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#iwaizumi hajime x reader
mysterystarz · 2 days
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the world is yours, if you ask
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pairing: iwaizumi hajime x g!n reader
genre: slightly angsty but has nothing to do with iwa (he helps), fluffy moments, comfort, reader realizes that perhaps the one was right in front of them the entire time
disclaimers: reader has a bf for plot, there is no cheating!! reader is going to split up with this bf dw
a/n: remember you always deserve love!
reblogs and comments are appreciated <3
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if iwaizumi hajime said that he wasn’t used to emotional responses from the people closest to him, he’d be the biggest liar of all time.
knowing oikawa for as long as he had, he’d almost come to expect the cycle of responses based off their games, their grades, or even minor inconveniences. his friend was strong, sure, but he knew what to expect from the childish setter.
but you. he didn’t know what to expect when you, the strongest person he knew, appeared at his doorstep.
behind you, the darkening hues of evening brought out the shadows in your face, and he could see the weight of the sadness you held on your shoulders.
“iwa….hajime,” you tried, shakily smiling when he finally met your gaze.
he was going to kill whoever did this.
“come inside,” he said immediately, escorting you by your shoulder to the inside of the foyer. he pulled up a chair for you to sit, his eyes never leaving your form.
“thanks for taking me on such short notice,” you said, settling into the chair, “i….didn’t know where else to go.”
he inched closer, green eyes filled with a concern so deep, you were momentarily speechless.
“what happened?”
your breathing stilled for a moment as you recounted the events that had led you to where you sat now.
“my boyfriend…..wasn’t very nice to me.” you started, “i mean, it’s not his fault. i wasn’t really cooperating with him. he wanted me to hang out with him, but i had a test and really needed to study. he hasn’t said more than a few words to me since.”
iwaizumi clenched his fists. when oikawa had first told him the news of your relationship, he’d extended a congratulations.
that period of felicitation was short lived however. your boyfriend was a dick — plain and simple —and iwaizumi couldn’t think of anyone who deserved you less.
“what do you mean it’s not his fault?” iwaizumi chose to say, hiding his frustration at your tolerance for mistreatment. you tolerated far too much.
“well, we’d had a deal,” you began, “once we got through last week’s exams, we were supposed to take this week chill together. he’d been so nice about it too, but as soon as i changed my mind and wanted to do well….he just….shut me out. i called him you know…and he barely said anything.”
“and?” he asked expectantly. he knew you. he knew you wouldn’t accept that forever.
“i begged to communicate.” your voice broke a bit at the end, and iwaizumi would’ve enveloped you in a hug hadn’t it been for the topic. “i said we needed to communicate so we could see how to make this work for the both of us. he said he’d said everything. i begged him to talk but….well i just hung up and he never called back.”
you fell silent, the weight of it heavier than anything you could’ve endured. your phone sat limply in your pocket, with no signs of anything.
he wasn’t going to call tonight. that was certain.
iwaizumi sighed, meeting your eyes. “you don’t have to take this you know?”
you looked back at him in surprise. “what do you mean?”
“i mean,” he said, reaching his hand to set gently on top of your own, “you don’t need to keep staying with someone who treats you like this. i know how much you’ve taken from him, but the least he could’ve done is call back.”
“i’m hopeful,” you admitted, watching iwaizumi’s eyes shift into something more determined.
it took you a moment to realize, but sitting there, iwaizumi’s hand on top of your own, you were calmer than you’d been in months.
“if he cared to talk this out, he would’ve called. it doesn’t take long to even shoot a text. what he’s doing is holding you to his standards and belittling you for making your own decisions.”
iwaizumi paused for a moment, as if in deep thought. “and someone like you doesn’t deserve that. someone as brilliant as you deserves someone who uplifts and cherishes your efforts.”
“you think i’m brilliant?” you blurted out, immediately embarrassed when the ace grinned blindingly at you.
“yeah,” he laughed, a slight tinge of pink making its way onto his ears. “the world is yours if you ask for it, y/n.”
you sat there stunned for a moment, the weight of the words shifting your entire view. you’d never realized before how loyal iwaizumi was to you.
he had always had your best interests in mind. whether it be escorting you home on days your boyfriend didn’t care to, or even sacrificing his sleep schedule just to ensure you were feeling alright if you couldn’t sleep at night.
he was devoted in all the ways your boyfriend could never even dream of being.
perhaps, you were looking in the wrong place all along.
perhaps, your perfect fit was right in front of you.
“thank you hajime.” you whispered, leaning in to hug him. he held you tight to his chest, never once wavering as you clung to him like a lifeline. “i think i’m going to call things off.”
iwaizumi rubbed circles onto your back. “no matter what happens, i’ll be here.”
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©mysterystarz all rights reserved, please do not plagiarize, translate, or modify my fics in any way even if credited
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noosayog · 1 year
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[baby fever - aka 6:36 PM] ft. iwaizumi hajime
wc: 200
ushijima | atsumu | osamu | sakusa | kageyama
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You watch as Miya Atsumu settles into his seat in front of the reporters before setting the little toddler into his lap. She babbles quietly, incoherently as Atsumu answers question after question. 
“Yeah,” you hear Atsumu say, “I think the team works really well together because-” 
“Wa!” the little girl interrupts. 
“Because of our high school rivalries-” 
“Wawa-chan!” 
You watch Atsumu’s little daughter lock focus on Hajime standing next to you, reaching her stubby arms out to him. 
“Wawa-chan!” she repeats. 
Atsumu laughs, “she loves Iwaizumi, our athletic trainer.” 
You look over at your boyfriend, who’s trying to keep a straight face but also raises a hand to wiggle his fingers at the little Miya, who giggles in return. 
“I didn’t know you liked kids,” you whisper at him. 
“I don’t,” he says, all the while still making funny hand motions. 
“If you like them so much,” you snake your fingers into his large palm. “I could help you out.” 
Hajime squeezes your palm in reprimand. “Behave.” He looks over at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Anyway I’d like to get married before that.” 
You sigh dramatically, “such a gentleman. You weren’t last night when we were-” 
He slips the hand that was holding yours around your waist and gives the fat of your hips a solid squeeze. “Behave.” he whispers against your ear.
“Or I’ll make you later.”
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emmyrosee · 7 months
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“Pssst…”
“Choke.”
“Wanna makeout?”
Instantly, as if on a cue, Hajime’s face blisters into a flush, eyes widening and brows angry as he whips his head to face you.
You’re smiling, and he hates it, and you’re wearing his shirt that completely drowns your frame, hands and knees on the mattress just inches away, and he’s convinced he could live an extra 15 years if you hadn’t stumbled into his life.
But you did stumble into his life. Yay him.
His pencil taps rapidly against his desk, his studying having been completely hijacked by your straightforward flirts. Inviting you to do homework with him never really ended well, and how he hasn’t learned this lesson yet, is a mystery to you both.
“I’m busy.”
You huff and shift to sit on the bed as the gods intended, “you can take three minutes to makeout with me.”
“When was the last time we made out less than ten minutes?” He asks, and he wishes he hadn’t by the way your cocky grin splays over your face.
“Cant help that you’re into me,” you croon. He groans as he tosses his hand up to his face, scrubbing gently to revitalize himself. He’s quickly snapped out of it when he feels your feet wrap around the base of his desk chair and pull him closer to the bed.
This, has him chuckling from disbelief, moving his hands from his face and letting his eyes flick towards your feet. “Be so for real right now,” he says, snickering.
You bite your tongue between your teeth, but before you can do anything else, you scream as he makes a dash at you, barely letting you kick in defense before he pins you down to the bed, his broad chest doing most of the caging while his fingers spider up your sides and his lips sponge kisses on your neck and ears.
“You’re so annoying,” he growls, the vibrations of the rasp tickling your neck. His fingers still and instantly, your arms shift to toss around his neck, looking up at him longingly.
You lift a hand up to card his hair away from his face, “hi.”
“Hey baby.”
With that, he leans down to kiss you, knee planting on the bed to keep him stable and allow him to deepen the kiss. You mewl happily, letting your fingers push his head impossibly closer to you.
You taste sweet, like the bowl of fruit you’ve been stealing from him for the past hour, and you’re so warm from being swaddled in his blankets that he feels calm just by being close to you.
Then again, you always have that affect on him.
With a slight bite of your lips, he slowly starts to pull back, planting little pecks to soothe the bites. You giggle happily and reach up eagerly for each one.
“Haji?”
“What?”
Biting your lip cheekily, he hardens his gaze and reinforces his grip slightly, ready to restart a tickle attack if needed.
“Got you to makeout with me.”
You smirk and lick his nose with the tip of your tongue, making him reel back slightly with a scrunch of his face. He looks at you blankly, while you laugh and play with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck.
“How do you always manage to get your damn way?” He mumbles, leaning down to press another kiss on your lips. Under him, you giggle and chase his lips, clearly eager that now you’ve gotten him to kiss you once, he’s keen to give you more.
Like he always does.
Like he always will.
“Cant help that you’re into me.”
“I really am. Asshole.”
“I love you, too.”
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natdu · 4 months
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Could you make an idea where Bokuto, Iwaizumi, and Suna,Wakatoshi find out that Readers had a crush on them in the past.
Hey love sure I can ^^ my pleasure
I only did 3 characters (*¯︶¯*) (it's more about length than anything) oh and you didn't specify the genre so I took some liberties there
Pairings (separate): Timeskip! Ushijima, Bokuto & Iwaizumi x Fem! Reader
Prompt: They find out you had a crush on them in the past
Genre: Angsty (barely there), crack, fluff
Warnings & content: Grammar - cursing- kinda short ugh - Honorifics - Argentinian Tooru 🤌🏻 - Reader is Oikawa's sister on Iwa's
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Ushijima Wakatoshi
"A ton of girls had crushes on you Wakatoshi"
"I find that.... Non probable"
"No no, he's right"
Since Ushijima had finally spare time on his busy schedule he could meet with some of his former teammates and still friends.
Stories came and went, memories, little inside jokes. And finally, the subject of high-school or college crushes, first loves, you name it, came into conversation
"Shirabu probably had more fans in that aspect?"
"With that bowl cut?!?!"
"Because he's a med student you dumbass!"
"No need to yell Semi Semi"
"Stop that!"
"Now now uh.... Wakatoshi are you alright?"
Ushijima looked like he had a revelation or rather as he was depicting some big enigma
"How would those people act when having a crush... On me"
Both of the once spiky haired friends looked at each other, one more amused than the other
"Well it depended on the person Wakatoshi-kun. Some of them were more shy and looked at you from the bleachers"
"I saw one being bolder and leaving some notes on your locker, you never told us about it so we let it go"
Ah yes, notes. Little notepads or post it mainly in green with encouragement words, compliments to his appearance, to his devotion to the sport and so on
"The notes one... I.... I know her"
A dual toned of a "What?!?!" screeched comically to the sky
And there was a sudden change in the vibes of the café you were sitting down, as you felt a shiver running through your spine
"Who's talking shit about me?"
"No one geez. Get to work, we're under the deadline you have to move" Your co-worker said with a whine. You both had taken your laptops to keep on track as the official time at the office wasn't enough
Thankfully you were at least enjoying a little treat before arriving home to deploy into your bed and sleep like a bear but....
People around couldn't help to notice 3 tall grown men, one in rock-punk attire, another with a red buzzcut and THE Ushijima Wakatoshi
Safe to say you're quite clueless when tired and tasting a late night iced coffee with double whipped cream
"That's her?"
"How do you know her?"
Ushijima sighed and didn't take off his gaze from you as he wrote down on something that was in his hands
"She works in the monthly volleyball magazine... We kind of have been finding each other even after school"
"Soooo a sports journalist, nice Wakatoshi-kun, oh?"
The tease didn't reach Ushijima's ears as he was walking up to you with an unusual shy stance and with the something he wrote on clutched in his big hands
He was practically at your nose when you noticed his presence, and his extended hand with a pink post it
"Ushijima?"
"May I give back those words you sent to me?"
Cue two (three with your coworkers) distand gasps and chuckles, in synch to the memories that flew to your mind
"What words do you - Ohhhhh right....."
You coughed awkwardly
"Umm do you know what those meant? Like what little me wanted to achieve?"
Ushijima nodded and sat down by your side with a look you recognised
The one he had when he targeted a place to spike, a goal
"I understand now, quite shamefully.... But the intention is now, I hope, the same"
Your brain stopped working and the only sight was of 16 year old you giving up and just delivering Ushijima the notes in person, not caring since his reaction was always the same: A soft "Thank you, I'll work hard" and sometimes a pat on your head
You were sure your feelings weren't reciprocated. And while it hurt a little, you didn't stop giving the little snippets of your puppy love, just wanting him to feel cared of, feel loved even...
So imagine your poor heart when you saw the post it
A little wobbly heart and a "I liked you too, I still do"
And when you glanced at him you couldn't suppress the palpitations and heat over your face. As if you were a teenager over again
Ushijima wasn't at a better state.
He remembered himself, fixed on his first love: the court and the feeling of victory. He knew you were special to him and vice versa, after all, who would spend so many ink and paper on him? He appreciated the gestures and the fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach, he thought it was because your words were always sincere, without a second intention, he liked that. That was all, he swore
But like some sort of cinematic flashback he realised how many other people made known their affection for him, and while he had noticed them he never felt the same as with yours.
Guess some form of love was what he felt everytime he saw your gifts, even after when he saw you on your classroom or club room. Almost as when he played volleyball with his dad on his little backyard
Adult Ushijima wanted to smack his poor oblivious self, even his self of half an hour ago. Alas it was too late to be at the end of your fondness
"You can always pretend this didn't happen-"
He said, as a way to save you from the embarrassment
But it was your turn to surprise him, as you interrupted him
"Over my dead body"
You saw him smile at your dramatic answer and when he was about to grab your hand your coworker dissipated the little glittery pink atmosphere you had
"Hey earth to my friend? Sorry Ushijima-san I need her to finish this. After that she's all yours"
Safe to say you worked faster than ever with the new hope sown into your heart and the pinky holding yours under the table
Bokuto Kōtaro
Right now the only thing your mind could be concentrated on was the way Bokuto stuffed down your batch of muffins. His squirrel like cheeks making you giggle internally, you couldn't believe this hunk of a man would be enjoying your work so much
"They're always so good! I swear you make the best comfort pastries here!"
You hummed as you gently swiped some of the crumbs plastered on his cheeks "Glad to see they bring such much joy Bokuto-san"
"You sound just like Akaashi, just Bokuto is fine really"
"I refuse to. Remember, it's like we met again"
It was somewhat true. You've had met on a Fukorodani vs Nekoma practice match and while you were cheering for your own team the one who caught your eye was the opposite team's ace.
Crushing on him wasn't difficult
The difficult part was to go up to him and confess. As emotionally intelligent as he was, it seemed like his ability died when you were on his ratio
You gave him a letter on the training camp "Oh thanks for the support! I love encouraging notes!"
Gave him something for valentines, when you sneaked out of school to deliver it "D'awww you didn't have to. I'll share these with the team, there's a lot!"
At one point you just decided to stop. Fortunately at the same time you both graduated and, since you wouldn't follow volleyball steps, you didn't think you would find him again
Except you did, when he was broader, more cheerful, more mature.... Even more handsome.
The little bakery escapade leadered by Hinata ended up in your heart feeling the same twisting motion you did on your cinnamon rolls.
And now you're here, after some months were Bokuto had spent quite literally all of his free time with you. He didn't even eat in all his visits, which you thanked since you didn't want to be on the watch list of his nutritionist
"All of this starting again and stuff, why?"
Golden eyes now watching into your very soul. One that was still yearning
"It's silly Bokuto-San...."
And what's best for the weak of heart than to let go? You're an adult after all, you should be able to talk about feelings and high-school crushes without feeling overwhelmed
"I liked you when we were at school so I wanted a fresh start, a new me that wouldn't be so head over heels for you" you tried to entone in a playful manner
Yeah that's it, this would give you the closure your heart needed
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?"
Was the slight exasperation from Bokuto's mouth
"H-huh?"
You were kinda used to his sudden outburst of energy, his expressions of sadness, pride everything else. But this, this was raw pain
His hands were gripping his hair, almost hurting the scalp. And you almost jump on your seat when he let out a heartbreaking whine
"I had the fattest crush on you since I met you" he then cursed softly and hid his face on his hands, his hair going automatically down
"I messed up, didn't I? Why would you be trying to fall out of me? Oh I swear to-" he continued his ramble, loud enough to scape through his fingers
"Bokuto-San"
You called once
"Bokuto"
Then twice
And at the third time his words were almost materializing in the air and clouding the view
"Kōtaro"
Oh that did the trick, his hands on his thighs and his full attention on you
"Y-yeah?"
Were those tears on his eyes? No, never mind, why did he ignored your confessions if he liked you too? You needed answers
"I think I was rather obvious back then, why didn't you say anything?"
His eyes widened once again and grimaced as he let his head hit the table
"I thought you were just being kind and nice" he turned his face and looked at you "Thought you liked Yaku, you know? He seemed more like your type than me" the last part said with a pout
And with the confusion resolved you giggled at you both's naiveness and placed your palm against his chin, taking his face away from the table
"Well, I never gave Yaku a love letter or a basket full of home made pastries for valentines"
"Oh" was his answer as he looked down to the floor with a sheepish expression
"Oh" You mirrored and left a tentative kiss on his cheek. A kiss that made him recover the color of his face and the glint of his eyes
"Is this another way to start again?"
"mmm?"
"Cuz I'd love to take you on a date"
Iwaizumi Hajime
"Iwa-chanIwa-chanIwa-chan"
"God dammit what do you want Oikawa?"
"Le gustabas a mi hermana cuando estábamos en el colegio"
"What the hell is that suppose to mean?!"
Ah yes, another day of Oikawa saying stuff to Iwaizumi in full spanish just to leave him hanging on the meaning. Typical Monday evening at the Oikawa household when he came to visit
"I might ruin your source of income for when you ruin your knees and shoulders"
"And that is?"
"Your face"
Oikawa faked a faint and rested his head on Iwa's shoulder
"Oh poor me with all my money, and my fans y los sobrinos que me hubieras dado si fueras más atento"
"I swear to every good thing on heaven that if you don't tell me what on God's earth that means-"
"Hajime"
Bingo, you could answer his questions. You were Oikawa's little sister and when you finished high school you followed your brother steps to Argentina, being a tad bit more fluent than him even mastering the accent
"Is Tōru making fun of you again?" You giggled as you pushed your brothers face out of his bicep
Yeah, you were sweeter but still an Oikawa. A tease, a menace and the source of pain of his heart
Fuck the cliché of falling for your best friend's sibling. Iwaizumi swore to every deity it wasn't funny, might as well make him fall for a celebrity that studied in the same school, at least his delusions wouldn't be fed everyday
You teased the living lights out of him, but most of your shenanigans were directed at Oikawa so it was a weird alliance between the two of you.
And he couldn't help but hope. You didn't give home made meals to the whole team, just him.... And Oikawa, sometimes the whole Seijoh four.... Yeah that crosses it out
Or when you let him rest his head on your lap--Ah shit you did that with Kyotani once, mostly because his dog had died but nothing else
Hugs? You were physically affectionate with everyone and that just doubled when you went abroad
Special attention? You were basically the non official manager for them and the president of your class, you gave attention to everyone
Third year Iwaizumi concluded his attraction for you was a cruel destiny's game
At least he had your friendship
"I just need you to translate something your idiotic brother has been saying to me"
"Iwa-chan rude!"
"Ah the magic word Hajime"
Seriously?
"Ple-"
"No Hajime, how I taught you"
He just rolled his eyes but a smirk set on his lips
"Por favor"
Oikawa looked like that meme/gif cat who's in shock moving their face around as he hear the soft not so foreign words
"You little traitor you've been teaching him stuff!? IDIOTA!"
Iwaizumi lost your focus as you started bickering with Oikawa, until a tiny eeny secret was dropped
"Why do you care so much Tōru!?"
"I just told him you liked him!"
What. In Iwaizumi's voice
What. In your voice
Mierda. In Oikawa's voice
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I'm kind of a sucker for this trope, when it's reciprocated is super cute (ノ´ヮ`) (tho I feel my writing in this is wack)
Iwa's it's a bit of crack but like, it just flowed jsjs
Hope you're still there anon and that you like this huhu
Natdu
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kirbyskisses · 1 year
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iwa iwa iwa iwa! :(((
iwa who teaches you to touch yourself :(
iwa who’s there to coax you through it, telling you how hard your cute little clit is for him as you sit help on his lap, forced to look at your nude form sat atop him, trembling cunt stuffed with two of your own fingers :(
“god, baby.” he coos. “you’re so turned on. so ready to cum.”
he whispers it against your neck, sucking on the soft skin with a proud, teasing smile.
he can feel you dripping on his fingers but he won't put them in yet. oh no, no, no - not when he has this perfect opportunity to watch his baby make herself cum for the first time.
iwaizumi whose steely eyes soften at your desperate, mewling attempts - hastily pumping your fingers into your own dripping entrance, tearfully trying to make yourself cum. 
“such a pretty pussy. and all mine.” he plants a kiss at the shell of your ear. “she’s mine, right cutie? that’s how i know what she needs. ‘m gonna teach you what she needs okay, angel?”
your mouth falls open, lips swollen from how much he’s kissed you - a distressed whine falling from you lips. 
 “can’t - haji. m’ fingers aren’t like yours!” you sob weakly, pussy walls squeezing pathetically around the thin digits inside you.
he chuckles a bit - you are right in a way.
his thick fingers, calloused but so, so experienced with massaging and feeling every inch of your body - they could make you come undone in seconds.
he’d be lying if he said it didn’t appeal to him; head swimming with the image of you as a sobbing, gushing little mess that can’t stop creaming nice and hard onto his hand.
but he wants to see you draw yourself to that euphoria.
“you can. baby you’re so beautiful on your little fingers. go on, add another. my perfect girl.”
“haji’ i can’t! ‘s embarrassing!!”
iwaizumi who ignores your plea, unfurling your small hand with his own sturdy one and making you rock your grinding hips onto a third, trembling finger. who thumbs your tears away before his hands return down your body to your hips.
“shh. nothing to be embarrassed about.” he gives a low, handsome chuckle - the type you can feel through his chest and his thumbs massage your hip bones. “don’t f’rget to thumb that clit, baby - she needs attention too.”
iwaizumi who kisses your cheek while all your pretty head can think of is how good his lips would feel attending to the wet, hard little bud rather than the sloppy, inexperienced circles of your now wet thumb.
“h-haji!” you sob, hips grinding into filthy little rolls trying to create some kind of friction on iwaizumi’s sturdy lap. but his hands keep you locked in place in front of the mirror.
“iwaaaaa - s’ not fair!” you sniffle, voice breaking pathetically at your attempts to thrust your fingertips onto that innermost gooey spot. you kick your legs like a petulant child but that only makes him tighten his hold on you, his heavy body restraining you. your lips let out a whine, only able to move your wrist and hand, back and forth into your precious folds.
“don’t do that, baby. stay still and look at yourself, angel. that tender little cunt - my baby’s gonna make it cream.”
“can’t like this - iwa, i can’t, I can’t—! i just need you to touch it , please-!” you wail. the stimulation in your pussy is teetering on too much and too little and it’s drivingyouinsane.
iwaizumi who sighs followed by a little chuckle.
“okay baby. if you’re that lost… let me give you a little help.”
you sob, expecting your boyfriend’s fingers to slip inside you and relieve your fruitless efforts when instead one hand wraps around your wrist, the other pulling back you thigh to widen you more -
oh, fuck
iwaizumi who plunges your own fingers deeper and deeper and then back out; fuckfuck-no ‘s toomuch, ‘s toomuch!
the knot in your stomach tightens when he pushes your fingers into something that makes you cry out. something too wet and deep and warm and he just keeps hitting it. he won’t slow down - whywon’theslowdown?!
“rub that little clit and keep hitting that spot nice and fast. that’s it. so good for me, baby, you’re almost there.”
iwaizumi who looks with proud eyes as you gasp and spread your digits inside your own tight walls.
you both sit watching the reflection of you pussy in the mirror as it flutters around your fingers. you melt against him, unable to stop moving your fingers - he just won’t let you! :(((
“haji,,, haji - wait! wait - lemme stop!”
“it’s okay. it’s okay, you’re so close. just a little more…”
“no! no you don’t ‘nderstand - you don’ - it feels funny, iwa - iWA!” every fiber in your body wants to slow your fingers and squirm away but his hands is on yours again forcing your wrist in n’ out and you languish, the most wanton moans blending in with the schlick, schlick, schlick of your sloshy pussy.
“supposed to feel funny. Just let me help… you’re doing amazing, keep your hand like that - good g’rl…”
iwaizumi who growls and lets your other hand pat and pinch and roll your ‘hungry little clit.’ you squeeze your eyes shut.
“no, no baby. look’t me. look’t the mirror. your pretty pussy, she’s so ready to cream. don’t you want to see her do it for the first time by yourself. fuck, your legs are shaking.”
you open your eyes but the sight of the mirror is still blurred by tears as you sniffle out another desperate plea.
“ ‘jime! haji - haji- n’t gonna cum! n’t gonna cum! I’m not -!”
“yes you are sweetie. can smell how close you are. i know this pussy - you’re gonna make yourself get there I promise.”
“no, no!” you babble, desperate to move - “no Haji - ‘s not cum - ‘m gonna pee! feels like it - lemme stop i can’t hold it!”
iwaizumi who chuckles, knowing you’ll ruin yourself if you stop and he won’t let you - your fingers piston in onto that gushing bundle of nerves and he rubs your the lower part of your stomach.
“n-no, iwa, iwa - !”
“deep breath baby. enjoy it for me. you’re doing so good - make yourself let it out for me.”
and then you reach it - your whole body trembling while you thrash against him
iwaizumi who smiles, praises dropping from his mouth about how fucking pretty you look cumming for him - splattering translucent fluid all over the mirror and onto his pants with the most wrecked, tear-filled cry of “ha… ha-hajimeeeee!”
iwaizumi who loves the way you whimper when you come down, utterly overwhelmed and needy on his lap as his muscular form praises you with a smirk.
“did such a good job, baby. congratulations.”
(for @sookisaurus and @sems-diarie)
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Sitting on his lap while rambling on about anything and everything. Meanwhile he's leaned back, hands everywhere. From waist over hips to thighs, his hands are traveling all across. Excitedly you tell him about your day, about what you did.
Until you stumble upon that one thing that pissed you off. As you go on and on about that one specific person, you also tell him that you dealt with the situation. Just like he told you to do.
Eyes fixated on you, voice deep with a smirk playing on his lips, he goes, "Atta girl."
Leaning forward to litter kisses on your neck, as he mumbles praises, "That's my fucking baby, just like I showed you to do."
Making you stutter in your sentence as he grabs your hips to grind up against you, a low moan slips past his lips, "Always such a good girl, listening and doing as i say."
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KUROO TETSUROU, ran haitani, sanzu Haruchiyo, rindou Haitani, Atsumu miya, dabi, gojo satoru, iwaizumi hajime, toji fushiguro, bakugou katsuki, bokuto kotaro, nanami kento, Sakusa kiyoomi
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atsumulogy · 1 year
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WHEN YOUR CO-WORKER CALLS HIMSELF YOUR “WORK HUSBAND”
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synopsis: how he reacts to your co-worker calling himself your “work husband”
featuring: miya atsumu, oikawa tooru, & iwaizumi hajime. fem!reader.
content warning(s): jealousy, possessive boys, weird co-worker, suggestive at iwa’s part 😵 sorry my hands slipped lmao. also grammar mistakes … have mercy i wrote this kinda half asleep + use of wife
naia’s footnote: yk that work wife thing? yeah, that but with a twist with the hq men 🤭 jealous scenarios are my guilty pleasure LOL i wrote this when i was supposed to be doing smth actually productive 😓‼️also i got carried away w atsumu’s haha
REQUESTS ARE OPEN! rb’s & likes are appreciated
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#01 — WHEN COMING AS YOUR PLUS ONE IN YOUR OFFICE’S FANCY EVENT, MIYA ATSUMU didn’t want to admit it but he kind of expected to be fawned over by your female colleagues — not that he wanted them to! It’s just … expected, seeing how absolutely hot your husband is (the expensive suit and tie and all). What he did not expect was being introduced to your … what was it? Ahh, yes, “work husband”.
The absolute audacity and sheer nerve of this bastard to call himself that in front of him, the actual husband on the documents and in your heart.
Work husband. He scoffs silently, face scrunching up in irritation, poking his cheeks with his tongue instead of making a fuss in this exclusive event where lots of important people are present. As much as he cares for obliterating this man in front of him, he cares more about you and didn’t want to cause you any issues with your workplace.
(Though, if this ugly scrub touches your arm again and joke about Atsumu being the side chick, he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t cause a scene.)
Besides, the 24 karat gold necklace hanging around your neck with his initials attached to the chains and the elegant ring on your finger makes it painfully clear that your self-proclaimed work husband has no chance against the Miya Atsumu.
BONUS:
Atsumu may have acted mature about the situation while in the event, but behind closed doors he was whining and grumbling about that annoyin’ scrub.
“— like I still can’t believe he had the guts to say that in front of me!” He scoffs, face scrunching up again, his mouth forming a scowl. “Work husband… tsk, i’m yer only husband! hell, i’ll be yer work husband, house husband, and every other fuckin’ husband title there is!”
Instead of informing your husband that it doesn’t work like that, you nod to every word he said every time he looks at your eyes to back him up on his rant.
“Yes baby, I know. Now why don’t we get you a trophy with all those husband titles, hm?” You jokingly offered, patting his fluffy blonde hair.
Next week a package arrived carrying a shiny gold trophy with the words “Miya Y/n’s only house husband, work husband, and everything else in between” customized on the front <3
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#02 — OIKAWA TOORU SCOFFED AFTER SOME IRRELEVANT, MEDIOCRE, UGLY MAN introduced himself as your “work husband”, somewhat offended because someone dared crown themselves a self-proclaimed title as your work husband — like that bastard is even worthy enough to be breathing the same air as you!
He recognizes this man to be the man you ranted to him about that was inappropriately acting like he’s close with you and many other women of your office.
Wanting to do you and the other women of your office a favor, he decided to humble him.
“Last time I checked, there was no side piece. And if there were to be a side piece — which will never happen by the way! — my wife would pick someone better looking than you. As you can see she has great taste, since she married me and only me. But you should know that by now, hm? Our wedding was even on the news!” showing the ring on his finger, wiggling it even to show emphasis, his tone and his (threatening) smile was friendly, but you all know that it was anything but that.
Oikawa Tooru is an intimidating opponent, both in and out of the court.
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#03 — NEVER IN HIS 25 YEARS OF LIVING HAS IWAIZUMI HAJIME met a more annoying and repulsive person such as the man in front of him that cockily and casually called himself as your “work husband”.
You felt his beefy arms tighten around your waist, he leans in to you closely, his hot breath heating up your ears as he asked you with low voice, however still (purposely) loud enough for the guy in front of you two to hear. “Baby, do you even know him?”
You nodded, “He’s just some guy in the finance department who’s really weird, Hajime. I don’t even remember his name. Sato? Aoki?”
The man before you deflated, his cocky stance nowhere to be seen as he scoffs defensively, “It’s Nakamura —”
“— Yeah, sure, well my wife and I have somewhere else to be now. So goodbye Ishikawa-san.” He purposely used a different name — politely even, to mock him and push his buttons.
“It’s Nakamu —”
“Bye Sato-kun!” You played along with your husband’s petty antics, waving him off before locking your arms around Hajime’s before snuggling close to him as you two walked away. The both of you bursting out laughing once you guys think the guy was far away enough to not hear you two.
“Have you seen his face! He deserved that humbling experience!” You snorted, Hajime rolling his eyes as he remembers the guy.
“Okay but who even is he really? Is he always so flirtatious with you? What even is a work husband? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gave you that new last name of yours.” He grumbled, irritated at the thought of that bastard flirting with you at work when your husband wasn’t there.
“Aw, babe, you know that you’re the only one for me.” you patted his cheeks affectionately, smiling at him while giggling.
He does. He knows it, a bit too well at times. So he sighs and he lets it go. Because he knows that at the end of the day, he’s the one you come home to, he’s the one you cling onto while watching your favorite shows, he’s the one that rests his free hand on your thighs whenever you two go for a drive.
And tonight, he’s the one that will lay you down on the bed and touch you, talk to you, and feel you in ways that only he can do.
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© ATSUMULOGY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM OF ANY OF MY CONTENT WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.
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moonswolfie · 5 months
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When you lose your wedding ring
Ft. Various haikyuu boys🤭
decided to try my hand at these little texting scenarios hehe
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KUROO, Osamu, Suna
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Bokuto, LEV, Hinata
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Iwaizumi, SUGAWARA, Aran
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KITA, Ushijima, Akaashi
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Tsukki, Oikawa, ATSUMU
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belleetoiles · 8 months
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nsfw below the cut. minors dni. all characters 22+
content: afab!reader (but no pronouns used), cunnilingus, overstimulation, humiliation, rough sex, established relationships, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby)
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your boyfriend is so mean.
you had only come to him because of a bad day. it was as simple as that: a craving for his warmth and comfort after experiencing misfortune today. it wasn't unnatural for you to climb into his bed with him at times like this, and he was always so welcoming and sweet.
he was evil in that way, luring you in with milk and honey pouring from his lips. promises to make you feel better — an ache only he can fix. he loved toying with you until you forgot about your woes, making sure to take his time having you fall apart beneath him.
he liked to bully you, teasing until your brain turned to mush and you couldn't do anything but ramble on and on about how much you need him. and when he finally rewards you with a dip of his fingers into your over-sensitive cunt, he nearly groans at how greedily you suck him in.
he is unceremonious in the way he eats you out, messy and embarrassingly loud. there's a stain of your arousal and his saliva pooling onto the bed right below him as it drips down his chin. the worst part is that he refuses to waste even a single drop, so he's hungrily lapping it all up much to your dismay and humiliation.
"look at you, makin' such a fucking mess right now. so filthy, sweetheart, such a pretty pussy..." you can't tell if he's trying to degrade or praise you for this, but the thought instantly dies in your mind when his palm delivers a harsh smack to your clit.
"gonna help you feel better baby. don't worry," he coos, and for a moment you think he's going to be gentle with you. but then he's inside, filling you so full that his name is the only thing on your lips.
he is deliberate in every movement, every press of his thumb against your most sensitive spot, the angle at which he fucks you. each sloppy rut of his hips drags another gaspy breath from you and it drives him crazy, somehow spurs him on even more.
he's your love — it's his job to make fuck you so rough that you don't have time to think about anything but him, just the way he likes it
blue lock: BAROU, sae, oliver, KAISER
haikyuu: OSAMU, tsukishima, ATSUMU, iwaizumi, ushijima
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© BELLEETOILES 2023 — do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my work to other platforms.‏‏‏‏‎‏‏‎
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shibaraki · 5 months
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AN OBSERVER OF LONGING ┊ IWAIZUMI HAJIME
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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 ↰
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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”.
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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”.
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ichxraaa · 2 years
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iwaizumi is so effortlessly dominant and it isn’t fair. it’s not fair the first time he yanks you back by firmly holding your hips with enough strength that you end up bouncing against his broad chest. “careful there, you almost tripped over that”.
it’s not fair how your hands can’t help but get sweaty as he stands in front of you, arms crossed tightly against his chest, tight biceps popping from the sleeves of his black polo and eyes looking down on you as you run your data with him.
it’s not fair that he stands so close behind you when you’re in line at the cafeteria, low voice grazing your ear as he comments on how he doesn’t want you taking away the veggies from your plate.
“nevermind, i’ll set you a plate, go sit over there”.
and it’s honestly pathetic how you don’t object, how you simply agree with him and walk towards the empty table he just pointed at. anyone else trying to pull that crap on you would’ve been long gone from your side.
it’s embarrassing how willing you are to let iwaizumi handle you like this, specially when you’re not even dating. nor has he even gave you the intention of even be attempting to flirt with you.
and you think it’s definitely not fair how one day he simply takes your hand and presses his palm against the dip of your waist, guiding you through all the dolled up people from this sponsor’s party.
“let’s go, i’m taking you out of here so i can finally get you out of this dress”.
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jello-chennie · 6 months
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✧ tough guy iwaizumi hajime who ends up falling for his best friend’s cute little sister
✧ genre/tw fluff ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ (nsfw at the end ⚠︎)
✧ word count 857
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all three of you grow up together, with you being two years younger than tooru. oikawa is always doting on you, treating you like a doll. despite the very little age gap, no matter how old you get, he’s always referring to you as his baby sister. oikawa spoils you rotten. one look from those big brown eyes you both share, but look a lot cuter on you for some reason, and oikawa can’t help but to give you whatever you ask for.
in the beginning, iwaizumi is almost like your other, more responsible big brother when things go wrong. you’re always trying to tag along with your older brother and his friend, which is a recipe for disaster sometimes.
when you inevitably take a spill, and bump your knees, tooru is rolling on the ground, shouting out against the heavens for forsaking you. how could the higher powers let you just fall to the ground like that?? but iwaizumi is is silently wiping off the pebbles from your knee with his little hands, blowing cool air to help assuage your pain. without a word, he carries you back home.
eventually you learn to stop tagging along so much. you can only handle so much pain and embarrassment. other than those moments, iwaizumi and you never really spend that much time together. for the rest of your childhood, you’re more acquaintances than anything else.
but at some point, after oikawa desperately begs you to join the boys volleyball team as it’s manager (“its the only time we’ll be together in high school, you wouldn’t ruthlessly deny your precious and loving and dashing and charming big brother this chance, would you???”), iwaizumi begins to notice you again. but this time, you’re a lot more grown up than you were before. seems like good looks run in the family.
but he’s not the only one that notices. in the same sense that oikawa seems to have the student body under his spell, it seems you do as well, and without even trying.
you’ve had a sheltered childhood that you mostly spent in doors, so you’re shyer than most people. and your brother enables you with his doting behaviour.
iwaizumi finds himself frequently getting jealous at the basket of love letters and confectionery that you have to empty out of your locker and lug home every night. iwaizumi finds that his hands begin to ache after a while bc he clenches them so hard whenever he sees another person confessing to you. and he waits with baited breath to see their disappointed faces as they walk away—an indication that you turned them down again in the way that you always shyly do; an indication that he might still have a chance, yet.
in an effort to put the moves on you, iwaizumi is constantly performing little acts of service for you. he goes out with you to the fountains to refill the water bottles so that you have some company, and so that you won’t have to carry anything heavy—that should be his job, after all. in the most cliche move ever, when an errant ball goes flying right in your direction, iwaizumi coolly catches it with one hand before it can bounce off of your head, making sure to ask you if you’re okay after. he stays behind to help you sweep the floors after practice, striking up a conversation with you. when oikawa stays behind to practice his spikes, iwaizumi walks alone with you home, making sure to keep you away from the side of the sidewalk that’s closest to the road. iwa also makes sure to put your back against the wall of the train while standing in front of you, keeping you safe from any wandering hands.
eventually, he even starts buying your favourite milk drink from the vending machine, and brings it to you while he visits your classroom, the place where you normally eat your lunch. he sits, and eats with you (to which oikawa complains vehemently bc “why would you just sit in a different spot than we normally do without telling me?? you left me all alone!!")
iwaizumi’s actions don’t go unnoticed. you start to fall for it.
when you two eventually start to date, oikawa is whining and complaining that you two are both stealing each other away from him (there’s also relentless teasing on oikawa’s end bc “iwa-chan, isn’t funny that you fell in love with someone that looks just like me?? are you secretly gay and actually just in love with me :3 ??”)
but what’s really the kick in the back for oikawa is the moment he runs up to his precious little sister’s room to check and see what she wants for dinner. but upon opening the door, he finds both his best friend (who, of which, he didn’t even know was over their place at the moment) on top of his “adorable baby sister who can do absolutely no wrong”; the two of them are naked from the waist down, in the throes of passion.
he falls to his knees, asking god to strike him dead, right then and there.
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fixmyfeathers · 9 months
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5’ clock. golden hour. orange light through the blinds. the sun was kissing your skin so beautifully.
bending down, giving your glowing forehead a warm kiss. he blinked, brows lifting in silent confusion when you moved your head away.
“nooo, i have a boyfriend.” oh. his eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth involuntary lifting up into a small teasing smile.
“i see.” two can play this game. “he doesn’t have to know, my love.”
you tried not to be to affected, but him calling you ‘my love’ always made your knees weak.
he bent down again, lips moving to your neck - mouthing the place between your shoulder and neck, teasing it with small bites.
“are you sure?” your voice was small, his actions leaving you lightheaded.
tilting your head to the side to give him more space, he kissed up your neck, nose nudging behind your ear before moving his mouth close to yours. he mumbled something about being very sure about it, lips touching yours with every spoken word. before finally, finally closing the gap between you two and giving you one passionate kiss.
iwaizumi, osamu, suna, mattsun, makki, bakugou, sero, shinsou, aizawa, suguru, sukuna, megumi, toji, neteyam
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emmyrosee · 1 year
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“Do you remember when your ex dumped you back in second year and you came over to my house crying?”
Hajime nearly combusts in your lap with how hot his face became, a deep flush of scarlet making its presence known. Poor thing had been scrolling on his phone with his head resting on your thighs, almost dozing off from the feeling of your fingers tangled in his hair.
“First of all, I’d just like to let you know that I hated the way you started this conversation,” He scowls, emerald eyes flicking up to your curious face from his phone. “Secondly, what’s the point of your question?”
“Well I just realized that I never really knew why you two broke up, and I kinda want to know.”
Instantly, Hajime rolls his eyes before sitting up, his large hand pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know… does it matter? It was years ago, why do you think about them?”
“Well you know about my hookups!”
“Babe, we’ve all made out with Mattsun, I’ve told you it doesn’t count-“
“You all WHAT?”
“I thought that was common knowledge,” he shrugs. You blink at him, eyes wide before one brow quirks in confusion, “uhm. We’ll come back to that. Now, about that ex-“
“Please don’t make me say it,” he whines, resting his elbows on his knees and face burying in his hands. His ears are bright red, flushed to the point where you’re sure it’s hot to the touch, but when he responds like that, you’re almost determined to make him answer, no matter how much of a bully you’re being.
“Okay, you can’t respond like that and expect me not to be curious,” you snort, your arms tossing around his hunched frame. “C‘mon Haji,” you purr, nudging the bit of his cheek with your nose. “It’s just me, babe. You know you can tell me anything.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“We’ve lived together for two years, you’ve come in the bathroom to floss you’re teeth while I’m pooping, you let me pop blackheads on your nose on facetime with your friends, but this is embarrassing?”
“Well it was, but now I’m questioning this entire situation.”
You roll your eyes, “you fucking love me.” Then, you smile and bounce on your haunches, “tell me! You can trust me! Besides, you already know I’m going to ask tooru anyways, so you may as well-”
“Jesus fuck, alright,” he growls, but his grumpiness quickly turns less threatening when your arms toss around his shoulders and you plant a kiss to his cheek. He gives you a sigh and rubs his eyes.
“So… my ex and I were each other’s like. First serious relationship,” he begins, and he absolutely hates how invested you already look. “I mean, we were together for nine months, it was the first time someone wanted to know me and not just to get closer to Tooru.”
The idea of that makes you pout slightly; in your own dating, you’d never had thought about people using him to get closer to Oikawa, you’d always known you wanted him. You nod and bring your hand up to card his thick locks, something he’d always found comfort in.
You also remember how heart broken you were when you'd seen and heard that they were together. How Hanamaki tried relentlessly to cheer you up, build you back up, and how guilty you felt for not being happy for your friend. You'd been there first to want him and not Tooru, but it was in vain.
Besides, you were together now; in your head, there's no reason why he should be nervous to tell you.
He angles his head into your touch, "and... and they were good to me! They trusted me and they appreciated all I would do, and at the end of the day, they were the ones who I always could turn to."
"Hey! You could've turned to me!"
"This isn't about you," he scolds playfully. "Anyways. They loved me until the end, and if I didn't ruin shit, we may have still been together."
"Yeah, that doesn't make me feel insecure at all," you grumble.
He furrows his brows, but it’s offset with a smirk, "if you'd let me talk and finish the story, you wouldn't have to feel insecure."
You stay quiet again. He rolls his eyes and pinches the brim of his nose, "then... do you remember Hanamaki's party for going into third year?"
"Yeah." It was a party you'd remembered being fine until Oikawa had to drive a sickened Hajime home, and you'd blown up his phone in worry. Hanamaki called you obsessive. You put a thumbtack in his sneaker.
"Right... so," he rubs the back of his neck nervously. "So we kinda... snuck away to be alone and use those stupid lovers affirmations and... and then things got touchy and kissy and-"
"Gagging."
"Interrupting again," he snips before composing himself again. Now, he's really starting to fidget, and you're starting to have an uneasy feeling about it. "And we started kissing and out hands started to wander and..." he pauses and looks at you, half expecting you to interrupt, but at the sight of you completely immersed, he grimaces.
“And… and they moaned my name… and then, when I was uhm… I was supposed to moan theirs…”
“Oh my god, did you moan Oikawa’s?” You gasp, already falling to a fit of laughter from your anxiety. It was a common joke in the group that Tooru and Hajime were secretly together but dated others so they wouldn’t seem suspicious, but to think it could be true caused you to absolutely cackle. “No wonder they dumped you!I can see it now! Just a soft little t-tooru-“
“Fuck off, I moaned your name, asshole.”
Your laughter stopped immediately, your face dropping to one of absolute surprise. The smugness that dripped from your tone now seems to reside in his, and he smirks softly as he crosses his arms.
“Not so funny now, is it?”
“You… you said my name?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. He adverts his gaze and tries to fight the blush splaying on his face, “I’ve wanted you since the beginning.”
“Why did you never like… try?”
“I thought you liked Oikawa.”
“Why would you think I like Oikawa!”
“You spent so much time with him!”
“Because I was too shy to be near you, stupid!”
The both of your chests heave at your confessions, before you break the silence with a few breathy giggles.
"Fuck, man," you chuckle, curling your frame into his side. "We truly were so dumb."
"You don't know how hard Oikawa tried to convince me to confess to you."
"Same!" You say, beaming. "I always told him there was no shot you would've had feelings for me."
He doesn't admit it, but you know Hajime had a similar experience with his friend. The silence falls much more comfortable than it had been before, and with your attention turned back to the TV, you flick your gaze back briefly when you feel Hajime reach for his phone. "Whatcha doin'?"
He smirks, "gonna text Oikawa that I just realized you had a crush on me in high school."
You snort, "you're evil. You trying to give him an aneurism?"
"Maybe."
You pause. Then you paw for your own phone to text the same victim.
Might as well make him bitter, together.
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atsumutu · 1 year
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“Hajime, are you bored?”
The raven haired man peers up from his phone, instantly locking the device and pocketing it when he sees the concern etched across your face.
Shaking his head, Iwaizumi gives you a gentle smile. It only takes him a few steps to reach you. “No, just checking my emails.”
Unconvinced, you rest a palm on his chest. It wasn’t like you had forced the man to come out with you. Ever the attentive boyfriend, Iwaizumi had made it his mission to spend some time with you after a hectic few weeks of work - even if that meant spending the day following you into countless stores.
“Are you sure? I know this isn’t really your thing.” you mumble, gesturing lamely at the store.
“Baby, no.” he plants a soft kiss on your temple. “I love spending time with you. Even if it means becoming your personal bag holder.” Iwaizumi lifts an arm, biceps curling underneath his t shirt as he lifts a plethora of shopping bags with ease, 90% of the contents belonging to you.
He watches the way your eyes draw towards his muscle and with the tiniest lift of his lips, he whispers. “I’m starting to think you only bring me along so you can have me carry your bags and ogle me.”
Rolling your eyes, you lightly slap his chest. “You’re the one who always insists on coming with me and carrying all my bags.”
Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow as if to ask are you sure?
Scoffing, you offer no solid denial, only a light push that does nothing to move the brute standing before you. Iwaizumi smiles down at you, endeared by the attempt.
“Seriously though, Hajime, I can go around by myself. Why don’t you go home and rest?”
Now he’s confused. It’s the second time you’ve tried to send him home and he’s racking his brain to see if he may have upset you somehow but he keeps coming up blank. Finally giving up, he decides to ask you.
“Why?” he squints his eyes playfully, “You got another man around to carry your stuff for you?” When you don’t respond to his joke, the raven furrows his brows. Calloused palms come to rest on your cheek. “I’m fine, love.”
And sure he looked fine, Iwaizumi was as tough as nails. But not even he could handle the crazy hours he had been working the last couple of weeks and you could tell he was close to running on fumes.
“Ha ha, very funny.” taking a hold of his wrist, you peer up at the man. “Let’s just go home. I think i’ve bought enough-“
“No.” He’s curt and the unexpected sharpness in his tone cuts you a lot deeper than he would have ever intended. You blink at his words, guilt, concern and a flash of hurt painting across your features. Sighing, Iwaizumi rests his forehead on your shoulder, groaning in what you guess is regret.
Your first instinct is to comfort him, so you do. Weaving your fingers through his dark tresses, you let him soak in your warmth.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I know, Haji.”
With a final sigh, he slumps back a step. “Shit, maybe I do need to get my ass home.” he chuckles half heartedly.
Humming, you take a step forward to reach him, mischief brimming in your tone. “Well if you’d just listened to me the first time I wouldn’t be here trying to calm down Mr Grumpy Pants himself.”
“Watch it.” he snipes, no real bite behind his words.
And in all your childish glory, you stick your tongue out at him.
Iwaizumi looks wholly amused. When was the last time someone stuck their tongue out at him? Then, he remembers who his best friend is and any trace of amusement is gone. “That Oikawa is a shitty influence on you.” he grumbles.
“Come on, let’s go.” you giggle, reaching for his free hand to lead him towards the exit.
“Hey,” he calls, softly tugging at your hands to halt your steps, “I love you.”
Despite the gruff texture of his voice, you would never tire of how softly those words would fall from his lips.
“I love you too.” lifting your entwined fingers up, you seal your words with a quick kiss to the back of his hand. “Now, can we finally go home?”
Iwaizumi smiles, fond. “Let's go home.”
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teamatsumu · 7 months
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kinktober 2023 - haikyuu edition
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So here is the complete masterlist i did for kinktober 2023, and it is an all haikyuu special! I’m excited to share all these with you and I hope you like them!
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Day 1: THIGH RIDING - Miya Atsumu x reader
Day 2: THREESOME - Bokuto Koutaro x reader x Akaashi Keiji
Day 3: PHONE SEX - Oikawa Tooru x reader
Day 4: SHOWER/TUB - Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader
Day 5: MUTUAL MASTURBATION - Kageyama Tobio x reader
Day 6: ORAL - Terushima Yuuji x reader
Day 7: ORGASM DENIAL - Matsukawa Issei x reader
Day 8: DOMINATION - Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader
Day 9: SKINNY DIPPING - Hinata Shoyo x reader
Day 10: VIDEO TAPING - Suna Rintarou x reader
Day 11: STRANGERS - Iwaizumi Hajime x reader
Day 12: PUBLIC PLAY - Tendou Satori x reader
Day 13: GROUP SEX - Seijoh 4 x reader
Day 14: AGE DIFFERENCE - Ukai Keishin x reader
Day 15: MORNING SEX - Bokuto Koutaro x reader
Day 16: DADDY - Miya Osamu x reader
Day 17: DIRTY TALK - Miya Atsumu x reader
Day 18: HAIR PULLING - Kozume Kenma x reader
Day 19: SPANKING - Iwaizumi Hajime x reader
Day 20: SCRATCHING - Bokuto Koutaro x reader
Day 21: WINDOW - Suna Rintarou x reader
Day 22: KNOT - Miya Osamu x reader
Day 23: VOYEURISM - Kageyama Tobio x reader x Oikawa Tooru
Day 24: CAR - Miya Atsumu x reader
Day 25: COCKWARMING - Sugawara Koushi x reader
Day 26: DEGRADATION - Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader
Day 27: HATE SEX - Kuroo Tetsuro x reader
Day 28: DOUBLE PENETRATION - Kita Shinsuke x reader x Miya Osamu
Day 29: BRAT TAMING - Kita Shinsuke x reader
Day 30: OVERSTIMULATION - Sugawara Koushi x reader
Day 31: BREEDING KINK - Miya Osamu x reader
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