happening”.

Drawn to Hanamaki’s incredulous outburst, Issei stares at your confused, squashed face as it is turned in his direction. His mouth parts and he squints, as though he were searching for the right words.

What the fuck, you think.

“What the fuck,” he says, as if plucking the thought from the air.

“Right?”

They sidle either side of you. Tall and looming, their overbearing presence has anticipation swooping in your belly. Issei smells it like blood in the water and hooks two fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Well look at that,” he teases, bending forward until your eyes cross. “Wonder who you’re getting all dressed up for. Us?”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, though it comes out muffled and terribly nasal. Takahiro laughs, and his thumb skips over your rabbit-footed pulse as his hand slides down the column of your throat and away.

“Oi. In all seriousness you do look good,” Issei smiles. His kind eyes squint with it. They’ve made a clear effort themselves. That’s part of the fun.

A voice floats in from the genkan, “Who are we talking about?” Tooru looks up from his phone and he beams. “Oh! You look cute,” he says, tone light and pleasant. “Hajime will like it”.

“Your reactions are worrying me a bit,” you reply dryly in favour of ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Anyone would think I usually look awful”.

“No,” their three voices overlap as they protest. “You never look awful,” Tooru says, shaking you gently by the shoulders. Then he stops to consider his words. “Well. Maybe that time we thought you had strep throat”.

“What Oikawa wants to say is,” Takahiro cuts in with a flat glare in the other’s direction, “We’re here to support you today, and stuff. That’s all”.

“And stuff,” you repeat, a fond smile coming unbidden to your lips. The surge of affection has you trying to stretch your arms around three big bodies. “You’re being overbearing. But thank you”.

Their arms come up to wrap around your lower back and reciprocate. You are corralled into a long, strong hug, compressed from every direction. They release you when Hajime returns. He is visibly stupefied at the scene, brow knit as he fiddles with the collar of his dark denim jacket.

Your spine straightens, taking an unnecessarily deep breath. “Hi Hajime,” you say. It feels so different now, now there's all that premeditated intent behind it. Like ‘IloveyouHajime’ bunched into a single word.

“Hi. You look…” Hajime's throat bobs. “Good. You look good”.

You glance at the boys and chew the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress your grin, “So I’ve heard”.

The sun is at its highest point when you leave the ryokan together. You are swallowed up by gold beneath the gingko trees flanking the road, a mosaic of dappled light filtering through the partial canopy and intermixed with the softly shaded ground.

Foot traffic grew dense on the main street, teeming with life. “Stick close,” Hajime murmured next to your ear. You suppressed a shudder and took his arm so as not to stray far. The crowd herds your group closer to the heart of the festival. Sound assailed you from every direction. Thousands of lanterns have been strung up, forming a blushing canopy over the yagura, a makeshift stage housing performers and musicians, handsome taiko drummers setting the pace for participants to gather around it and dance along in circles.

There’s a sense of harmony, pigments blended into one another. Families are swathed in beautiful kimonos and silks, jinbei and traditionally woven hats. Your group stood out for their height alone—Mattsun especially, the tallest of the four men. People part to let you through, and children look skyward with awed eyes, jumping in place to see how high they could get.

The current pushes you towards the stalls, where an amalgamation of savoury scents pervade the air. Sweet, crisp okonomiyaki sauce, intense pickled ginger, charcoal smoked meats. Hunger knots in your stomach. Hajime looks over the heads of people and spots some vendors.

“Guys,” he raises his voice and drops his arm around your back with firm reassurance. The others pause, colliding with the moving bodies around them. “Food first. Then we can go to the games”.

You’re suitably satiated after takoyaki. The folded boat-shape container they’d handed over to you is warm in the already throbbing heat. It burns at the nape of your neck; the sun and the many stares of those around you. Takahiro, Issei and Tooru, too, keep flicking their eyes over, as if waiting for something to happen, or some kind of sign.

Music plays over the din. A quick-tempo showy melody, like one would hear at a circus. Takahiro points at the ring toss stall. “Hey, ‘kawa. Win me something,” he says.

“Win it yourself!”

“Don’t be like that babe,” Takahiro laments dramatically, his movements becoming languid and sloppy as he drapes himself around Tooru’s shoulders with his mouth curled into a smarmy grin. “You’re so much better at tossing than me”.

At your back, Hajime shakes with restrained amusement. Issei catches your eye and shakes his head while Tooru sniffs primly, attempting to scrunch his own smirk into a displeased pout, and relents. “Fine,” he says. “But one of you needs to win me a mask at the rifle-shooting game”.

“I don’t need to do anything,” Issei replies dryly as they start toward the ring toss game with startling synchrony. You glance at Hajime’s face, at another tentative, uncertain beginning of a smile, and feel the limitless joy of being together ballooning inside you.

“Did you want anything?” he asks as you walk.

Giddy, you cling closer. Part of your brain is stuck on the thought that anyone on the outside looking in would probably assume you were a couple. “If you’re feeling generous,” you exaggerate the flutter of your eyelashes, making Hajime snort.

Hours slip through your fingers like sand. In no time at all the sky began to darken. There’s a bubbling anticipation in your chest the later it gets. You lift your head to be met with the ochre of evening, azure blending into vivid orange at the horizon.

Issei tips his head back to take in the sky. “Fireworks are starting soon,” he announces. Tooru’s eyes flicker to you. The tangible sense of finality that had permeated the afternoon comes to a long awaited fulcrum. You’re tempted to linger amongst the stalls, simply to vy for extra time.

“You two should go and find somewhere to sit,” Tooru insists, shaking his finger from Hajime to you, “We’ll go grab some more food and join you later”.

Hajime levels him with a flat look. “All three of you are needed for that?”

“Yes,” Tooru smiles back, an intensity to his expression. You shift your weight from left foot to right, waiting with bated breath.

After a moment of anticipatory silence, Hajime exhales his acquiescence and turns to you. “Come on then. Let’s find a spot”.

You’re pulled along with him, casting a lasting glance toward your friends and their encouraging gestures as you go. He leads two steps ahead, shoulders drawn to his ears, which are now notably pink. The fingers around your forearm are clammy and loose enough that you could break free. Instead, you overturn your wrist and slide up into his palm, aligning your hands to properly hold him. You squeeze three times, and the rigidity in his posture lessens.

Hajime leads you away from the crowded centre toward the river bank as the display starts in an explosive burst. Couples and families have dispersed there to watch the fireworks. When he manoeuvres himself to his knees you bend to sit beside him, the soft blades of grass flattened under your weight.

The fireworks go on for close to half an hour, great pulsing strobes, fiery dandelions and starbursts of light brightening both the sky and the water. You hear nothing over the noise, not even your own breathing. A streak of gold shoots up, few becoming many, fizzling into pinpricks of light mimicking fireflies.

You wonder after it ends, "Are the Californian displays better?"

Hajime binks at you, registering the question. He makes a contemplative sound. "Bigger, yeah. Especially on the fourth of July," he brings your joined hands over his lap and you stare as he absentmindedly strokes the back of your knuckles. "Wouldn't say that makes it better. Better depends on the company".

You mumble your agreement, "Think the others missed it?"

"Would be pretty hard to miss," he smirks softly, falling into a comfortable silence. Childlike laughter chimes around you, sparklers of every colour glowing etching names and shapes into the darkness. “They’ll be around here somewhere”.

You lift your gaze, staring at his profile. Your eyes traced the line of his jaw up to the delicate shell of his ear. “Hey,” you mumble, drawing his attention away from the surroundings. Speckles of light reflect in his irises as he turns to face you, cheekbones burnished with a soft red afterglow. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something”.

His brow arches in lieu of a response. Every movement he made you mirrored without meaning to. Quieter than before, you start, “I…” and as fast as it comes your resolve withers. Stretches and thins into weak, fibrous threads.

“What’s wrong? Is it that bad?” he tries for a grin. Hajime puts on a brave face for you, he always does. But you can hear the genuine concern in this voice, and it spurs you on.

"Just don't want you to think I'm being selfish".

“You can be selfish sometimes," Hajime argues.

“Even with you?”

“Especially with me”.

You scrunch your eyes shut.

Hajime frowns and rushes to wipe the stray tear with his thumb, swiping right through it like spider silk. "Take your time," he murmurs, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Your heart beats, a desperate rattling behind your ribs. Trembling hands, damp skin. The swoop in your stomach that makes you feel as though your body is precariously balanced on a cliff's edge. This could be everything you’ve ever wanted. This is it.

A slow burn has to catch fire eventually.

So you reach inside and twist the spigot of your heart. A trickle becomes a flood fit to burst. It’s all encompassing, like love and heartbreak at the same time. You look at him and blurt, tremulously, “I’m in love with you,” then wince for having said it, as if you hadn’t really meant to.

“I have been for as long as I can remember. You’re my best friend and I was scared to say it and…” you continued, voice all in a rush, with the pained expression of someone who hadn’t meant to say that either, “I still am. Scared, that is. I'm sorry it took this long. My feelings for you were always at odds with my fear of losing you. And I’m sorry if it’s selfish. I know we don’t have much time left until you leave, and this could make everything weird, but you deserve to know that you're loved. That I love you. And—really, Hajime, if you could just stop me whenever you feel like it that would be great,” you snapped your mouth shut, white hot with embarrassment.

Hajime remained motionless, jaw slack and muscles wire-tight with tension for a long, sickening moment. The sting has you backing off, away, trying to think of something to explain, some excuse—

—Hajime surged forward and kissed you.

It is not like you imagined. There's nothing slow about it, no hesitance nor gentility. Hajime kissed as if trying to press the full weight of his want upon you. As if gravity were a mere suggestion. You suck in a sharp, surprised breath. Relaxing into it your arms instinctively wrap around his shoulders to pull him impossibly close, drinking in his soft shudder when you brush the nape of his neck, making all the little hairs there stand endwise.

Hajime's lips are smoother than they look. His hands roam over your hips, kneading the soft parts of your body, and you give way to indulgence. You tilt to kiss his shallow cupid's bow, down to the corner of his mouth. Teeth nibble at your lower lip, the tip of his tongue hatching hundreds of butterflies in your stomach as he traces the seam with promise.

Another loud bang startles you out of the kiss. Laughter and whispers. You sharpen to the surroundings, noting the distant acrid smell of smoke. Rather than release you, Hajime wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his nose into the hollow where your jaw and neck met. Faint stubble tickles your throat. Your heartbeat clamours in your ears, the blood in your body blush rushing to your head.

"Sorry," you hear him say. His lips drift across your skin as he speaks. The apology fills you with immediate dread. "Should've asked before I did that," he continued quietly.

"Fuck. Is that all?" you slump in his grip with a quiet, wet laugh. "You scared me".

Hajime rears back to look at you, enough room to share a shallow exhale. His palm, large and rough, rose to cradle your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours. You feel like you’ve eaten the sun, brimming with inexpressible tenderness.

"Sorry," he repeats, understanding washing over his expression and a sheepish, fond smile playing on his lips. Pinker than before, not cold bitten, but kiss bitten. "Waited to do that for a long time," his eyes soften in the shadows, half lidded as they flit across your features.

"You have?"

"Used to think you would be my first kiss. First everything, really," Hajime's smiles broadens at your uncertainty, awed and dumbfounded, as he maps out the curve of your jaw with his thumb. Light over your fluttering pulse point. His hand drops and the heat lingers on your neck. He swallows, a sobering moment. "I love you too. Not sure if there was ever a time that I didn’t," he pauses then, looking out toward the orange glow flickering through the treeline, expression unguarded and open. “I kept trying to find opportunities to tell you. I didn't know how. Thought it wouldn't be...”

"Fair?" you finish for him. Of course.

The bonfire has been lit. Cheers can be heard across the river. Your thoughts splinter, stuck in the present while wondering if the others found their way, or if they were hidden somewhere, watching it all unfold. The mental image of them crouched in a random bush together makes you snort, and Hajime's brow pinches.

"Just," you rush to explain, grasping his forearm. You're halfway into his lap. When had that happened? "I imagined the guys hiding somewhere trying to spy on us. S'stupid".

An impish grin graced Hajime's face, ducking his chin as though to hide it. "I wouldn't put it past them," he says. And it hits you that—Hajime has always looked at you like this. Has been saying he loved you, for a long time.

You dither, your skin suddenly cool, and your palms clammy. "Hajime," you say at the same time as he begins to speak.

"Oh—you can—"

"No, you".

"I was going to say we should head back," his voice is infused with fond exasperation, gaze dipping to your union. He clears his throat, "For some privacy. I can't touch you the way I want to, out here".

“Right, right,” you nod slowly through the rush of adrenaline. It prickles in your fingers, the skin on your arms pebbling as Hajime eases you to your feet and a strong arm snakes around your waist. His lips brush your cheek.

“This okay?”

Melting into the crook of his elbow like it was a space carved just for you, you return a kiss to his jaw and tell him, “You don’t need to ask”.

“Noted,” he says roughly.

The walk to the ryokan is a blur. You hardly remember the faces of those you passed. The dancers had been bright in your periphery, their movements reduced to streaks of colour, and every beat of the taiko drum thundered in your chest.

The quick text you sent to the group chat receives an overwhelming litany of winking emoticons and exclamation marks. Inwardly you hope Hajime doesn’t read them until after—whatever it is you’re heading back to do. Hajime notices. “What’re they saying?”

“That, uh,” the phone screen dims as you lock it and shove it deep into your pocket. Your legs keep moving. “They promised not to be back for a while,” you shared a meaningful look and wet your lips at the ideas flitting through your mind. The taste of him lingers. Takoyaki, toothpaste and lip balm.

Together you stumble through the lobby to your room. Hajime remains close at your heel; not once do his hands leave your waist, steadying your movements. You feel drunk. Exhilarated and swept up in the newness of it, as if in a free fall. The keycard almost slips from your trembling fingers as the door beeps open. You step into the shadowed genkan and swivel to take his face into your hands. Another beep as the door closes. You press yourself to Hajime’s front and kiss him. Natural as anything.

Hajime leads you deeper into the room. The tatami yields under your feet. He sighs blissfully as your tongue swipes along the seam of his mouth, opening up for you and coaxing you in. It’s languid and without demand. The soft, wet sound makes your skin hot. You shudder as he sucks on your tongue, letting go to take the flesh of your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Need you. On the bed,” you murmur, threading your fingers into his cropped hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. Starting at the crown, you make your way down the back of his head to the nape of his neck where you found him to be sensitive. He shudders, goosebumps spreading over his skin, and arousal seeps through your core.

“Anything you want,” he breathes. A frisson of anticipation zips up your spine when he steps forward to crowd you against the bedroom door, fumbling at the handle. It swings open and your stomach tightens at the abrupt inertia, stumbling onto the bed together with an oomph.

Hajime rises onto his forearms, flicks on the lamplight before bracing either side of your head. His nose bumps yours, a warm puff of air against your mouth as he bends his knees, slotting your hips together. You kiss him again. It’s more of a press of mouths, because you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he.

The outline of his cock is pressed hot against you. You hook your heels into his lower back and breathe his name into his mouth. Flint sparks in your belly as he instinctively ruts forward, rising frantically to meet him. Lips part above your own in a shaky groan, quivering as he deepens the kiss.

There’s tension buzzing under your skin, the restless, pleasant kind that diffuses into every fibre of muscle and leaves you shaking. A soft hitch of breath. You rock your hips in search of relief, feeling his cock hard in the tight confines of his jeans. “More,” your voice dwindles into a weak moan.

“Slow down,” he calls to you, gentle and placating in a way that makes your eyes sting. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” and you wish that were true.

The rustle of fabric as you undress is inordinately loud in the intimate atmosphere he draws you into. Hajime’s eyes deign to stray from you as he shucks his jacket off and pulls his shirt over his head. The blush on his chest looks like the aftershock of a shot of sake; colour that seeps through his body and stains his skin. He’s gorgeous in the warm dim light, emphasising the shadows of his pecs and the downy hair on his navel. You trace a finger through it and preen at how his abdomen clenches.

A rough hand slips behind your knee, not quite prying them apart. Hajime thumb strokes the skin there. “Can I taste you?”

Desire tugs at the base of your spine, heart racing. You’re wet. You can feel the cool kiss of air between your thighs. With a surge of want they fall open to him. The quiet hitched breath doesn’t escape you as he looks at you.

Palms smooth down the backs of your thighs. They ache and stretch to accommodate him. Hajime descends, forging a languorous path of wet kisses on his way. Your stomach twists in anticipation when he blows lightly over your pussy, bringing your legs up to straddle his head, kneading the soft flesh there.

Hajime’s eyes can’t find a place to call home. Flitting from your sex to your chest to your face, mouth hovering just above where you want him. Even so you find yourself wanting to kiss him again. Wanting for more hands, more mouths, more time to learn him with.

“You’re beautiful,” he rasps, pressing praise into the delicate skin there. It’s the expression on his face that makes you throb. The intense, unabashed want. You’ve never seen him look like that. “You’ll tell me what you like, yeah?”

You concede with a barely audible mumble, unable to trust your voice. The corner of Hajime’s mouth quirks into a smirk. Then his thumbs are tucking into the innermost creases of your thighs, gently spreading your folds. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit before licking a broad stroke through your folds.

Forcing his eyes open, Hajime clutches at the fat around your hips. He laps at your pussy, alternating between slow and fast, firm and languid, finding a rhythm that plays your body until your hips are rolling against his face. You cling to the bedsheets, head dropping back into the pillows. “Like that. Hajime,” you gasp as flickers back and forth over your clit, breathlessness abated by the sudden rush of air to your lungs. “Fuck. Don’t stop—!”

You hear his deep inhale, and his eyes scrunch shut with a long groan as he keeps pace. It sends an echo of pleasure through you—makes you clench around nothing, an innate plea from your body. He kisses your pussy, open mouthed, sweet and precise. Heat gathers in your belly like a solar flare. The pressure has you bursting at the seams.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you say, voice caught in your throat. Your thighs wrap around his head, toes curling. He doesn’t push, or adjust his pace, or let his enthusiasm get the better of him. A broken moan spills from your lips, pelvis undulating with each wave. Hajime maintains the rhythm—exactly as you need it, right as your spine arches into the sheets, and your orgasm ripples through you.

Your breathing begins to steady. Your legs fall slack, hung limp over Hajime’s shoulders. He hums, a satisfied little noise, and rests his cheek against your inner thigh as his tongue slides lazily through your folds. You take in the arousal and spit coating his cheeks, half lidded stare, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and feel a surge of affection.

Your fingertips graze his temple. His eyes flutter at the tender touch, and Hajime tips into it, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Good?” he asks, smiling.

“Good?” you repeat with disbelief. You grab at his shoulders to coax him back up, pleased when he goes willingly. You readjust as he buries his arms under you and gathers you close to his chest, kissing the corner of your lips. You turn and murmur into his mouth, “You’re a little too good at that”.

Hajime laughs, lolling his forehead to yours. “Just good at following instructions,” his voice goes tight at the pressure against his cock, your hips raised to feel him through his briefs. “Fuck”.

“If you want to,” you tease dazedly. He nips at your lip in retaliation.

“Don’t feel like we have to,” Hajime reassures after a beat, hand coming to rest on your waist. He strokes up and down your flank. “I don’t have any condoms. And I know this has been pretty fast”.

You consider him closely, love suffusing through you like a warm, pleasant fog. It spurs you to admit things you wouldn’t have otherwise. “I’m clean. We can stop if you want to,” you kiss his cheek, “But I’ve waited enough. I want you,” you kiss the bridge of his nose, “Wanna know what you feel like inside me,” you kiss his slack mouth, tasting yourself. “Want you to know what I feel like when I cum, so you can think about it when we’re apart—”

Hajime pins you to the bed like a butterfly, his jaw set tight. His eyes are dark, gone is the colour of nascent spring. You feel swallowed up by him. “Keep talking and you’re going to make me cum,” he rumbles, reaching to push down his briefs.

“I don’t care if you cum as soon as you put it in,” you squirm, tucking your chin to watch the moment his cock slips free. He sits in his palm and wraps his fingers firmly around the base, leaning deeper into the cradle of your hips, legs splayed overtop his firm thighs.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hajime replies dryly, dipping to kiss you again. You’ve lost count of how many. He positions his arm above you by the headboard and the hot weight of his cock settles on your sex. You share a soft sigh as he guides the tip through your folds, the underside nudging against your clit.

“You know what I mean,” your focus is torn between talking and angling your hips to take more of him. “Doesn’t have to be mind blowing I just—want to be with you,” you mumble, quiet like an admission, and Hajime’s concentration comes apart at the seams.

The air is stolen from your lungs as the tip slips in. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, seeking—something. Leverage. A tether. Chest to chest, Hajime presses you deeper into the mattress as his cock sinks into you. Slow, attentive to your shifting expression while you adjust to the stretch.

And when he bottoms out you feel full. He’s thick. it has a sense of contentment spreading throughout your body. Eventually, “You can move, big guy”.

Hajime gives a gasping breath, groaning your name on the next. The rough timbre of his voice makes you pulse around him. The corded muscles in his arms flex as he shifts. There’s a dull sting while he pulls out, and a startling emptiness, immediately sated as he rocks his hips forward. You arch upward, angling your hips to take him deeper, and his eyes screw shut, lips parted in a silent moan.

Hajime fucks you with slow, deliberate thrusts, gradually building a rhythm, finding a pace that you respond to. You can hardly bear to look away from him. Flushed pink with exertion, the light lovingly kissing the left side of his face, mouth swollen and red. He’s murmuring little incantations of praise that you strain to hear over the sharp slap of skin, every thrust plucking another breathless sound from your throat.

And he’s looking right back, almost reverential. A desperate pinch to his brow. You dig your heels in, nails biting at his back. It’s all you can do to hold on. His kisses grow clumsy as his attention wanes, reaching a spit-wet hand down to play with your clit as he pistons his hips.

“M’close,” he grunts like it pains him to admit.

Your ears are ringing. The sticky, wet echo reverberates around the room as Hajime fucks you. His strokes press impossibly deeper and you choke on a moan, feeling him in your throat. His fingers rub faster over your swollen clit. Pleasure spreads through your belly, blood rushing between your thighs.

“Please,” you cradle his cheek, hot against your palm. He takes it in his free hand, interlocking your fingers against the bedsheets. The intimacy has your mind going numb. You’ve become a knot of a person. That new vulnerability, the love he’s immolating you with, is what knocks you toward the edge. “Hajime,” you cling to him desperately. “Hajime”.

“Fuck. I’m cumming, I’m—” Hajime buries his face into the crook of your neck, intermittently squeezing your hand. His thrusts are harder, sloppy. He shudders to a stop, his orgasm carving him straight down the middle with a drawn out moan.

The tension seeps from him all at once. You laugh breathlessly at his collapse, the weight both comfortable and bruising. His pelvis is nestled perfectly against your clit, and every twitch creates another wave of pleasure. You undulate your hips to chase the friction.

The only indication that Hajime notices is the smile curling against your throat. He lets his lips drift across your pulse, folding his arms around yours until the world and it’s axis are just that—Hajime. Without needing to ask, he stays close and circles his hips even as his cock softens inside you, tipping you over the precipice.

Time is difficult to measure while swaddled in your intimate little bubble. You’re not sure how long you spend simply holding one another, commiting how the other feels to memory. Hajime kisses your forehead. “Love you,” he says.

“Love you,” you croak back unattractively. He flinches at the sound, and props himself up to search your face.

Eyes wide and earnest he asks, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m alright. Just processing everything,” you reply, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. Hajime doesn’t look convinced.

“Tell me,” he gently encourages. There’s an anxious edge to his tone that you want rid of.

“Besides the fact that I had sex with the guy I’ve been in love with since middle school and everyone is going to know when they get back?” you laugh, making Hajime’s mouth curl as he carefully manoeuvres you both onto your sides. Better. “I’m just scared about what this means for us, I guess. Are we—you know, together now? Doing the long distance thing?”

Giving a thoughtful hum, he hooks your knee over his hip. Whether it’s to put off the mess a little longer or keep you close, you’re not going to complain. “I want to be with you,” he says.

“Even though we’ll be…” you squint as you think and reach inward for the specific number “…five thousand three hundred and fourteen miles apart?”

“You looked that up?” Hajime’s smile widens, dopey and fond in a way that makes your heart ache. “But yeah. We’ll take it one step at a time”.

“Then what’s the next step?”

“Next?” he says. Another tender kiss to your temple, a deep, pensive inhale. “Next, we use the onsen”.

You can’t be sure how long you stand there, sluggish and unblinking, fixated on the distant threads of grey cutting across an otherwise dark sky. It felt dissonant to the torrential downpour in your chest.

A warm body comes up behind you. Issei rests his chin on your crown, rubbing it back and forth as Takahiro knocks your elbows together, “Ready to go?”

No, you think. After a few beats of silence you phone buzzes in your hand and you scramble to check it. The background is the picture Takahiro took of you and Hajime by the lake, in a world of your own. A notification bar cuts across the screen.

Hajime (03:34): I love you. I’ll call when I land.

You swallow that thought and uproot yourself, “Yeah. Yeah I think so”.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #seijoh 4 x reader #haikyu x reader

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